Ease My Mind

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/18342344.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandoms: Nightwing (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Relationship: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Angelica (DCU), Jason Todd, Blockbuster
(DCU), Roland Desmond, Elaine Marsh-Morton, Shrike | Boone,
Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake,
Stephanie Brown
Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Idiots in Love, Protective Batfamily, Overprotective Damian
Wayne, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Slade Wilson, Good Slade
Wilson, welllll "good" might be an exaggeration, Clark Kent is Out of
His Depth, Attempted Murder, BAMF Dick Grayson, Assumptions,
Assassination Attempt(s), Public Display of Affection, Bisexual Dick
Grayson, Bisexual Slade Wilson, Bruce Wayne is a Dad (TM), Mild
Hurt/Comfort, cass is a little ooc cause i didn't know much about her
when i wrote this
Language: English
Series: Part 6 of Sladick Fics
Collections: Protective Slade Wilson
Stats: Published: 2019-04-12 Words: 15,700 Chapters: 1/1
 Ease My Mind
by withthekeyisking

Summary

Five times someone found out about Dick and Slade, and the one time they got to share the
secret themselves.

(Plus, you know, lots of feelings and shit.)

~
Sequel to Greater Sins Did Walk the Earth, but you don't need to have read that for this to
make sense.

Notes

Title from the Ben Platt song, because I was listening to it and it suddenly reminded me of
the first part where Dick was struggling emotionally and Slade helped him. (Go check out the
song if you have a chance! Really good.)

Has anyone listened to Ben Platt by the way? He just put out his debut album and it's
gorgeous. He's also an actor and Tony winner....I'm a fan.

Well, hope you enjoy!

See the end of the work for more notes

1

Dick wasn't sure what to do when he made his way into Slade's kitchen to find someone
already there.

He was still half asleep, so it was possible he was imagining things, but after rubbing his eyes
and blinking hard, there was still a black-haired woman with scars across the right side of her
face likes claw marks in front of him, currently digging through Slade's alcohol cabinet.

"Uh," Dick said, staring.

The woman looked over to him, seeming just as surprised by his presence as he was by hers.
If he had any doubt as to how (or why) she'd broken into the apartment, it was washed away
when he finally noticed the two swords strapped to her back and the armored, black and
green outfit she was wearing—she was an assassin, one he'd seen Deathstroke work with a
couple times.

Nightwing had fought her once.

Dick was suddenly—painfully—aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing his mask.

"Well, you're just lovely," the woman purred, quickly regaining control of herself. She'd
clearly been awake for far longer than Dick had; glancing at the clock (6am) told him that
he'd only passed out about four hours ago, and that was after a long night of crimefighting—
he was exhausted. Slade had muttered insults the entire way to this safehouse about his lack
of ability to meet basic bodily needs, such as sleep.

It wasn't the first time he'd complained about it, and it wouldn't be the last. Part of it was
annoying—he was a grown adult, after all—but overall it was simply nice. It was nice to see
incontrovertible proof that Slade seriously cared about him, whenever he was doubting it.
Slade took amazing care of him and always snapped at him when he didn't eat or sleep
enough. It always made Dick feel a little warm inside.

"Uh," Dick said again, because what the fuck else was he supposed to do in this situation?
There was an actual supervillain stealing his boyfriend's liquor.

And, okay, technically, his boyfriend was a supervillain too, but...semantics.

"Thanks?" Dick followed it up with, because John and Mary Grayson and then Alfred had
raised him to be a polite individual.

The woman hummed low in her throat, her eyes dragging up and down Dick's body with a
appreciative smirk. Dick's cheeks pinked; he was wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt
and yet somehow she'd managed to make him feel quite naked.

"Sorry, but what are you doing here, exactly?" Dick asked, because at this point he figured it
was well within his rights to ask a stranger what they were doing in an apartment that was not
theirs. "And who are you?" he added, since at this point he could still pretend to be a civilian,
and he didn't remember her name, anyway.

"Dropping in on an old friend," she told him smoothly, her eyes flicking to the bedroom door
he'd just emerged from and then back to him with a raised eyebrow. "And my oh my am I
quite pleased that I did."

"Right," Dick replied hesitantly. "I'm going to need a bit more information than that, because
you see, you kind of broke in and you have weapons littering your person so I kind of have
many, many questions."

