Chapter Text
DAY ONE
It should have worried Dick more that the door wasn’t locked. After all, Bruce had always been careful to drill into his head how absolutely necessary personal safety was considering his profession. But Dick was exhausted, working too many overnights and still letting his body wake him up before the sunrise out of old habit, and he couldn’t honestly remember if he’d locked the door before he left.
He closed it behind him and made sure to lock it this time. Nothing obvious was missing, which was a good sign that Dick had just been too tired to remember something as simple as sticking the key in the lock and twisting.
Good thing, too. He couldn’t afford another TV.
His keys hit the end table and skidded off the edge to fall on the floor. Dick kicked his shoes next to them in hopes that he’d see the keys when he put them on later and not panic in search of them. The hoodie came next, tossed over the couch, and then the black uniform t-shirt the bar required. It dropped into a lumpy heap in the middle of the hallway on the way to the bathroom and was forgotten just that quickly.
The force of his head slamming into the wall was enough to make him dizzy. He brought his arms up belatedly but his attacker pressed him up against the wall anyways. The thumbs that dug into his hips felt calloused. Dick blinked his head clear and looked up at the single blue eye narrowed on him from behind a mask. “Grayson?”
“Who wants to know?” Dick demanded. He brought his knee up, barely missing the attacker’s groin as he moved back and then spun Dick around to press him face first against the wall this time. Dick’s arm was wrenched behind his back, one hand pinned just above the waistband of his jeans and the other held at the wrist against the hallway wall. “Get off me.”
“Richard Grayson?” the intruder demanded.
Dick stayed stubbornly silent, only grunting in displeasure when the man lined up their bodies to keep Dick’s hand pinned between them. A hand reached into Dick’s front pockets, coming out with the worn leather wallet he’d gotten as a sixteenth birthday present. It had his initials engraved on it. Bruce’s idea of a personal gift.
Two nickels fell out from the rough handling and Dick glanced over to see his ID pulled out before the wallet was also dropped onto the floor. Fingers forced Dick’s head to turn, comparing him to the picture on the ID, and then the ID was tossed aside.
“You could have just told me, made this a hell of a lot easier.” The voice was low, gruff. Sort of went with the ice blue eye.
Dick jerked, struggling, and got his head slammed back into the wall for his troubles. He was starting to get a real headache, and now blinking wasn’t really enough to clear his vision. “What do you want?”
His intruder didn’t answer and when Dick tried to tug his pinned hand to freedom, the hand around his wrist squeezed painfully.
A cloth covered Dick’s face and Dick had been dragged to enough self-defense classes to know when he was being drugged. Dick held his breath, struggling desperately – though it didn’t seem to affect his attacker all that much. His lungs burned and an already disorienting lightheadedness managed to only get worse. Black dots were dancing in front of his vision before Dick finally couldn’t take it anymore and inhaled.
The pungent sweet smell of chloroform hit his nose before his vision blurred. He forgot to try and hold his breath again and inhaled once more, slumping into unconsciousness.
~~~
Pain lit up on Dick’s cheek and he snapped his eyes open, watching his attacker pull his hand back from slapping him. “Damn, kid. Are you planning to sleep all goddamn day?”
Dick tried to move his hand to his cheek but found his wrists zip tied to the headboard of a bed. It looked simple but expensively made, not the kind of bed that would fall apart just by Dick pulling on it.
He watched the man move around the room, no longer wearing the mask. He was older, maybe a few years older than Bruce, with snow white hair and that pale blue eye. The other was covered with an eye patch which gave him an intimidating air. He also looked like he might be capable of bench pressing Dick’s entire body.
“What do you want from me?” Dick asked again, tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth. He’d love a glass of water but, having been drugged once, Dick wasn’t eager to repeat the process.
“You? Nothing,” the man said. “I’m in this for the money.”
“Criminals usually are,” Dick replied.
The attacker huffed, something like a laugh but with less humor. A sleek black phone sat on the table and the man grabbed it before turning and pointing it at Dick. “Smile for the camera.”
The flash lit up the dim room and then the man was focusing on doing something with it. Dick wiggled his wrists in the bindings, hissing when his attempts at freedom ended up slicing the side of his wrist open with the tight plastic tie.
The man looked up. “I’m not fixing that for a little while. You might want to tone it down until we’re done here.”
Dick didn’t want to take his advice, but he also knew he wasn’t getting anywhere with the ties. Since he clearly wasn’t the man’s current first priority, Dick looked around the room. He’d guess hotel, but maybe it was just a minimalistic apartment. It wasn’t big enough to be a house. There was a window in the room but the curtains were drawn and thick enough to keep out the sun. And there was sun, as seen by the strip of light on the floor. A table, two chairs. A dresser that had a laptop on it. The screen was up but black, maybe sleeping. The door had to be just out of sight, down the hall, but if Dick could get to it then maybe he could get out of here.
The phone thumped as it was laid back down on the table, drawing Dick’s attention back to the man. “Now we wait.”
“For what?” On cue, the laptop lit back up to a factory set screen and bellowed the ringtone of a Skype call.
The man came over with a roll of duct tape. Dick stiffened and yanked hard, getting a hand in his hair to drag him back into the center of the bed and cover his mouth with a strip of the silver tape. Dick glared as he watched the man shake his head at Dick’s antics and then hit a button on the keyboard to open up the Skype chat.
Bruce’s face filled the screen and Dick’s mood only managed to sink farther. “What is this?”
At some point, the intruder must have covered his face with the mask again. He stepped into view of the camera and stood next to Dick. “I think you know what this is, District Attorney. I’ve been paid money to kidnap your son and hold him until the trial is over for Lex Luthor.”
“He’s a murderer,” Bruce replied.
A gun was pulled and the muzzle was pressed against Dick’s temple. The young man closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and opened them to see the flash of panic on Bruce’s face. A tension lined his shoulders, curled his hands into fists, but his voice remained even.
“Mr. Wayne, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough. I don’t care what Mr. Luthor did and you’re going to stop caring too. If you don’t back down, I’m going to have to blow your son’s brains out in front of you and I don’t think any of us want it to go that far,” the man said. “You can make this very simple or very difficult.”
“Fine. I’ll drop the case,” Bruce said. “Let him go.”
The hammer clicked. “You’re not dropping the case. You’re going to lose the case, Mr. Wayne. Luthor doesn’t want this to come back down the road.”
A tick was visible in Bruce’s jaw. “Or you’ll kill Dick.”
“Now you’re getting the idea,” the man said. “No police. No authorities of any kind. I’ll contact you at random intervals to set up videos so you can see him and determine his safety. If I think you’ve involved someone, I’ll shoot your son. If Luthor goes to prison, I’ll shoot your son. If you disobey any order we give you, I’ll shoot your son.”
Dick was a pawn. Bruce had pissed off the wrong people again, and now Dick was paying for it.
“Understood,” Bruce replied, after a moment. Dick had never heard words sound so acidic.
“Cooperate and he’ll be home in time for Christmas,” the man countered. The gun moved away from Dick’s head. He took a shaky breath and moved his gaze to Bruce’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, Dick. Don’t worry. I’ll get you ou-“
The feed was cut off as the man hit another button on the keyboard. The mask was removed. The tape peeled away.
“Luthor paid you to kill me,” Dick said.
The man’s single blue eyes rolled over to gaze at him. “What?”
“The mask was for Bruce’s benefit,” Dick said. He wasn’t stupid, despite what Bruce seemed to think. “You’re not wearing it around me. You don’t care if I see you. Luthor hired you to kill me when this is over.”
The man was silent for a moment and then admitted, “He wants to make your father pay.”
“Bruce isn’t my father,” Dick said.
“He wants to make your former guardian pay, then,” the man said. “It doesn’t matter what he is to you. You’re going to die either way.”
When you looked at it like that…
“I wish I hadn’t paid this month’s rent,” Dick muttered.
The man’s lips quirked at that. “You’re taking the news well.”
“Should I cry? Beg? Bruce is a district attorney. I’ve met some of the worst criminals in this city. I know that you wouldn’t care,” Dick said. A real professional wouldn’t, at least. “You said it yourself, you’re in it for the money. If I could pay more than Luthor is, maybe, but Luthor is a billionaire and I bartend two blocks from my house.”
“True,” the man said.
“So I’ll make my witty jokes and maybe you’ll just be so charmed that you decide to let me live because you like me,” Dick said.
“Not likely,” the man replied.
“Still worth a shot.” Especially since it was Dick’s only shot.
The man huffed again, the same not laugh. He pulled something out of his pocket and Dick jumped when the press of a button extended the blade. He flinched back and then relaxed when his captor only cut the zip tie holding his wrists to the bed. The man’s free hand, big and warm, wrapped around Dick’s neck to keep him still. “Don’t try to run, kid. I’m not playing games. You try to run, I’ll kill you.” Then he let go.
Dick rubbed his wrists, wincing as his fingers brushed against the cut on his skin. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” the man replied.
“What’s the harm? I’m dead anyways, isn’t that what you said?” Dick asked.
The man considered that in silence, grabbing Dick’s wrist and pulling it towards him. It had Dick rolling forward onto his knees to keep from his arm being yanked on. The man looked over the cut, wiping the blood away with his thumb. The action stung, despite the gentleness of the motion. He raised that blue eye to narrow on Dick. “Don’t move.”
Dick hesitated and then nodded, staying still on the bed when the man got up and walked away. He came back with what appeared to be a simple Band-Aid to put over Dick’s wrist. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
The man rolled his eye and then pulled a new zip tie out of his pocket.
“Wait,” Dick said. He snatched his hands and curled his body around them. “That’s not necessary. Just-“
The man grabbed Dick’s upper arm and dragged him across the bed, pinning Dick’s hands against the headboard again and tying the zip tie around them. Dick yanked and found himself bound once again.
“Don’t fight, kid,” the man ordered. “It’ll be easier if you just accept it.”
Dick wasn’t good at accepting anything. “Tell me your name.”
“You just don’t give up, do you?” he asked.
Dick met his gaze with determination glowing bright in the baby blues.
The man sighed. “Slade.”
“Slade?” Dick asked.
“Slade,” he confirmed. “Now keep your mouth shut and sit quietly for me for a little while.”
A little while turned out to be a whole hour, while Dick thought about the situation he was in. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Go ahead,” Slade replied. He had sat down with a book. Dick couldn’t see the cover but it was thick and small. Paperback.
Dick gaped. “You can’t be serious.”
“What? This a little rough for the trust fund brat?” Slade asked dryly, turning the page without looking up.
“I’m not a trust fund brat,” Dick argued. “All I’m asking for is to use the bathroom.”
“And I’m telling you no,” Slade said.
“Trials take weeks, months,” Dick said. “You can’t keep me tied up in a motel room for all that time.”
Slade sighed and put the book down, seemingly irritated that Dick wouldn’t stop interrupting his reading. “You won’t be here for months. This is temporary.”
“Temporary?” Dick asked.
“Temporary,” Slade repeated. “As in, not permanent.”
Dick scowled. “I know what temporary means.”
“And yet you repeat it as if it’s new to your vocabulary,” Slade said.
This was temporary? Dick was going to be moved? That wasn’t a good sign. It meant it would be harder for anyone to find him, if Bruce decided to take it to the police anyways since Slade had made it clear that he wasn’t supposed to.
“Can I please use the bathroom?” Dick asked. He twisted as much as he could and then sagged in his bindings. “It took you all of, what? Two minutes? To take me down in my apartment?”
“Forty five seconds,” Slade corrected.
Dick rolled his eyes. “Spare my pride.”
“You talk too much.”
“I have to use the bathroom,” Dick repeated.
Slade pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will shoot you if you try to run.”
“That’s been the theme of the day,” Dick said. “Can I go now?”
Slade sat there long enough that Dick wondered if the man was really going to make him pee himself and then he stood. Dick let out a sigh of relief. The knife came back out and cut the zip tie again. The hand not sliding the knife into Slade’s pocket grabbed Dick’s wrist and yanked him to his feet.
Dick didn’t try to pull away but he could tell by the force on his wrist that he wouldn’t have succeeded anyways.
“Thank you,” Dick said.
“Just use the bathroom,” Slade ordered, pulling him over and pushing him inside the restroom. Dick waited and then cleared his throat when Slade stood in the doorway. “Excuse me.”
“You’re excused,” Slade replied, still standing in the doorway.
“Can I pee in peace?” Dick asked.
“No,” Slade replied. He arched an eyebrow at Dick’s expression. “I didn’t want to do this either, if you remember.”
Dick closed his eyes and twisted a little before unzipping his pants. “How’d you lose the eye?”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“No…” Dick trailed off. “I’m curious.”
“Be curious about something else,” Slade said.
That ended that line of conversation.
Dick washed at the sink and then a strong hand was wrapped around his upper arm again, squeezing over bruises already there. “Wait.”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Slade said, dragging him back towards the bed and zip tying him back to the headboard.
“Forgive me for not wanting to be tied down,” Dick said. The familiar ache was settling into his arms, the muscles growing tired of this position.
Slade’s nose was back in the book already but there was a hint of a smile behind it. “If it makes you feel any better, you look damn good that way.”
Dick felt his skin warm at the comment, the flush working through his skin and into his cheeks. He swallowed and tried to form a response, coming up short.
Slade hummed. “Finally something that made you quiet.”
~~~
Dick couldn’t believe he fell asleep until the sharp heat of a slap had him waking again. He was disoriented and confused which gave Slade the chance to cut the ties holding his wrists to the bed. “What…”
“I told you we were moving,” Slade said. He grabbed Dick’s chin and made him look at him. “Are you awake enough to hear me?”
Dick blinked, catching the darkness that had fallen in the bedroom. At some point, Slade had turned off the light and cracked the curtains. Moonlight gave the room a soft blue hue. He pulled himself into alertness and noted the seriousness in Slade’s eye. Dick nodded. “I’m listening.”
“I’m going to keep you untied. I’m going to let you walk beside me. I’m going to hold onto you and you aren’t going to fight. If you try to get someone’s attention, I will shoot them. If you try to speak to anyone, I will shoot them,” Slade said. “Do you understand me?”
Dick swallowed at the threat. Slade had been calm, relaxed – it was easy to forget he was a hired killer.
Easy to forget he’d been hired to kill Dick.
He nodded. “I understand.”
Under the moonlight, Dick could see the faint shape of a bruise on his skin. The same size as Slade’s hand which covered the spot and made the bruise disappear. At least to the eye, it flared to a soreness from Slade’s grip as he was yanked to his feet.
Dick had missed coming in but now he saw it was a motel room, like he’d originally thought. Slade pulled him down the staircase and out into the parking lot. The chill of the night air hit his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of the hand on his arm. He was still bare chested from when he’d stripped his shirt off at his apartment. Clearly Slade didn’t seem too worried.
“Black SUV. Dead ahead,” Slade said.
Dick saw it, immediately started heading for the passenger side. Slade yanked him back and pulled him to the driver’s side. He opened the door. “Get in, kid.”
Dick hesitated and then climbed inside, sighing when another zip tie came out and Slade attached Dick’s left wrist to the steering wheel. “I’m pretty sure this is dangerous.”
“Good incentive not to crash,” Slade replied. He pulled the tie tight and then closed the door.
Dick looked around the car. It was clean except for some dirt on the edges of the carpet. Vacuumed but not well. A rental, maybe?
Slade climbed in the passenger seat and put the keys in the ignition to start the car. “Back out and go to the edge of the parking lot. Take a left.”
“Where are we going?” Dick asked.
Slade looked at him and repeated. “Edge of the parking lot. Take a left.”
Dick backed out of the spot and listened to Slade’s directions.
DAY TWO
They drove for hours, Dick glanced at the dashboard clock several times during the drive and watched as the sun rose steadily over the horizon at roughly half past seven in the morning. Dick yawned. “Don’t do that.”
Dick looked over before turning his eyes back to the road. “Someone woke me during the middle of the night. I’m tired.”
“I would think you’d have more important things to worry about than your sleep schedule,” Slade replied.
Dick shrugged. “Why?”
Slade glanced at him and then fell quiet again, even as Dick yawned for a second time.
The directions started coming again after driving extendedly on the highway. He took an exit into Metropolis and navigated the complicated city streets. “Was this Luthor’s idea?”
“He wanted you out of Wayne’s territory,” Slade said, as explanation.
The city faded, businesses replaced by cookie cutter suburban houses. Farther, until the corn fields stretched on and on. Slade motioned to a house with an old barn and pulled him to a stop just outside the open barn doors. “Drive inside.”
Dick did and then parked and shut the car off as directed. Slade got out of the car and walked to Dick’s side to cut the tie and free his hand. Dick rubbed his wrist where the tie had left an indent in his skin. “Where are we?”
“Not Gotham,” Slade said. “Get out of the car.”
Dick followed him out of the barn and then Slade was grabbing Dick by the arm again and pulling him towards the house. “Can you stop the yanking and pulling? I haven’t run yet.”
“Yet,” Slade said. “I have no plans to underestimate a patient spider.”
It was weird to be compared to the victorious spider, when Dick felt more like the helpless fly caught in a web.
The farmhouse screen door creaked as it was opened. Slade pulled a keychain from his pocket holding at least a dozen keys. He seemed to know which to use immediately as there was no hesitation or searching before he stuck one in the lock, twisted, and opened the door.
It was clean, if sparse, and Dick was guided inside where Slade finally let go of his arm. Dick turned in time to see another lock, this time on the inside of the door, using another one of the keys.
An outside lock to keep strangers out, but the inside lock could serve no purpose but to keep Dick in.
“The nearest house is four miles,” Slade said, intentionally leaving off a direction. “You’re barefooted, running across farmland, and the air gets cooler out here than it does in Gotham during the evenings. Don’t run, because if you die out there I will leave your body for whatever creatures slink out of the woods to eat your remains.”
“Thanks for the image,” Dick replied.
He stepped further into the house, curiosity dragging him towards the windows which shared similar locks to the one on the door. He also noted the seemingly one modern aspect of the house as the wires that resembled a security system. Again, undoubtedly to keep Dick inside. He walked across the hard wood floor of the living room and into the dining room and looked out the window there as well. The barn doors were closed, hiding the car they’d driven inside. Dick spun. “Is there someone else here?”
Slade watched him for a moment and then walked out of the room.
Dick turned back around to look at the barn and the closed doors and the freedom just outside the window. There had to be someone here. The barn doors wouldn’t close all by themselves. Perhaps whoever was here, would be more willing to assist Dick in escaping. He walked away and went to explore the upstairs.
Night fell once more and Slade had made rounds to check on Dick as he wandered around the house. He had finally settled in a bedroom and, while Dick could hear movement and see light, Dick used the opportunity to sneak downstairs. His heart pounded in his chest, seeming too loud. Loud enough that Slade would be able to hear it.
Dick picked up the dining room chair. He glanced at the window, the closed barn doors, the cornfield. Two miles to the nearest house – Dick had run track in high school, he’d make it.
The chair leg splintered after the heavy sound of the wood bouncing off the window. Bouncing, not breaking. Dick slammed it against the window again only to find the same results. Footsteps on the stairs had Dick tensing and looking for an exit again.
“Boy,” Slade bellowed.
Dick spun and dug through the drawers in search of a knife. They were empty, bare. The larger body of his captor pressed against him from behind and grabbed Dick’s wrists. “Let go!”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Slade demanded.
Dick jerked, throwing his arm back and feeling his fist catch Slade in the face. The hands let go of him and Dick felt a burst of hope only for Slade to spin him around. Dick heard the crack before he felt the pain of the backhand set fire to his cheek. “Settle down! Now!”
Dick covered his cheek with his hand and glanced at Slade who was glaring from his single blue eye.
“The windows are bulletproof and certainly chair proof. If you want to get out of here, it will be over my dead body,” Slade said. He grabbed Dick’s chin between his fingers. “Make me tell you that again and I’ll break something. Understood?”
Dick remained silent which made Slade shake him. “Do you understand me or not?”
“I understand…” Dick said quietly.
“Go upstairs,” Slade ordered, letting go of his chin to shove Dick towards the stairs.
At the top, Slade dragged him to a room and pushed him inside. The door slammed behind him and Dick heard a click. Slade’s footsteps led away from the door. Dick walked over, face still burning from the slap, and tried the door only to find it locked and securely shut.
He sat down on the provided bed and looked down at his hands. He pulled a splinter out of his right palm and brushed the blood away with his left.
Chapter 2
Notes:
I still think this is a weird fic. Warnings for forced nonsexual nudity, forced nonsexual touching, and violence.
Chapter Text
DAY THREE
Dick didn’t sleep this time. As much as he wanted to, as much as fatigue made his eyes burn and his muscles weary, he found himself tossing and turning on the bed. Maybe it was the dusty smell that permeated the air or the gloomy rain that had picked up during the night to pound against the roof. Either way, Dick stared up at the ceiling and waited as the time passed slowly by.
At some point, Dick climbed off the bed and grabbed the wooden chair by the desk to pull it over by the window. He pulled his feet up onto the chair, watching from the window as the darkness brightened with the rise of the sun. It was still raining, but the sky faded from a dark, ominous charcoal to a soft slate gray.
Scratching noises came from the outside of the door and Dick twisted to see the door open and Slade standing on the other side with the key in his hand. “Kid. Breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry,” Dick said. To which his stomach weighed in with a rumble of a growl.
“Sounds like you are,” Slade said with an amused smirk.
Dick shrugged. “I don’t want to eat.”
Slade’s smirk faded, lips thinning. “Well, it’s not an option. Get up and come downstairs.”
“I don’t want to eat,” Dick repeated, turning around again and facing the window again. It startled him when there was a hand around his upper arm, wrenching him onto his feet. “Leave me alone.”
“So you can throw a pity party and starve yourself up here?” Slade asked. He dragged Dick out of the room and down the stairs.
“I’m not throwing a pity party,” Dick said, pulling back as much as he could. He managed to slip out of Slade’s grasp but only fell back onto the stairs. “I don’t want to eat. I want to get the hell out of here.”
Slade lifted his hand again, prepared no doubt to backhand Dick as he had the night before. Instead of following through, however, he stared at Dick who glared back at him. No sign of fear. Slade’s hand lowered down to his side. “Get up, Grayson.”
Dick climbed up onto his feet but he didn’t head down the stairs.
“Do you think I’m playing around? You’re going to eat or I’ll force feed you,” Slade said.
Dick glared silently, still not moving.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Slade demanded. “I don’t need you cooperative to force your guardian to do what Luthor wants. I need you alive, hooked up to machines, in a medically induced coma, eating through a tube if that’s what it takes. I’m sure that’ll make killing you easier. Won’t need you to wake up for that. And the image should do well in making it clear to your former guardian that Luthor isn’t messing around.”
Bruce had to be feeling enough guilt – twice over, since he would blame himself for Dick’s kidnapping and then again if he was actually forced to lose the trial.
Dick finally averted his gaze and forced himself to walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. He took a seat in the kitchen chair and let Slade set a plate down in front of him. “Better.”
“I could do without the praise,” Dick muttered.
“Eat,” Slade ordered.
Dick sighed and picked up the fork set down next to dig into the eggs. They weren’t awful, better than anything Dick could cook but that was a low bar to set. There wasn’t much to them, which reminded Dick of his original thought that Slade seemed like a military man. Practicality first. It was a sentiment that Dick thought Bruce shared.
“Someone is going to notice me missing,” Dick said between bites of food. “Even if Bruce doesn’t go to the police, someone will.”
Slade huffed a breath.
“And you can’t kill me then. Not without losing your leverage over Bruce,” Dick said.
“Is that so?” The man sounded bored.
Dick set the fork down. “My coworkers. My friends. People who know Bruce and-“
“No one is going to question your absence,” Slade said finally. He looked up with that single blue eye. “The little gypsy with wanderlust and itchy feet? You couldn’t stay in the lap of luxury with your guardian. You’ve disappeared off the face of the earth before. Your travels have been the subject of newspaper headlines. Wayne will cover anything else, because he should know it’s not in your best interest for someone to be looking for you.”
Dick was silent.
“Did you think I didn’t do my research?” Slade asked. “Men like Luthor do not hire amateurs to take care of their business. I know more about you than you do. I know more about your friends and your family than you do. I know how to keep you here indefinitely without attention from the authorities.”
“You’re not as smart as you think you are,” Dick said.
Slade stood and smirked when Dick instantly tensed. He stalked over and put his hand on Dick’s shoulder. The younger man reached up to grab Slade’s wrist to pull it off and then dropped his hand when Slade squeezed hard enough to make him wince. He leaned close to Dick’s ear. “I’m still smarter than you, kid.”
Dick grabbed the fork and jabbed back, aiming for the face and throat somewhere behind him. Thick fingers wrapped around Dick’s wrist tightly, pressing hard against a part of his wrist that spasmed and made him drop the fork into his lap.
Slade let go of Dick’s shoulder and leaned forward, fingers brushing against Dick’s thigh as he picked up the fork. “I’m going to give you one more chance with this, kid, and then we’ll switch over to finger foods permanently.”
No response as Dick’s hand was forced open and the fork placed back in it.
“Do we have an understanding?” Slade prompted. Dick didn’t speak, choosing the option with more pride that just had him adjusting his grip on it to return to eating his food. The older man chuckled and stepped away. “Good.”
Dick didn’t bother looking up as the footsteps led away and out of the room. He didn’t have to. Slade had such a presence Dick simply knew he’d exited the room. His grip tightened around the fork, eyes squeezing shut as frustration welled up inside of him like a boiling pot waiting to break out. The tongs drove into the wood of the table as Dick slammed it down. When he let go of the metal the fork stood on its own, vibrating from the force Dick had used to drive it into the table.
~~~
“Follow me,” Slade ordered.
Dick was curled up on the couch with a book. Some mystery novel by a writer that Dick had never heard of with a jerk for a main character. The guy smoke more, drank more, and buried himself between the legs of every women he met than anyone Dick had ever even heard of. He was a jerk to the bad guys, his allies, and the victims alike.
He was an ass.
And there was another one standing in the doorway. Dick looked up. “I’m reading.”
“Boy,” Slade warned.
Dick folded down the corner of the book and set it on the end table, dragging himself to his feet. The hardwood floor was still so cold against his bare feet but he was getting used to it. And he didn’t see Slade offering him shoes or socks anytime soon, not when Dick was easier to keep inside this way. It would be hard to make a run for it when he’d have to move barefoot across unfamiliar land in the cold.
“What?” Dick demanded, as he followed him up the stairs.
“Don’t take that tone of voice with me,” Slade said. He grabbed Dick’s arm and pushed him inside an unfamiliar room. “I have clothes coming for you, but for now you need a shower.”
“It’s not my fault I’ve been stuck in the same clothes for three days,” Dick said.
“I didn’t say it was,” Slade said. “However, your guardian-“
“Former guardian,” Dick corrected.
“-is going to need another video for proof of life,” Slade finished, as if Dick had never interrupted.
“So?” Dick asked.
Slade pushed him further into the room. It was well maintained and orderly. Cleaned, the bed made with the same military precision that Dick was coming to get used to from his captor. It reminded him of the man that Dick could only come to the conclusion that this was the room Slade was using during their stay here. “You said it yourself. This is a long term situation. Trials like these can last months or years. I’m not going to put up with the smell of you not showering for all of that time. Not to mention that if Wayne is half the father-“
“Former legal guardian,” Dick corrected.
“- that the news proclaims him to be then he’ll expect some level of care taken with you,” Slade said. “I’m not risking this job over your showering schedule.”
Dick stepped back and stumbled where the hardwood floor switched to the cheap linoleum of the bathroom and Slade followed him right in. The door was closed behind them. “You’re planning to kill me.”
“And?” Slade asked.
“What’s the point?” Dick demanded bitterly. His lips curled to showcase his scorn. “It’s not going to matter if you’re only going to kill me anyways.”
Slade pulled the shower curtain open.
“Are you listening to me? What’s the point?” Dick asked.
Slade turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you fight me on every subject?”
“Why not?” Dick asked.
Death was inevitable. Escape was impossible. Fighting earned him nothing, cost him a slap on the wrist. What were bruises when Dick was facing certain execution?
Dick had nothing to lose.
“Your former guardian doesn’t know that you don’t have a chance to get out of this,” Slade said. “Which leaves us here, proving that you’re being well taken care of.”
“I don’t want a shower,” Dick said. He wanted Bruce to know that there was no chance at him getting out of here. He wanted the man to know that eventually the trial would be over, and Slade would use that big knife on his leg to cut Dick’s neck. Maybe leave his body in the cornfield to act as fertilizer. He wanted Bruce to burn Lex to the ground for dragging Dick into something that had nothing to do with him - because it didn’t matter.
Slade arched an eyebrow. “Unfortunate. Get in the shower.”
Dick didn’t move.
“Last warning,” Slade said.
Dick still didn’t move and the resigned sigh on Slade’s lips made Dick’s hackles rise. It sounded like that of someone dealing with a disobedient child and Dick wasn’t that. The slap across his face was expected, though still painful. He saw it coming, moved as much as he could, but still ended up with his cheek on fire. He didn’t expect the man’s hands on him again. Dick was still in his jeans from the first night and Slade shoved him into the wall before popping the button and unzipping them to pull them down his legs. The boxers went with them and Dick felt the embarrassment of having been stripped before Slade dragged him forward, forcing him to step out.
Bare wrists were pulled up and a zip tie was pulled out that pulled his wrists tight against the shower head. He tugged to no avail, the usual lack of give only serving to limit circulation in his hands.
The water, when Slade turned it on, was ice cold and Dick jolted as far as he was able to in an attempt to escape it. “Fuck.”