The woman cocked her head at him. "You're fucking Slade Wilson and you're not used to
being around weaponry? You're either brand spanking new or just plain stupid; which is it?"

And now he was at a crossroads, because clearly this woman was familiar with Slade, and
Slade—to the best of Dick's knowledge—was not the kind of person who went around
sharing what he did for a living with one-night-stands. And as long as Slade stayed happily
asleep in his bed, Dick could easily play this off as being a clueless hook-up who just
happened to fall asleep and stay the night.

Dick furrowed his brow, as if confused or wracking his brain. "Was that his name? We didn't
do a lot of talking." He grinned at her, sheepish but satisfied, and she barked a laugh. Then he
blinked, as if something occurred to him. "Wait—what did you mean used to being around
weaponry?" He eyed her swords warily. "Who the fuck are you guys?"

She was very fast when she darted forward, and it took every ounce of control Dick had not
to follow his instincts and jump back or flip away, or even strike in return. He allowed the
woman to pin him against the wall, the blade of a sword against his neck, his eyes wide and
panicked, his hands raised in surrender.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," he breathed, shrinking back.

You see, the thing was, was that he was raised by Bruce Wayne. Bruce was a serious,
intelligent, no-nonsense kind of person; but in public he was the kind, playboy airhead who
wasn't stupid but certainly wasn't the brightest bulb. No one ever considered Bruce Wayne
being Batman because you only had to spend five minutes around the socialite to doubt his
ability to find his car by himself, let alone lead the Justice League.

Dick had been raised by that man. So, he seriously knew how to act.

The woman smirked at him, pressing a little closer, and seemed to delight in the way he
flinched away.

A slight sound from the bedroom, then, "Angelica, what are you doing here?"

Both the woman and Dick glanced over at Slade, now standing in the doorway, squinting
against the light, clothed only in PJ pants. He frowned at their positioning, at Dick's wide,
afraid eyes, and the woman's satisfied (slightly malicious) smile, and sighed.
"Just getting to know your little one-night-stand, here," the woman—Angelica, apparently—
purred, her eyes sliding back to Dick's face. "He's so pretty, Wilson; feel like sharing?"

Dick gulped. Slade rolled his eye.

"Kid, get out of the hold," Slade told him tiredly, and Dick scowled at the fact that his
boyfriend had made the decision to out him all by himself. He still followed the instruction,
though.

Dick drove an elbow into Angelica's stomach and then dropped, ducking under her arm as her
body curved from the force of the blow. Dick struck at her arm, taking the sword from her
grasp, and then twirled away, going to stand by Slade's side.

She gaped at him. He smirked, twirling the weapon in his hand.

"You tricked me," she observed, quickly regaining her composure, raising her chin. "I'm
impressed."

His smile grew and he tossed her sword back to her, which she caught deftly from the air. He
then looked to Slade.

"What'd you do that for?" Dick grumbled. "She completely bought my hapless hook-up
shtick. I'm not—"

"I know, kid," Slade interrupted, because he did. He knew what Dick was going to say, what
his argument was, what Dick's worries and complaints about all of this would be. I'm not
wearing a mask. She can't know who I am. We can't trust her to keep this secret. Slade knew
him as well as he knew himself if not better, which meant that Dick didn't understand why
he'd broken Dick's charade.

But he also trusted Slade enough to have a good reason, and he could wait for whatever that
reason was.

"Yes, what was the point of that?" Angelica asked in a bored tone, her eyes flicking between
them, narrowed and thoughtful.

"His family doesn't know he kills people for a living," Slade lied easily, leaning against the
doorjam and crossing his arms. "He doesn't know you; safest route was to play clueless, not
assassin without his mask. Now what are you doing here, Angelica? Just felt like breaking
into my apartment?"

"There was a hit across town earlier tonight," the woman replied, and Dick suppressed the
urge to tense. "I'd been paid to take the target out, but he was dead before I got there—I was
wondering if it was you."

Slade didn't glance at Dick, but the vigilante could feel his boyfriend suppressing his urge as
well.

"I'll see you around, Angelica," Slade said, not answering the question. She narrowed her
eyes at him.
Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Angelica sighed, rolling her eyes. She
started moving towards the living room window, the one with the fire escape, but stopped
when she was at Dick's side. Her eyes once again dragged up and down his form.