“You could have enjoyed a warm shower. Now we’ll do it my way,” Slade said.
Dick shivered under the stream and then again under the gaze of a single, ice blue eye. “F-fine.” He shivered again. The water was so cold his skin felt like it was burning, painful lines of the water running down sensitive skin he was helpless to protect.
“Too late for that, kid,” Slade said. “You need a little discipline if this is going to work.”
He almost managed to sound sympathetic. Almost.
A rag was pulled out, soap poured into it. Slade did a quick but efficient job of soaping up Dick’s chest and arms. The younger man thought Slade would leave it at that but then the rag went lower and Dick nearly slipped on the bottom of the tub in his attempt to flee. “Stop!”
“Stand still. The faster we get this over with, the better,” Slade said. There was nothing inappropriate about the touch, Slade was purely clinical in getting him clean. Nonetheless, it was unwanted. The rag finally left the area that made Dick’s insides squirm with panic and cleaned down his legs. When he was finished, the rag was thrown to the end of the tub and a hand on Dick’s chest pushed him back enough to let the cold water run down his front to clear him of soap. He sputtered and shivered. “Next time, do what I tell you.”
Dick nodded frantically.
He sagged with relief when the water cut off. It ran down bare skin and dripped onto the floor of the tub, flinging off of him in droplets when he shook involuntarily from the cold. Made all the worse by the way he couldn’t curl up to seek warmth. The curtain was drawn back so Dick was forced to stand still as the drafts in the big farmhouse brushed over already tortured skin. “Please.”
Slade wore no expression as he pulled the knife out and cut the zip tie. He grabbed Dick’s chin and forced him to look him in the eye and Dick first rubbed his wrists and then wrapped his arms around himself. “Don’t ever take that attitude with me again. Do you understand? I don’t need your permission. Letting you take a shower without assistance is a privilege. Understood?”
Dick couldn’t nod with Slade holding his chin like that so he sucked in a breath and shakily replied, “Un-un-under…st-stood.” The word was warped by Dick’s teeth clattering together but it was still understandable. Slade glared at him a moment and then let him go.
A towel was thrown at him, white, and Dick wrapped it around him.
“Dry off,” Slade ordered.
There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted to dry off his naked body in front of the man but he supposed they were past that. And Dick didn’t really want to piss the man off any further right now. He pulled the towel off and started drying off body parts, doing his best to cover what he could despite having lost his dignity at the beginning.
Slade’s rough, calloused hand wrapped around the back of his neck and walked him out into the bedroom. Dick knew that Slade had never left the bathroom but there were clothes folded on the edge of the bed that hadn’t been there before. A pair of thin pants like sleep pants and a tank top.
No socks and shoes, just like Dick had expected. At least he had a shirt now but Dick noted that the clothes were hardly sufficient for the weather. Running outside in that, Dick was more likely to get hypothermia than escape to freedom.
“No underwear?” Dick asked.
“You’ll survive,” Slade said.
Dick dropped his gaze back to the clothes and then dropped the towel on the floor to pull on the items provided to him. The pants were a little big but there was a drawstring that he pulled tight and tied. The tank top fit well, if loose. The clothes made him feel that much smaller when standing next to Slade.
Dick was still shaking from the cold and rubbing his hand over the bruise undoubtedly blooming on his cheek. He could feel the tenderness which was a good indicator, despite being unable to see a mirror. Slade held open the door and Dick stepped out into the hallway. The man grabbed his upper arm again and led him down the stairs. This time, instead of stopping on the main floor, Slade reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He stood between Dick and the door, not letting the young man see which key he was using. Inside was a set of rickety wooden stairs that led to a darkness Dick could only assume was the basement.
“Walk,” Slade said.
Dick grabbed the railing and took the first step, listening to the wood creak with his descent into the darkness. He stood in the shadows, the darkness twisting as his eyes sought any form of light. He heard rather than saw Slade move and then the lightbulb turned on with a click and swung back and forth from the ceiling. Dick had to blink to adjust his vision.
There was a laptop, the same laptop from before if Dick had to guess, and a single wooden chair against a plain white wall. “Sit.”
“What are we-“
“Sit,” Slade ordered again.
Dick dropped into the chair without another word.
From this angle, Dick could see the mask beside the computer as well as a strip of material that looked like a gag. Slade pulled more zip ties out of his pocket and set them down beside the laptop as well. “I’m done fighting you. If you resist, I’m going to shoot you in the knee.”
“Got it,” Dick said softly and without prompting. He didn’t even flinch as Slade zip tied his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the two front legs of it. He’d been right about the gag and it was tied behind his head before the mask went on and Slade sent a message on his phone.
“Now we wait.”
They didn’t have to wait for long.
The call rang through and Bruce’s face filled the screen. Dick recognized his office – his degree on the wall, the pictures of Bruce with important people. A few framed photos of Dick and his brothers up beside them.
“Dick?” Bruce asked.
Dick grunted, nodding before Slade’s hands were in his hair and pulling back. Dick’s neck arched with the motion. “Wayne, you can direct your questions to me.”
Bruce’s eyes snapped up to him. “You need to let him go.”
“That’s not a question,” Slade said. “And if you’re going to waste time on your calls like that, we can stop them.”
Bruce’s lips thinned but he didn’t speak.
“You have proof of life,” Slade said. He still hadn’t let go of Dick’s hair. “Have you contacted anyone?”
Irritation flashed in his eyes. “You made it very clear what would happen if I did.”
Dick’s hair was pulled tighter, the arch to his neck more prominent. “That wasn’t an answer, Wayne. Yes or no, have you contacted anyone.”
“No,” Bruce said. “But your… employer, contacted me.”
There was a twitch to Slade’s fingers that Dick registered as annoyance. “None of my business.”
“He wanted to boast,” Bruce added, without being asked. “I’m just waiting for him to boast to the wrong person.”
Silence.
“These trials run for a long time,” Bruce said. “Can he keep his mouth shut long enough for you to complete this job and get paid?”
Silence.
“Or will he sell you out before you get the chance to get away clean?” Bruce asked.
Dick felt the tap of Slade’s thumb against his scalp. Then the older man replied calmly, “That’s under the assumption that my employer knows enough to sell me out at all.” He pulled and twisted Dick’s head to the side, using his free hand wrap around Dick’s neck. “I have the boy, Wayne, and Luthor has no idea where I’m at. I have all the leverage here. You’ll do what you’re told or I’ll make you watch while I kill him.”
Bruce didn’t react beyond a narrowing of his eyes. Not anger, consideration. Weighing the new information and trying to determine what could be done with it.
“If Luthor goes down, I will still have your son,” Slade warned. “And you will still be dealing with me for his release.”
Dick pulled at his restraints and earned a cuff to the back of the head for his troubles.
“You don’t have to hurt him,” Bruce said. When Dick looked over, the man’s eyes were on the bruise on his cheek.
“Relax, Wayne. It’s nothing that won’t heal,” Slade said. “If your boy listened when I told him to I wouldn’t have had to bruise that pretty face of his.”
Bruce was quiet and then, “Dick, just do what he says. I’m working on getting you out.”
Dick glared at him. There was no out. Dick was a dead man walking, bait to string Bruce along. The man didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Behave? Dick jerked in his restraints again.
“I’ll contact you again in a few days,” Slade said.
Bruce didn’t look pleased to have the call over already but he didn’t argue as Slade ended the call. The knife came out, the zip ties were cut. Dick flung a punch at Slade’s face. It connected and so did the next one. Slade threw him on the floor and slammed the toe of his boot into Dick’s side. He grunted and curled around it, only to catch another kick in his open side. Slade knelt down and wrapped his fingers around Dick’s neck to keep him down. It wasn’t a real pin, Dick’s arms and legs free, but enough to try and get Dick to think again.
“Boy, think real careful about what you’re doing,” Slade said.
Dick panted, trying to catch his breath when his sides were screaming in pain. “I want to go home.”
“Tough,” Slade barked. “Settle. Now.”
Dick didn’t move, the fight taken out of him with the helplessness of the situation. Fighting Slade would be hard and even if he did win, he’d have to escape the locked house and somehow make it several miles barefoot in weather so cold that snow was imminent.
The hand lifted off his neck and Dick rolled over onto his knees, arms wrapped around his vulnerable stomach. Something about seeing Bruce made this harder. Knowing the man who had seemed capable of anything once upon a time proven to be very much human, weak. It was just a painful reminder of how trapped Dick really was.
“Get up, kid,” Slade said. There was less gruffness to his tone. Almost soft, almost sympathetic. Almost. Dick reluctantly let go of his stomach and pulled himself to his feet. Fingers grabbed his chin again, forcing him to look up. Slade sighed. “This would be a lot easier if you would learn to accept it.”
“Go to hell,” Dick muttered.
Slade tapped his thumb against Dick’s jaw. “I like your spirit, kid, but I’m being paid for a job. You’re going to lose.”
~~~
Dick was locked in the bedroom again. There was a bathroom in there, Dick hadn’t even bothered to open the door to last time. Toilet, no bath. Dick found a cheap comb and a toothbrush. Toothpaste, provided. No razors. No scissors. Nothing that would be remotely useful. He pulled his tank top up to look in the mirror and found two bruises, deep purple in color, on either side of his abdomen. They stretched out from point of impact and distorted Dick’s naturally tan skin with shades of blue, black, and green. He lowered the tank top and brushed his teeth before climbing into bed.
Day Four
Dick finished the mystery novel.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER THREE
Day Five
Circuses were always moving. While the performances were bright, beautiful, and breathtaking – the real miracle wasn’t in the way Dick and his parents had seemed to fly without wings through the air. It was in the magic of a circus tent that appeared one night out of nowhere and disappeared to leave nothing behind by trampled grass and a stray peanut shell in the dirt.
Dick had long grown used to roaring applause followed by the sharp barked orders of getting things together to move again. He’d learned to love the constant motion, the roll of the earth beneath his feet as they marked an unseen path all over the country.
Up early, up late, sleeping in the middle of the day with the sun streaming through the thin hand sewn curtains covering the windows of their trailer.
That’s why he was up now, looking out of the window of his locked bedroom since he’d be stuck in here until Slade decided to wake up and let him out. There was frost on the grass, the first that Dick knew of. Snow would be coming soon.
The Christmases in Gotham were always white. Dick would be free by then, though. Someone would come looking for him and find him before Thanksgiving, let alone Christmas.
Dick sat up a little straighter as a shape moved across the grounds. It was still dark enough out that he couldn’t even make out gender but he recognized it as human and more so as a human bundled in the warmth of a thick coat. They were slender, too small to be Slade. The shape moved across the frost covered grass and disappeared into the barn. Dick watched with baited breath and waited for the shape to leave the barn again, hoping for a better look.
“It’s not coyote season,” Slade said. “So I have to wonder what you’re looking at.”
Dick hadn’t heard the key in the lock like he usually did, so Slade’s sudden presence made him jump. He turned to see the man, standing just inside the doorway. Then he turned back to the window and looked at the barn. “There was someone out there.”
Too late, Dick wondered if it was someone looking for him. Slade, however, seemed unperturbed by the news. “Wintergreen.”
“Who?” Dick asked, still watching the barn.
“My associate, of a sort,” Slade said.
The barn doors being closed, the clean clothes laid out after the shower. Things Dick had been unable to explain were the apparent acts of an unseen man behind the scenes. “What? He doesn’t like strangers?”
“I don’t trust you,” Slade replied, voice suddenly right behind him.
Dick turned again, looking up at Slade who had moved across the room to almost cage him against the windows. Slade didn’t trust him. While that wasn’t all too surprising to Dick, it was strange to hear it voiced. Slade was confident enough to let Dick have almost free reign of the house, unless the man was sleeping, and still let him use forks and knives to eat. But he wasn’t confident enough to let him around this Wintergreen person. “He’s important to you.”
Slade grabbed Dick’s shoulder and pushed him back until Dick was pressed against the window. The glass was cold against his bare neck and shoulders. “You don’t have the stomach to hurt someone, kid, so don’t try to play mind games. It’s a threat we both know you won’t follow through on.”
Dick pushed Slade’s hand away. “I never said I would hurt him.”
The fact that Slade didn’t smack him or push him into the window again felt like a good sign. Instead Dick got the same steely gaze treatment from the eye not covered by an eye patch.
“How did you lose your eye?” Dick asked, abruptly.
Slade’s eye narrowed and then he turned and walked towards the door. “Downstairs, now. If you want to eat, you’ll get a move on.”
Dick glanced back at the window and the empty field. This man, this Wintergreen, didn’t make another appearance and so Dick left the room to follow Slade down the stairs. There was another meal prepared but unlike the eggs, simple in nature, this was a full spread of seasoned bacon, eggs with cheese, and French toast complete with powdered sugar.
Dick paused at the bottom of the stairs, eyes following the spread of food over the dinner table. “I assume this breakfast wasn’t prepared by Chef Slade.”
Slade grunted in reply, close enough to sounding like an affirmative.
“Wintergreen?” Dick said, testing the name.
Slade turned and motioned towards the chair. He didn’t answer, but that seemed answer enough.
There was a plate sat in front of him. Fork, spoon, butter knife. A hand on his shoulder. “Yesterday was better. Keep it that way.”
Dick looked up, confused, and then back to the food in front of him. A complete one eighty from the simple meals Slade had been making. Plain eggs. Plain chicken. A sandwich of nothing but meat and bread. And then it hit him, this was a reward. Better food for better behavior, for not fighting.
As if Dick were nothing more than a child or a pet that could be trained with good food and a bell.
“I don’t want this,” Dick said.
Slade arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t want this,” Dick repeated. “I’m not some dog you can train to behave.”
Slade doesn’t even bother to deny it. “You’re not?”
Dick made a face and stood, pushing away to walk back upstairs.
Slade doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to. “We’ve had this conversation. I tire of repeating myself to you.”
Force feed him. Medically induced coma. The guilt on Bruce watching Dick kept subdued by machines pumping the drugs into him to keep him asleep and vulnerable.
Dick remembered but he felt trapped. Claustrophobic. His chest grew tight, air suddenly seemed like such a rare commodity – there certainly wasn’t enough in the room. He grabbed the edge of the table when his knees started shaking.
Even his skin tingled.
Why couldn’t he breathe?
There was a hand on his back and Dick looked up, gasping desperately because his lungs just wouldn’t take in air. He found Slade there, guiding him towards the other room and pushing him down on the couch.
“I c-can’t breathe,” Dick said. He wrapped his hand around his throat and placed the other on his chest where his heart was jackhammering violently. “I can’t… can’t…”
“Relax,” Slade ordered.
That was easier to say than do. “I can’t.” He felt dizzy, head spinning.
“You’re having a panic attack,” Slade replied. His voice remained calm, a calm that Dick envied. “Panicking more is only going to make it worse. You have to relax. Hold your breath.”
“H-hold my br-breath?” Dick demanded. He couldn’t breathe enough as it was.
“Hold it,” Slade said, inflecting it differently to give it the weight of an order. Dick gasped again, chest jumping like a hyperactive frog, and then nodded. He closed his lips, sealing them together, and held the air in his chest. Meanwhile, Slade kept talking in that calm, even tone of his. “It’s not a matter of not taking in enough air. You’re breathing out too much and it’s giving you the sensation of not taking in enough. Hold your breath.”
Dick waited until his chest stopped jumping and just ached from holding in the air and then let out a shaky breath. It still felt tight, his skin still tingled, but he no longer felt like he was dying.
“Breath in until I tell you to stop,” Slade ordered. “Now.”
Dick inhaled, silently counting to keep track.
One.
Two.
Three.
Slade was rubbing circles on Dick’s knee. He’d been too panicked to notice that before.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
“Exhale,” Slade ordered.
Dick counted again. He reached eleven before Slade ordered him to inhale once again. The older man had him repeat that process, telling him when to breathe in and out and Dick followed the words faithfully. The man never grew impatient or irritated, staying the perfect example of relaxation for Dick to follow.
“You can breathe,” Slade said, giving both an assurance and permission to breathe on his own. His hand stopped rubbing Dick’s knee but it didn’t lift yet. “How are you feeling?”
Dick ran a hand through his hair. “Sore. Exhausted.”
“You will for a while,” Slade said. He stood, hand leaving his knee. There was a faint heat from where the man’s hand had been. “Can you get up and eat now?”
Dick bent down, resting his head in his hands for a moment.
“Grayson?” Slade asked.
“Just a minute.” Dick could still hear how breathy he sounded and he hated it. Hated sounding weak. “Why?”
“Why what?” Slade asked.
“Why did you…” Dick motioned towards himself. “Help?”
The wooden floorboards creaked as the older man walked back towards the kitchen. “It’s just a job, kid. It’s just a job.”
It was just a job. Dick wouldn’t die from a panic attack. Slade could have reacted any way to Dick losing it the way he did and he’d chosen to react calmly and helpfully.
Dick took another few minutes, listening to the clock on the wall tick away his time there. He stood and walked across the floor to the kitchen again. The food was still there, still waiting. Slade was drinking from a mug of coffee. He showed no anger at Dick having freaked out on him.
“Thanks,” Dick muttered. Slade didn’t reply, just set a cup of coffee on the table. Upon closer inspection, Dick realized it wasn’t coffee at all but a cup of hot chocolate. The better to calm his slowly steadying heartrate. Dick glanced up but Slade was already facing the window. Dick stared at the table again and then reached forward, pulling French toast onto the plate in front of him.
Day Six
The night was cold. Not that Slade didn't keep the heater running, and Dick would hear the noises it made during the night when he woke to use the restroom, but the house was an old farmhouse and it seemed to let the cold air from the outside too easily. Which is how Dick ended up sitting on the bed with the blanket wrapped around him but still just a touch too cold to comfortably fall asleep. He'd searched the closet and the drawers in the room but there was nothing there in the way of extra blankets in the room, so he was sitting and looking out the window.
A knock at the door had Dick looking up. Slade didn't knock. If the man wanted to come in, he unlocked the door and walked into the room. "Slade?"
The locks scraped metal against metal and then the door opened to an unfamiliar man in the doorway. He was older than Slade, but not by a lot. In his hands were clothes- no, not just clothes. A blanket. "Richard?"
"Dick," he corrected immediately. "I go by Dick."
"Ah," the man said. Dick thought he might have seen a smile. "I think I may stick with Richard."
Dick found his own lips quirking up at that.
"May I come in?" the man asked.
Dick swept his arm out. "It's not really my decision."
The man sighed. "I am not Slade, Richard. If you don't wish me to enter, I'll leave these at the door."
"And then lock me in again," Dick said, bitterly. The man didn't reply to that. "You must be Wintergreen."
"I'm surprised he even mentioned me," Wintergreen replied.
"I saw you walk into the barn," Dick said. "I guess he wanted to crush any hope I had for a rescue."
"May I come in?" Wintergreen pressed again.
Dick didn't reply for a moment and then shrugged. "Yeah, you can come in."
The man stepped into the room and laid the blanket and clothes on the bed. "While I am highly fond of Slade, I am not so unaware as to think he would remember to give you an extra blanket to combat the cold. There are also warmer clothes for pajamas and clothes to change into in the morning."
"Thanks," Dick said, leaning down and pulling the blanket up. He unfolded it and covered up with it, closing his eyes at the sudden warmth and comfort stemming from the blanket. "Christ, it's so cold out."
"And only going to get colder. Probably the worst part about living out here in the countryside. Beautiful scenery but the air gets so much chillier than it does in the city," Wintergreen said.
"Yeah. I used to travel with my parents when I was younger. Trailers don't keep much of the cold out either," Dick said. "But back then it was the three of us and during the winter months they'd let me crawl into bed with them and we'd cover up together. Mama would pull the blankets back and let me squeeze in between the two of them. My Dad would pretend to be asleep but then when he thought I was asleep, he'd kiss my forehead."
It was a memory of being safe and secure, warm and connected.
Wintergreen said nothing and Dick realized he'd ended up rambling. "Sorry."
"No need to be sorry," Wintergreen replied.
"You could tell someone-"
The older man's shoulders tightened, back stiffening. Shutters closed behind his eyes and the warm if reserved feeling he'd gotten was replaced by a cold that was all too similar to Slade's. "No, I don't think that I could."
Dick curled his fingers into the blanket. "This is illegal."
"It's Slade's job," Wintergreen said. "And whatever my feelings may be on the subject, I will not get in the way of him completing his job."
"He's going to kill me," Dick said. "And you plan to stand by while he does it."
Wintergreen was quiet, but Dick could see his Adam's apple bob and the way his fingers moved as if grasping for the answers. He took a step back and fished the keys out of his pocket. "I'm glad the blanket was suitable for you, Richard."
The door closed, the locks clicked into place, and the footsteps receded from the doorway and down the hall. Dick pulled the blanket up higher and under his chin before laying his head down on the pillow. There were several more hours of dark and cold to settle through, and Dick would prefer to be asleep for as many of them as he could be.
~~~
In the morning, Dick woke to the sound of shouting from downstairs. Half of it was Slade's bellows, which Dick was familiar enough with from being on the receiving end of the man's anger. The other half was the more contained, but just as angry, shouts from what Dick could only assume was Wintergreen. Not that he'd ever heard the man yell, but there were only so many people to choose from when he'd only ever seen the two men out here.
"This is not what I agreed to, Slade!" Wintergreen shouted. They'd clearly been going at it for awhile.
Slade's response was rapid fire. "You're free to leave whenever you want, William."
"Do not distract from this, Slade. He is an innocent boy that you plan to murder in cold blood for a psychopath with a money clip," Wintergreen yellowed.
"It's none of your goddamn business who I take money from and what I take that money for," Slade bellowed.
A cacophony of noise rose from downstairs, disjointed and chaotic until Dick separated it into the sound of a door slamming and the footfalls of someone coming up the stairs.
Dick left the warmth of his own bed and walked across the floor to the window. The wooden boards under his feet were so cold they made his skin sting. He watched Wintergreen stalk from the house to the barn. That left only Slade to be the heavy footfalls walking up the stairs. Dick tensed in preparation for the door swinging open and bouncing against the wall. "Boy..."
Dick couldn't begin to figure out what he'd done to put that look on Slade's face.
"I told you not to talk to him," Slade growled.
Dick wished, suddenly, that he had not gotten out of bed. There had been something safe about being warm and wrapped in blankets that he didn't have any longer when Slade walked over and pressed one hand flat against his chest. Dick stumbled back, pinned to the wall from the force. His eyes grew wide. "What are you talking about?"
"Wintergreen. I thought I made it very clear that you were to mind your own goddamn business," Slade said. "Don't talk to him, don't bother him, don't ask questions about him. As far as you were to be concerned, he wasn't here."
"He came to me and offered blankets, I just-" Dick started.
Slade curled his hand into the shirt, thicker and long sleeved, that Wintergreen had brought during the night and pulled him closer only to slam him against the wall again. "Told him how this was going to end? Tried to convince him to let you go? Any of that sound familiar, Grayson?"
Dick swallowed. "I-"
Slade released Dick's shirt just to cover his mouth with the palm of his hand and squeeze his fingers into Dick's cheeks. "Don't make another excuse."
Dick brought his hands up and pushed against Slade's chest. He earned a reprieve of only one step back and Slade took that as his cue to backhand Dick across the face. Fire lit up his skin and he covered his cheek with his hand. "I'm sorry."
"I've been very lenient with you, boy. I've let you get away with more than I probably should. You knew you were crossing a line when you took advantage of him bringing you a blanket," Slade said. That was true. Dick had known that he was sneaking something by Slade that he'd hoped the man wouldn't find out about. Dick knew Slade wouldn't want him to say anything of the sort to Wintergreen and he'd done it anyway. "You shouldn't have settled for gratitude. I may have let the clothes and blankets slide."
Dick didn't understand until Slade grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off of him. The cold air hit his skin and Dick shivered. He smacked Slade's hands away when the man grabbed the waistband of the sweatpants to drag them down his hips. Slade knocked his chin up to glare into his eyes. "Fight me and I'll make it much worse, boy."
Dick swallowed and pulled his hands back. He cooperated in stepping out of the pants. "Slade, please. The house is freezing."
"Should have thought about that," Slade said. He grabbed the clothes in one hand and ripped the blankets off the bed. Both of them, not just the one Wintergreen had brought. The only covering he had left was a thin sheet that would do next to nothing to keep him warm. He stormed off, slamming the door shut behind him so hard it rattled. Dick shivered in the room and then walked over to the bed, climbing in and pulling the sheet up to his chin to keep as warm as he could.
Which wasn't much, not with the cold winds of the approaching winter howling outside and seeping through the cracks of an old house.
~~~
There was no knock this time. Dick was shivering, still, under the sheet and then the door suddenly opened and Wintergreen was there. Dick's eyes went to the man's shoulder, expecting Slade to be there. "Is he-"
"Quiet, boy," Wintergreen said, none of Slade's sharpness. His eyes were warm. "You know you're not supposed to speak to me."
And, apparently, now so did Wintergreen. Dick closed his lips.
Wintergreen walked into the room with a new blanket. Thicker than the original blanket but there was still only one of them instead of the two Slade had stolen. He threw it over Dick and the shivering slowed some as Dick's body began adjusting. He surprised Dick by sitting on the edge of the bed. "He's a good man."
Dick scoffed but still didn't speak.
"He is, but even good dogs will bite the hand of an owner that hits them. The world has not been kind to Slade," Wintergreen said. "He's a good man, deep down inside."
Dick stared at him.
Wintergreen seemed to sense the silent reply and amended, "Very deep."
Dick pulled the blanket up higher.
"No clothes, yet," Wintergreen said. "I'm sorry I cannot do more for you."
Dick's jaw clenched, another silent jab.
Wintergreen nodded and stood up. "I'm not sorry enough to do that."
The door closed behind him and the locks engaged once more. Dick wrapped the blanket around him and laid down against the pillow. His eyes closed and he fell asleep to the sound of the wind screaming outside the old farmhouse.
Chapter 4
Notes:
Ummmm.... yeah. This one's weird I guess.
It finally started flowing and I went with it. Also, heads up that this is the first chapter where we start skipping days. That will be more common in the future.
Warnings for forced shaving of the face, forced touching, threats of violence, threats of death, and (I'm not really sure what to call this) a character talking about looking forward to death.
On an unrelated note, for anyone still reading this far... On July 25th of 2016, I lost my grandmother. Today, January 3rd, would have been her birthday. I loved that woman with all of my heart. She was a beautiful person and she constantly encouraged me to write more and continue to be the best writer I could be. She never really understand the fanfiction thing, I don't think, but that never stopped her from supporting me as best as she could. She never put it down. I dedicate this chapter to her today, on the note that when life is at it's darkest there is still a way to find a light. May she spend her birthday with the biggest cake and the happiest people. May she feel as special as she always was. May you all find the strength and perseverance to follow your dreams. Celebrate in peace, Nana. We love you always.
Chapter Text
Day Seven
Most days, Dick woke first. It had been years since he’d been a part of the daily grind of the circus. Nearly two decades since he’d last put up the big tent with his family or rose early in the morning to begin training while the dew was still on the grass and the sun was little more than a red and orange tint on the sky.
Today Dick didn’t wake until a hand on his shoulder shook him from his dreams of soaring through the same red and orange morning sky.
“Grayson, wake up,” Slade ordered.
Dick blinked awake and then dragged his hand down his face to try and urge himself into awareness. He propped himself up on his arms and then sat up, just in time to take the clothes Slade had in his other hand. No long sleeve shirt and thick sweatpants like what Wintergreen had brought. They were back to thin lounge pants and a tank top once more. At least it was clothes, since sleeping naked – even beneath the blanket – had been a chilling experience during the night. “Thanks.”
“Get changed and hurry up,” Slade said.
Dick nodded, sliding out of the bed uncaring of how bare he was in front of Slade and pulling the clothes on once more. Again, he pulled the drawstring tight to keep the pants on his slender hips and when the tank top settled it was with one sleeve falling down his arm.
He jerked back when Slade’s hand reached towards him, not that the man seemed bothered. He just reached until Dick ran out of space to pull away and grabbed his chin. Slade’s thumb ran over his chin. “You need a shave.”
Dick reached up and felt his own cheek. It was rough, the stubble growing out well past his stage of comfort. “Yeah, well, there’s no razors and it’s been a week since you took me.”
Slade didn’t bother replying to that. Dick just felt the man rub his thumb against his jaw again. Then he let go and pulled back. “Move.”
Dick walked out and towards the stairs. Slade caught his arm again and pulled him back. “No.”
“What?” Dick asked.
Slade guided him away from the stairs and down to the other room. It was another one of the locked rooms. Slade’s room, Dick had guessed before. Slade unlocked the door and pushed Dick into the room. Much like Dick’s room there was a bathroom off of the bedroom. Unlike Dick’s room there was a razor on the sink.
“Sit on the toilet seat. Don’t fight me. Don’t argue. Don’t try something stupid,” Slade said.
Dick took a seat on the toilet seat, porcelain cool against his thighs even through the fabric of his pants. He shivered but did nothing but rest his hands in his lap. He tensed when Slade pulled out a zip tie.
“Do I need this?” Slade asked.
Dick swallowed and shook his head. He’d rather put up with whatever it was that Slade wanted than lose freedom of his limbs again. Slade pulled the towel off the metal rack and turned the water on until steam rose off of the running water, putting the towel under and letting the baby blue color turn dark as it soaked in the hot water. He flipped the water off with a finger and brought the towel over to Dick. He pressed it against his cheeks, mouth, and his neck. Dick licked his lips of the heated water droplets left there and kept his eyes on Slade as the man set the towel down. There was a brush on the sink counter beside a metal tin that Slade opened. He lathered up the brush and came back.
“No can?” Dick asked with a nervous chuckle.
“Consider me traditional,” Slade replied.
Dick swallowed and pressed his lips together as the lather was spread over his stubble. It smelled different than his own can of shaving cream at home. Not better, not worse, just different. Slade cleaned off the items already used and then picked up a razor that Dick recognized very vaguely from old movies as a straight razor. There was something far more dangerous looking about the straight razor in it’s big, sharp looking metal quality that didn’t happen in the multi-bladed one he had at home. “Wait…”
“Did Wayne not teach you to use a straight razor?” Slade asked.
Dick had felt lucky that Bruce had taught him to shave at all. “Not really.”
“Figures,” Slade replied. Dick started to stand but Slade’s hand was pressing on his shoulder to force him back down before he could even straighten his legs. “The more you move, the more I risk nicking you with this.”
Slade hadn’t hurt him, except for when he’d done something he shouldn’t have. But there was a far cry from being beaten downstairs for fighting – something that seemed at least somewhat even, despite Dick being sure that he didn’t have a chance. At least that was a fight. This was just Dick baring his neck so that Slade could bring a blade over it and trusting someone who had done absolutely nothing to earn it.
Dick’s chest tightened. He felt the threat of another panic attack on the edges of his mind and building in the confines of his lungs and-
“Breathe,” Slade ordered. “Just like I taught you to.”
Inhale for seven. Exhale for eleven. Dick nodded and closed his eyes, counting in his head and realizing that Slade had matched his breathing to Dick’s. It helped, a little.
“Are you ready?” Slade asked, when Dick had repeated the process a few times. Dick felt the air rush between his lips out and then he nodded.
The blade was pressed to his cheeks first. Up by the cheekbone and making a soft scratching noise as it was brought against the skin. It rolled, a sort of circular motion down against the skin and then up through the air and back to Dick’s cheek. A far different sensation from the smooth glide of the blade that he used for himself.
“My father taught me how to use a straight razor. Of course, my father also thought that any man who didn’t use a straight razor could hardly be called a man at all,” Slade said.
Slade had never told him anything as personal. The closest he got to a past was that thing with Wintergreen and the shouting downstairs. Slamming doors that meant something more.
Dick’s left cheek was finished and Slade moved onto the right. He finished that one in complete silence, and Dick was grateful for the silence when it came to his mouth and chin. There was a narrowed look in Slade’s gaze when he came to that part, and Dick could only imagine the difficulty involved in navigating the curves of the area.
Slade stepped away for a moment and Dick leaned over some to brush his finger over his cheek. It was smooth again, Slade’s hand meticulous even here. Dick knew which part was left, could still feel the weight of the lather on his neck, and he knew this would be the hardest part to stomach.
To his credit, Slade didn’t force the issue right away. He gave Dick a moment to get his bearings together before his fingers reached out and tilted Dick’s head back.
“Still,” Slade ordered.
Dick breathed out with each upward stroke. Slade’s hand never wavered, ever confident. And yet, something about the stroke. Something about the gentle pull against his skin, something about the sound like scratching against metal, and Dick felt the press of the blade against the center of his neck and pulled back.
Slade cursed and Dick’s skin stung. The older man grabbed his chin and jerked him forward again. Out of the corner of Dick’s eye, he could see the blade left on the edge of the counter. “You fool. Let me see your neck.”
Dick shivered at the sensation of something warm sliding down his neck. He leaned forward into Slade’s grip and let the man look and then grab a tissue to press against the nick on his skin.
“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” Slade’s voice seemed loud.
“Sorry,” Dick said.
“Don’t be sorry. Listen to what I tell you to do!” Slade snapped. “You’d have been fine if you’d just listened.”
Part of Dick knew that. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Slade made a gruff noise and for some weird reason, Dick thought for a moment he might have been forgiven. He tipped Dick’s head to make Dick look him in the eye. “Hold the tissue in place. I’m going to finish this. You’re going to stay still. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Dick said.
Slade shook his head. The red on the blade was wiped away with a swipe of another tissue and the tissue disposed of. He tipped Dick’s head back. “Don’t. Move.”
Dick held the tissue against his neck and closed his eyes again as the blade touched his neck again. In the beats of seven and then eleven, Slade seemed to finish in no time. Dick’s hand was replaced by Slade’s holding the tissue and then the man pulled it away. “You’ll live.”
“How exciting,” Dick murmured. He’d live for now.
Slade hesitated in his motions of cleaning the razor. He stepped over to Dick and crouched down. “Are you feeling alright?”
“My neck stings,” Dick answered.
“That’s not what I mean,” Slade said. “It’s a rush.”
“Getting a shave?” Dick asked.
“Having someone hold your life in their hands,” Slade replied.
Dick jittered under his skin. He leaned forward until Dick could feel the hint of Slade’s breath and said, “How did you lose your eye?”
There was no reaction. No expression. No anything. Slade stood and began putting the items away once again. “Do you want to learn how to use a straight razor?”
Dick laughed. “What’s the point? So I have a clean face when Bruce buries me? When are you going to answer my question?”
“I’ll tell you how I lost my eye when you learn how to use a straight razor,” Slade bargained.
Dick found himself smiling. “Then I want to learn how to use a straight razor.”
Slade grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him out to the hallway. Dick had to deal with a thorough pat down to make sure he hadn’t swiped anything from Slade’s bathroom and then he was sent down the stairs to eat.
Day Nine
The basement was just as cold as it was last time. Somehow Dick expected it to be colder but perhaps it just never any colder or warmer based on the outside. Dick didn’t have to be asked or instructed to sit down in the chair. He just did and the zip ties were put around his wrists and ankles. The gag was put in his mouth.
The sound of the call dragged his eyes to the computer and Bruce’s face filled the screen once again.
Nine days. Dick was keeping track. Nine days, and he was sure Bruce hadn’t shaved for any of them and showered for maybe half. He looked thin, too. Dick, even, looked better than Bruce did. He was nearly freshly shaven, regularly showered, and well-fed.
Slade put it into words. “You’re not looking too good, Wayne.”
“I’m sure you couldn’t begin to understand why,” Bruce said. “Let me talk to him.”
“No.”
Dick would tell Bruce that he was a dead man. Dick would ruin everything. Dick had seen Slade’s face, he knew Slade’s name, and those things meant that the last words he’d said to Bruce had been in anger.
It wasn’t like Dick hadn’t heard people warn that you should never go to bed angry, never leave a person without telling them how you truly felt. Dick had seen silly social media posts about wanting to go with no regrets but it wasn’t real until you had told someone you hated them… and never got the chance to tell them that it had all been a lie.
“Please,” Bruce said.
Dick didn’t think he’d ever really heard the man beg.
“No,” Slade said, just as calmly as the first time. A true professional. Not swayed by Bruce’s obvious show of emotion. It looked like Bruce was going to say it again, maybe keep saying it until Slade caved and Dick could only imagine that’s why Slade cut him off. “Mr. Luthor wants an update.”
Bruce’s eyes were on Dick.
“District Attorney,” Slade said. Two tired blue eyes went to the masked man. “An update, please.”
“It’s not going to be a short process,” Bruce said. “Anything that would end the trial now would allow for a retrial later. That’s not what you said you wanted. If you want him to get off free, you must let me take my time. Witnesses need to be examined poorly, but not so poorly that they replace me with someone else. Mistakes have to be made, but only the right amount to get him off and not so much that they don’t come back later to do this again. I’m trying.”
Bruce was really going to do it. He was going to try and lose this case to save Dick’s life. He was going to fail, but Dick had never believed that Bruce would put anything above his mission for justice. Most certainly not Dick.
“If you are pulled off this case, that’s as much a failure as anything else,” Slade warned.
“I assumed as much,” Bruce said.
Dick probably shouldn’t have spoken, but he bit out a muffled, “I’m sorry.” With the gag, the words were badly distorted. But he said them again, repeating them until Slade came over and back handed him across the face.
“Stop!” Bruce hollered.
“Relax, Wayne,” Slade said. “He’ll survive a slap across the face.”
Slade crouched down in front of him, his back to the camera. He lowered his voice. “Boy, watch your step.”
Dick’s shoulders sagged.
Slade stood up again. “I think this call is over.”
“Just let me speak to him-“
The call went dead with the press of a button.
Slade walked back over and pulled the cloth from his mouth. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. This wasn’t your fault. It’s no one’s fault. It’s money. It’s just business.”
Dick didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think there was anything to say.
“Breathe, kid,” Slade said softly.
Dick did. Inhale seven. Exhale eleven.
“It’ll be over before you know it.”
Inhale seven. Exhale eleven.
“I’ll make it quick.”
Inhale seven. Exhale eleven.
“And when this is all over, if you’ve behaved,” Slade said. “I’ll even let you write him a letter and make sure it gets to him after.”
Inhale…
Exhale…
Inhale...
Day Eleven
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“You obviously did something. He wasn’t like this.”
“Maybe his mind was weaker than I thought it was.”
Wintergreen’s huff could have been comical if Dick was paying more attention. “Don’t you dare say it like that. Don’t prove that you’re just as cold and hollow on the inside as Adeline says you are. That’s a human being. It’s bad enough to kidnap him from his family, hold him hostage, beat him. Telling him that you are planning to kill him, that was just cruel. But if you can shatter someone’s spirit and still look me in the eye like you don’t feel anything…”
“It’s regrettable,” Slade said.
“What did you do?”
“Since the last time you spoke to him? I gave him a shave, cleaned him up a bit, and did a proof of life video for the father,” Slade said. A huff before he corrected, “Former guardian.”
Silence.
“I told you,” Slade said. “I didn’t do anything. Whatever horrible image you had in your head-“
“Don’t pretend that you haven’t done terrible things, Slade.”
“Not as terrible as you imagined,” Slade said. “You spend too much time talking to Adeline.”
“I haven’t spoken to her in a year,” Wintergreen said.
“That’s one more time than you should have,” Slade said.
There was a part of Dick that knew they were talking about him. He didn’t care. He should have. He wanted to. Or he didn’t and that was the problem.
“Talk to him,” Wintergreen ordered.
Slade scoffed. “What am I going to do? He likes you. You talk to him.”
“He doesn’t trust me,” Wintergreen said.
“And you think he’s going to trust me? You said it yourself. I’ve kidnapped him, held him hostage, beaten him, and cruelly threatened him,” Slade said.
“He trusts that you’ll be cruel,” Wintergreen said. “Don’t look at me like that, Slade. Whatever can and will be said about your decisions in life, I cannot say that you have not been completely honest with the boy. He trusts you to be honest with him, and that’s more than can be said about me.”
“Well then make him trust you,” Slade said. “You know I’m no good with this, William.”
“Slade, get your ass over there and put some life into that boy. Or when he dies over there, fading away like some phantom of a person, I’m going to bury your body as close to Adeline as I can get it just to piss the both of you off,” Wintergreen said.
Dick didn’t look up as the floorboards creaked under Slade’s feet.
“Did I break you?” Slade asked bluntly.
“Does it matter?” Dick asked.
Slade sighed. “Hell if I know.”
Wintergreen cleared his throat from the other side of the room.
“It would be inconvenient if you died now,” Slade said. “And you look like a dead man.”
Dick’s lips quirked. “Do I?”
“Is that what this is? Some misguided attempt to spite me?” Slade asked.
Dick had to finally drag his eyes from the window. “Do you honestly believe that the world revolves around you so much as to think that I would just fade away and let you win? That in a matter of eleven days, you crushed me so much that I would kill myself with…what? A broken heart?”
Slade frowned, but didn’t speak.
“Do I seem so pathetic that I would break down so soon for you?” Dick asked. He dragged his gaze away from Slade and looked back out the window, resting his chin on his knee and gazing out at the big, white snowflakes as they fell from the endless white sky and onto the grass and the fields and the barn. “I thought I’d be out by the first snowfall.”
“Reality is a bitch,” Slade replied.
“And when I saw the snow, I just thought… Well, I’ll be out by Thanksgiving then,” Dick said.
“Thanksgiving is in a matter of days,” Slade replied.
“And when I realized that, I thought about Christmas…” Dick trailed off. “But I won’t be home for any of them. Not Thanksgiving. Not Christmas. Not New Years. Not my birthday. Not Tim or Damian or Bruce or Alfred’s birthday. I’m not going to be there when Damian gets his first girlfriend. I’m going to miss Tim’s graduation. I’m going to miss the next…” A broken laugh. “I’m going to miss the next election and I’ve worked my last day of work and you think you are what could put me over here and break me and that’s hysterical.”
Slade still didn’t speak.
Dick stood up, walking to the window and pressing his hand against the glass. Feeling the cold make his hand burn and then turn slowly numb. “I’m starting to think that death is going to be a damn gift when you finally do it because at least I will stop having to miss everything and at least I won’t have to put up with your egocentric bullshit that you think that you could break me now.”
Slade was still quiet and Dick looked over and there was so much visible irritation that Dick had to laugh. “You’re offended.”
“I’m…” Slade trailed off.
Dick kept his smile. “Good.” Another beat of silence. “Do you know what I hate about this room?”
“The lock?” Slade suggested.
“There’s nothing to break,” Dick replied.
Slade braced his hands against the windowsill. “You want me to bring you something to break?”
Dick snorted before he could keep it in. And then laughed because he’d snorted. There were tears rolling down his eyes and his stomach ached. It had been so long since he’d last laughed, so long and these muscles weren’t used to it but it didn’t stop it from feeling good.
“Brilliant idea, William,” Slade said sarcastically.
“At least he seems to have some life in him again,” Wintergreen replied.
Chapter 5
Notes:
I got my laptop back :D
Chapter Text
Day Fourteen
“To be quite honest,” Slade started. “I imagined that teaching you this would be not nearly as difficult as it’s turning out to be.”
Dick was holding a piece of toilet paper to his cheek where he’d managed to cut himself again with Slade’s straight razor. When he pulled it away the paper was speckled with red. He pressed his fingers against the cut which stung at the touch and they came away wet and red. He pressed the toilet paper against his cheek again. “I’m sorry I’m such a terrible student.”
“You have all the finesse of a rhinoceros,” Slade said.
“As long as I don’t have the nose of one,” Dick said.
“You’re lucky I have more patience than the man who taught me,” Slade said dryly.
Dick glanced up at him, pulling the toilet paper away again. “Your father, right?” Slade’s eye snapped down to meet Dick’s gaze. The younger man almost stepped back. Almost. “You told me last time that your father taught you how to use a straight razor. That any man who didn’t use a straight razor-“
“Didn’t deserve to be called a man at all,” Slade cut him off. “I remember, Grayson. I was there for the interaction as well.”
Dick felt for wetness again but the cut appeared to have stopped bleeding. He balled up the little piece of toilet paper and threw it in the empty waste basket. Dick wasn’t sure what might could have been in a waste basket that would have aided him but Dick doubted it was a coincidence that the trash was changed in here every time that he was allowed in. “Sounds like a traditionalist.”
“I’m a bit older than you,” Slade said. At least he sounded amused. “Which makes my father from a generation that believed in the simple things.”
“Still,” Dick pressed.
Slade crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m familiar with Wayne’s illustrious past. Not everyone’s father was a well-to-do playboy.”
That meant the man didn’t come from money. He’d made a point of pointing out Bruce’s money more than once, clearly a sticking point for the criminal. This was the most Slade had ever talked about himself and Dick ate up the chance to even the playing field – even if it was only in his own head. “What did your father do?”
“What does that matter to you?” Slade asked.
Dick hesitated. “It doesn’t, I guess. I just thought…”
“I don’t believe you need my life story to learn how to use a straight razor,” Slade said. “Try again, now that you’ve stopped bleeding like a stuck pig.”
Dick picked up the razor again. He’d butchered his left cheek a bit but he still had his right cheek and his neck to do. Dick was very wary of his neck. “I thought we were having a conversation.”
“Remember to use a rotating motion,” Slade said, instead of commenting on what Dick thought was happening.
Dick took the hint for what it was. He leaned towards the mirror to get a better look at what he was doing and then curse when the blade split his skin over his cheek. He set the blade down and grabbed another little ball of toilet paper to hold to the new cut on his cheek.
Slade sighed. “Sit down. I think I’ve watched enough for one day. I’ll finish.”
Dick looked up at him again, eyes focusing on what wasn’t there and the story behind the missing eye that Dick was irrationally desperate to learn.
“Not until you learn, Grayson,” Slade said, as if reading his mind.
Dick rolled his eyes and took a seat on the lid of the toilet as ordered.
~~~
“It appears as if you’ve lost a round with an animal, Richard.” In the doorway was Wintergreen. He was dressed simply, green shirt and comfortable looking jeans. “Perhaps a kitten.”
“There goes my pride,” Dick muttered.
“He’s learning to use a straight razor,” Slade filled in. He turned with the pan and used a spatula to push the scrambled eggs onto Dick’s plate. “Or rather, failing to learn to use a straight razor considering that he seems to be doing more damage to himself than anything else.”
“I’m trying, aren’t I? That should count for something,” Dick said. He glanced over at Wintergreen and then back to Slade. “What are you doing here anyway? Has something changed?”
Wintergreen shared a look with Slade that Dick didn’t understand, one that made Dick’s captor huff and turn back towards the stove to crack his own eggs. Wintergreen, in turn, took a seat beside Dick. “We won’t be making a habit of this, and if you cater to that nasty habit of yours in asking questions and making requests you know we cannot give you we’ll end it early… but today is Thanksgiving, Richard, and we – or rather I – believed that it might be nice to enjoy a traditionally cooked dinner for the holiday.”
Slade left the stove with the eggs behind him and stood at the table, arms crossed over his chest. It was no doubt intentional that the motion flexed the muscles in his arms to seem incredibly threatening. A steely blue eye narrowed on him. “One wrong move, boy, and you’ll spend the rest of the holiday in the basement for Thanksgiving. William thinks you can handle a modicum of slack in your leash. Don’t make me regret giving it to you.”
Dick looked between the two, fingers curling tightly around the fork in his hand. “It’s Thanksgiving?” At the nod from the older man, Dick blew out a breath. “And we’re going to do the whole Thanksgiving thing?”
“That was the idea,” Slade said. “On the condition that you behave.”
“Yeah, I got that part. Or I spend the rest of the day in the basement. I heard it loud and clear, I just can’t believe you agreed to that,” Dick said.
Wintergreen smiled but Slade didn’t react.
Dick swallowed. “Sorry.”
“You can help cook,” Slade said. “But let me make things abundantly clear. You pick up anything I don’t expressly instruct you to pick up, you grab anything I don’t intentionally give you, you attempt to make a break for it while you think I am otherwise occupied and that will be the end of it.”
Cooking meant cooking utensils. Forks and knives, weapons that Dick had been fantasizing about getting his hands on. Dick sort of understood why Slade was so adamant about making sure he knew the consequences of acting up. Dick nodded. “I get it. I swear. I won’t do anything stupid.”
“Good,” Slade said. “Eat your damn breakfast. We’re watching the game. I don’t want to hear any arguments otherwise.”
“What about the parad-“
“We’re watching the game,” Slade said, voice brokering no room for argument.
Dick sighed. “Okay. The game. Got it.”
Slade hummed at that before finally turning back towards the stove. Wintergreen watched him and let out a soft sigh that Dick got the impression he didn’t mean to make audible. “Eat up, Richard.”
Dick nodded.
The game was about as interesting as he’d expected. Dick had never much cared for sports like these. He’d played a few during high school but he’d always been more about playing than watching. Sitting on the couch, Slade drinking a beer though Dick was never offered one, and watching two teams run around chasing after a ball wasn’t Dick’s idea of fun. Still, it was something that almost seemed like normalcy and then Wintergreen tapped him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come join me in the kitchen while Slade finishes up his game on the television?”
Dick jumped at the chance. From the kitchen, the sound of the TV could be heard like a muffled conversation just far enough away not to be understood. Not that Dick considered that much of a loss. “Just so you know, I’m not really talented in the kitchen. Not that I don’t know how, it’s just really easy stuff. Bruce’s butler, Alfred, he’s always been family to us but he usually does most of the cooking.”
“Ah, to be raised in the lap of luxury,” Wintergreen said. “No worries, Richard. Slade isn’t much of a cook either. We both learned the basics to keep ourselves alive but whereas I decided that I didn’t want to eat plain military food for the rest of my life, Slade has determined that he’s content to live that way. Who am I to tell him differently?”
“Slade was in the military?” Dick asked. He’d suspected as much but he was surprised to get validation for his guess.
Wintergreen hesitated. “Perhaps we could keep that slip of the tongue to ourselves, Richard?”
“Yeah, sure,” Dick said.
Wintergreen wrapped his hand around Dick’s arm. “I’m serious. You’ll remember how the last interaction went.”
With Dick freezing in his room naked and cold. It had been a far from pleasant experience that Dick had little interest in repeating. “I remember. I won’t say anything, I swear.”
The grip tightened before releasing. “Good. Good man.”
Dick rubbed his arm as Wintergreen turned around.
There was a good plenty of things that Dick wasn’t allowed to do. Anything that involved a knife was out of the question. Wintergreen never made a big deal out of it but Dick felt the absence anyways. It something was to be stirred or mixed, that was automatically Dick’s job, but Wintergreen made a point to send him across or out of the room when he used the knife. He was closely watched with the fork, which seemed ridiculous considering he often ate his meals with one, and even the thermometer with its long, pointed tip.
“How’s it coming in here?” Slade asked.
“Richard is an excellent assistant. Something that cannot be said about you,” Wintergreen said.
Slade shrugged. “I told you this was too much. If you didn’t want to do it, you shouldn’t have.”
“Your gratitude on this day of thanks is much appreciated, Slade,” Wintergreen said.
Slade’s single eye rolled and he set his beer down on the counter. “How long to go?”
“About an hour, I think,” Wintergreen said. “The turkey is just about done.”
“Who won?” Dick asked.
Slade arched his eyebrow. “Tell me the name of either of the teams that were playing and I’ll answer that.”
Dick opened his mouth. “One was…” He really hadn’t been playing that much attention. “Okay, I don’t know.”
Slade huffed. “That’s what I thought.”
“Can’t fault me for trying to make conversation,” Dick said.
“Watch me,” Slade said.
“We could still catch the end of the parade,” Dick suggested.
“You’re cooking,” Slade said.
Dick sighed. “Do you have something against parades?”
Slade didn’t reply to that. He just picked up his beer again and took a drink.
“We used to watch it together,” Dick said. “Not my mom and dad and I. We didn’t have a TV at the circus so that wasn’t really a thing we did. But Bruce and Alfred and I. And then eventually Jason and Tim and Damian.”
Slade’s grip tightened on the bottle but Dick was too involved in mixing the pumpkin pie mix to notice. His own expression tightened. “It’s one of those rare days that Bruce takes the day off for and we all sit around the TV…”
He trailed off and looked up. Slade’s expression had never changed and Wintergreen’s back was too him. It might have been his imagination but Dick thought Wintergreen’s shoulders might have looked stiff.
“Sorry,” Dick murmured.
“Go watch your damn parade,” Slade said.
Dick’s eyes snapped back to him. “What?”
“Go,” Slade ordered. “And get back in the kitchen the moment it’s over.”
Dick looked over to Wintergreen who smiled and nodded. “Slade can help me with what’s left.”
Dick grinned and set the bowl and spoon down before darting out of the kitchen to leap over the back of the couch and land on the cushion. He grabbed the remote and changed the channel. It was a little over half over but Dick didn’t even care.
“Stop vaulting my furniture, boy!” Slade called out.
When the parade had ended, Dick turned off the TV. He hoped that Bruce hadn’t forgone this tradition for the boys just because of Dick. Bruce was so good at punishing himself and Dick didn’t like the image of Bruce ignoring his family to labor over this case. If Bruce had joined them like he should have, Dick could almost pretend that they’d watched it together.
“Is it over already?” Wintergreen asked.
“Yeah,” Dick said. “It was more than half over when I got out there.”
Wintergreen frowned. “Sorry, Richard.”
“It’s okay. It was still cool to watch,” Dick said. He pulled himself up onto a clear spot on the counter. “Thanks, Slade.”
“Counters are for glasses, not asses. Get yours off mine,” Slade said, grabbing Dick by the back of the neck and squeezing as he pushed him forward.
“Ow!” Dick exclaimed. He scooted forward and dropped back down to the floor. “I got it, I got it. I’m off the counter.”
Slade let go. “Go help William.”
Dick grumbled but moved back across the kitchen to Wintergreen’s side. “What can I do for you?”
“There are oven mitts in the drawer over there. Put them on and pull the turkey out of the oven for me?” Wintergreen asked.
Dick nodded and grabbed said oven mitts. He pulled the turkey out and set it on the top of the stove. Wintergreen looked it over and checked the temp before stepping back. “It’s good.”
“Finally,” Slade muttered.
“Go set the table, Slade,” Wintergreen said. “I’ll start carrying the dishes out to the dining room.”
The man grabbed the cranberry sauce, knocking the oven mitt off onto the floor. Dick tried to catch it but missed. Wintergreen was walking away already so Dick knelt down to pick it up, barely catching a glint out of the corner of his eye. He abandoned the mitt and reached for that instead. His hands wrapped around the handle and he pulled out the knife. It had been cleaned before being dropped, the blade shining enough to see a vague reflection of himself in the metal. The sink was pretty close, no doubt having been washed and then callously forgotten. Dick’s hand tightened around the knife.
Dick was normally not allowed around anything like this. No blades, no razors, no remotely sharp objects without Slade’s express supervision. He looked over his shoulder to where Slade and Wintergreen were setting the table, assured that all of the knives were out of his reach except they weren’t.
He looked back down at it and then quickly slid it in the front of his sweatpants. He had to tie the string around the handle to keep it from sliding down his pant leg and even then he was mildly paranoid that it would fall and cut something on the way down.
“What are you doing on the floor, boy?” Slade asked.
Dick grabbed the oven mitt. “Wintergreen dropped this.”
Slade narrowed his eye. He watched Dick for a moment and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Get the rest of the stuff out to the table.”
“Got it,” Dick said. He grabbed the pumpkin pie, making a conscious effort not to react to the cold metal pressed against his thigh where the blade was hanging. He walked past Slade who then moved to the fridge. Only when the man grabbed another beer did Dick feel remotely relaxed.
Thanksgiving dinner was a sort of awkward affair from the moment they sat down. Wintergreen cut the turkey for them and Dick heaped large portions of it and everything else onto his plate. Mountains of mashed potatoes swimming in gravy next to turkey and stuffing sat before him. Cranberry sauce and two dinner rolls had to fit on a smaller plate beside it.
Dick leaned forward and the blade shifted against his leg. He hesitated and lowered his fork to the plate.
Wintergreen frowned. “Is everything alright, Richard?”
Dick forced a smile. “Yeah, everything looks amazing. I just need to use the bathroom.”
Slade narrowed his eye again but Dick only pushed his chair back and walked past him to the hallway where the downstairs bathroom was. He closed the door, there was no lock on it but he leaned against the door for even the semblance of privacy. He closed his eyes and pulled the knife up and untied it. The metal had heated up some from being hidden under his clothes and pressed up to his body heat. He took a deep breath.
It should be simple. Hide the blade and bring it out at the last moment. Slade’s back was to the hallway so if Dick was quiet enough, moved quickly enough, didn’t give anything away then he could just stab Slade in the back and this would all be over.
Wintergreen would be upset. It wasn’t hard to read the friendliness between them. From the way the older man had spoken, he and Slade had served in the military together. That meant Wintergreen might be a problem. Hopefully he’d be too concerned with Slade to take off after Dick. Once Dick was out of the house, he had to trek across God only knew how far to get away.
Slade had said the next person was miles away. Miles in the snow with no shoes. Dick would do best to follow the road. If it was clear, Dick might last a hell of a lot longer before frostbite set in.
He made a show of flushing the toilet, just in case Slade was paying attention, and turned on the sink for the sound of running water. He put the blade at the small of his back and pulled his shirt down over it before turning off the water. He opened the door and stepped back when Slade was waiting on the other side.
“What the hell?” Dick demanded.
“Hand it over,” Slade ordered.
Dick’s heart beat a bruise against his chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Whatever you’re hiding,” Slade said.
“I’m not-“
“Don’t lie to me, boy,” Slade said. “Last chance. Turn it over.”
Dick swallowed. “I’m not lying, Slade.”
Slade grabbed Dick by the neck. He squeezed and Dick wrapped both hands around the man’s massive forearm. “I warned you, kid.” He let go just long enough to slam him face first into the bathroom wall. Slade pat him down, sides first, and then landed at the small of his back where Dick cringed as he lifted up Dick’s shirt to grab the knife.
A hand wrapped around the back of his neck and yanked him back from the wall. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“I’m getting real tired of hearing that, like you don’t know how the rules work,” Slade said. He pushed him back out to the dining room.
Wintergreen stood. “Slade, what-“
The knife was stabbed into the table. “Keep the knives out of his reach. That’s all I asked, William. I’m lucky he’s a shit liar, because if I’d trusted you to do your damn job I’d have a knife in my back right about now.”
Dick glanced up and something about the disappointed look in Wintergreen’s eyes reminded him of Alfred. He felt about as big as an ant.
“I’m sorry, Slade. I don’t know where he could have gotten it fr-“
“Save it,” Slade said. He dragged Dick back, who stumbled to keep up.
“Slade, where are you taking him?” Wintergreen asked.
“I told him at the beginning he could behave or he could spend the holiday in the basement. He made his decision,” Slade snapped.