"You've got quite a pretty one, Slade," she hummed, winking at Dick before looking to the
other mercenary. "Don't fuck it up. Hope to see you again, lovely!"

Then, she was gone.

Dick whirled around on Slade.

The older man watched him carefully. "You have questions."

"Several!" Dick agreed. "First—why did you break the ruse? I'm not wearing a mask, Slade, I
didn't want some mercenary to know I was anything more than a passing fancy in case she
recognized me, or spotted me again. Bruce Wayne and Co. are public figures, I—"

Slade stepped forward, cupping Dick's cheeks in his hands, effectively cutting the younger
man off.

"Because she was going to kill you," his boyfriend murmured. "Angelica's enhanced like me,
and we used to sleep together. If you were just some random fuck and had seen her with her
weapons, she would've ended your life and not thought twice about it. Knowing that
you're someone—even if she doesn't know who—stopped her from simply pressing the blade
a little harder and ending your life.

"She also understands what it's like to be a mercenary whose family doesn't know—if she
spots you in public someday, she isn't going to go up to Wayne and say Your son is a
mercenary. Telling her you were a hero would be a different story, but this she would
understand."

That...was pretty reasonable, actually. Though Dick didn't know how he felt about a world-
famous mercenary thinking that Dick Grayson was an assassin.

"Oh," Dick said quietly, thinking it over, and Slade nodded, brushing a hand through the
younger man's hair.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay." He licked his lips, then asked, "Next question—did you kill someone tonight?"

Dick and Slade had been together for about six months now, ever since the mercenary
patched Dick up after a pretty bad night, and though Dick had accepted that his boyfriend
killed people, it was still hard to hear about after the fact, that somewhere someone was dead
because of someone he deeply cared about. Somewhere someone had been murdered and
Dick had fallen asleep in bed with their killer.

"Do you want me to answer that, little bird?" Slade asked quietly, just like he did every time
Dick enquired about things like this.
And, just like every time, Dick debated the answer. Did he want to know? Did he want to be
oblivious? Would wanting to just forget about it for a little while make him less of a hero?
Did this whole relationship undermine his very values?

Dick worried about these things from time to time. But Dick was a worrier in general, really.
And what always brought Dick back to calm whenever he was afraid that he was being stupid
by being with Slade, was that there was no one in the world who made him feel as at ease, as
peaceful, as centered, as loved, as Slade did.

That's what mattered in the end. At least, he hoped so.

"No," Dick murmured, closing his eyes. "Let's go back to bed."

Slade leaned in and kissed him gently, probably far too aware about the conflicting feelings
Dick was struggling with, and wrapped him in his arms.

"I've got you, little bird," the older man whispered, and Dick relaxed into his body, knowing
he wasn't lying.

There was something very, very droll about fundraisers crowded by the 1%.

They all got dressed up in their very best and made each other feel good about all the money
they were donating while never actually having to make any sacrifices. There were definitely
a few good eggs who genuinely wanted to help people, but Slade wasn't holding his breath.

Now, Slade wasn't really judging these people for their selfishness; hell, his whole job was
based on self-satisfaction. But after you attended enough of these (which Slade had, whether
as undercover, bodyguard, waiting assassin, or invited guest) they all blended together, and
didn't really feel worth the effort of actually going, despite the check he was sure to make at
the end of the day.

For instance—this night, he'd been hired to take out a diplomat visiting some family in
Gotham for a few days. The man was making the rounds with the high society folks, which
included this benefit dinner/gala/whatever-the-fuck-you-wanted-to-call-it. Slade liked crowds
for hits; the more people, the more chaotic it got, the less likely it was that someone was
going to notice him.

Slade was dressed to fit the occasion in a black, tailored tuxedo, shiny Oxfords on his feet,
and his hair styled. He had various weapons hidden on his person, of course, but no one
noticed that (as expected). If not for the eyepatch, he would've looked just like any of the
other million rich assholes milling about the ballroom.

He clocked his target—David Reynolds—right away, the diplomat's airheaded wife hanging
off his arm and flashing a dazzling smile at all the people who approached to talk to them.
The gala's security was spaced evenly throughout the room, easily noticed, and Reynolds'
bodyguards were just as simple to spot, though they weren't trying as hard.

No, Slade knew he didn't have to worry about any of those two-bit soldiers. What he did need
to worry about was the fact that he'd just spotted a couple of black-haired, blue-eyed kids,
which meant nothing but fucking trouble.

"Hi," someone said, making Slade glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, standing behind
him was Bruce Wayne, wearing the grin that millions of girls loved, the slightly dopey
expression that proclaimed this man as not a threat, as just some playboy philanthropist
without a real braincell.

But Slade knew better, had for just about seven years. Bruce Wayne was Batman. Bruce
Wayne knew that Slade Wilson was Deathstroke. But Bruce Wayne did not know that Slade
knew his identity in turn.

Slade had kept that a secret. He didn't know why (liar) he'd kept it to himself, but it was a
valuable piece of information if he ever decided to sell it.

He was kidding himself, really. There was no way he'd ever tell anyone, not now. Not after
these past seven months. Not after...

"Hi," Slade replied, smiling back charmingly. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

Wayne offered his hand, already shaking his head. He swayed a little, as if drunk, and the
glass in his other hand was practically empty. The man had a brilliant ruse, but Slade knew
what he was looking for and there was a certain alertness in the billionaire that shouldn't have
normally been there. Batman was lurking right below the surface, wondering why a
mercenary was at his party.

"No, you don't," Wayne said, laughing a little. Slade shook his hand, noticing the callouses.
"Which is why I thought I'd say hello! Normally all the same stuffy, horrible people attend
these things—" he offered a wink, as if sharing a secret, "—so I thought I'd introduce myself
to someone who looked vaguely interesting. What's your name?"

Vaguely interesting. Ha. "Andrew Bennet," Slade said smoothly. Wayne didn't falter at what
he knew to be a false name. "Nice to meet you, Mr...?"

He wondered if Dick was here, somewhere. Probably, since Slade had seen Robin #3 and the
demon child. Dick's presence would always be welcome, but it would...complicate things.

"Wayne! Bruce Wayne, at your service."

Slade's eyebrows rose in surprise; as often as he worked in Gotham, he'd be expected to know
the name, and pretending not to would be suspicious.

"Now, Mr. Bennet, can I ask—" Wayne began, his chin unconsciously raising as he prepared
to suss out why Slade was there. He was interrupted, though, a few brainless girls running up
and pulling him away. Wayne looked irritated for a moment before smoothing it down, and
Slade couldn't help but feel terribly amused.

The next half hour went without incident. He danced with a pretty woman, then another, and
then managed a dance with the diplomat's wife, who was slightly drunk by this point and
whispering filth in his ear, making Slade wonder whether or not David Reynolds was
performing as well as he should in the bedroom.

As the band wrapped up a song and they all paused to clap, he felt someone step up next to
him. He didn't have to look to know who it was—he'd recognize the feeling of Dick near him
any time, any day.

"Follow me," the young vigilante murmured.

Slade withheld a sigh and did as he was told, weaving his way through the crowd after Dick.
He glanced subtly around the room, searching for any watchful eyes, but Wayne currently
had his back to them, deep in conversation with some business partner or another, and the
two youngest boys were bent together, muttering something, taking no note of their oldest
brother leading a known assassin through the ballroom.

Said-known-assassin couldn't help a little smirk; his boy was very, very clever, and good with
timing.

"Dick—" Slade began as they exited the main room and through a door into a small hallway.

Any other words were cut off by his boyfriend (fuck, what a trivial word) pulling him against
himself, one hand on his hip, the other around his neck. Slade melted into the kiss, breathing
in Dick's scent and taste and drinking up the little shudders that wracked the younger man's
frame when their tongues touched, the breathy moan when Slade pushed him against the
wall, the relaxing of his body as Slade enveloped him.

Dick grinned against his mouth. "Hi," he said softly, breaking the kiss, their lips no more than
a few centimeters apart. "Been a while."

And god help him, but Slade couldn't help the warmth that spread through his chest. He saw
Dick six days ago in Blüdhaven, and yet the younger man was smiling up at him like it was
the first time he was breathing fresh air in a decade.

It made Slade feel...