Wintergreen followed after them, hurried steps. “It’s Thanksgiving, Slade. He made a mistake. Just let him finish dinner.”
Slade opened the basement door. “I tried to be nice by letting him have this damn dinner, William. Now I’m out of mercy.”
Dick’s arms flailed as Slade shoved him forward. His fingers skimmed the railing but missed getting a decent grasp on it. He hit the stairs with his shoulder and then tumbled down, ending with his arm caught under him. He heard a crack before he felt the burning pain in his forearm.
He cried out, curling his arm against his chest. Probably broken, based on the pain.
Wintergreen’s voice was muffled. “Christ, Slade. I think you really hurt him.”
“If he’s crying about it, then he’s alive,” Slade snapped.
“Let me look him over,” Wintergreen said. “Make sure he’s okay.”
The door locked at the top of the stairs. “Go back to your dinner, William. I’ll look him over tonight.”
Dick waited, prayed for Wintergreen to argue again and convince Slade to let him be seen. His arm was screaming in pain and Dick didn’t even know how he was going to hold out until one of them came down hours later. Instead, two sets of footsteps faded away from the door and Dick groaned before rolling over onto his side. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of anything but the pain.
~~~
Dick had managed to move to the wall and lean against it when the door opened at the top of the stairs. His arm was still curled against his chest but he’d stopped crying. The pain hadn’t numbed any but after what he was sure had been hours downstairs, he’d grown used to it almost.
He looked up, expecting Wintergreen for some reason, and looked back down when he saw Slade.
The man came over and set down first a plate of food and then a bag. He unzipped the bag and Dick could see medical supplies inside. “Give me your arm.”
Dick hesitated but eventually uncurled his arm for Slade to take. He hissed when Slade roughly grabbed it and looked it over.
“Damn sure broke it,” Slade muttered. He looked up. “You stupid son of a bitch. Didn’t I tell you?”
Dick looked away.
“Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you,” Slade growled. “I told you, boy. I had very few rules if you wanted to enjoy William’s foolish attempt at a holiday. I let you watch that damn parade. A smidge of gratitude would not be out of the goddamn question.”
“I know,” Dick whispered.
“Then what the hell were you thinking? You know I’ve never made an idle threat since the day I grabbed you,” Slade said.
“I miss them,” Dick said softly. He grunted as Slade moved his arm into place and then splinted it. “It’s Thanksgiving and they’re together and I wanted to go home.”
Slade wrapped the split to keep his arm in place, looking over the work before letting go of his arm. “You’re not going home. I thought we’d gotten that through your thick skull.”
Dick pulled his arm back against him. “Knowing you’re going to kill me when this is over doesn’t stop me from wanting to see them again. It’s my family.”
“It’s over, Grayson,” Slade said. “It’s over. You’re not going to see them again. This won’t be the last Thanksgiving they have without you.”
Dick felt tears build up in his eyes again. He’d never been much of a crier, honestly, but the thought of never getting to see them again was just hitting hard. “I hate you.”
“I know,” Slade said, more gently probably than he’d said anything else. “I brought a plate of food down for you. There’s pumpkin pie left over for tomorrow. Eat dinner down here and then I’ll take you upstairs.”
Dick pulled the cheap paper plate over. It didn’t have as much as he’d piled on before and Dick felt another burst of regret. Not about the arm or Slade’s anger, but because he really wished he’d just been allowed to sit at the dining room table and enjoy the meal. Eat a piece of pumpkin pie he’d helped make.
He used the fork to pick at the stuffing first. “Did Wintergreen give you this to bring down?”
“No,” Slade said dryly. “I’m capable of making a plate of food myself.”
Dick paused before replying. “I didn’t-“
“I get it, kid. You want to go home. I don’t fault you wanting, but I’ve made the rules clear and I’m not going to go belly up out of the kindness of my heart because your feelings are hurt,” Slade said. “So eat the damn food so we can go upstairs. I’ve got to figure out how to get your arm casted.”
Dick looked down at it. “Can I have some painkillers?”
“After you eat,” Slade said. “And nothing stronger than ibuprofen, understood?”
Dick nodded.
“Don’t come after me with a knife again, Grayson,” Slade said. “I’ll give you a hell of a lot worse than a broken arm the next time you try to attack me.”
“I got it,” Dick said. The food was a bit cold but it was still good.
Slade gave him some painkillers and walked him upstairs to the bedroom. He threw an extra blanket in and then looked at Dick. “Be careful with that arm.” The door closed and locked and Dick dropped onto the bed. The cold air outside made him shiver so he grabbed the extra blanket and covered himself up.
Chapter 6
Notes:
I really, really tried desperately to hold onto this chapter until next Saturday but... honestly, I kind of suck at self discipline. So here ya go. Enjoy. Yes, I'm not dead. I know that comes as a shock.
Chapter Text
Day Fifteen
Dick’s arm ached to the beat of his heart in the morning. A dull throb that started as a pinprick of pain and then swelled out to the tips of his fingers and the joint of his shoulder before shrinking back to a pinprick once more. There was no comfortable position, no angle to hold it at, that made his arm feel any better. The over the counter painkiller Slade had given him last night had long worn off and without a dose the pain had woken him in the wee hours of the morning.
There were more tears at that point. Not even from the pain as much as from not being able to sleep. It seemed all so petty when Dick knew that his death was coming, that he could not even enjoy however many nights of sleep he had left. As much as he wanted to hate Slade for that… it was his own damn fault.
Slade was right. Dick had known the rules. He’d agreed and promised not to try anything. He’d lost Thanksgiving because he couldn’t keep to that promise. He’d be up in the wee hours of the morning wishing that he could sleep because he couldn’t just enjoy a Thanksgiving meal. Slade was right, this was Dick’s fault.
Dick didn’t look up when the door opened.
“Are you back to moping?” Slade asked.
Dick considered for a moment and then shook his head.
“It sure as shit looks like you’re back to staring out the window like some Civil War era heroine,” Slade said.
Dick snorted. “My arm just hurts, Slade. I don’t feel good and I’m tired. I’m not moping.”
“Get up,” Slade said. “I’m going to look it over and then I’ll give you some more pain medication.”
Dick cradled his arm to his chest as he wiggled out of bed. He shuffled over to Slade and let the man take his arm and look it over. It hadn’t moved in the splint but it was still just a short term solution.
“We’re going to have to get it cast,” Slade muttered.
Dick pulled his arm back and was almost surprised when Slade let him without a fight. “I don’t think you have the supplies in that stupid bag of yours.”
“You’d be right,” Slade said. “Go downstairs and get something to eat. I need to talk with Wintergreen.”
“Can I see Bruce?” Dick asked.
“No,” Slade said.
“Slade, please. I just-“
“No,” Slade interrupted. “With the broken arm you send the wrong message. No videos unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Dick didn’t argue. He wasn’t going to win that argument. It hurt too damn much to know that he wouldn’t be getting to see them until the arm was healed. Christmas was right around the corner; just one more holiday that Dick would have to go without even seeing his family. It was his own damn fault. Dick should have just been grateful for the damn Thanksgiving dinner they were going to let him eat.
“Downstairs,” Slade ordered.
Dick stepped past Slade who closed the bedroom door behind them. Wintergreen was downstairs already. Dick looked away when the man turned around to greet him. “Hello, Richard.”
Slade gripped the back of Dick’s neck tightly. Dick heard him open his mouth to speak but he already knew what was coming. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Dick wasn’t sure which of the men was more stunned. Wintergreen’s eyes pinched in the corners and Slade’s grip slackened. Wintergreen stepped forward, setting the plate on the table as he did. “It’s in the past, Richard. I think it’s best if we leave it there.”
Dick could still remember the disappointment on Wintergreen’s face and- Yes, he was just as complicit in Dick’s kidnapping as Slade was but he’d tried to make things easier. It should have mattered. Dick still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it that way last night. Dick nodded and took advantage of Slade’s lax grip to step away and take a seat at the table.
“Can I talk to you, William?” Slade asked.
Two sets of footsteps left the dining room and kitchen area, and then Dick could just barely make out their muffled conversation.
“….arm needs…”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have….”
Slade hushed him and then, “….late…….figure something...broken...and I don’t….”
Dick snapped his head back down to the plate when Slade peered around the corner and narrowed his eyes at him. Their voices grew quieter from there and Dick couldn’t make out anything. He focused on eating his food and babying his arm against his chest until their conversation ended and they returned to the kitchen.
Dick was down to a few bites which he was currently pushing around the plate as if they were toy soldiers, a hash brown army fighting the last bite of a sausage patty over the border of a half of a strip of bacon.
“We have to get the arm cast,” Slade said.
“You mentioned that upstairs,” Dick replied.
Slade’s fingers in Dick’s hair surprised him enough that Slade had no problem pulling him out of his chair and onto his feet. The fork slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Slade’s eye bore a hole right through him. “You’ve already had your arm broken. I would think you’d temper your tongue a bit.”
“I wasn’t trying to backtalk,” Dick said. “I was just saying that you already mentioned it, but you also said that you couldn’t do it here so I don’t really see what it matters.”
Wintergreen knelt down to pick up the fork. “Slade, he wasn’t trying to mouth off to you. Let me give him a real painkiller so he can sleep and we can figure something out.”
Slade’s jaw clenched and Dick could swear that he could hear his teeth grinding. Finally he let go and Dick stumbled back, rubbing the top of his head. “Go upstairs. Wintergreen can bring you a painkiller.”
Within five minutes there was a knock at the door preceding it swinging open. Wintergreen set a cup of water down and a single pill. “This should be strong enough to let you get some real sleep. You don’t have any allergies do you?” Dick shook his head. “Richard?”
Dick looked up.
“Richard, he didn’t mean to break your arm.”
Dick shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s broken. Whether it was intentional or not, it’s done and over with. The past is in the past, isn’t that what you said?”
“We’ll figure out something so that it heals properly,” Wintergreen replied.
“What does a dead man need with a good arm?” Dick asked.
Wintergreen’s lips thinned and then, “You’re not dead yet.”
“Ever heard the term ‘dead man walking’?” Dick asked. He picked up the pill and swallowed it with the water. Dick laid on the bed, facing away from Wintergreen. He was asleep by the time the man left and closed the door behind him.
Day Sixteen
There was a pill on the end table when Dick woke up. He swallowed it and the world dimmed once more.
Day Seventeen
“Wake up.”
“You sound like a drill sergeant,” Dick mumbled into the pillow.
“You sound like you need one,” Slade said. “Get your ass out of bed.”
Dick sat up and rubbed his eyes with his good hand. The other ached but nowhere near as bad as before. “Whatever Wintergreen gave me at for the pain is great.” He stood beside Slade, wobbling with the sudden height. A hand on his shoulder kept him from taking a nose dive into the wooden floorboards.
“Walk,” Slade ordered.
Dick took one step forward and the floor rushed up towards his face. Then it stopped and Dick slowly reached one hand out to brace against the floor. The floor fell back away and Dick was twisted around. It took far too long for his drug addled mind to realize that Slade had stopped him from falling and then picked him up in his arms. His arm throbbed. “Do you have another pill?”
“I think another pill is the last thing that you need right now,” Slade said.
Dick laid his head on Slade’s shoulder. “I want to call Bruce.”
“I know you do,” Slade said.
Dick closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of Slade’s aftershave
He woke up again, curled up on the couch. Someone had tossed a blanket on him. He pulled it up under his chin and laid his head on the pillow again. The sound of the TV was like white noise in the back of his mind and the warm hand on his ankle was a comforting presence.
“Kid, you awake?”
Dick shook his head. This answer proved to amuse Slade who barked out a laugh. The hand pulled away, leaving Dick’s ankle cold. He pushed his foot out until it ran into Slade’s thigh. After a pause, the hand returned to his ankle. Comfortable once more, Dick fell asleep.
Day Eighteen
Hunger was the alarm that woke Dick up this time. He wasn’t even quite sure what day it was at this point. The bits of the past few days he could remember were foggy. Wisps of grayed out and distorted images and disconnected sounds.
His stomach grumbled and he shifted. It was only then that Dick realized that at some point he’d moved from the pillow, because now his head was on Slade’s lap instead. He squeezed his eyes shut and stilled again. Prayed that Slade wouldn’t realize that Dick had woken.
Of course it didn’t work out that way. “How are you feeling, kid?”
Dick blinked. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m sure you are. You’ve basically slept for the past seventy two hours,” Slade said.
Nearly three days. Dick wouldn’t believe it if not for the hunger pains in his stomach and the growl that made Slade arch an eyebrow. A rough hand cupped Dick’s cheek and he rocked back from it.
“You’re a mess,” Slade said, letting his hand fall.
Dick sat up on his own and away from Slade. “How did I end up in your lap?”
“You’re quite an active sleeper,” Slade said. Dick waited for further explanation but he didn’t receive any. “You can eat on the way.”
Dick frowned. “On the way where?”
“We need to get your arm cast,” Slade said.
His hunger was instantly forgotten and his mind broke free of the haze and snapped into clarity, expression slackening. “We’re leaving the house?”
Slade caught Dick’s chin. “I can see the wheels turning, boy. Don’t get a smart idea in your head.”
“You’re taking me out of the house,” Dick repeated.
Slade’s grip tightened. “You’re not listening to me.”
“I am,” Dick said. He wrapped his hand around Slade’s wrist and tightened it. “I’m listening. Don’t do something stupid. I know. But I can still get excited about going out. I’m not talking about escaping just… seeing more than these walls again.”
“One time. Long enough to get the cast on,” Slade said, only to add cruelly, “You probably won’t even live long enough to get the cast off.”
Dick teetered back at the reminder. “I’m aware.”
“Are you?” Slade demanded.
“I am,” Dick said. “I’m aware. I just want to see the outside again. It’s a chance I didn’t think I’d get.”
Slade narrowed his eye and then abruptly let go of his chin. “There are clothes and shoes up in your room. Get dressed. We’ll go over the rules in the car.”
Jeans, a size too big, and a blue t-shirt were what was provided. There were also a pair of tennis shoes and a pair of socks, both of which he slipped on. When he got downstairs, Slade had a jacket in his hands. “You’ll need help but first, arms out to your sides and face the wall.”
Dick did as he was ordered, hearing the swish of the jacket being thrown over the chair. Slade’s hands patted up and down his arms, down his sides and then down his legs. Dick waited until Slade stepped back. “Good?”
“Keep your arms out,” Slade said, without responding to the question. He helped Dick first into the left sleeve and then into the right. Standing in front of him, Dick couldn’t help but try to see Slade’s eye as the man zipped up the jacket and pulled up the hood for him. “Listen very carefully. You are not to speak without permission. You are not to tell anyone what is going on. If you are asked, your name is Richard Smith. Look at me and repeat what I just said.”
Dick nodded. “I’m not to speak without permission. I’m not to tell anyone what is going on. If asked, my name is Richard Smith.”
Slade huffed but then guided Dick towards the door. He unlocked it with one of the many keys and then held the door open. “Be careful. The steps are slick and you’ve already broken one bone.”
The snow crunched under his shoes. The wind was a surprise. It had been so long since he’d been outside that the howling sound of winter wind had started to feel distant. It burned his cheeks and stole his breath. Dick grinned. “It’s cold.”
“No shit,” Slade said. “I would have thought the snow had given it away.”
Dick stepped off the stairs and kicked the snow. Flakes flew up into the air and got caught up in the wind. They flew back at Dick’s face and Slade smacked Dick in the back of the head. “Enough.”
Dick rubbed the back of his head. He shuffled the snow around between his feet for a moment, still and then walked over to the barn.
“I had hoped the painkillers had worn off by this point,” Slade muttered. He opened the passenger door and let Dick climb in.
“Oh, they did,” Dick said. He pulled his arm in closer to his chest. “It hurts. A lot.”
“You seem a bit high,” Slade said.
Dick rolled the window down just a crack, inhaling the sharp cold air until Slade rolled it back up and then hit the window lock button. Dick sighed. “That’s easy for you to say. You get to leave the house. I have cabin fever.”
“It’s been a little over two weeks,” Slade said. “You act as if you’ve been trapped in there for two months.”
“It’s felt like two months,” Dick countered.
“If you’re still alive two months from now, I’ll ask you if you still agree with that statement,” Slade said.
Dick watched the trees blur past the window. “How will you do it?”
Slade glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. There was a click and Dick realized he’d locked the doors. Dick wasn’t going to jump. Maybe it would kill him, but more than likely he would just injure himself and be incapable of running anyways. “Quick. A bullet to the head. You won’t feel a thing.”
Hell, Dick probably wouldn’t even hear it go off. “Are you going to warn me?”
The question gave Slade some pause as Dick actually watched the consideration on his face. “Do you want me to?”
“Um,” Dick started. The idea of being shot and not knowing seemed so abrupt. Not knowing it was coming, making plans. He could wish Wintergreen a good night and lay down and Slade could end it and Dick would never even know. If there was no life after death, then Dick would spend his last moments of thought unaware of them being the last moments. It would save him from having to live with the fear… “Yes.”
“You’re more likely to fight,” Slade pointed out.
“Which is why you might ignore my request anyways,” Dick said. “But if it’s up to me, choosing not to know seems cowardly. I would want to know and see it coming. I would want you to have to look me in the eyes when you shoot me.”
“I’ve shot men in the head before who I’ve stared down as I pulled the trigger,” Slade said.
“Do you remember them?” Dick asked.
Slade stopped at a red light. He used the moment to spare Dick a look. His eye narrowed. “Yes, I do.”
“Then I would get what I wanted out of it,” Dick said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Slade said.
Their drive into the city took them to the worst part of town. Here the windows were boarded up or had bars on the windows, and padlocks protected closed stores. Graffiti covered large chunks of brick where chunks had long been blown away by gun fights. Only bullet holes and specks of dried blood remained.
The clinic was small and going to the dogs. It wasn’t well taken care of. The windows were dirty, the parking lot was faded, and the neon sign on the door had a broken letter which left the bright red glow only reading PEN. “Do they sell organs in their spare time?”
“It’s an inner city clinic. They don’t ask a lot of questions,” Slade said.
Dick didn’t point out that Slade’s answer didn’t exactly answer Dick’s question. Slade opened the door for him and then used a hand around the back of Dick’s neck to guide him towards the front door.
There were a few people inside. One woman dressed in rags and carrying a bag with what looked to be every single one of her possessions that had a cough that rattled her chest. A man with a cut on his face and a chatter to his teeth from the cold. A mother and a baby, both crying to fill the otherwise silent room with noise.
“Can we help you?” The receptionist pursed her lips at them and used the tip of her pen to push a stringy strand of gray hair away from her temple.
“He has a broken arm. We need to see the doctor,” Slade said.
“Take a seat,” she said, holding out a clipboard. “Fill out the paperwork.”
Slade took the clipboard and then guided Dick to a seat. He looked over the paperwork and then glanced at Dick. “Anything I need to know?”
“I had my tonsils removed when I was ten,” Dick said. “And my appendix removed when I was seventeen.”
Slade took to the clipboard, filling out the information as he saw fit. Dick glanced at the paperwork a few times but it wasn’t like there was anything really interesting there. He was filled out as Richard Smith – not that he believed anyone would actually believe that was his real name nor that they would care enough to bring it up – and then Slade put the pen in his hand. “Sign.”
Dick took the pen. He considered signing his real name but in the end was careful to make the big S to match his R and spelled out the fake surname that Slade had given him.
Slade took the pen instantly. “Don’t move.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dick said.
Slade walked the clipboard over and handed it to the woman. Meanwhile Dick watched the woman rock her baby and whisper soft nothings to it in a desperate attempt to calm it down. She was so young. Tim’s girlfriend Stephanie had a kid about that age, and looked to be just about as old as her. Dick had babysat the kid a few times. Bruce said he needed to let the two of them take responsibility but kids should get the chance to be kids. And Dick happened to like the little squirt.
Dick stood and walked over. “Can I help?”
A pair of chocolate brown eyes looked up. “What?”
“You look a bit stressed,” Dick said. “They can sense that. I can take them for a moment.” She swallowed but eventually desperation won out. She handed the baby to him. Dick cradled the child in his good arm. They were swaddled in a blue blanket. “What’s his name?”
“Her name. Ella,” she replied.
“Sorry, I saw the blue blanket. I shouldn’t have assumed,” Dick said.
“It’s okay,” the woman said. She smiled a bit. “I get that a lot. I just really like blue.”
Dick chuckled. “Me too.”
The baby didn’t quiet down right away but eventually she hiccupped and then closed her eyes. Dick handed the blanket wrapped baby back to the mother. She laid her against her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Dick said. He winced when Slade’s hand squeezed down on his shoulder. The woman’s eyes flickered up past his shoulder. “I should go.”
“You should,” Slade agreed.
Dick took a step back and then Slade dragged him the rest of the way. He pushed Dick into the chair. “Slade-“
“Repeat the rules to me,” Slade ordered.
“I’m not to speak without permission. I’m not to tell anyone what is going on. If asked, my name is Richard Smith,” Dick repeated reluctantly.
“Do you see the problem?” Slade asked.
Dick’s shoulders dropped. “I was just trying to-“
“Boy, when I ask a question I expect you to answer it,” Slade interrupted.
“I shouldn’t have talked to her,” Dick muttered.
“No, you shouldn’t have. If your stupid face shows up on the TV, she could remember the boy who helped quiet her baby,” Slade said. “The wisest decision would be to kill her before it comes to that.”
Dick felt the blood drain from his face as his head snapped up. “Slade, no. Please. I won’t talk to anybody else. She has a baby.”
Slade gripped Dick by the neck. “Don’t do it again.”
Dick nodded as much as he could with Slade’s hand around his neck. Dick felt a gaze on him and looked up to catch the mother watching him as Slade stepped back. Dick lowered his eyes instantly, not wanting to draw attention to her from Slade.
“Mr. Smith?”
Dick stood and Slade walked with him to where the woman was standing, a dark haired middle aged woman wearing a white jacket and a stethoscope around her neck. Dick wanted to ask why the baby didn’t get to go first. The woman coughing, the man bleeding. Slade’s tight grip around his upper arm kept him silent. He’d rather them get to go first, they seemed to need it more, but he knew that pointing that out when Slade had just threatened to kill someone because Dick had talked to them. He wasn’t going to really piss the man off by pushing his luck.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith. My name is Dr. Thompkins,” the doctor said. She held out her hand.
Dick glanced at Slade before holding his hand out. He was quiet. “Same.”
“This is Richard,” Slade said.
Dr. Thompkins cut her eyes to Slade. “And you are?”
“A friend,” Slade said.
A frown creased her face but she nodded and led Dick to a room in the back. She motioned to the table. “The paper said your arm was broken?”
“It is,” Slade said.
“How did that happen?” she asked.
“He-“
“I am addressing these questions to Richard,” Dr. Thompkins said. “If you would kindly let him answer the questions.”
Slade narrowed his eye but he grew silent. Dick swallowed hard. “It’s okay if he answers. I don’t mind.”
“I mind,” she said. “How did you break your arm?”
“I fell down the stairs,” Dick said. It was the truth, sort of. He’d had some help falling down the stairs. Too late he realized how that sounded.
“You fell down the stairs,” she repeated. She didn’t believe him, he could tell. He couldn’t blame her. That was the same excuse domestic abuse victims used all the time.
“I did,” he said weakly.
Her eyes narrowed on Slade but then she motioned for Dick to stick his arm out. “Let me take a look at your arm.”
The process of looking over his arm took several minutes and hurt like a bitch. “It’s broken.”
“It took you that long to figure that out?” Slade asked dryly.
“It’s fractured in two places,” she said. “He needs surgery.”
“Out of the question,” Slade said.
“Then you risk the arm healing wrong,” she replied.
Dick looked down at his arm and closed his eyes. Wintergreen had promised that they would heal his arm right, but Slade was in charge. It was an unnecessary risk to heal the arm of a man soon to be dead. “Just do what you can without the surgery.”
“Look, Richard,” she said. “I know sometimes that relationships can feel like they last forever but you need to consider what your priority is in life. If you don’t get surgery, you’re likely to lose part of the mobility in this arm.”
It wouldn’t matter. “I don’t want the surgery.”
“Richard-“
Slade stood and grabbed Dick’s arm. “Doctor, you can either put the cast on his arm or we walk with nothing.”
Dick never felt more like he wasn’t in control as the doctor and Slade stared each other down. The woman never looked cowed for a second, but she backed off. Dick knew Slade was dead serious and he had to assume that the woman could see that in his eyes. As far as she knew, Dick wasn’t willing to step in.
He was lucky, she could have let him ‘learn his lesson’ and walk out with Slade.
“Get back on the table. I’ll cast the arm as best I can here,” she said.
Dick nodded and climbed back up on the table. The process of casting his arm inadvertently revealed a few bruises beneath his baggy clothes. Her lips thinned with every new inch of bruised, black and blue skin that she revealed. Still she worked patiently until Dick’s arm was casted. He’d picked the blue cast.
“Usually I just let the kids pick a color but… everyone needs a little fun in their lives I guess,” she said.
Dick smiled weakly. Somehow he doubted that getting to pick which color his broken arm was wrapped up in was going to make up for being dead before he got it cut off. “Thanks.”
Slade yanked him off the table. “We’re leaving.”
Dr. Thompkins grabbed Dick’s hand, shaking it. He felt the corners of a business card cut into his palm before she pulled her hand away. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Richard.”
Dick curled his hand around the business card and nodded. “Same.”
Slade pushed him down the hall and out of the lobby, out into the parking lot. He grabbed Dick’s wrist and squeezed until Dick uncurled his hand and the business card fell onto the ground. “You trying to hide it?”
“I thought things would go smoother if she thought I was going to take it,” Dick said softly.
Slade kicked the balled up card into a pile of cigarette butts and beer bottle shards. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
Dick slid his good hand into his pocket. The cast pressed against his chest where he pulled it in close. “They think you’re abusing me.”
“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Slade said. “As long as they don’t know the truth.”
Dick climbed into the front seat again.
“Don’t pout,” Slade ordered.
“I’m not pouting,” Dick replied.
“I left that woman alive,” Slade said. “And the doctor.”
“I’m not pouting,” Dick repeated. “I’m really not.”
“Then stop acting like it,” Slade said.
Dick tipped his head back against the seat. “Can we just pick up something to eat? I’m starving.”
Slade huffed, but pulled out of the parking lot. Dick closed his eyes and pictured the baby in his arms, the sigh of relief from the mother, and wondered what limited mobility meant in his arm.
None of which, he knew, would ever really matter.
Chapter Text
Day Eighteen
“Most people don’t sound pornographic eating a cheeseburger.” Dick flipped him off. A hand squeezed around Dick’s wrist and dragged it down to the table top. “Flip me off again and I’ll break your finger.”
Dick curled his hand into a fist and pulled his hand back into his lap. “It’s good. I missed junk food.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Slade said.
“It’s been long enough for me to miss junk food,” Dick said.
Slade rolled his eye and leaned back in the booth. Absently, Dick dragged his French fries through the squirt of ketchup soaking into the tray liner as he glanced at the TV. “You need to pick up the pace.”
“It’s hard to eat with one hand,” Dick said.
“I’m sure you’ll find it in yourself to figure something out,” Slade said.
Dick picked up the cheeseburger again, preferring to eat that with all the protein than keep shoveling fries in his face. “Aren’t you going to eat something?”
“I have standards,” Slade said.
“You don’t even salt the food when you cook it,” Dick said. “What kind of standards could you possibly have?”
“Finish your food, kid. I told you that you could eat but you’re not going to keep stalling,” Slade ordered.
Dick polished off the cheeseburger. Totally worth it. “Fine. Let’s get going then.”
“Finally.” Slade stood. The moment Dick was on his feet, Slade was guiding him out of the restaurant with a hand on his lower back. “Last thing I need is someone seeing your face and recognizing you.”
“Bruce hasn’t gone public about you kidnapping me. You told him not to,” Dick said.
“Doesn’t mean he listened. Doesn’t mean he didn’t tell someone, even if he’s keeping it quiet,” Slade said.
Dick stumbled when he stopped and the hand on his back kept pushing him forward. “You think someone is actually looking for me?”
Slade’s hand slid up from his lower back to the back of Dick’s neck and squeezed. “Keep your voice down, Grayson. It doesn’t matter if anyone is looking for you because they are not going to find you.”
Dick winced from the hand tight around his neck. “They could.”
Slade opened the car door and pushed Dick towards it. He climbed in, struggling with only the use of one arm. Slade gripped Dick’s chin between his fingers and forced Dick’s gaze to his. “Listen, boy. You don’t want to be wishing for someone to find you because if they do then I have to make this a lot bloodier than I’ve been paid for.”
Dick searched Slade’s face for any sign that Slade was bluffing. “You can’t just kill everyone.”
“Watch me,” Slade said.
Dick pulled his face away and fell silent.
Slade slammed the door shut and walked around to the other side. He didn’t speak again until he’d started the car up and looked out at the road. “No one is going to come. Wayne isn’t stupid enough to mess this up and without a bigger manhunt, they won’t find you. No one is going to get hurt as long as you behave.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Dick asked.
“I don’t care if it makes you feel better,” Slade said. “I’m telling you what is going to happen.”
It did make Dick feel better. He just refused to admit that out loud.
~~~
“I see that you are fast on your way to recovery, young man,” Wintergreen said.
Dick looked down at the cast. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Wintergreen asked.
Slade helped Dick get the jacket off and then tossed it over the back of the couch. “Drop it, William.”
“I don’t understand,” Wintergreen said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dick replied.