Shit, it made Slade feel all kinds of things.

"It's been less than a week, Grayson," the mercenary murmured back, stroking a hand through
the hero's hair. Dick sighed and leaned into the touch, his eyelids fluttering shut, humming in
pleasure.

"True, I suppose. Felt longer. I missed you."

How was it that this masterpiece of a human being was his?

He struggled with that from time to time. Dick Grayson was a genuinely good person. He'd
had his fair share of struggles in life and he wasn't blind to the darkness of the world, but
there was something so very pure about him that was just...amazing. Considering how awful
their world could be, it was a miracle that Dick had stayed as bright and beautiful as he'd
always been.

And Slade was...not those things. He wasn't being self-deprecating, it was just a fact—he was
a killer, a thief, a liar, a villain. Everything that Dick should've stayed far away from. Instead,
the boy truly cared for him. Trusted him. Fought for him. It would probably be Dick's
undoing one day.

Out of all of Slade's sins, if there was one that he knew would send him down below, it was
being the stain on Dick Grayson's soul.

"I missed you too," he said quietly. "What are you doing in Gotham, little bird?"

And oh, Slade would never get tired of the various ways Dick reacted to that term of
endearment. Like this time, when the vigilante relaxed like Slade's very words had soothed
something inside of him.

"Damian had a parent-teacher conference," Dick said with a lopsided grin. "He wanted me to
go, so I did. Since I was spending the night anyway I figured I might as well attend this party
with my brothers, considering Bruce is co-hosting it. Free food and alcohol; what could go
wrong?"

"The demon child goes to real school?" Slade asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow.

Dick laughed softly, nodding. "He does, indeed. My alma mater, actually. It's a good school."
He smirked. "Also, Dami's art teacher showed me a bowl he made, so, you know, proof that
art class evens out all kinds of people, even heirs of the demon."

Slade snorted, rolling his eye, and didn't resist when his partner (better than boyfriend?)
pulled him in for another kiss, getting more and more heated by the second.

Part of Slade was wondering whether or not this was part distraction, whether Dick had
figured out he was here to kill somebody and was just pulling his attention elsewhere. Which
—possible. But Dick also was an affectionate person, one who very much enjoyed being with
Slade (the feeling was entirely mutual), so even if that was part of it, it was in no way the full
story.

The mercenary licked and kissed his way down Dick's neck, grinding against him as well,
making the younger man let out a soft moan. Slade glanced around and saw a small table,
reaching just above Slade's hips, and he grinned.

Between one second and the next he had lifted Dick off the ground, moved over a few steps,
and sat the hero on the table, stepping between his legs.

Dick laughed, throwing his head back, and the moaned when Slade stuck a hand down his
nice slacks. Slade captured his mouth again, swallowing the moan down, and wondered if the
band was loud enough to drown out their noises, considering they were only about eight feet
from the door to the ballroom.

He found that in this moment he really, really didn't care.

"Oh. My. God."

Dick went rigid in his arms and Slade had the extremely strong urge to chuck a knife into the
brain of whoever had just interrupted them.

He looked over his shoulder, following Dick's wide-eyed stare, and saw Jason Todd grinning
at them, looking incredulous and delighted.

"Jay," Dick said faintly, blinking as if trying to find a way to rationalize. Slade wasn't going
to say it, but he was pretty sure there was no way to explain away an assassin having you
pressed against a wall with his hand down your pants and his mouth attached to your neck
while you moan. That all felt pretty self-explanatory.

"I thought you were...I thought you didn't want to come," Dick continued, clearing his throat.
Slade subtly removed his hand and zipped up Dick's slacks before stepping back, letting the
younger man slide to his feet.

His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen, his neck bright red from Slade's attention, his cock
clearly erect in his pants. He looked absolutely divine, and Slade wanted nothing more than
to find a quiet room (with a lock) and finish what they started.

"Bruce called," Todd said with a sharp smirk and a quick glance at Slade, which the
mercenary could easily define the meaning from; Bruce told me Deathstroke was here and
asked me to come.

And then it occurred to Slade—Todd didn't know that Slade knew who they were, either. The
second Robin could see that his big brother was acting out with a criminal, but on the other
side it simply looked like Deathstroke was hooking up with a hot little rich boy.

"Let me guess—brother?" Slade said with a raised eyebrow, glancing between them in a
bored fashion.

Dick blinked at him, seemingly in shock, probably not understanding why Slade was acting
obtuse, and then he seemed to click. "Uh. Yeah. This is Jason, my younger brother. Jay, we
were..."

"Oh, Goldie, it was very clear what you were doing," the Red Hood chuckled. "God, when B
finds out!"

"Your father's not a fan of random hookups, then, I take it?" Slade snorted, and got to
straightening his own clothes.

"Oh my fucking god, Dick!" Todd shouted, laughing all the while.
"Sorry, kid, I gotta run. This was fun." He smirked, then turned and headed back into the
ballroom. Curious as to the conversation they were about to have, Slade stood on just the
other side of the door, a crack still left open.

"That was—" Todd began.

"I know who that was," Dick hissed. "You cannot tell Bruce!"

"Why the hell are you making out with Deathstroke the Terminator in the first place?" Todd
shouted right back, still sounding terribly amused. "Hell, if your plan was to distract the
assassin for long enough to save the target, then man, you succeeded, but hey I didn't know
you had it in you."

"That is not—!" Dick began heatedly, then cut himself off, taking a deep breath. "Are you
gonna tell B?"

There were a few moments of silence, and then Todd sighed heavily and said, "No, Goldie,
I'm not gonna fucking tell Bruce. But you owe me one, and a goddamn explanation."

"Yeah, yeah," Dick muttered back, and then footsteps getting further away from the door.

"I hope you know that I will be making jokes about this from here until eternity," Todd told
him with delight. "He might not have known whose pants he was trying to get into, but I'll
never get the mental image of Deathstroke giving Nightwing a handjob out of my head."

"Oh, shut up!" Dick said, but he was laughing, and then their voices faded, too far away for
even Slade's enhanced hearing to pick them up.

And it turns out Todd had been right—if Dick's plan had been to distract him, it had been
successful; the diplomat was gone, safe from Slade.

The mercenary rolled his eye and smirked. One way or another, the batfamily managed to get
in the way of his job.

Everything hurt.

Dick had been injured many, many times throughout his life, but this had to be top 5. His
chest was on fire, all of his ribs at the very least cracked. His leg was broken, and his arm
was numb and bent at an angle he was pretty sure arms weren't supposed to go. His throat
burned from having been choked. His head was ringing from having been hit repeatedly.

All in all, this was not looking like a good day for Nightwing.

Frankly, Dick hated when villains teamed up. It was one thing if he'd been aware of the
partnership beforehand, or if he had his family or his team to back him up, but when it was
just him against five highly skilled individuals (one with super-strength, two trained by the
League of Assassins, and two too violent for their own good), it was...a struggle.

He'd known Blockbuster put out a price on his head, and he'd fended off a few would-be
assassins in the last month or so, but this time...well, this time he was pretty sure they were
about to succeed.

Dick let out a shout when he was forcefully shoved into a chair, all of his injuries jostling
and screaming at him. His vision went white for a moment, and he fought to keep breathing
deeply. When they bound his arms to the arms of the chair, one of them sadistically punched
the break. Dick cried out, but it only seemed to amuse them.

"Oh, dear Nightwing," a voice cooed, and Dick tilted his head back to see Lady Vic smirking
down at him. "Did you ever think you'd find yourself in this position?"

"Of course not," Shrike snorted before Dick had a chance to reply. "He's the amazing
Nightwing, Batman's partner—death was never in the cards."

That wasn't, strictly speaking, true. Death was an option every single day of his life, every
time he chose to put on a mask and take on the criminals of the world, no superpowers to
back him up. Death was the gamble he made every single day, one he'd accepted when he
was ten years old and Bruce first let him be Robin. That didn't mean he wanted to die, it
simply meant he knew it was possible.

He wasn't Superman. He didn't have bullet invulnerability, or heat vision, or super-strength;

he made do with what he had, just like Bruce taught him, and he did alright.

If this was where he met his end, well...He'd had almost fourteen years of crimefighting, of a
truly great life. That was more than many got. Hell, it was more than Jason got.

Someone grabbed his chin, yanking his head forward, and he found himself face-to-face with
Blockbuster. The crime boss had an ugly grin on his face, and Dick suppressed a shiver; this
criminal had been out for his blood for a year now, and now here they were.