“Slade-“
“The arm needs surgery,” Slade said, short and sharp.
Wintergreen’s lips thinned. “I see.”
“I’m going to go upstairs and lay down,” Dick said. He set the bag on the counter. “We brought you a cheeseburger.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, William,” Slade said.
“I am not someone that you can boss around, Slade,” Wintergreen replied, tone as cold as ice. “What are you going to do?”
“About?” Slade asked. Dick shifted, unsure if he should just go ahead and head upstairs. Slade turned on him and barked, “I thought you were leaving. Go.”
Dick took the time to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and then shuffled away.
“You lost control of your temper,” Wintergreen said.
Dick stopped on the stairs. Waiting, listening.
“He broke the rules, William,” Slade replied.
“And he needs surgery that you can’t let him have,” Wintergreen said.
“He won’t be alive to miss the use of his arm,” Slade said. “What does it matter?”
“It matters to him,” Wintergreen said. “You saw the look on his face. I know you have to search deep to find your emotions but you should still be able to recognize them in someone else. He’s devastated. And over, what? A natural attempt to escape? What would you do in his situation?”
“I wouldn’t be in his situation.” Slade snorted. “My father wouldn’t have given a flying fuck.”
“Slade, try to have an ounce of empathy,” Wintergreen said. “This was supposed to be quick. Dragging this out is cruel and now you’ve taken away the use of his arm.”
“Empathy isn’t going to finish this job,” Slade said. “I took the payment. I’m doing the job. If he didn’t want to die with a broken arm, he should have followed the rules.”
“Slade-“
“I’m done talking about this,” Slade said. “He messed up. There are consequences to every action. Are you planning on turning me in?”
Silence hung heavy in the air and Dick held his breath, even knowing that he was too far away for Slade to hear it.
“William, I asked you a damn question,” Slade said.
“No,” Wintergreen snapped. “I’m not going to turn you in, but I won’t be part of these jobs in the future. This isn’t right.”
“As long as you’re not growing a conscience,” Slade said. “I don’t have time for that.”
Dick waited to make sure that was the end of the conversation and then finished his climb up the stairs.
Day Twenty
“What are you doing?” Dick asked.
Slade’s eye snapped up to narrow on Dick. He stepped back under the intensity, second guessing his decision to interrupt Slade’s apparent study of what appeared to be pictures. “Working.”
“Planning another kidnapping?” Dick asked. “Do I get a roommate?”
Slade huffed out a breath through his nose. “I don’t usually take jobs like you.”
“What makes me so special?” Dick asked.
“Luthor paid well,” Slade said.
“So I guess Luthor was the special one then,” Dick said.
“Guess so,” Slade replied.
It was a sort of dismissal, especially with the way that Slade returned his attention back to the photos. But Dick was lonely and Wintergreen was nowhere to be found since he’d made dinner for them last night. “If it’s not a kidnapping, what kind of job is it?”
“Does it matter?” Slade asked.
Dick considered and then stepped into the room, closer to Slade and the pictures. “Uh, yeah. I guess it does. So what kind of job is it?”
“What if I said it was an assassination?” Slade asked, closing the manila folder over the pictures.
Dick tugged at the corner of a photo, pulling it out of the folder to look at it. Slade stood and held his hand out, Dick only back stepped away to get a better look at it.
“She’s pretty,” Dick said. Middle aged. Reddish brown hair that sort of curled around some cute, round cheeks. Soft in the middle and all the confidence to show it off. “You’re going to kill her?”
Slade didn’t reply.
Dick swallowed and then handed the photo over. “What did she do?”
“What makes you think she did anything?” Slade asked.
“Someone wants her dead for something,” Dick said.
“Maybe she just has money they want. Or a position,” Slade said.
“Is that it? Does someone want her dead for money?” Dick asked.
Slade set the photo back in the folder. “No.” Dick didn’t speak, hoping Slade would fill in. “She’s part of a human trafficking ring. One of the women that she prostituted out managed to climb off the ratty mattress they kept her chained to and earn a place in the ring. She’ll never get out, she’ll never get away, but she managed to escape being raped multiple times every day and what she wants is revenge on the woman who spit on her the first day she was released from those chains.”
And Dick had thought the woman pretty.
“She’s well paid in her new position and she has decided that it’s better not to get her hands dirty and leave a trail back to her,” Slade finished. “So she hired an outside solution to the problem.”
“You,” Dick summarized.
“Me,” Slade said. “Or she has, theoretically. I’m determining whether or not to take the job.”
Dick frowned. “Why not take it?”
“I’m working a job right now,” Slade said. “Or did you think you were vacationing here?”
“The last vacation I took was to Aruba with my family,” Dick said. “I have higher vacation standards than here.”
Slade snorted. “Is that so?”
Dick lifted his chin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have a silver spoon up your ass,” Slade said.
“I was adopted,” Dick said.
“I’m aware. I’ve done my research,” Slade said. “Eight years old. Born to John and Mary Grayson, raised in Haly’s Circus.”
“You know how frustrating it is for you to know all that and for me to know nothing?” Dick asked.
“You know how little I care?” Slade asked. Dick made a face. “I gave you the chance to learn a piece of my story.”
“I’m not going to learn it now,” Dick said, lifting his casted arm up.
“And whose fault is that?” Slade asked.
Dick lowered his arm back against his chest. “Mine.”
“Exactly,” Slade said.
“Give me something else to earn it,” Dick said.
Slade sighed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Dick said. “If I’m still alive to learn it, I’ll learn how to shave with a straight razor too but give me something now. I need… something.”
Something to focus his mind on.
Slade stared at him. He tossed the file to Dick who caught it with his good hand. “Here. There are blueprints, schedules, photos, background information. Give me a plan that would work and I’ll tell you how I lost my eye.”
Dick looked over the file and then snapped his gaze up to Slade. “You want me to plan an assassination?”
“I don’t care if you plan an assassination. You told me to give you something to do. I did,” Slade said. “Do it, or don’t. It’s no skin off my back.” Dick clutched the file. “Run along.”
“What?” Dick asked.
“I said run along. Get out from under my feet. You’re not going to make a plan here and you’re only serving to frustrate me,” Slade said.
Dick scowled. “I’m not under your feet by choice.”
“Out, Grayson,” Slade ordered.
Dick reluctantly left the room and the company, however cantankerous that company was. “Fine.”
Dick opened the file in the hallway and then closed it. He didn’t want to plan an assassination.
Day Twenty Two
“No,” Slade said.
Dick set the file down on the counter. “No, what?”
“You’re here to sell me some plan on the assassination. I’m telling you it’s a bad plan,” Slade said.
Dick frowned. “You haven’t even let me tell you anything about it.”
“I don’t need to. It didn’t take you long enough,” Slade said. “This is your first time. You’ve had two days. Whatever plan you have has problems, problems that even you could spot and fix if you looked over it. So go do that and then come back.”
“If I could spot them and fix them, I would have,” Dick said.
“Take another look,” Slade ordered. “If you’re confident at the end of the day, you can show me over dinner.”
Dick huffed but snatched the file back up. “You’re stalling. I hate you.”
“I’ll sleep okay at night,” Slade said dryly. “Go.”
~~~
“I’m assuming that you’ve found some holes in your master plan,” Slade said. There was a faint note of mocking in his tone and Dick glowered at his plate. “Live and learn.”
“I’m going to fix the problems,” Dick said.
“Good to hear. It’s not a lesson if you don’t learn from it,” Slade said.
Dick snorted. “How to kill someone. What a great life lesson.”
“It’s a better lesson than you think,” Slade said. “And you’re not learning how to kill. You’re learning how to make a plan.”
“A plan to kill someone,” Dick countered.
“Trust me. There’s a difference,” Slade said.
Dick picked up the fork. “Well, I draw the line at this.”
“For now,” Slade said.
Dick shook his head. “No. Permanently. I don’t want to learn how to hurt someone like that.”
“Eat,” Slade ordered.
Dick shoveled the food in his mouth and then excused himself from the table. He opened the file and started from the ground up again.
Day Twenty Six
Dick had the pictures, blueprints, and schedules out on the floor. He’d moved the couch and the coffee table, the latter having been shoved in front of the door so that he had enough room to move around the physical space his assassination plan was starting to take up.
The front door locks clicked and the door opened a foot before it hit the coffee table there.
“What the…” Wintergreen trailed off, peeking his head in to look at the table.
Dick left the plans, walking over and hooking his left foot around the leg of the coffee table. He tugged, stumbling, and giving Wintergreen enough room to step inside. “Sorry.”
Wintergreen closed the door behind him and then locked it from the inside. The keys were slid back into his pocket. “What is this?”
“I can’t use a straight razor,” Dick said. He rubbed his jaw with his good hand, feeling the scruff. “Slade gave me a different task to learn how he lost his eye.”
“And this task would be…” Wintergreen trailed off, carefully stepping through the minefield of paperwork spread out on the floor.
“Planning an assassination,” Dick said.
Wintergreen stopped, toes pointed directly at that photo Dick had first seen. “Naturally.”
“I think I’ve just about got it,” Dick said. “He’s thrown out several of my plans already.” He glanced up. “You’ve been gone for a while.”
“A little over a week,” Wintergreen confirmed.
Dick rocked back on his heels. “Has it… has it really been that long?”
“Yes,” Wintergreen said, dragging the word out.
“How long have I been here?” Dick asked.
“Twenty something days?” Wintergreen guessed.
“Almost a month,” Dick said. “It feels longer.” A pause. “And it doesn’t even feel that long.”
Wintergreen was quiet. He motioned to the things on the floor. “Tell me your new plan.”
Dick was just finishing up his run through when Slade stepped into the room. “William.”
“Slade,” he replied.
“I didn’t think you were going to come back,” Slade said.
Dick glanced between them. Wintergreen rolled his eyes. “You’re overdramatic, Slade. I told you that I would come back. I needed time.”
“You ran away,” Slade said.
“And then I came back,” Wintergreen pressed. “Richard has figured out an answer to your problem.”
“Has he now?” Slade asked.
Wintergreen motioned to Dick who shifted. He nodded. “I think so, yeah.”
Slade crossed his arms over his chest. “Talk to me.”
Dick ran through the plan for it again. From the beginning to the end, right down to Slade’s escape route.
Slade held his hand out. Dick picked up the blueprints and handed them over. Slade was silent, looking it over and then glancing at the various papers all over the floor to put it together in his head. He shrugged. “Not bad. Not great but not bad.”
“It’s a good plan, Slade,” Wintergreen chastised.
“It’s good,” Slade agreed. “Just not great.”
Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “Does that mean-“
“Wintergreen will watch you. I’ll contact the woman and tell her I’m taking the job. When I get back, yes,” Slade said.
Dick felt his lips stretched into a smile. “Cool.”
Slade rolled his eye. “Clean all this up and put the furniture back where it belongs before dinner.”
Dick grinned.
Slade scowled. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Dick said. He went about the task of picking up the papers.
Wintergreen watched Slade leave the room. “Good job, Richard.”
“Thanks,” Dick said. He paused when he picked up the picture. His smile faded. “She’s gonna die now though, isn’t she?”
Wintergreen hesitated and then, “Yes.”
“Slade said that she’s a bad person. She hurt people,” Dick said. “I don’t… I don’t know that any of that makes this right.”
“It’s not our place to decide if someone deserves it or not,” Wintergreen said. “You’re ascribing too much power to anyone who takes life into their own hands.”
Dick set the papers down and started to move the coffee table. Wintergreen waved him off and moved the coffee table himself. “I just don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death.”
“You’re not,” Wintergreen said. “If you didn’t do this, someone else would. Slade, by himself maybe, or someone else. Someone who wasn’t as good as Slade and left a bigger trail of bodies.”
“There should only be one person who dies,” Dick said. “The target. I was careful of that.”
“Good,” Wintergreen encouraged. “Slade should have someone around him that thinks that is important.”
“Does that really matter?” Dick asked.
Wintergreen shrugged, putting the couch into place. “Maybe not, but it doesn’t hurt either.”
“William! Dinner!” Slade shouted from the other room.
Wintergreen scowled and stalked out of the room. “I am not your goddamn chef, Slade.”
Dick watched him disappear into the other room and looked back down at the photo.
Chapter 8
Notes:
Still alive. Also, I love when anyone comments on the current day count in comparison to the fic's title. Each one makes me chuckle, so thank you.
Chapter Text
Day Thirty
"Do you think it's going well?" Dick asked after a beat.
Wintergreen glanced up from his book, closing it and then setting it in his lap. His fingers tapped against the cover. "Should I presume that you are referring to Slade's current job?"
Dick nodded.
"Slade is experienced," Wintergreen replied. "This is hardly the most difficult job he's taken."
"But it's all dangerous, right?" Dick asked.
"And you're worried about what happens to you if something happens to him?" Wintergreen inferred.
Dick's tongue felt heavy and thick in his mouth. He hadn't been thinking about that, honestly, and he knew it should have been a thought. He wanted to go home and if Slade died that could either be a fast track to getting home or the quickest way to a bullet to the brain. "Um... yeah."
Wintergreen hummed in consideration. "If Slade were to perish on a job, I would likely release you. I have no obligation to Luthor and his money clip. Furthermore, I have no interest in kidnapping and killing children for profit."
"I'm not a child," Dick said.
"Perhaps you shouldn't argue with a man determining whether you would live or die," Wintergreen offered.
Dick felt his cheeks warm and looked away. "So if something happens, you'll let me go?"
"If Slade dies on a job," Wintergreen corrected. "If something happens to him here, Richard, especially if that something was caused by you?" A long pause, long enough to pull Dick's eyes back to Wintergreen. What he found there was cold enough to send shivers down his spine. "I'll finish the job much sooner than Luthor wants. You understand? Slade is a good friend of mine."
Dick swallowed and nodded. "I'm not going to do anything."
"Glad that we have an understanding," Wintergreen said.
Dick rested his chin down on his knee again, watching the old TV shows that Dick had started catching early reruns of. There wasn't a lot on during the daytime and Dick was quickly burning through the very, very limited supply of movies. There were a few ratty paperbacks that could be found but the only real selection of books Dick had seen had been in passing when Slade took him into his room to shave. They also didn't look very interesting and Dick had determined that while he was bored out of his mind, he hadn't quite reached the stages of reading the DSM of Mental Disorders for fun.
"He's probably not going to die though," Dick said.
Wintergreen set his book down again and flickered his eyes over the frames of his glasses. "Probably not, no."
Dick nodded and then returned his attention to the old TV show.
Day Thirty Two
When he woke, Dick couldn't immediately even place why he was awake. It was still dark, with snow falling and glinting faintly from the light of the front porch. Then the barn door creaked open, loud where the snow had blanketed the world and silenced it, and Dick sat up to look out the window. Between the darkness and the falling snow, Dick could only catch the faintest glimpse of the car back in the barn before the door slid shut again. Dick squinted against the night and made out Slade's white head of hair. He rubbed his bare hands together and blew against them to make a bubble of fog in the winter air. He trudged back through the snow towards the house, his boots crunching in the snow when he got close enough to the house for Dick to hear.
The door swung open below and then closed behind him.
Clearly Dick wasn't the only one woken by Slade's return. Dick heard Wintergreen's door open and close and the following footsteps down the stairs. He could hear voices, both of them, but too quiet to make out the words. When Slade's boots hit the stairs, heavy and loud with each impact, Dick crawled back into bed and laid down. The key scraped in the lock and then the door opened. Slade stood in the doorway and Dick listened to his breathing as seconds passed by. Without a word, Slade closed the door and Dick heard the lock click shut again. Slade retreated down the hallway and then Wintergreen did the same.
Dick closed his eyes and fell asleep once more.
Day Thirty Three
"Kid, wake up," Slade barked.
Dick rubbed his eyes, nearly knocking himself out with the cast on his arm. He still probably managed a nasty bruise against his eye and he rubbed the sore spot with the tips of his fingers. "You're home."
"I know. Wintergreen said you were hoping I died," Slade said, a note of dryness in his tone.
"That's not what I said," Dick countered.
Slade snorted. "Get your ass out of bed. Now."
Dick nodded, dropping his face against the pillow but only long enough to let out a low groan. As usual, the hardwood floor was a shock to the system the moment his bare feet hit the cool wood after being under the blanket all night. By that point, Slade was gone from the doorway and Dick could shuffle across the floor at his own pace. He stifled a yawn with the cast arm and then rubbed his eyes with the other. Moving down the stairs, Dick could smell potatoes and eggs cooking.
"Welcome home," Dick mumbled.
Slade grunted his response and then sipped from the mug. The coffee looked a dark tan, bitterness cut with a hint of cream or milk. Maybe some sugar, but Dick didn't think Slade was the type.
"Did the job go well?" Dick asked.
"It's done and I'm home." As if that was a good enough answer. It certainly wasn't enough to satiate Dick's curiosity.
Dick scooted his chair in to the table. "I planned this one though. Can't you tell me how it went?"
"She's dead," Slade said bluntly.
Dick curled his fingers into a fist. It was settled on his lap, Dick knew that putting it on the table might be construed as a threat and Dick wasn't eager to find out how Slade would take something like that. "I know. You told me that's what was going to happen. I just want to know how it went."
"It went fine. Your plan was good. There were a few minor hiccups but every job has them." Slade lowered his gaze back down to the morning paper.
"You did a good job, Richard," Wintergreen said. "I'm sure your plan served Slade well."
Dick's lips twitched, some small appreciation at the effort Wintergreen was trying to put in to give Dick some... praise? Attention? Dick wasn't even sure what he'd been looking for from Slade. The fact that those two words even ran through his mind was enough to make goosebumps break out on his arm.
Dick shoveled the scrambled eggs and potato hash into his mouth like he was starving instead of eating three square meals a day. "Can I be excused?"
"For what?" Slade turned the page.
"I'm finished with breakfast," Dick said.
"Mostly because you inhaled it, but that doesn't explain why you're asking to be excused from the table," Slade said.
"I'm just done. I don't have anything more to eat," Dick said. "I want to leave the table."
"No," Slade said.
Dick had been halfway to his feet before he stopped and sat back down again. "What? Why?"
"Because I said so, and you haven't given me a reason good enough to let you leave," Slade replied.
"I said I wanted to-"
"And I said no," Slade said.
Dick looked at Wintergreen, gaping. Wintergreen sighed but didn't step in so Dick was on his own in this aspect. Dick clenched his jaw and rested his elbows on the table. "Fine."
It took another ten minutes for Slade to finish and even then, Slade kept Dick at the table while Wintergreen finished his in another five after that.
"You can go," Slade said.
Dick stood, carrying his plate to the sink and leaving it and the fork. "I'll be upstairs in my room."
"Wait," Slade said. Dick stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning slowly to face him again. Slade folded the paper and set it on the table. He stood. "I believe I owe you something."
It didn't place at first and then Dick flickered his eyes up to the patch over Slade's eye. "Seriously?"
"I made a deal," Slade said. "Come upstairs. You could use a shave anyways."
Dick jogged upstairs with Slade walking behind him. He perched at the top of the stairs and then just outside of Slade's room.
"You're acting like a puppy that needs to be let outside," Slade said as he unlocked the door.
"You know you turn into a real ass when you get close to anything personal," Dick said.
"If you don't like it, maybe you'd learn to stop asking anything personal," Slade pointed out.
"And miss out on seeing you in such a rare form?" Dick asked, pushing past Slade when the door finally opened.
Slade arched an eyebrow as he followed him inside. "Rare form?"
"Yeah, uncomfortable," Dick said.
Slade snapped his fingers and pointed towards the bathroom. "Walk, boy."
Dick's lips twitched and then he walked into the bathroom, putting the lid down on the toilet and taking a seat. Slade stepped in and got everything ready. Dick waited, as patiently as he could, as Slade first lathered his cheeks and neck. "So..."
"I had two children," Slade said.
Dick didn't know where he'd expected this story to start, or what would come of it. He had never expected that. "Oh."
"Two boys, Joey and Grant," Slade said. "Grant was killed and Joey... my ex-wife, Adeline, was furious. Grant and Joey were in danger because of me. She was angry and she wanted to make me pay for it. Things blew up and she shot me in the eye."
There was a razor at Dick's throat and it hit him all at once that Slade had intended that. Slade had wanted him in here with the blade at his throat while he told him this story. It made sense, in everything that Dick had gleaned from living with Slade because the man couldn't be open without holding a knife to Dick's throat. Literally.
Dick used to tense and then he'd learned to tolerate the feeling of wariness and fear. In this moment, Dick simply eased his body back and relaxed. "I've heard you and Wintergreen talk about Adeline before."
Slade grunted. "She was my superior officer in the military. William and I served together for a time so the two were familiar with each other when we married."
"You married your superior officer?" Dick asked.
"Yes," Slade said, dragging the word out as if he couldn't quite tell what it was that Dick was getting at.
Dick shrugged. "You just don't strike me as the type to date your superior officer."
"What type do I seem like?" Slade asked.
"The other way around," Dick said, without hesitation. "You getting frisky with some young, eighteen year old fresh faced kid just joined up? Totally believe it. You following some lady's orders and then marrying her? Not a chance."
"Well, it's the truth," Slade said, lips quirking enough that Dick could tell he was at least amused by Dick's take on the situation. "I think you and Addy would probably get along well too."
The razor scraped up his neck sharper on that, but Slade was still amused. Dick stayed relaxed. "I guess the divorce didn't end amicably."
"If Adeline had a solid bead on me, she'd shoot the other eye out," Slade said.
Dick chuckled. "You're right. We would get along."
"Was the story worth it?" Slade asked.
Dick considered. "I was kind of hoping for more details but I guess I shouldn't have expected you to be much of a storyteller."
Slade grunted.
"Thank you for holding up to your end of the bargain," Dick said. "You didn't have to. It's not like I could have done anything about it."
"I made a deal, kid," Slade said. He wiped off Dick's face. "Wash off your face and then step in the hall. You know the drill."
Dick nodded. He cupped water from the sink and splashed it against his face. Slade offered him the aftershave and Dick couldn't help but think about how much the scent of mint and eucalyptus had started to become associated in his mind with Slade. He rolled that fact around in his mind as Slade grew tired of waiting for him to move and shoved him out into the hallway. Slade patted him down to make sure Dick hadn't grabbed anything and then stepped away. "Go find something to do, kid."
Day Thirty Six
Wintergreen barked out a laugh and Dick even chuckled at the joke. Wintergreen leaned forward, setting his book aside again. "I remember when this show first aired, you know?"
"Our butler, Alfred, plays a lot of these old shows," Dick said.
Wintergreen scoffed. "Watch it with the 'old'."
"I just mean that he plays his shows from when he was younger," Dick said. "Not a lot of them. Alfred prefers theater but when the house is quiet in the early hours of the morning he likes to play the black and white TV shows. There weren't a whole lot of people up early in the Manor so it was usually just the two of us."
"You seem to have an unusually close relationship with your butler," Wintergreen pointed out.
"He's not really my butler," Dick said. "He's Bruce's, and he was always more family than an employee. He was there to celebrate my birthday, after my first girlfriend and I broke up. He called me the first night after Bruce and I had our big blow up and I moved out."
"He sounds like a good man," Wintergreen said.
"He's the best," Dick said.
The door slammed shut from the basement and Slade stormed into the living room. His eye narrowed on Dick. "On your feet."
"What's wrong?" Dick asked. He obeyed but didn't step closer.
"Your father is demanding proof of life, has been blowing up my phone all day. Some kid matching your description was found in Gotham," Slade said. "Too beat to hell to be recognizable."
"He thinks you killed me," Dick said. "You told me that we weren't going to do any more videos until the cast was off."
"That's until your father started threatening to go to the police until he saw proof of life," Slade said. He grabbed Dick's upper arm and dragged him along.
"Slade-" Wintergreen said.
"He'll be fine, William," Slade said, not even bothering to turn around.
Dick struggled to keep up, toes scuffing against the steps and knee smacking into the railing. "Slade, I'm not fighting. Stop."
Slade just pulled him down the rest of the stairs and then half threw him at the chair. "Just take a seat, kid. Don't fight me on this."
Dick wasn't planning to. He took a seat and then Slade wrapped tape around both wrists.
"Breathe through your nose for me," Slade ordered. When Dick proved he wasn't going to suffocate from a stuffed nose, Slade slapped a piece over his mouth.
Mask. Computer. Dick was familiar with the process. He wasn't familiar with the sensation of his stomach bottoming out at the sight of Bruce on the screen. It had been a long time, not that long probably but it felt like a long time. Not since before Thanksgiving.
"Dick..." Bruce said, almost whispering the name.
"As you can see, Wayne, your son is not the body found in Gotham. He's alive and well-"
"He has a broken arm!" Bruce shouted, cutting him off.
"He's not bleeding out and I haven't sent pieces of him to your doorstep," Slade said, voice even and cold. "I would say he's doing pretty well all things considered."
Bruce clenched his jaw. "Let me speak to him."
"It's not going to happen, Wayne," Slade said. "Get used to it. If you want him home, you'd better get a move on this situation. Finish the case."
"I told you I can't rush these things," Bruce said.
"Just keep in mind that Luthor won't take lightly to you dragging your feet," Slade said. "This call is over."
"Wait-"
Dick made some inhuman noise the moment the screen went black. A whine, a groan - he hadn't expected the sharp pain in his chest that seeing Bruce had caused. Slade pulled off the tape and then grabbed his chin. "Stop."
Dick cut it out but pulled his chin out of Slade's grip. Slade cut the tape on his arms and Dick moved to stand. Slade shoved him back into the chair. "Hey!"
Slade braced his hand against Dick's chest to keep him pinned in the chair. "Look at me." Dick dragged his eyes up to Slade's. "Don't start."
"I'm not doing anything," Dick said.
Slade smacked his mouth. Not hard, not even enough to sting. It was more of a tap than anything and it did more to shock Dick than actually hurt him. "Don't lie. I know you're upset but you've adjusted well. Don't let Wayne have you erasing progress. I don't want you to break anything more than you've already done. Do I make myself clear?"
Dick clenched his jaw and then nodded.
"I can't hear you nod, kid," Slade said.
"Yes, you've made yourself clear," Dick replied.
"Go upstairs. I'm sure that William will have paused your show for you," Slade said.
Dick rubbed his wrist where the tape had left his bare skin sticky and shuffled back up the stairs with only a single backward glance towards the laptop.
"Richard," Wintergreen greeted. Dick nodded as he took a seat back on the couch. He pulled his legs up and got comfortable. Wintergreen cleared his throat. "Richard, are you alright?"
"He didn't hurt me," Dick muttered. "You can start up the show again. Thank you for pausing it."
Wintergreen stroked the button of the remote with his thumb and then, "You can tell me if he hurt you."
"He didn't," Dick assured him. "I promise. He called Bruce and showed him I was alive. That was it."
Wintergreen's eyes flickered over Dick and then he nodded. The show started back up and Dick focused intently on the black and white screen. He could feel Wintergreen's eyes on him but he couldn't acknowledge it. At the very least, he didn't want to.
Wintergreen stood as Slade walked past. "Slade, I would like to talk to you."
"Follow me then," Slade said.
Dick watched the two of them walk away.
Day Thirty Seven
"Slade," Dick said.
Slade grunted.
"Is that a, go on, or a, go away?" Dick asked.
Slade raised his eye to Dick. "If I intend for you to go away, you'll know it."
"I'm bored," Dick said.
Slade huffed and returned his phone. "Now you can go away."
"Seriously, Slade. I'm losing it," Dick said.
"That's not my problem," Slade said. "Go away."
Dick took a seat on the bottom of Slade's bed. "What are you working on?"
"Which part of go away didn't you understand?" Slade asked.
"The go away part," Dick said. "Come on. I'm bored."
"I'm not working on anything. I'm reading an article on the trial," Slade said. Dick's eyes widened and he climbed to his feet. Slade put his hand up. "No, kid."
Dick deflated. "Slade, please. If it mentions Bruce-"
"Then you'll brood about it some more," Slade interrupted. "You're not reading it. End of story."
Dick stared and then snapped. His hand clutched around the nearby lamp and he threw it. Slade moved quickly and the lamp shattered against the headboard of his bed. When he sat up, he narrowed his eye on Dick. "I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, but you're going to end it now."
Dick picked up the alarm clock and weighed it in his hand.
Chapter 9
Notes:
I promise I'm not dead.
Um, usual warnings with an added note of descriptive description of drowning.
Chapter Text
Day Thirty Seven
Slade ducked the alarm clock shattering into pieces above his head. He slowly moved to the edge of the bed and stood. Dick instantly knew he’d fucked up beyond repair but he couldn’t back down.
“I didn’t think you were stupid,” Slade said.
Fear broke him and he pulled back as Slade reached for him. Not fast enough. Slade’s fingers wrapped around his neck and squeezed, dragging him closer. The tips dug in, no doubt bruising the skin for later.
“Are you stupid?” Slade asked. Dick’s jaw ached from the way his teeth were grinding together but he said nothing. He’d learned his lesson from this one too many times. Opening his mouth didn’t win him any points. Slade wasn’t having that, though. He shook Dick. “You’re not a child, stop acting like one. I asked you a question, I expect you to answer it.”
“No,” Dick ground out.
“No, you’re not going to answer it?” Slade asked.
“No,” Dick said. “I’m not stupid.”
“You sure about that? Because this seems pretty fucking stupid,” Slade said.
Dick grabbed Slade’s wrist but didn’t pull it away. For starters, he’d never overpower Slade by sheer strength and doing so would only incite Slade further. “I wanted to read the article.”
“And I told you no,” Slade said. “Who is in charge here?”