"Any last words?" Blockbuster sneered.

In that moment, Slade crossed his mind. They'd been together about eight months now, eight
amazing months. Dick's twenty-fourth birthday was in just a couple weeks; his boyfriend had
said he had something planned. It was a surprise, but now Dick wished he'd known what they
were going to do; it would've been nice to think of in his final moments.

Would Slade avenge him? Oh, definitely. He most certainly didn't share Bruce's feelings
(or Dick's feelings) about killing, and would have no problem hunting down the five people
responsible for Dick's death. Jason would help him.

Dick let his eyes slide shut, a quiet breath going out of him. He said a silent goodbye to his
brothers, to his father, to Alfred.
Then, to Slade, to the man he's never said I love you to despite feeling it, Dick said, "See you
in the next life."

There was the click of a gun's hammer being pulled back. A muzzle pressed against the
center of his forehead. Dick prepared himself for blackness, but—

"Step away from him."

Dick's eyes flew open, a small gasp making his lips part, and he saw Deathstroke standing
with quite a large gun pointed directly at Blockbuster.

The crime boss narrowed his eyes and straightened to his full height, but didn't move the gun
a single centimeter. "Deathstroke," Blockbuster grit out, "I don't care what contract you have
out on Nightwing—this hero is mine to kill. He's been a nuisance for far too long, and this
is my city."

Slade adjusted his aim. Bang, bang.

The Trigger Twins, off to either side of Dick, dropped dead, identical bullet wounds in the
centers of their heads.

Lady Vic sucked in a sharp breath, her hand going to her gun, and Shrike fell into a ready
stance. Slade put his aim right back on Blockbuster.

"I said step away from him," Slade repeated coldly. "Shall I drop the last two of your minions
or will you do as you're told?"

"Who's paying you so much that you'd be willing to take us all out?" Blockbuster demanded,
a vein pulsing in his neck. "I've worked with you before, Deathstroke—you aren't one to drop
other mercs and assassins. Something or another about professional curtesy."

Dick couldn't help but smile. Slade was there, protecting him, just like always. He hadn't
expected him to appear, but looking back that was silly; Slade would always be there if he
needed him. And now his boyfriend was going to get rid of the threat, and while Dick
really, really didn't approve of killing enemies, he figured that he could make an exception
this time considering they were in the act of trying to kill him.

Unfortunately, the observant Lady Vic noticed the fond, relieved smile on his face while
Blockbuster and Deathstroke were facing off, and cursed.

"He isn't here to kill Nightwing," the female assassin spat. "He's here to save him."

Blockbuster went rigid. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Shrike take a step back, and
then the assassin turned and ran, fading quickly into the darkness.

Boone knew when to cut his losses, and apparently getting in the way of Deathstroke and
someone he cared about was not on his bucket list. Smart boy; there was a reason he was one
of Ra's al Ghul's best.
"Well, well," Blockbuster sneered, pressing the muzzle of the gun more firmly against Dick's
forehead. It felt hard enough to leave a bruise. Really, that was probably the least of Dick's
worries. "Ain't that precious. Went and fell in love with a fucking vigilante, Deathstroke?
How the mighty have fallen."

Once more, Slade adjusted his aim. Bang. Lady Vic went down.

"You see, Desmond, I actually liked Elaine," Slade said, his voice cold as ice, nodding to the
limp form of the female assassin. "She was smart, and skilled, and we worked well together
from time to time. You, though? I already despise you. Imagine how little sleep I'll lose over
putting a bullet straight through your skull, which is exactly what will happen if you lay one
more hand on Nightwing."

"You can't shoot me!" Blockbuster snarled. "You wouldn't risk my finger spasming as I went
down and taking your little whore with me into the next life."

Slade's shoulders twitched in the tick Dick knew meant his boyfriend was pissed. He'd never
been a fan of derogatory names, especially in relation to people he cared for. Dick had once
heard someone call Rose a bitch in Slade's presence and the poor sucker had been bleeding
through the neck before he could so much as utter another syllable.

"Then it appears we're at a standstill," Slade mused, and the tone of his voice sent a shiver
down Dick's spine. "What do you suggest we do next?"