Dick inhaled through his nose, fighting the instinct to argue.
Slade squeezed. “Answer me.”
“You are,” Dick said.
“That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say so far,” Slade said. He let go, shoving Dick back in the process.
Dick rubbed his neck. It throbbed to the touch, definitely bruised. He pulled his broken arm close, anticipating the violent outburst of anger inevitably coming his way for this.
“Clean this up,” Slade ordered. “Everything in the trash that’s broken. Then you can strip the sheets and blankets off the bed and get them downstairs to clean. Sweep and mop the floor since there’s no doubt glass all over the floor. Then we can figure out a way for you to pay me back for my property.”
“Sorry,” Dick said. He’d gotten off easy and he knew it. He could only wonder why Slade was letting him off so easy since the man would not take kindly in the moment to Dick questioning his motives.
“Your father is fine, which is what you really wanted to know,” Slade said. “No one suspects anything. If you had asked me that instead of demanding to see the article I’d have been happy to tell you that. Get to cleaning.”
Slade left the room and Dick looked at the shattered glass and plastic covering the bed. There was a wastebasket in one of the corners of the room and Dick dragged it over to the side of the bed to start picking up the jagged edges of broken lamp and clock to drop them in the wastebasket with two fingers. They clinked as they hit the bottom of the metal wastebasket and each other. It took some time to clean the mess up, especially the tiny shards that hid in the wrinkles of the sheets and blankets. Dick pushed the wastebasket to the side when he was confident he had it taken care of. As hard as picking up the tiny pieces had been while avoiding cutting himself, stripping the sheets off the bed was harder with only one good arm. He had to fight the fitted sheet for a few minutes and then it joined the pile of bedclothes at the foot of Slade’s bed. He kicked it to the edge of the stairs and then one solid kick sent it tumbling down the stairs to land at the landing at the bottom. It freed his hands to pick up the wastebasket which he carried down as he pressed his hip against the railing to maintain some modicum of balance.
“Do you need some help with that, Richard?” Wintergreen asked.
Dick set the wastebasket down. “I can’t take the trash out but I can handle the bedclothes if you let me into the room with the washer and dryer.”
Wintergreen looked at the broken pieces of lamp and alarm. “Are you injured?”
Dick shook his head. “No. I have some bruises but he let me off easy.”
Wintergreen eyed Dick’s neck. “It looks nasty but you’ll heal fine, I believe. Now, look me in the eyes and tell me if you’re hiding any of the glass.”
“What?” Dick asked, eyes snapping up and scrunching in confusion.
Wintergreen pointed at the wastebasket. “I don’t want a repeat of the knife and Thanksgiving and you don’t either. I know that this is hard and I don’t hold your attempts at escape against you, but we both know a piece of glass isn’t going to take Slade down so you’re only making things worse on yourselves if you try to hide one.”
“I didn’t take one,” Dick promised.
Wintergreen must have seen something in Dick’s eyes that seemed trustworthy because he nodded and picked up the wastebasket. “Follow me. I’ll let you into the room and then take this out.”
Dick picked up the balled bedclothes and trailed behind him. Slade wasn’t in the living room or dining room, not in the kitchen. “Is he-“
“Slade stepped out for a bit,” Wintergreen said. “He told me what happened and said he needed to step out to cool down. He’ll be back.”
“Oh,” Dick said. Every swallow made his neck hurt. “I thought he was going to kill me for a second.”
“That’s not the job,” Wintergreen said.
“Not yet,” Dick corrected.
Wintergreen’s shoulders stiffened with the sharp inhale and exhale he made. The door was unlocked with one of the many keys and held open. “Detergent and fabric softener is on the top shelf. Dryer sheets are on the bottom shelf.”
“Slade didn’t seem like a fabric softener and dryer sheets kind of guy,” Dick said.
“Everyone likes to feel comfortable,” Wintergreen said.
The door closed behind him and Dick opened the washing machine to get the clothes started.
There was something comfortable about the isolation of the room containing the washer and dryer. With the door closed and the washer and dryer going, Dick could have been anywhere. He slid down the wall and sat down on the floor with the cotton fresh scents of the detergent artificially scenting the air and the rhythmic beat of the machines drowning out the rest of the world. Dick closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall.
There was no telling when or how long he’d fallen asleep but suddenly someone was shaking his shoulder and Dick was blinking away the last vestiges of his impromptu nap. Slade was crouched beside him and Dick sat up straighter. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.”
“Clearly,” Slade said. “I transferred over the washer to the dryer but it’s done now. Pull them out and make the bed.”
Dick nodded, wiping away the sleep in his eyes and awkwardly climbing to his feet.
Dick kept his gaze on Slade out of the corner of his eyes, watched the man linger in the doorframe as Dick pulled the clothes out of the dryer. When Dick turned to take them upstairs, the man was gone.
No matter how hard it was to get them off, it had nothing on putting the bed back together. It wasn’t enough to put them on the bed either. Slade was a military man and Dick had walked by the room a few times in the morning after Slade had made his bed. It could have come out of a training manual for new soldiers, and Dick had no doubt that Slade would hold him to the same high standards.
Dick was fixing the pillow when the familiar footsteps stopped just inside the room behind him.
“Not bad,” Slade said. Dick had a small moment of pride before Slade added, “Not good, either, but you have a butler for this so I suppose there’s a learning curve.”
Dick backed off the bed and stood to the side. “Done.”
Slade walked to the other side of the bed and groped the edge of the bed, fingers poking loose fabric under the mattress to straighten Dick’s attempt. He swore and pulled his hand back, red welling in the two inch long cut across his palm. He pulled a shard hidden at the head of the bed between the frame and the mattress.
Dick froze. “I didn’t- I didn’t know, Slade. I thought I got them all. I really thought I got them all.”
Slade made a hand motion to shut him up which Dick obeyed instantly. The piece of glass was dropped in the wastebasket. “There is gauze and medical tape in the bathroom. Go get it.”
Dick had seen the bandages in the medicine cabinet so he slid the mirror to the side and scanned the shelves. The gauze was right in the front but it took some moving around to find the tape hidden behind a bottle of peroxide. He grabbed that as well, even without being asked.
“I’m sorry,” Dick muttered, setting the items on the end table.
“You just told me this morning that you’re not stupid. Hiding a piece of glass in my bed is not going to kill me, so it would be a pretty stupid plan if it was planned. Are you stupid or not?” Slade asked.
“I’m not…” Dick said.
“Then I don’t think you did it on purpose,” Slade said. “Use one of the pieces of gauze to get wet with the peroxide and wipe the wound. I can’t do this one handed.”
Slade’s instructions were clear and calm; a respite for Dick who was just grateful not to be screamed at or threatened. He taped the gauze down and then set it aside. “There.”
Slade curled and uncurled his fist a few times. The cut had to hurt on such a sensitive part of his body but he seemed unfazed by it. High pain tolerance, Dick assumed. Made him what pain Slade had gone through in order to develop that.
“How am I going to pay you back?” Dick asked.
“What?” Slade asked. He dropped his hand to the side and picked up the medical supplies to put them away.
“You said that you were going to figure out how I was going to pay you back for your property that I broke,” Dick said.
“Right,” Slade said. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Dick nodded.
“You can go downstairs,” Slade said.
Day Forty
“Are you going to call them?” Wintergreen asked.
“Call who?” Slade asked.
“Don’t play stupid, Slade. It doesn’t suit you,” Wintergreen replied.
A coffee cup hit the counter hard. “No, William. I’m not going to call Rose and Joey. They don’t want a call from me.”
“Well, perhaps that’s because you get defensive and can’t help but argue in every conversation you have,” Wintergreen offered.
“I do not argue in every conversation I have.”
“Perfect example, Slade. Thank you.”
“I don’t argue with Richard in every conversation.”
Wintergreen scoffed. “You have the poor boy held hostage and terrified out of his mind of you. He wouldn’t know where to begin to argue with you most days.”
“He seemed comfortable enough to throw a lamp at my head. And an alarm clock.”
“Personally, I was delighted. I like when he manages to find himself inside of the fear you keep putting him through and fight back,” Wintergreen said.
Silence.
“Silent treatment?” Wintergreen asked. “I’m not saying that I want him to kill you and escape. It’s just good to see him alive enough to do that. He’s holding on. He’s a lot stronger than I thought he was.”
“He’s a lot stronger than I thought it was,” Slade said. There was another long silence and then, “I like it when he shows some backbone.”
“Is there a heart in there after all?” Wintergreen asked.
“I just like a challenge.”
“Of course. Perish the thought that you might have emotions,” Wintergreen said dryly.
The water turned on as someone started on the dishes and drowned out whatever else they might have said. Dick left the landing at the base of the stairs and went into the living room.
Day Forty Five
“What are those?” Dick asked.
“Church bells,” Slade said.
“There’s a church nearby?” Dick asked.
Slade looked up from the laptop and rubbed the bridge of his nose. After some consideration he replied, “It’s a small town. There are a lot of churches in small towns like this.”
“You don’t have to be that vague,” Dick said. “You’ve made it pretty obvious that I’m not going anywhere. I’m pretty sure I can’t fight you on a good day. Barefoot with a broken arm is probably not my best day. You could give me the GPS coordinates and I still wouldn’t be able to do anything with it.”
Slade returned to the laptop. “37° 47' 44.88'' N, 83° 42' 14.328'' W”
“Funny,” Dick said.
Slade didn’t show his amusement but Dick felt like he sort of knew the guy well enough to know that the man was amused by his own attempt at a joke.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Dick said.
“Did you actually count the days or did you just ask William?” Slade asked.
“Counted the days,” Dick said. “I realized after Thanksgiving that you might decide not to tell me this time. I wanted to know.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t going to tell you,” Slade said.
Dick leaned back against the couch. “Really?”
Slade’s fingers paused over the laptop. “I hadn’t decided.”
“Is that where Wintergreen is at?” Dick asked.
“What do you mean? The church?” Slade asked. He snorted. “No. Wintergreen isn’t much for religion.”
“What about you?” Dick asked.
“Even less so,” Slade said.
“I guess that makes sense,” Dick said.
The conversation must have been distracting him because Slade finally tilted the screen down and focused on Dick instead. “Because I’m a murderer?”
“Because you don’t seem to have a lot of faith in the things you can see. I can’t imagine you have any for something you can’t see,” Dick said.
Slade grunted at that. “There’s no meal planned this time. No tree. No decorations. It’s just going to be another day.”
“I understand,” Dick said.
“You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” Slade said.
Dick shrugged. “Maybe you’re finally winning.”
“I was always winning,” Slade said.
“I don’t just mean keeping me here,” Dick said.
“I don’t think that’s the reason,” Slade said.
“I messed up last time. You wouldn’t want a repeat. Between the fight you and Wintergreen had, the broken arm, the video with Bruce after that… I get it. It’s not worth the risk,” Dick said.
“Glad we understand each other,” Slade said.
“I thought-“ Dick cut off abruptly.
Slade sighed. “Go on.”
“I thought maybe I could have a video call tomorrow though,” Dick said.
“No,” Slade said.
“I won’t say anything, Slade. Literally no words if that’s what you want. I’ll let them talk and keep my mouth shut,” Dick said.
“No,” Slade said.
“Please. I can-“
“Richard,” Slade barked. “The answer is no.”
Dick blinked a few times and then turned his head away. No amount of breathing or trying to prepare himself for this answer made it easier to compose himself. He bit his tongue until blood welled in his mouth. “Got it.”
“Good.”
Dick grabbed the book. “I’m going upstairs.”
“Fine,” Slade said.
Dick didn’t look back, not sure he could handle Slade’s indifference to Dick’s anger and frustration.
~~~
“Wintergreen home yet?” Dick asked.
“No,” Slade said. He glanced out the window at the falling snow. “It’ll be a white Christmas tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Slade,” Dick said.
“You’re acting a bit childish, don’t you think?” Slade asked.
“I said goodnight,” Dick said.
Slade rolled his eye but closed the door behind him and the door locked behind him.
Dick picked up a pillow off his bed and threw it against the wall. Then another. He slammed his fist against the mattress and then stood. He pressed against the window. The bells rung every Sunday and Dick could hear them. They had to be somewhat close for Dick to hear them in the house.
Close enough to run to, maybe.
The hardest part would be the drop. The window looked out over a small section of the roof over the porch. Dick could crawl to the edge of the roof but there was still a good fifteen feet drop from there to the ground. It had been a long, long time since Dick was a Flying Grayson but he had to trust muscle memory now to get him safely to the ground. Breaking the glass wasn’t an option but Dick had been pulling at the nails with the tips of his fingernails for weeks now and Dick wasn’t waiting a moment longer.
Day Forty Six
The clock from downstairs chimed midnight and suddenly it was Christmas. Just like that. There wasn’t any fanfare for it. Not that Dick should have expected there to be.
Instead there was pain in Dick’s fingers and small smears of blood on the wood of the window frame and on the panes of glass. A small pile of bloody nails gathered on the floor beneath the window.
Cold air blew in through the window and Dick felt goosebumps break out on his skin. One hard shove would push the window right out but the alarm would go off at the same time. Dick looked back to the bed and then crouched down low enough to use his shoulder to push it across the room. He’d pause after every grind of wood against wood, waiting for some reaction from the other occupant in the room.
Only when the bed was pushed up against the door did Dick go back to the window.
“One… two… three,” Dick whispered, throwing his body weight against the window and gasping as it slid out of the window easier than expected and out onto the roof. The alarm blared just as Dick hit the roof on top of the window. It started sliding down and Dick had to scramble for grip on the tiles. He caught the edge, his feet hanging off the edge, and the window continued to slid off before landing in the snow with a crunch.
Dick shimmied down the rest of the way and then pulled himself up onto his feet at the edge. He wobbled, holding his arms out to his sides for balance. He jumped off, twisting his body to roll into the snow.
The cold didn’t hit him right away. There was a moment where Dick landed and nothing hurt and the freedom of being outside overwhelmed the noise of the alarm, the sting of the cold, the chill in the air, and the panic of being chased. A banging against the door got him moving and it snapped back into focus. His body hurt, bad, but worse was the painful way the cold felt against his bare skin. He oriented himself to the west and started running as hard and as fast as he could in the direction the church bells came from.
Dick looked back, once, and saw the lights snapping on inside the farmhouse and the front door smacking open against the outside of the house. He knew he couldn’t look back after that. Looking back would slow him down and this small head start was all Dick had.
Snowflakes landed on Dick’s cheeks and melted from the flush of exertion warming his skin. It looked like running through space, stars blurring into lines beside him. Everything else was eaten up by the darkness.
Something sliced into the bottom of his foot and Dick tripped, hitting the hard ground knee first and scraping skin off it in the process. It dripped down his leg as he stood and instantly cooled. He pulled himself up with the frozen, decayed cornstalk left from harvest and then pushed forward again.
There hadn’t been a lie about the fields seeming endless, and woods loomed around him like hulking masses of black shadows just slightly off color from the midnight blue of the sky. He skidded to a stop at the edge of a ditch. Common sense told him that it could only be a few feet deep but in the nighttime darkness it might as well have been an endless void. Bottomless. Dick hugged the ground and dropped down.
All the air rushed from his lungs as frozen runoff water cracked beneath his weight and ice cold water hit his bare feet. There was no air to scream or shout or curse. His lungs ached from it. Dick didn’t have time to catch his breath. He kicked the thin ice out of his way and reached the other side to dig his fingers into the thick, cold mud to climb up onto the other side. His toes kept sliding down the icy mud and dropping him back into the cold.
“Damn it,” Dick whispered. He sagged and pressed his forehead against the dirt. He shivered against the cold and caught his breath, watching it turn into mist in front of him. “Gotta keep going.”
Dick tried again, clawing at the ground to get a good grip before trying to pull up again. This time he was more successful and grabbed a handhold of dead grass to aid in pulling him up onto the other side. Crawling further and reaching the familiar texture of asphalt brought tears to his eyes.
A road.
Dick’s feet pounded against the cold street, following the faded yellow lines on the side to lead him to somewhere else. The road hit an incline and Dick huffed against the burn in his arms and legs begging him to rest. The time he’d spent idle at the farmhouse had done much to get him out of the habit of physical activity. He looked to the left and saw more fields. To his right, a grove of trees and a glint of light off of a smooth, shining surface. A pond, perhaps.
The beat of his heart was so loud in his ears that Dick didn’t immediately hear the blare of a horn behind him. Didn’t put it together with the growing light from headlights. He turned and waved his arms. The car swerved at the last minute and Dick stumbled away from it. It continued driving, red lights fading off into the distance, and before Dick could think about chasing after him the ground beneath him gave way and the hill rushed up to meet him.
Dick’s shoulder hit the ground and then he was rolling back, tumbling down, smacking into a tree and pushing away from lose his grip and continue sliding down the slick snow and ice. Something creaked under his weight and then he was sliding out. Slowing, slowing, slowing, and then coming to a stop. He inhaled, letting the cold air needle his lungs.
Another groan, not from him, and Dick forced his eyes to open. The white flakes fell around him and gathered on his eye lashes. He rolled, slowly, and then froze as the ice beneath him creaked again. Ice. He’d rolled out onto the pond.
His hand brushed away the snow and beneath the layer of ice, Dick could make out the faintest signs of fish swimming underneath. Not a good thing. That meant it was still liquid underneath, perfect to crack under him and have him drowning in the coldest grave to ever exist.
He kept moving, slowly, pulling himself onto his hands and knees to start a slow crawl across the pond to the nearest section of dry land. No matter how he stretched himself out, the ice continued to groan and creak beneath him and with each noise it made Dick froze and prayed that it wouldn’t give way beneath him.
Behind him, the growl of a car engine cut to an idle and a door swung open. “Hey! Is anybody out here?”
“Hello?” Dick asked. The cold air and lack of breath cut it right out of him.
“Hello? Anybody out there?”
A quieter voice, a woman. “I think they were waving us down, Mark.”
“There’s no one out here, Angie.”
Dick shifted his weight, climbing onto his feet and waving an arm. He got as far as opening his mouth before the ice cracked.
And then everything went dark.
The cold of the snow, the air, it had nothing on the way the water seemed to seep in through his clothes and his skin and freeze him right to the bone. He gasped and sucked in a lungful of water in the process. It burned and Dick panicked, thrashing and kicking to try and reach the surface. He could see the light and the snow and then his hand hit the ice.
He’d moved.
The fucking pond – he’d moved and there was no telling where the hole he’d fallen through was. He clawed at the ice to drag himself around and then beat against the surface when his efforts remained futile to find the crack in the ice.
Blackness encroached on his vision and Dick’s lungs burned. He weakly smacked the ice again and then his arms could be lifted again. They were too heavy, he was too heavy. Heavy things, he remembered, tended to sink. The light faded and Dick felt himself falling down through the water.
Above him, something splashed. Maybe more of the ice cracking now that it was too late. Dick didn’t hear anything after that.
Chapter 10
Notes:
Considering the wait, I really wanted this to be longer for you.
Chapter Text
Day Forty-Six
Cold and ice, the heavy drag of water against every movement – the memories were like looking through frosty panes of glass. Blurred and so, so cold.
The chill seemed like paradise in the wake of the fire burning through his chest. It licked up his throat and down into his abdomen, burning him from the inside out and spreading without respite. Death and the cold would have been a blessing because Dick wanted to scream and he couldn’t even find the air for that. The pounding of his chest seemed to slam against him from the outside just so it could push the flames up further and further.
Like magma building up beneath the crust of the earth, the fire burned up his throat and into his mouth and up through his nose and past his lips. It turned cold against his skin and Dick rolled over to cough it out. It was endless, choking. The cold air, a faded memory before, hit his wet skin and had him gasping the escaping water right back into his lungs.
“Oh thank god.” A woman’s voice.
The cramps in his stomach curled him into a ball and he rolled over to vomit water into the snow. The first real breath of air hurt even more than the water had and Dick hung his head and sobbed.
“What was he doing out here dressed like that?”
Dick looked up at the strangers, a man and a woman beside him on the edge of the water. The man and the woman from the car before the ice broke.
“He’s a bit troubled.”
That was a voice Dick knew all too well. He wrapped an arm around his stomach, still clenching in rebellion of the water he’d swallowed, and looked at Slade from beneath frozen eyelashes. He was soaking wet as well but didn’t even shiver despite the cold. He’d adopted some version of concerned for the worried bystanders but Dick knew the rage was probably boiling under his skin.
Dick was going to get his ass handed to him for this and he knew it.
“Troubled is to say the least of it I’d think,” the man said. “He’s barefoot and barely dressed running through a Kentucky winter.”
“He was recently in a car crash. It’s how he broke his arm,” Slade said. “Hit his head so he’s a bit soft. Doctors say that he’ll come around with time and rest. I fell asleep. It’s just been real tiring trying to keep an eye on him.”
“I’m sure it’s been incredibly difficult,” she said.
Angie, Dick remembered. The man called her Angie and she’d called him Mark. A couple that had stopped on the side of the road when he’d tried to wave down help.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, crouching down. Her winter coat and gloves looked warm but her cheeks were still pink under green eyes.
Dick licked his lips. “I-I-”
“Don’t try to speak, kid,” Slade said. The hand that curled around his shoulder was a silent threat. Dick’s lips pressed together, not about to anger Slade more than he already had. On a good day, Slade would wipe the floor with him. As Dick shivered and swallowed back bile and lake water, joints stiff and body weak- today was most certainly not a good day.
“Are you sure you don’t want to call an ambulance? He might have hypothermia,” Mark said.
Slade picked Dick up in his arms. It was entirely too pleasant to have Slade’s body heat against him. There was no will to fight even in him at this point. He closed his eyes, content to listen to them speak between each other. “I have a nurse at the house. I’ll wake him up and have him take a look at the kid. We’ll go from there. He’s run off before though. Probably just needs a warm bath and a night’s rest.”
“Best of luck,” Angie said.
“Come on,” Mark said. “We’re running behind.”
“Mark, he could have died. Have a heart,” Angie said.
“We stopped, didn’t we? I’m just saying that if he’s okay I think we should get back on the road,” Mark said.
If Angie said anything after that, Dick couldn’t hear her. Their voices were lost in the winter wind.
“S-slade,” Dick stammered. The words were broken by the clattering of his teeth. “I’m- I’m s-s-s-s-“
“Don’t speak,” Slade ordered. Dick fell quiet. Slade started up the hill back towards the road.
At some point Dick must have fallen asleep on the walk back because he woke up just as Slade kicked the door closed behind him.
“Good grief, Slade. Where the hell did he run off to?” Wintergreen asked.
“He made it as far as the lake just off of Nolan’s field,” Slade said. “Then he fell through the ice. Think he was headed towards the church.”
Dick didn’t say anything.
Wintergreen blew out a breath. “What are you going to do, Slade?”
Dick was pretty anxious to know the answer to that as well. “I’m sor-s-sorry, Slade. I’m-“
“What did I tell you about speaking?” Slade demanded.
Dick swallowed and looked away.
“Slade…” Wintergreen trailed off.
“For now, grab him some blankets while I get him out of the wet clothes,” Slade said.
“Of course,” Wintergreen said. His footsteps retreated up the stairs.
“You’re a damned fool, kid,” Slade said. “A damned fool.”
Dick was at least cognizant enough to know that he needed to keep his mouth shut this time.
“You realize you could have gotten yourself killed?” Slade demanded. He shook Dick to get him to look at him again. “If the two of them weren’t standing on the edge of the water shouting after you I’d probably not have found your body until your bloated carcass rose to the surface during the spring thaw.”
That painted a delightful image.
“If I tell you to fucking sit still, I mean for you to fucking sit still,” Slade said. “It’s not an encouragement to pop out the window and take off across the fucking fields to drown yourself.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Dick said. “I was trying to make it to the church.”
“I figured as much,” Slade said.
“How close was I?” Dick asked.
“Not close enough,” Slade said.
Figured. Or maybe it was a lie, spun to demoralize Dick and ensure he didn’t run again.
“Put your arms up,” Slade said.
Dick pried his arms from around his chest and held them out. The waterlogged clothes had grown stiff as they iced against his skin. It burned when Slade pulled them away and left shiny red blotches all over his chest. Slade tossed it to the floor where the heat of the house started to thaw it, water dripping onto the hardwood floor. His fingers barely grazed Dick’s skin. Dick found himself leaning into the warm touches.
“Don’t move around too much. You’re hypothermic and I don’t want to risk cardiac arrest.” Slade pulled his hands away. He tugged on Dick’s pants, pulling them down his thighs.
“I’m sorry,” Dick said.
“I don’t want to hear it, kid,” Slade said.
“How much…” Dick’s throat still burned. He had to swallow against it and the taste of the lake water lingered on his tongue. “How much trouble am I in?”
Slade pulled the pants free and then threw them on top of the shirt. “How much trouble do you think you’re in?”
Dick shrugged one shoulder. Despite being naked and cold in front of him, modesty wasn’t even a thought in his mind.
Wintergreen came in, a stack of folded blankets in his arms. He set them on the arm of the couch and then wrapped one around Dick’s shoulders from behind. “Pull that around you.”
“I’ve got it from here, William,” Slade said.
“Slade, I-“
“I’ve got it from here.” Slade didn’t even look up at him, but his voice was stern and even.
Wintergreen was quiet and then Dick felt his hand on his shoulder. “Keep the blankets around you. You’ll need them to rewarm your body.”
“Thank you,” Dick said.
And then, after a beat, he and Slade were alone.
“The problem is that you’re not sorry. You’re just sorry you got caught,” Slade said. He stood, ripping off his jacket and throwing it onto the arm chair.
“So?” Dick asked.
Slade pinched the bridge of his nose. “I like you, kid, but you’re going to push me to the point I’m going to have to do something neither of us want me to do.”
“You don’t like me. You kidnapped me. You broke my arm,” Dick said.
“That’s the job.” It was so matter-of-fact. Maybe for Slade, compartmentalizing it really was that easy.
“You’re planning to kill me,” Dick said.
“So you decided to get yourself killed and save me the trouble?” Slade asked.
Dick shrugged again. “What’s the difference between now and later?”
The quiet after that vindicated Dick. Slade didn’t have an answer. Of course he didn’t.
“How much trouble do you think you’re in?” Slade repeated.
Dick pulled the blanket around him tighter. Winter was clinging to his bones, so much more painful than Dick ever thought freezing to death would feel. He pulled one leg up under him. “Honestly?”
“I don’t much care for liars,” Slade said.
Dick lifted his eyes to meet Slade’s gaze. “I don’t think I’m in any trouble at all. I don’t think you expected I would still have it in me to run and now you don’t know what to do about it.”
“You confident about that?” Slade asked, eyebrow arched.
It felt like bravado. There was nothing on his expression or in his body language, but Dick had embodied bravado so much a sort of sixth sense clued him in. “Yes.”
Slade put the blankets on the couch. “Sleep on the couch tonight so I can make sure you don’t die in your sleep. Steal my paycheck.”
Dick didn’t argue, just laid down and closed his eyes like he was told. The laundry detergent was starting to smell familiar.
~~~
Dick rose slowly from the warm, cozy depths of his dreams. He pulled the blanket around him and squeezed his eyes shut to cling to it. He knew what waited for him when he woke and the illusion of safety in his sleep was too tempting to give up willingly.
Still, sleep evaded him and the feeling melted away like snow in spring. He blinked his eyes open, his gaze naturally landing on Slade seated in the arm chair.
“Merry Christmas,” Dick said.
No response. Dick shouldn’t have expected one.
“What time is it?” Dick asked.
“One in the afternoon, give or take a few minutes.” Slade leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He eye followed Dick from head to toe, and all the lumps of the blanket covered body in between. “How are you feeling?”
Dick sat up and took inventory of himself . “Fine.”
“Damn near froze to death and drowned last night,” Slade said.
“That was last night. Now, I’m fine,” Dick replied.
Slade’s hand curled into a fist between his knees. “Listen here, Grayson, I’m getting real tired of the attitude.”
“What do you want me to say?” Dick asked. “I’m warmer, now. I’m less tired. I’m less sore. I’ll be back to normal in a couple of hours physically, I’d bet. But it’s Christmas. I’m missing Christmas. I tried to run and my kidnapper caught me and dragged me back here on Christmas. What exactly am I supposed to feel? Relieved? Scared? Upset? Hurt? Sick? Happy? You tell me when to get up, when to eat, what to wear, what to do, when to go to bed – how about you just tell me what I’m supposed to say to this question?”
His eyes burned, his chest burned, his skin burned. Slade’s jaw shifted, searching for words.
Dick beat him to them, standing and walking over to meet Slade on his feet. “I am not relieved or scared or upset or hurt or sick. I am not fine. I am furious, Slade. I am angry and nursing a broken and battered body. You’re trying to break my spirit and every day I feel it cracking under the pressure. You’ll win. I’m human and there’s only so long I can handle this mentally. But you’ll suffer for every moment of it. I have nothing to lose and I am just petty enough, just bitter enough, to want to drag you down with me.”
“You’re going to break long before that happens,” Slade said.
The slap of Dick’s hand against Slade’s face was so loud. Slade worked his jaw, standing and grabbed Dick by the throat.
Dick tilted his head back, chin up and teeth bared. “Do it.”
The hand tightened, anger burning behind Slade’s eyes.
“I said do it,” Dick ordered.
Slade shoved him back.
Dick laughed. It hurt but he couldn’t stop himself. Slade stalked out of the room and Dick’s stomach cramped from the laughter.
~~~
Dick could feel the presence in the doorway. Dick was dressed again, reading the same mystery novel again. “What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this,” Wintergreen said.
“Pissed? It seems to be his default state in my experience.” Dick turned a page.
“I suppose so,” Wintergreen said. It was accompanied by a soft chuckle.
Dick lifted his eyes. “Don’t laugh.”
Wintergreen’s eyes tightened. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Dick said. “If you were, you’d stop him. So stop laughing like we’re talking about some inside joke. You’re not here to help me. You’re here to help him and patch up the wounds when your guilt gets the better of you.”
No answer to that.
“I didn’t mean angry,” Wintergreen said finally.
“What did you mean?” Dick asked.
“Confused,” Wintergreen replied.
“Is that what he is?” Dick asked. Another page turned.
“Very much so,” Wintergreen said.
“I can’t be the first person to fight back,” Dick said.
“You’re not,” he agreed.
“Then what’s so confusing?” Dick asked.
“Maybe that’s the confusing part of it all,” Wintergreen said.
Dick dog eared the page and set the book aside. “Good.”
“He likes you,” Wintergreen said.
“Yeah, he told me,” Dick said. “Fat lot of good it’s done me so far.”
“He doesn’t know what to do with it,” Wintergreen said. “His code means too much to him.”
“Sucks for him,” Dick deadpanned.
“Don’t discount it,” he said vaguely. Dick frowned, ready to dig deeper, only for Wintergreen to walk away.
~~~
The sun lingered on the horizon but inevitably sunk below and left the fields a frozen, dark wasteland.
Cold. Empty. Dead.
Christmas, come and gone. Waning in its evening hours. Dick let the knowledge build up in him, twisting and churning and creating a whirlpool of rage in his chest.
“What?” Dick asked, eyeing Slade in the reflection of the window. He turned to face him.
“Merry Christmas,” Slade said. He threw something on the bed and then closed and locked the door behind him.
Dick climbed back into bed, feeling around the blankets. His fingers curled around the phone. The screen flickered on with the press of a button. Unsurprisingly, there was no service.
No messages. No pictures. Dick didn’t have a damn clue what Slade had brought it in here for and was about to throw it at the door just to prove a point when he opened the videos. His thumb hovered over the still of Bruce’s face. He sat back against the headboard and pulled the blankets up. He pressed play and waited for the video to load.
Bruce cleared his throat on the video and shifted the camera around. “I’ve been informed that we’re not going to be doing videos for a while. My attempts to convince him otherwise have been thus far unsuccessful. I’m… I’m worried that you’re dead but I can’t refuse and risk that you’re not.”
Dick’s eyes burned again. It felt so good just to hear his voice.
“I don’t know if he’ll let you see this. I hope he will,” Bruce said. A long silence. The clock chimed from somewhere in the Manor. “Merry Christmas, Dick. The others missed you. I’ve tried… I’ve tried to keep it normal for them but it’s not the same. Jason came which says a hell of a lot about them knowing something is up. Tim got…”
As Bruce regaled Dick with the Christmas morning he’d missed, hot tears spilled down his cheeks. Alone in the dark, Dick could let all the pain out. The ache in his chest throbbed with each syllable. His muscles ached with the overwhelming force of the emotions he’d kept bottled up. The blanket was soaked with tears and Dick could taste the salt of them on his lips.
Bruce reached forward and pulled the camera closer. “I can feel that you’re still alive. I have to believe that’s not just wishful thinking. I’m going to get you home, Dick. Hold on for me. I haven’t given up.”
The video cut to black.
Day Forty-Seven
Dick had a death grip on the phone as he stepped into the dining room. Slade was seated with the newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Dick said. His voice was still hoarse from the crying. Dick refused to feel ashamed.
Slade lifted an eyebrow without even looking away from the newspaper.
“Even if you force me to give you the phone,” Dick said. “Or if you let me keep it. I’m still going to fight.”
Slade motioned with his cup of coffee to the empty chair. “Sit down.”
“Did you hear me?” Dick demanded. “I’m going to fight you.”
Slade folded the paper and set it down. He leaned back in the chair, drinking from the mug slowly. Then, that too was set down.
“I won’t stop fighting you,” Dick said.
The silence built between them and then Slade replied evenly, “Good.”
Chapter 11
Notes:
✌️
I don't want to get anyone's hopes up, but I've sort of got my life together again. Going to college in the fall. Good job. Taking care of me.
Writing again. Its been a hell of a long time.
I'm aiming for another chapter next month. Fingers crossed.
Also, this is not beta'd. To be honest, its barely edited. And I wrote it on my phone because I have no computer until the fall.
Chapter Text
Day Forty-Seven
“I won’t stop fighting you,” Dick said.
The silence built between them and then Slade replied evenly, “Good.”
The words kept replaying in Dick's head. Good, he'd said. A scrap of praise on Dick for a vow of rebellion that Dick had long come to associate with fear and pain and regret. Even if he foolishly kept climbing to his feet to fight, the victory of determination was tightly wound up in that regret. Regret that he couldn't just give up, regret that he wasn't better or faster or stronger or smarter.
Good, Slade had said.
Dick reeled silently for hours. He shied away from sharing a room with Slade, froze like a deer in headlights every time he heard the man move in another part of the house. Somehow that praise, that encouragement, had done far more to scare him than the threats, violence, and intimidation he'd come to relate the man with.
What did that mean? Good. Suddenly a simple word took on a million meanings and none of them made sense in the situation.
Dick longed for Alfred's wisdom and Bruce's logic - though aware enough to know that he was building up their capabilities from the safety of isolation. It was easy to think that age and experience, intelligence and education, could solve all the problems when Dick could claim ignorance through the lack of solutions he could find himself. But Alfred and Bruce were just as human as Dick was and just as much a victim to the weaknesses involved in humanity.
Slade could probably just as easily lock Bruce up as he could Dick. Alfred. Jason. Tim. Damian.
"Why did you choose me?" Dick asked.
Slade stopped in the plank portion of his pushup, just briefly enough to silently acknowledge that he'd heard the question, and then resumed. "What makes you think I chose anything?"
"Luthor doesn't care as long as you use someone," Dick said. "He wants results. He wouldn't care about the means."
"Faulty reasoning. You're assuming Luthor is using logic in a situation where many fall back on their emotions. You're assuming he's thinking with his head," Slade said.
"So Luthor made the decision to choose me?" Dick asked.
"I didn't say that. I said your reasoning was faulty," Slade replied.
Dick curled his hands into fists at his sides. Breathe and release. "So did you or did he choose me?"
"Why does it matter?" Slade asked. "You were chosen. You're here. That's what counts."
"It matters to me," Dick said.
Slade rolled his eye. "This stupid shit you come up with usually does." Dick thought he really was going to ignore him. Then, "Fine. I made the choice."
"Why?" Dick asked.
"It made the most logistical sense," Slade said.
"Meaning?" Dick prompted.
"Meaning you live alone, you have a history of leaving abruptly. Child abductions get significantly more attention which makes it easier for you to slip through the cracks with Wayne's help. Most of your siblings are still underage and the one that isn't has a tumultuous relationship with Wayne at best and a psychological file several inches thick from trauma sustained at the hands of a serial killer who took him captive and tortured him. That seemed like a bad combination, even if he was easier to get to," Slade said.
"Logical," Dick said. The news should have been exactly what he was expecting but Dick found himself almost disappointed. "You didn't want to hurt Jason."
"I didn't want to deal with the emotional and mental fallout," Slade corrected.
"I don't believe you," Dick said.
Slade couldn't even be bothered to look up. "Believe what you want. Doesn't change anything."
Dick lingered in the doorway.
"Did you need something else?" Slade asked.
"What does good mean?" Dick asked.
Slade sighed. "Go find something to do, kid. I'm not your babysitter."
And Dick, still replaying those words in his mind, did.
Day Fifty
“I won’t stop fighting you,” Dick said.
The silence built between them and then Slade replied evenly, “Good.”
"You've been introspective the past few days, Richard," Wintergreen said.
Dick dog eared the page and set the book down. It wasn't exactly thrilling reading but Dick was learning something about mental disorders. His life was an experience in mental disorders right now but Dick much preferred the clinical take. "Thinking, I guess."
"Penny for your thoughts?" He offered.
"I'm not sure I could put words to them for all the pennies in the world," Dick said. "You'll probably think this sounds crazy but its like hearing music you made up yourself in your head. How can I begin to describe that to anyone?"
Wintergreen crossed his arms over his chest and didn't answer.
"Did you know there are like fifty different definitions of the word good? If you really break it down, I mean," Dick said. "I found a dictionary over on the wall where I found this and it's weird how so many simple words that seemed so easy to understand when you were a kid end up being so complex."
"What made you look up the word good?" Wintergreen asked.
"It was something Slade said," Dick replied. "I told him I wasn't going to stop fighting. I can't, or maybe I don't want to or I shouldn't. Or maybe I can and I do want to and I should, but I just won't. Even when I think I've finally reached the end of my rope I seem to find more."
"You're incredibly strong of will, even Slade agrees," Wintergreen said.
"Slade isn't a good man," Dick said. "But he's not a bad man either."
"I concur," Wintergreen said.
"He sort of reminds me of a lion or a cheetah, if they had to act human. He tries to use animal kingdom logic on people and it doesn't quite work the same way," Dick said. "It's just off enough that he doesn't feel comfortable all the time."
"You're very perceptive as well," Wintergreen said.
"We don't define cheetahs as good or bad, but he's not a fucking cheetah. It's not fair for him to treat the world like a jungle. He could have used his skills for other things, better things that helped people. He's capable of giving a shit!" Dick snapped. "So why doesn't he?"
"I can take it from here."
Dick flushed and looked away when Slade's voice cut through his tirade.
"Are you quite sure?" Wintergreen asked. He didn't sound particularly fond of leaving the two alone together. Dick did appreciate that.
"I'm sure," Slade said.
Wintergreen reluctantly backed away, but not without sharing a look between he and Dick to ensure Dick knew he could call for him.
"I didn't mean for you to hear that," Dick said.
"I gathered," Slade said. "But I heard it. Do we need to talk about this? I'm not interested in chasing your ass through the snow again."
"Did you have to tell Luthor about that?" Dick asked.
"I didn't tell him," Slade said, "and you're not going to do it again so it doesn't matter."
"Why did you even bother?" Dick asked.
"Saving you? I told you, kid. I have a job to do. I can't let you die just yet," Slade said.
"No. Why did you tell me good?" Dick asked.
"When?"
If Slade didn't even remember the moment that Dick had been lamenting over for days… The implications were devastating. "When I told you that I would keep fighting you."
Recognition flickered which was enough. Enough for Dick not to feel like the world was falling out from under him. "I admire your spirit."
"But it means nothing," Dick said. "Admiration isn't going to keep you from holding me here. I'm still a prisoner and you'll still beat me down to keep my fighting spirit in check."
"That's the job," Slade said.
"Fuck you," Dick hissed. "What kind of sadist enjoys holding someone down while they fight?"
Slade's lip curled. "This kind, apparently."
"I keep trying to make sense of the good in you with the bad. I want to understand how they can share the same mind and body," Dick said.
"I never claimed to be a good person," Slade said. "Or a cheetah for that matter. I'm good at what I do. I enjoy it."
"A good man who enjoys doing bad things," Dick said. Was there such a thing? Or did Dick need to face the facts that Slade couldn't be the good man Dick thought he almost saw sometimes and still be a killer and captor.
"A man who enjoys doing bad things," Slade said. "Don't prescribe a goodness to me that I don't deserve."
"You chose me because you didn't want to kill a child, because you've had a child killed. You didn't take Jason because he'd already been traumatized once," Dick said.
"I told you why I took you and not them. You-"
"You lied. You could not kill children and torture Jason because you could not kill children and torture Jason."
Slade pressed his lips together.
"Is that why you let me help with that assassination?" Dick asked. "So that I would drag myself through the mud for you? So you could enjoy the kill the way you can when they're bad people?"
Silence.
"Answer me!" Dick shouted.
Slade cleared his throat. "Go upstairs to your room."
"You cannot just shove me away when you don't like what I have to s-"
Dick hit the bookshelf hard enough to cause it to wobble. A couple books fell out onto the floor, knocking into his shoulder on the way down. Slade leaned into his space. "I can do whatever I want, boy. You do not demand answers from me."
Dick brought a fist up not fast enough to avoid it being pinned against the bookshelf.
"Go. Upstairs." Slade let go with enough force to knock him into the bookshelf again. "Now."
Dick rubbed his wrist, glaring silently.
"Grayson," Slade warned.
"I heard you. I'm going," Dick snapped.
Slade stepped aside and Dick pushed past to make it to the stairs.
Day Fifty-One
“I won’t stop fighting you,” Dick said.
The silence built between them and then Slade replied evenly, “Good.”
"Wintergreen?"
The older man looked up from the laptop he had sitting on the desk. "Yes, Richard?"
"Do you need any help with anything?" Dick asked.
"Like?"
"Anything," Dick reiterated. "I've read everything and nothing on TV is interesting. I don't have anything to do. I'm going stir crazy."
"That didn't take long," he mused. Dick had thought he'd lasted quite long honestly. Wintergreen closed the laptop screen. "Unfortunately there's not much to do so I manage it quite quickly on my own."
Dick sighed. "I remember reading somewhere that something like two thousand people get kidnapped every day. How do they not all lose their minds?"
"Most kidnappings aren't long term," Wintergreen said. "You're an unusual case."
"Sorry. I'll go back upstairs and...reread something, I guess."
Wintergreen stood and then dug into a drawer. He tossed Dick the MP3 he pulled out. "Don't know how much entertainment this will provide but maybe it'll help until I can figure out something else."
It was an old model but it was something. Something Wintergreen didn't have to offer. "Thanks."
"And Richard?" Dick stopped at the base of the stairs to look back. "I know this is nothing that anyone could expect you to smile through, but perhaps there is some wisdom to be mined from an old retired soldier. Facing death, you have to find a little bit of yourself on the battlefield."
"This isn't really a battlefield," Dick countered.
"Isn't it?"
~~~
Dick found himself sitting up by the head of the bed. The pillows were tossed around him, providing a sort of nest to lean into. The blanket was pulled up to his chin. He placed the buds in his ears and scrolled through the list of songs preprogrammed on the MP3.
Wintergreen had old taste. A lot of Elvis. Sinatra. Some of the songs reminded him of Alfred, most didn't.
They reminded him of Wintergreen.
Here comes the sun, dodododo.
Here comes the sun and I say, its all right.
Dick closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to his knees. With the music drowning out the wind howling, the house creaking, the sound of Wintergreen moving downstairs, Dick could close his eyes and picture being somewhere else.
The last time he was at the Manor. The quiet of his own bedroom. The stockroom in the back of the bar. The park where he ran. The quiet little cafe before the morning rush came in.
A little trailer behind a big red and white circus tent.
Little darling, its been a long, cold, lonely winter.
Little darling, it feels like years since its been here.
He sort of wanted to cry and yet there were no tears to try and squeeze from him. Sadness was an emotion that Dick just couldn't mine deeper for than he already had.
Dick pulled the earbud out and listened. Wintergreen moving around, Slade had left earlier in the day. He shuffled across the floor and closed the door before using his thumb to turn up the volume on the MP3 to skid across the floor.
Here comes the sun, dodododo.
Here comes the sun and I say, it's all right.
Dick closed his eyes and spun around the hardwood floor. It wasn't hard to picture the scuffed kitchen floor of the trailer Mom used to spin him around on to the music coming from an incredibly old beat-up radio while the dishes soaked in sudsy water in the sink. Dad coming in and joining them.
It wasn't hard to picture the enormous floors of the Wayne Manor ballrooms either where Bruce would pick Dick up when all the guests had left and Dick was nearly falling asleep against his shoulder to change over the CDs and play whatever CDs Bruce had left from his youth as promised.
"If you suffer through all the cheek pinching and adult chatter then we'll dance to whatever songs you want to dance to at the end of the night."
Dick never made it past the first song before falling asleep.
Little darling, the smiles returning to their faces.
Little darling, it seems like years since its been here.
Of Jason sitting at the base of Dick's bed while he played guitar and Jason read. Of Tim visiting his little apartment and singing to the radio even though Tim pretended to be embarrassed.
Of sliding and shimmying and twisting and turning.
It wasn't hard to remember all the people who were counting on him not to give up.
Dick spun right into something solid that reached out and caught him. He opened his eyes and found himself pressed chest to chest with Slade who watched him with that same narrowed focus in his pale blue eye.
Dick took the ear buds out and the music grew quiet and distant. "Sorry."
"It's fine. I could tell you had your eyes closed," Slade said. He grabbed one of the buds and put it up to his ear. A verse or two and Slade set it down once more. "Wintergreen?"
"He said I could borrow it to cheer me up," Dick said.
"And?" Slade asked.
"And what?" Dick asked.
"Are you cheered up?" Slade asked.
Dick shrugged but then, "Yeah. I guess."
Slade stepped back and then out of the room. "Good."
Good.
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.
Day Fifty-Two
“I won’t stop fighting you,” Dick said.
The silence built between them and then Slade replied evenly, “Good.”
Late at night, the key turned in the lock to his room. Dick sat up, rubbing the almost sleep from his eyes. "Slade?"
"You still up?" He asked.
"Barely," Dick said. He stifled a yawn behind his hand. "What's going on?"
"Come with me," Slade ordered. He didn't stay to see if Dick listened but Dick did and he shuffled down the stairs to follow Slade to the kitchen. It was there that Slade pulled a bottle of… champagne.
"Champagne?" Dick asked.
Slade looked down at the bottle. "You know what today is?"
"Monday?" Dick asked.
"Tuesday, actually," Slade said. He looked at his watch. "For another fifteen minutes. Its New Year's Eve."
Hence the champagne. "Oh."
"You like champagne?"
Dick rubbed his eyes again. "Am I dreaming?"
Slade scowled. "If you want to go back to bed-"
Dick rolled his eyes. "I'm listening. Yeah, champagne is great."
Slade found a couple of glasses, certainly not champagne flutes - Alfred would be horrified.
Dick followed Slade to the living room and was handed a coat. "Put it on."
Dick obeyed and then joined Slade on the front porch. Slade took a seat on the steps and Dick sat beside him, tucking his feet under himself to keep his toes from the cold. "I'm surprised you let me out."
"Comments like that make me regret it," Slade replied dryly. "You're barefoot with a broken arm and last time you ran you nearly drowned. I think you'll wait until spring at least to start running."
Dick snorted.
The cork popped and the sound echoed out into the darkness. Slade poured him a glass. "Here. This will help warm you up."
Dick cradled the glass between his hands and looked out at the countryside.
Bruce usually held a New Year's Eve party. Dancing. Music. Drinking. It was much harder to see the passage of time out here where the concept of a New Year wasn't displayed in decorations.
"I didn't…" Slade started and instantly trailed off. Dick let him. It felt good to have him flounder a bit for whatever words he was going to say. "I wasn't trying to drag you through the mud."
Dick sipped from the glass. The bubbles made his tongue tingle.
Slade seemed to be waiting for a response and Dick just listened to the emptiness stretching across the fields.
"For the record," Slade added lamely.
"Why then?" The question was a cloud of mist in the cold air.
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," Dick said. "You didn't talk about it much. She's dead. I helped. You killed her. But you didn't talk about it."
"Has it been weighing on you?" Slade asked.
"No," Dick said. "Not as much as I expected. Maybe it will hit me later. Its hard to care about things from the inside of this cabin. I know time is passing but you don't feel it the same way."
"Then why do you care why I let you do it?" Slade asked.
"Because I don't have anything else to do," Dick said. "I just have here. Now. Waiting." Another sip. Another sigh. "You spend a lot of time thinking about death when you know you're going to die. Even other people's deaths."
Slade drained his glass all at once and then poured another. "Answer me a question and I'll tell you why I gave you the job to plan."
Dick shrugged, as much agreement as he could give.
"Why are you so determined to see me as a good man?" Slade asked.
"So I can forgive you," Dick said. "I don't want to be miserable this entire time. I want to enjoy what I can and start to make peace with what's going to happen. Make peace with everything I won't be there for. Accept it. I guess there's just some victory in going out with courage."
Maybe that wasn't the answer Slade was looking for because his expression was stony and he looked away.
"Your turn," Dick said.
One minute to midnight. Dick could see the hands on Slade's watch ticking the time away. "I wanted you to feel like you had a little control of something."
Almost kind of him.
"Cheers to… good," Dick said, holding the glass out for Slade to clink. The man only stared at it.
"To good?" Slade asked.
"Yeah, whatever the hell that means," Dick said.
Slade snorted and tapped the glasses together. "To good."
Distantly, guns were fired and fireworks lit up the sky in gold and white.
"Good," Dick repeated.
Chapter 12
Notes:
This chapter is dedicated to withthekeyisking for commenting on a good number of my fics for the recent reread and has proven to be a wonderful source of inspiration today. It is also dedicated to the one person who unbookmarked this fic yesterday and brought my count from 420 to 419. You both ruined a perfectly good meme number and missed out on this update by one day.
Chapter Text
Day Fifty-Three
“Happy New Year,” Wintergreen greeted.
“Happy New Year.” The words were said directly into his pillow and Dick couldn’t begin to wonder how much of that actually got through clearly. He picked his head up. “I was up late. Can I get a few more hours?”
“Being up late is not an excuse to sleep in past breakfast.” He mercilessly flipped the lights on.
“Slade is the one who woke me up at midnight,” Dick said, yawning. “Why do I still have to get up this early for breakfast?”
“It’s not healthy to get off schedule. Your body will adjust when you get a full night’s rest tomorrow,” he replied.
Dick flopped back against the bed and dragged his good hand down his face. “I really don’t have much use for a schedule here. I could get my eight hours from ten in the morning to six at night and it wouldn’t really affect my ability to wander around the house in boredom.”
“That would leave your waking hours from six in the afternoon until ten in the morning and while you may not have things to do, I do,” Wintergreen said. “Therefore, we will continue to adhere to my schedule.”
Dick sighed softly. “I’m getting up, I’m getting up.”
“I’ll have a plate and a glass of orange juice ready for you downstairs,” he said.
Slade was already at the table when Dick got down there. He was sipping from a coffee cup and looked better than Dick felt. “How come you don’t look like you were up drinking until two in the morning?”
“Inner youthful energy,” Slade deadpanned.
Dick dropped into a chair and set the casted arm on the top of the table. It thumped hard against the wood. “It’s been about five weeks in this thing.”
“About,” Slade said.
“Tim broke a wrist and only had to wear the cast for about six weeks,” Dick said.
Slade’s grip on the coffee cup tightened. “And?”
“I know you thought I’d be dead by this point but seeing as the trial is apparently still going on and next week would be the six-week mark…” Dick trailed off.
Wintergreen looked at Slade and then kicked the leg of his chair when Slade didn’t say anything.
“I won’t say anything. I won’t do anything. We just go to the clinic again and get the cast off and then come right back here,” Dick said.
“You say that like you assume I’ll agree with you,” Slade said.
“Is the trial almost over?” Dick asked.
Slade’s lips thinned. He generally didn’t like to share information like that, but there was no way to dance around the question while Dick was also asking about the cast. “…no, it would appear we still have quite a bit of time.”
“So the cast-“
“Next week,” Slade said, cutting him off. “We will go in next week. We will see if the cast can come off.”
Dick couldn’t contain the smile. “Seriously?”
“I don’t want to hear any more about it,” Slade said.
“I can’t wait to use both hands again,” Dick murmured.
Slade scoffed. “What did I just say?”
Dick rested his chin on his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
The resulting huff was fine. Dick couldn’t be bothered to be bothered. Maybe it was stupid, but Dick felt better going into his impending death without the cast. There was something about not facing death feeling like a victim, even if that was just a comfortable illusion.
Dick picked at his food for a bit before clearing his throat. The sound clearly cued Slade in that Dick was about to start speaking again because he rolled his eye before Dick even said a word. “If I’m still going to be here for a while, could we at least get something for me to do?”
“There are books,” Slade said.
“I’ve read all the books. Including the psychology textbook,” Dick said. “And watched the TV. I help Wintergreen with the chores around here. I planned an assassination. I moved the furniture in my room-”
“Engineered multiple escape attempts,” Slade added.
Dick was not that easily dissuaded. “And I would probably be less likely to try to escape again if I had something else to occupy my time.”
“Is that so?” Slade asked dryly. He didn’t look like he believed Dick and honestly, that had been a total line of bull.
Dick sighed. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t say that, but I am going to probably get into things I shouldn’t because I have nothing better to do.”
“Commentary like this is how you get yourself locked in your room because you can’t be trusted,” Slade countered.
“Meet me halfway,” Dick said. “Rather than just getting into things I am telling you so that you have the chance to prevent it.”
“It doesn’t matter. If I don’t prevent it and you do get into something you shouldn’t, I can correct the behavior with some negative reinforcement,” Slade said. “Doesn’t affect me one way or another.”
Dick narrowed his eyes. “You are so frustrating.”
Slade didn’t look as offended as Dick would have liked. “I’ll take that under consideration.”
Wintergreen took a seat at the other end of the table. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad thing if he had something else to do, Slade.”
“Don’t start with me, William,” Slade warned.
“You said it yourself. The trial is taking longer than you anticipated. You might as well give him something to entertain himself,” Wintergreen said.
“This is why Wintergreen is my favorite,” Dick added.
Slade cut his gaze to Dick. “Did you think that statement was going to help your case?”
“You don’t care whether I like you or not,” Dick said.
Another eye roll. Dick was used to it at this point.
“Please?” Dick offered.
“I am not a man who succumbs to begging,” Slade said.
Dick wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t begging.”
“That is the definition of begging,” Slade said. “Go find something to do other than argue with me if you’re done with breakfast.”
Dick leaned in. “Arguing with you is currently the most interesting thing to do in this house, Slade.”
The man stared him down. Dick wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when Slade broke eye contact first. He stood, pushing what was left of his breakfast away and taking the cup of coffee with him. “I’ll consider it.”
“Thank God,” Dick muttered.
“I didn’t say yes, I said I’d consider it,” Slade said from the stairs.
“That means yes,” Dick said, mostly to Wintergreen who looked a bit amused by the interaction.
Day Fifty-Five
“Here.” The single word was accompanied by a brightly colored cube dropping into his lap during another rerun of Bonanza. Considering that Dick had already seen this episode, he didn’t mind the distraction. Picking up the Rubik’s cube, already mixed rather than flat sides of color, Dick only arched an eyebrow at Slade. The man shrugged. “You wanted entertainment.”
Dick wrinkled his nose. “This is your idea of fun?”
“This is my idea of available at the nearest gas station,” Slade said.
“No one actually enjoys Rubik’s cubes,” Dick said. “I bet you’re great at parties.”
“When you solve the Rubik’s cube, I’ll get you something better,” Slade said.
Dick dropped his head back against the back of the couch. “You’re a sadist.”
“I guess you weren’t that bored after all,” Slade said.
Dick seriously considered throwing the damn plastic cube against the back of his head as he walked away. Instead, he picked it up for closer examination. Slade sounded too amused for him to be as indifferent as he claimed when he added, “They don’t use stickers anymore either. Can’t just peel them to fix it.”
Dick wished he’d thrown it at him while he was still in range.
~~~
“I see Slade found you something to do,” Wintergreen said. He too sounded a bit too amused.
Dick’s attempts had, if anything, managed to only make the thing worse than when he’d started. “Don’t laugh.”
“I do not enjoy suffering,” Wintergreen said.
He still sounded amused, the bastard. Dick tossed the cube aside on his bed. “I don’t know a single real person who has ever solved a Rubik’s cube. They’re impossible.”
“They’re not impossible. Anything that has been done can be undone,” he replied. “They are frustratingly difficult, however. That much is true.”
“He could have just gotten me something that would actually be interesting. Instead, he gets me this thing and tells me if I want something else I have to solve it,” Dick said. “That could take forever. I don’t have forever. I don’t want to waste my time on this stupid box.”
Wintergreen’s smile faltered. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I see.”
Dick rubbed his temple. “I’m sorry. I’m really not being that depressive about it. I don’t know where that came from.”
“From a place of truth, I’d imagine,” Wintergreen said. “The mind is a complex thing. More complex than your new pastime. I know that you’ve made further peace with what will happen, but that does not mean that some form of resentment or fear doesn’t still reside in you.”
“That’s a waste of time too,” Dick said. “I’m tired of being scared or angry. I just want something to do, something more interesting than a fucking Rubik’s cube.”
Wintergreen’s hand sat on Dick’s knee before squeezing, a touch too slow which gave away his discomfort and awkwardness. “I’ll see about speaking to Slade.”
“Don’t,” Dick said. “He’s… trying, I guess. In his own way. I don’t want to fuck it up. He’s been in a better mood and letting you get in the middle has never worked out well for me. I’ll figure out the stupid cube or I won’t. It’s not like it would matter in the end anyways.”
“Are you sure?” Wintergreen asked.
Dick picked the Rubik’s cube back up. “It’ll be easier next week if I can get the cast off.”
Wintergreen didn’t comment on the way that wasn’t an answer, just stood and nodded. “If you need help, let me know.”
Dick rotated a few sections rather than respond.
Day Fifty-Six
“Why did you get him a Rubik’s cube?”
“He wanted something to do.”
“A Rubik’s cube, Slade?”
“It was a joke. Besides, I told him I’d get him something else once he solved the thing.”
“And what happens if he doesn’t solve it before the trial ends.”
There wasn’t a response.
In the end, Wintergreen broke the silence. “Slade? What happens if he doesn’t solve it before the trial ends?”
“He will. He’s smart. If he can plan an assassination, then he can solve a fucking Rubik’s cube. He’s been at it for two days, not six weeks.”
“You need to respect that he has a countdown. What you think is funny is a way to waste whatever time he has left.”
“If he’s this bored already then my getting him new movies or new books or even a video game isn’t going to help. I thought the Rubik’s cube would be a challenge. I’ll get him something harder when he’s solved it. He’s smart, William. He needs a challenge.”
“A challenge for what?”
“Keep his brain active. Animal enrichment, or something.”
“He’s not an animal.”
“We’re all animals.”
Another pause.
“Where is this even coming from? Did he say something to you?”
“Not directly.”
“I’m not going to be pissed if he complained about the Rubik’s cube.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.”
“That seems a bit harsh.”
“You’ve proven to have a temper on this subject.”
“I’ve never had a temper on Rubik’s cubes.”
“Don’t be intentionally dense, Slade.”
“I’m not going to get pissed about a goddamn Rubik’s cube.”
“He said something about not wanting to waste the time he had left on it. He brushed it off pretty quickly, but I think at least some part resents it, yes.”
“I thought he’d get a kick out of it.”
“I imagine its hard to ‘get a kick’ out of anything when you’re facing death.”
There was some noise like a chair moving, or somethings scraping against the top of the table.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“We’re going to the clinic again for the cast in less than a week. If he hasn’t finished it by then, I’ll ask him what he wants.”
“Thank you.”
Day Fifty-Seven
“How’s it coming?” Slade asked.
Dick didn’t look up from the Rubik’s cube. “I had two sides completed at one point. Farthest I’ve gotten.”
“Making progress,” Slade said.
Dick held it up. All the colors were a mess again, no sign that he’d ever gotten that far. “Not really. It’s one of those things you have to destroy your progress to get closer.”
“You don’t destroy it. You learn from it,” Slade said.
Dick’s snort was more of a huff of air. He finally leaned back against the arm of the couch, setting the cube in his lap. “How poetic of you. But even if I was learning something from it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t get destroyed.”
Slade crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorway to watch him. “Thought you’d enjoy the thing but I’m getting the sense that you didn’t find it as funny as I did.”
“Wintergreen told you.”
“Losing one eye doesn’t preclude me from observing your behavior,” Slade said.
“I overheard the two of you talking,” Dick said.
Slade’s lips thinned. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”
“Dead men tell no tales. It doesn’t matter what I hear.” A grim smirk. “I’ll take it to my grave, I promise.”
Slade’s eye went to the window. “I’m not going to be heading out until we take you to the clinic, but I can have William pick you something up. What do you want to entertain yourself with?”
“Nothing.”
That ice blue gaze snapped back over to him. “We just agreed that you don’t like it. You want something else to do with your time and I want you not to get into my shit and eavesdrop so lets just pick something you actually want to do.”
“I want to finish this Rubik’s cube,” Dick said.
“You don’t like the Rubik’s cube,” Slade said.
“I don’t like the deadline,” Dick corrected instantly. “I don’t like the idea that I could be two turns away from finishing it when my time runs out. That I won’t get the chance to do something else. But what are my other options? A book I might not finish? A TV show I won’t see the next season of? A video game I can’t complete? Even if I was at home, I might never get to complete those things. I could have been in a car accident or died choking on take-out. No one knows how long they’re going to live. I’ve spent the past two months arguing with you and Wintergreen and myself about how unfair it was that I was going to die before my time but it’s not unfair. It’s just business. You’re the cheetah and I’m the antelope. We don’t talk about how unfair it is for the antelope to die. It’s the circle of life. So maybe I’ll finish the Rubik’s cube and then I can get something else. Or maybe you can bury it with me in whatever shallow grave I get at the end of this. Or maybe you can keep it and finish it for me when I’m gone.”
Slade didn’t say anything.
Dick tapped the tips of his fingers against it. “If I finish it, I want a jigsaw puzzle. A landscape. Some place like Greece or Thailand or the Artic. I’ve never been to any of those places.”
“Greece is pretty impressive.”
“Are you trying to rub salt into the wound?” Dick demanded. Maybe it was his imagination, but Slade looked mildly guilty. Chastised. It was Dick’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m accepting it. I’m not going to just stop being irritated about it. Brains don’t work that way.”
“Why a jigsaw puzzle?” Slade asked, finally.
“Because you were right, I need a challenge. I’m bored and another TV show isn’t going to change anything,” Dick said. “As much as I hate this stupid, colored box, it’s been a bit more involved than old episodes of Knight Rider and A-Team.”
“I usually am,” Slade said. “Right, that is.”
Dick sighed. “Don’t ruin it.”
When Dick looked up again, Slade had left the room and then a few minutes later Dick managed to get three sides together before having to undo his progress again.
Day Fifty-Nine
“I thought I told you to leave that thing in the house,” Slade said.
Dick held the Rubik’s cube under his casted arm against his lap and twisted the side again. “I’m too close now. I’m about to solve it, I just feel it.”
“It hasn’t been that long. Don’t get your hopes up,” Slade said.
“You’d make a great inspirational speaker,” Dick snarked.
“You’ve let your mouth get out of hand,” Slade muttered.
Dick mocked him by mouthing his words but took the warning to heart and didn’t go through with saying it out loud. “I’m close to figuring it out. Just let me have my faith.”
“You’re leaving it in the car,” Slade said, pulling them into the clinic parking lot. “I mean it.”
Dick put it in the cup holder between them with a bit more force than was necessary.
“Name?”
“Richard Smith.”
“Rules?”
“Don’t speak without permission. Don’t tell anyone what’s going on.”
“Good boy,” Slade said.
“Woof, woof,” Dick muttered. He jumped when Slade popped his mouth. Not much force, just enough to startle him.
“I heard that,” Slade said.
Dick bit the inside of his cheek. Slade let him out of the side door and they walked back into the clinic.
It was quieter this time, but Dick supposed that made sense. Last time they were in here it was just about the Christmas season. Dick remembered reading somewhere that hospitals and stuff like that got busier during the Christmas season. No woman with a baby this time, just an old man in the corner coughing up a lung with a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket.
“Richard Smith.”
They were led back to a room where they were left to wait. Dick glanced at Slade. “Isn’t it a bit dangerous to bring me back here twice?”
“Would you prefer we leave?” Slade asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Dick said quickly, not entirely sure if Slade would go through with walking them out. “I was just confused.”
Slade didn’t make any moves to get up. “It looks less suspicious than you think it does. It’s a free clinic. If she wanted to fulfill her duty as a mandatory reporter, she’d go work in an emergency room doing the same thing. She’s running this place because it gives people an option who would otherwise avoid getting medical help that needed it. The first time she turns someone in for something she sees here, she’ll lose her credibility and people will avoid coming here after that. It’s a necessary evil for her. She probably gets a lot of abuse cases, which is what we both know she thinks this is. Pimps will bring their workers. Gangs will bring in shooting victims.”
Dick supposed that made some kind of sense.
“Mr. Smith,” the doctor greeted. Her eyes went to Slade. “And Mr…”
“We’re hoping Richard is ready to get his cast off,” Slade said.
She didn’t look thrilled about the way he was dodging the question but she didn’t comment on it. “Six weeks will probably have been long enough for it to heal. Let’s get some x-rays and find out.”
Although Dick was pretty sure that Slade shouldn’t have been allowed to come with them for the x-rays, she didn’t argue this time. Maybe she was remembering Slade’s willingness to walk out without the cast when she’d tried to push for the surgery. They did some more waiting after that and Dick was uncomfortable with the silence but knew better than to break it. Slade had been better back at the house but out here, Dick knew he walked a thin line.
“Well?” Slade asked when she came into the room.
“The cast can come off,” she said. “Unfortunately, without the surgery, I’d guess that you’ll probably suffer from stiffness. Maybe some chronic pain. You should have most if not all of the mobility, however.”
Better than it could be. Dick just wanted to be able to finish the Rubik’s cube and get started on the puzzle. He nodded without speaking, something that made her lips thin and her eyes tighten. The longer she didn’t comment on his silence, however, the more confident he was in Slade’s assessment.
Dick didn’t know how he felt about that, being viewed as an abuse victim rather than the truth.
When the cast was off, Dick delighted in wiggling his fingers and rotating his wrist. She was right about the stiffness, but he didn’t feel any pain. “Thanks, doc.”
“Take it easy for a couple of days but if you don’t have any problems during that time, you should be fine going forward,” she said.
There was no card this time, no effort to get him out. Dick wondered if one chance was all he got. When he didn’t reach out for help, she left him to his fate. In the end it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if he would have been able to reach out for help this time either. Still, something about the feeling of his opportunity having already slipped through his fingers did make him feel that much more resigned.
Dick was still clenching and unclenching his hand when he got back in the passenger seat.
“Are you going to be doing that all day?” Slade asked.
“No,” Dick said, stopping immediately. He picked the Rubik’s cube back up. “It’s just been a while. I’m done irritating you with my delight at having an unbroken arm again.”
“If you hadn’t ruined Thanksgiving, you wouldn’t have had a broken arm to begin with. The whole ordeal from start to finish has been an irritation,” Slade said.
Dick didn’t dignify that with a response, just went back to the cube.
~~~
“Boy, if I have to call you down these stairs for dinner one more time-“
“I’m coming!” Dick shouted down. He grabbed the cube from the bed and took the stairs two at a time to the first floor.
“Careful,” William said, sidestepping Dick’s exuberance. “You just got the cast off.”
Dick set the finished Rubik’s cube down in front of Slade while there was no plate in the way. “Finished.”
Slade arched an eyebrow. He picked the cube up to examine it, taking what felt like an annoyingly long amount of time before handing it back. “Good job.”
“When do I get my puzzle?” Dick asked.
“I’ll get your puzzle tomorrow,” Slade said. “Sit down for dinner.”
“God. You just ruin every achievement with your stoic asshole self,” Dick said.
Slade lifted a finger in the air and moved it in a circle. “Yay. Better?”
Dick snorted before taking the plate from Wintergreen and then got to work on his dinner. He flipped the Rubik’s cube around, enjoying the smooth unbroken sides of color, until Slade snatched it from him to put away. The biting reminder that, “The dinner table is not a place for toys,” felt more indulgent than usual.
But that was probably just Dick’s imagination.
Chapter 13
Notes:
Special shoutout to Covid-19 for taking me out of work and giving me the time to write.
Bonus love and affection for the two people who can get me to 469 bookmarks since we're pretty far past the last good meme number.
As is almost always typical for me - this is unbeta'd and written in 3 hours or less about five minutes ago.
Chapter Text
Day Sixty
“Do you think this piece looks more like this part of the beach or that part of the beach?” Dick asked. He didn’t look up when Slade came in, just pointed at a piece placed up in the corner.
“It’s not much of a challenge if I solve it for you.” Slade sipped from a coffee mug.
“I forgot. Your eyesight is bad,” Dick said.
“My eyesight isn’t bad. I’m just missing an eye,” Slade said. “Any fool could see this piece belongs on the east side of the beach. Are you colorblind?”
“No,” Dick said, picking up the piece and moving it towards where the east side of the beach would be, “but staring at this puzzle for hours does tend to make the colors contrast less. Thanks for the help.”
That earned Dick a grunt as Slade realized he’d been baited into helping.
“Can I help you?” Dick prompted.
“How is the arm holding up?” Slade asked.
Dick held his hand in the air. “Like it was broken six weeks ago, didn’t quite heal right, and has begun the slow stages of working out stiffness by using it for a task which requires fine motor skills.”
“Smartass.”
“Did you just come in here to ask about the arm?” Dick asked.
“I also came in here to gloat over your lack of progress on the puzzle and share the information that Wintergreen bought you one, and only one, box of that stupid cereal you keep asking for. I will not buy you another one of those cardboard boxes full of empty calories. Ration wisely,” Slade said.
Dick finally lifted his gaze. His eyes narrowed. “…what are you after?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re after something,” Dick said. “You’re never this nice.”
“You’re a hostage,” Slade said.
“So?” Dick asked.
“So, if there was something I wanted then I wouldn’t have to be nice to get it,” Slade said.
Dick’s lip curled. “You have such a charming way with words.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Slade replied.
Dick resisted the urge to fling the puzzle piece in his hand at Slade’s forehead. “So, you don’t want anything?”
“I wouldn’t be nice to get something from you,” Slade said.
“And you’ve delivered all the messages you intended to and questioned about my arm,” Dick continued.
“Seems like it,” Slade said.
Dick slid a piece into place, though not the one he’d been searching for. “What are you still doing here then?”
“My house,” Slade said. “I’ll go where I damn well please.”
“Are you my kidnapper or my father?” Dick asked sarcastically.
“Keep your daddy issues to yourself, kid,” Slade said.
Dick didn’t dignify that with a response. Mostly because he searched the whole length of his tongue and couldn’t find one. Silence gave him more opportunity to maintain his dignity.
The silence was interspersed with the soft noise of cardboard pieces clicking into place with one another and sips of hot coffee. Slade set the mug down on the corner of the table. “…however, I suppose if you insist on me coming up with another reason to be in here I thought that you might be moving through this puzzle too quickly and considered it might be worth it to slow you down so that I don’t have to get a replacement challenge by the end of the day.”
Dick lifted his eyes slowly, unable to hide the murder in them. “If you destroy even one single puzzle piece trying to get in the way of me finishing this… I will kill us both.”
Slade crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow without saying a word.
Dick pressed his lips in a thin line, seeming to realize that he was toeing the boundaries of what he could get away with on an average day. “…just warning you.”
“Actually, I thought that you and I could go work on the truck in the barn,” Slade said.
“You thought we could go work on the truck in the barn,” Dick repeated.
“I know it’s an old house, but this echo is new.”
“I’m just trying to understand,” Dick said. “The barn is outside.”
“Most barns are,” Slade said.
“I’m not allowed to go outside,” Dick said.
“Didn’t stop you from badgering me to take you to the doctor,” Slade replied.
Dick jabbed a finger at him. “You know very well those two things are not the same at all.”
“If you don’t want to work on the truck, just say that you don’t want to work on the truck,” Slade said.
“What if I ran away?” Dick asked. “This feels like a trap. This is entrapment.”
“Entrapment in the context that you’re using it in requires that I be tricking you into completing a crime,” Slade said.
“Why do you know that?” Dick asked.
“I’m a criminal,” Slade said.
“A criminal, not law enforcement,” Dick said.
“Believe it or not, kid, it pays to know the law on this side of the fence as well. Stop stalling.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Dick countered.
“You have no shoes and the last time you made a break for it you nearly drowned in a frozen pond,” Slade replied. “I’m hoping that you’ve managed to unlock maybe one singular shred of common sense since that time. The longer this conversation goes on, the more I feel like that is a fool’s hope.”
“How am I supposed to walk out to the barn without shoes?” Dick asked.
“I shoveled you a path,” Slade said.
Dick glanced down. The man still had his boots on and the bottom of his pants were darkened slightly where the snow had melted. Dick looked up. “Wintergreen is going to kill you when he realizes you tracked snow through the house.”
“Kid,” Slade barked.
Apparently going out into the snow didn’t require shoes but it did grant him temporary use of a sweatshirt. A sweatshirt belonging to Slade would be Dick’s guess. It was much too large for him and advertised a military symbol that Dick didn’t recognize, not that he had a lot of experience with them to do so.
“Go,” Slade ordered.
Dick eyed the single file path through the snow. “The ground is going to be cold.”
“Remember when you made a run for it? It’ll be like that, only this time you have a path,” Slade said.
“Last time was heat of the moment, impulsive,” Dick said.
“Reckless,” Slade offered.
Dick cut him a glare. “This time I know how cold it’s going to be. I’m working myself up to it.”
The huff from Slade behind him didn’t warn him. No, Dick was just contemplating how to make this process as painless as possible and then the world was flipped upside down. After reorienting himself, Dick realized Slade had picked him up with the same care as a sack of potatoes. Dick’s head smacked into the small of his back while Slade’s shoulder dug a bruise against Dick’s hip. “Put me down.”
“I’m not listening to you hem and haw on the back porch about a little cold. Sit still before I accidentally drop you in the snow drift,” Slade said.
Dick did not want to be dropped in a snow drift. Slade could be petty and vindictive. He might make Dick suffer in wet clothes for being an inconvenience. Dick wiggled in search of a more comfortable position. “This is so demeaning.”
“You demeaned yourself whining about a little cold on the back porch for five minutes,” Slade said. Dick accidentally-on-purpose kneed Slade in his chest. It was a bit annoying how hard that chest was. Not that Dick didn’t already know that Slade was made of muscle and solid iron, but now Dick’s knee might have a bruise for it. “I’m serious, kid. Last warning. You’re headed for a snow drift.”
Dick didn’t fight anymore, and he grunted when Slade half tossed him down on a lawn chair kept in the barn. Dick straightened himself out as best he could. “How come you don’t even look winded?”
“I eat less shitty cereal,” Slade said absently.
Dick mocked him to his back as he followed him over to the truck. Unlike the vehicle they’d been using up to this point, which was stored closer to the barn doors and looked ready to go, this truck looked older. Probably originating right around the time cars started being considered “classic”. A fading blue paintjob. Rust along the edges. A flat tire. “Where did you get this piece of junk?”
“Came with the barn,” Slade said. Dick opened his mouth and without even looking back, Slade answered, “Which came with the house. No, I will not tell you when or why I bought it.”
“You didn’t buy it for me?” Dick asked.
“No, I didn’t buy you a house,” Slade said.
“That is not what I meant, and you know it,” Dick said. He walked around the truck. “This is probably a good time to tell you that I don’t know the first thing about fixing a car.”
“Coming from the paragon of handiness who still can’t manage a straight razor?” Slade asked. The derision dripped from his tone. “I figured that would be the case.”
“The only reason I cut myself this morning is because it was my first time in six weeks using it. Once I get in a little more practice with two working arms it’ll all come back to me,” Dick said.
Slade popped open the hood.
“There’s a flat tire,” Dick pointed out.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Slade deadpanned.
Dick wondered, briefly, how much trouble he’d get into for slamming the hood down on Slade’s fingers. The desire was tempered by the reminder that he just got his cast off and it would be nice to make it a mere week at minimum before having to get a new one. “I’m just saying. It looks bad. This side is even missing the mirror. Maybe we should fix those things first before worrying about the engine?”
“The stuff you’re talking about is outer trappings,” Slade said. “I’m not laying a finger on this truck for aesthetic until I get the bones fixed up.”
“Wouldn’t bones be a better comparison for the frame of the truck?” Dick asked.
“Every analogy breaks down somewhere,” Slade said.
With those words of wisdom between them, Dick peeked in. “Guts.”
“What?”
“Guts would be a better analogy,” Dick said.
“What do you know about fixing vehicles?” Slade asked.
“609-555-0613,” Dick parroted.
“Is that a phone number?” Slade asked. He sounded tired.
“Phone number to my mechanic to be specific,” Dick said.
“I’m already regretting bringing you out here,” Slade said.
“That’s not my fault. This was a weird suggestion,” Dick said.
“Do you want to go back inside?” Slade asked.
“No,” Dick said instantly.
“Then shut your mouth and open your ears so we can get some work down while we’re out here,” Slade said.
“I don’t know anything about fixing cars,” Dick said with a sigh.
“What do you think is wrong with this engine?” Slade asked.
Dick looked at it for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s old?”
“Although not wrong, I think you can do better,” Slade said.
Dick thought that being imprisoned with his puzzle was starting to sound rather enticing. “Uh… it’s old so… rust. Maybe.”
“You weren’t observing, just guessing, but I’ll give it to you anyways,” Slade said. “Right here. It’s leaking oil here at the rear main seal.”
Dick’s eyes followed Slade’s fingers to the area he was pointing. Dick tried to commit it to memory in case doing well with this meant more field trips outside in the future. “So what do we do about that?”
“We’ll likely have to rebuild the engine. Even if I got rid of the rust and replaced the seal, engines this old and in this bad of shape are just going to go bad in another part of the engine later. It’ll burn through oil, rebuilding the engine will be more cost effective in the long run,” Slade said.
“Why do people buy old cars if they just have to pay to replace all the parts?” Dick asked.
“It’s about history,” Slade said.
“It feels like an unnecessary, pointless mark of masculine pride,” Dick said.
Slade rubbed his temple. “I may drop you in a snow drift on the way back just because.”
Dick took a step back. “Hey now. That gives me no incentive to behave on the way back inside.”
Slade’s hand slapped across Dick’s shoulder blades, and he was shoved forward until his stomach pressed against the edge of the car again. “Focus.”
“I’m focused, I’m focused. What’s next?” Dick asked.
Slade redirected Dick’s attention to an ancient radiator. Over the next hour, extraordinarily little actual work got done. Dick’s hands got dirty but mostly from touching, examining, and moving pieces to conduct what felt like the weirdest checkup he’d ever been part of. Dick learned about coolant, clogged hoses, radiator fans, fan belts, brakes, and the difference between 6-volts and 12-volts. Although unsure how much of that information he would retain, Dick had to reluctantly admit that at least some of it was interesting.
“Some of it?” Slade asked.
“I mean, it’s nice to know how the car works. I take mine in for maintenance and to get things fixed but I never knew as much about the car as I do now,” Dick said. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel quite as lost in the future taking my car in as I used to when they explained what was wrong with it.” A beat. “Well, not that I’m going to ever take a car in again, but you get the idea. It would be nice in theory.”
Dick was seated in the stupid little plastic lawn chair again. Slade was closing the hood and had found a small ratty looking rag to wipe his hands off with. Dick started to use his pants only for Slade to slap him in the back of the head with the rag and drop it in his lap. “Ow.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Slade said.
Even with the towel, Dick struggled at getting the grease off his hands. “Where did you learn all this? Actually, let me guess.”
The answer of Slade’s father came simultaneously from both their mouths. Dick rolled his eyes. “Interesting man.”
“Something like that, I guess,” Slade said.
“How come you never ask me about mine?” Dick asked finally.
Slade was busy looking through some tools. He didn’t look up. “I know everything about Wayne that there is to know, kid. No reason to ask questions.”
“Bruce is my adoptive father. I mean my biological father,” Dick said. “John Grayson.”
It might have been in Dick’s mind, but he thought Slade’s hands paused along the wrenches. “None of my business, kid.”
Dick set the rag aside. “…He was a good man, you know. Maybe he would have taught me some of this stuff if he’d lived. Don’t know about the straight razor. To be honest, it’s been so long that I don’t even remember what kind of razor that he used. He had to have been the one who worked on the trailer we lived in though. We all had to be hands-on for that. Even when I was a kid, I still had stuff to do to keep the circus moving.”
“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Slade said.
“No,” Dick said. “No, I want to.”
Slade wrapped his fingers around the edge of the workbench. He didn’t stop him, though. Dick continued.
“He, um… he did used to sit me on his knee when he read the paper. That’s where I had my first sip of coffee,” Dick said. “And Mama, she was amazing. She called me her little robin. She’s the first person who trusted me enough to let me go into Zitka’s enclosure. She ran around trying to keep up with me. Looking back, I can’t imagine how she had the energy to do that.” The arm of the chair was especially cold with the winter air. So cold that Dick could press his fingers against it and the skin would stick for a second before body heat let him pull it away. “Did you know that we had a special trick? It was a quadruple backflip. My family were the only people who knew how to do it. I haven’t done it in years, but I guess… I guess I’m the only person left who knows. Knew. Haven’t thought about that in a long time.”
“Use the basement if you want to try,” Slade said.
Dick flinched at the offer. “No. Thank you, but no.”
“If it matters, just use the basement,” Slade pressed.
Dick shook his head. His index finger slowly peeled away from the cold arm of the chair. “No. It doesn’t matter if I do it, and if I’ve forgotten I think that would be worse.”
Either Slade didn’t hear him, or he didn’t have anything to say.
“I’ve never given life after death much thought,” Dick murmured. “Maybe I’ll get to see them soon.”
No response. Dick didn’t expect one.
“I’ll tell your son you said hello,” Dick offered without looking up. His fingers were numb from pressing against the cold chair.
Day Sixty-One
With approximately one-fourth of the puzzle put together, Dick had hoped that the ball would pick up speed rolling. If anything, Dick had found himself at a stop sign on the project for too long. Colors really did start to blend after so long of looking at them.
Frustration kicked in not too much longer after that thought and Dick pushed away from the table to take a walk around the house and stretch. After the fifth or sixth lap up and the stairs, Dick lingered in his bedroom. His back popped and cracked as he bent in half at the waist and splayed his hands against the hardwood floor. More popping with the backbend. He kicked over and then let out a soft sigh.
Maybe the lack of physical exercise was part of the problem. Dick had been a bit of a gym rat, supplementing various forms of activity in the place of his acrobatics for as long as he could remember. He might not have been jacked the way Slade was, but he’d never been in bad shape.
“Slade said I could use the basement to do something. Do you think he’d mind if I used it to work out for a bit?” Dick asked.
Wintergreen finished folding the towels. “He said that you could use the basement for something?”
“It doesn’t matter. It was sort of a silly thing. I just wanted to use it to give myself a little space and not be a loud elephant jumping around the living room and disrupting you,” Dick said.
“How considerate,” Wintergreen said. He examined Dick closely. “I’m going to tell Slade about this, so if this is some lie to try something-“
“It’s not,” Dick interrupted. “I mean, go ahead and tell Slade. I understand. He’ll back me up though. He gave me permission to be down there. I promise.”
Wintergreen withdrew a bunch of keys on a loop and then worked one off in particular. “On the off chance that there is something down there that shouldn’t be, I would advise you to think very carefully about doing something stupid.”
“I vow to leave all of my stupid up here,” Dick said, saluting.
The act seemed to make Wintergreen only look more hesitant and so Dick snatched the key from him before he could back out of the offer.
Dick’s experiences with the basement up to this point had not been particularly pleasant. The chair that Slade tied him to every time that he had to send Bruce a video was still there. Dick’s eyes briefly settled on the corner where he had taken comfort after Slade had shoved him down the stairs. He quickly moved away from that area, however, and didn’t dig too deep into his own psyche about why.
For the first time, Dick really examined the area. He was surprised to find that the white sheet hanging behind the chair to hide details of his location was actually serving a double purpose by hiding a door. A locked door, to Dick’s obvious disappointment.
Trying the key proved fruitless. Dick also searched for anything thin and small that could be used as a lockpick only to come up shorthanded. That made sense. After the first bunch of escape attempts, Slade and Wintergreen had done a thorough comb of the place to make sure there wasn’t anything Dick could use to make another effort.
Another mystery when there were too many, and not enough time to solve all of them. That would never stop being disappointing.
Dick abandoned the door to poke around the room some more.
The laptop was gone, presumably locked away somewhere to keep out of Dick’s hands. The logical place that line of thinking went to was the hidden door. Dick snapped his gaze back over. There were little windows at the top of the basement made of frosted glass that were covered by the thick layers of snow. Nothing stored beneath the staircase. Nothing in any of the drawers in the desk. No decorations on the wall. No boxes of anything like Christmas decorations or seasonal clothes that were out of season.
Empty.
Dick had to move the chair to do some stretching in the center of the floor. At first, it felt stupid. He couldn’t quite place his finger on why. Dick had gotten in some bodyweight exercises in front of the TV before, so it wasn’t as if working out alone was some new, untouched phenomena.
Maybe it was the slap of his bare feet against the cement floor, or the cool air through thin clothes that the unfinished basement did nothing to help repel.
The feeling faded after Dick moved off strength training and into some yoga. He’d always been a fan. Alfred got him hooked a long time ago, though Dick was old enough now to realize that Alfred had simply been searching for anything that might make him find some element of calm.
In Taraksvasana, Dick looked between his feet as the door opened and Slade stopped halfway down the stairs. Slade’s eye seemed to follow from the tips of Dick’s pointed toes up to his knees and then down the length of his body where his hands balanced his bodyweight precariously. “I think I should be impressed.”
“You think you should be, or you are?” Dick asked. He didn’t leave the position, returning to his careful attention to his breathing when he was finished speaking.
“I certainly couldn’t do it,” Slade said.
“Coward,” Dick said. “You make me try new things all the time. You should give it a go.”
A hmm, and the more creaking stairs as Slade finished descending the rest of the staircase to join him on the basement floor.
“What’s in the room behind the white sheet?” Dick asked.
“An armory,” Slade said.
Dick’s head snapped up. He almost lost his balance. “What?”
“Guns. Knives. Tactical armor,” Slade said.
“Like weapons?” Dick asked.
“Guns do usually count as weapons, yes,” Slade said.
“And you just… you just told me that?” Dick asked.
“It’s not like you can get in there,” Slade said.
“You don’t know that I couldn’t get in there,” Dick said. “I could pick the lock or break down the door.”
“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t have agreed to let you down here,” Slade said. “You’re nosy. I knew you’d find the door eventually.”
Dick lowered himself out of the position. “You didn’t even consider lying?”
“The mystery of it would eat you up more than if I just told you,” Slade said. “You’d be sneaking down here trying to figure out what I was hiding. This saves us some steps.”
That was… probably true. The bastard.
“I still think you should give yoga a try,” Dick said, changing the subject to keep from having to acknowledge that fact.
“Maybe,” Slade said.
“Maybe usually means yes with you,” Dick pointed out.
“Are you trying to convince me to say no?” Slade asked.
Dick sighed. “No.”
“I’ll consider letting you give it a shot but I would like your cooperation,” Slade said.
“My cooperation?” Dick asked.
“You don’t have a cast anymore,” Slade said. “It’s been quite some time. Your father would like a video.”
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