Blockbuster didn't seem to have an answer to that. But, you see, Dick did.

Because, you see, they never bound his legs.

Dick kicked out, howling as his broken leg made contact with Blockbuster's groin, but it had
the desired effect. The crime boss jerked away from him, letting out a strangled sound of
pain, and doubled over. Another gunshot rang out, and Dick didn't have to look to know that
Roland Desmond was dead.

The city will be in chaos tomorrow, Dick thought faintly, now that the man who ran 80% of it
was gone.

Strong, familiar hands cupped his cheeks then, and Dick let his eyelids flutter shut, sighing in
relief and leaning into the touch.

"Talk to me, little bird," Slade murmured, and Dick smiled, opening his eyes again.

"I love you," the hero said, and then grinned when the mercenary jerked in surprise.

After a moment, Slade pulled his mask up to his nose and crashed their mouths together,
kissing Dick passionately. It hurt, his lungs burning and ribs protesting the movement, but
Dick leaned into it all the same, so relieved to have his boyfriend with him.

For a minute or two, he'd really thought he was going to die.

"I love you, too," Slade said against his lips, drawing a gasp from Dick. "Of course I fucking
do. Now, let's get you out of here."

Slade cut through the bindings on his wrists and then very carefully picked him up,
murmuring an apology every time Dick cried out as some movement or another caused him
pain. The ride to Dick's apartment—pressed against Slade's chest on his motorcycle, just like
all those months ago—was quiet and peaceful, and though Dick was in a lot of pain and so
close to passing out, he felt safe and like he could take on the world, as long as he had Slade
at his side.

"What's wrong?" Slade asked him after they got to the apartment, as he was doing his best to
patch the vigilante up, and Dick realized tears were leaking from his eyes.

"Nothing," Dick whispered back. "I'm simply...I just really thought that was it for me. I'd
never..." He sucked in a shuddering breath. "I'd always accepted dying as a possible outcome,
but that was the first time I felt one hundred percent certain that I was about to be killed."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner," Slade told him, stroking a hand through his hair. "I've got
you now, little bird."

Dick smiled at him and kissed him softly. "I know you do. You always do."

The next two months passed slowly, his bones and body taking their dear sweet time to mend.
His brothers visited a lot, Bruce stopped in once or twice and sent him little care packages,
and Slade was with him almost every night. He was glad to see so much of the people he
loved, but he was antsy to get back out in the field, and after nine fucking weeks he was
finally able to go on patrol.

About an hour into the night he came across five drug dealers, all unconscious, all bound and
gagged. A note was pinned to the wall above them:

Good to see you out and about, Nightwing.

Sorry about the shit with Blockbuster—it was nothing personal.
Tell that to Deathstroke too, would you? I don't feel like being hunted by him.
I won't tell anyone by the way, about you and him. Your weird little secret is safe with me.
-Shrike

Dick had to read it five times before the message fully sunk in, and he laughed, wondering
how terrified the assassin must've been the past two months of Deathstroke the Terminator
coming after him. He'd have to call Slade and tell him it was fine. It was still possible the
merc would ignore him and go after Shrike anyway, but Dick liked to think that his boyfriend
would heed his request.

Or, Dick thought with a smirk, maybe he'd simply have to distract the mercenary. He could
think of a few options...

4
Getting punched in the face was not how Slade liked to start his mornings.

Preferably, he'd wake up with Dick in his arms, probably still asleep considering his boy
was not a morning person. He'd have a nice long shower, sometimes with the gorgeous man
that was somehow his with him, then make them some breakfast, and then go about their
days.

A tiny fist against his nose did not fit in with that wonderful little plan.

Slade instinctively rolled to the side, jerking out of range of another blow. He was completely
in defense mode at the moment. It was still pitch-black outside, casting the bedroom in
shadows, making it challenging to make out his opponent—shit, make that opponents; there
was two of them, both coming at him with a fury that didn't seem to match their small
statures.

It didn't help that Slade was as naked as the day we was born.

Suddenly, the light flicked on, causing Slade to squint and curse; he heard his opponents do
the same. Then—

"Jesus Christ, what are you guys doing here?" Dick yelled, furious and surprised.

"It is a good thing we're here!" the smallest one shouted back, and now Slade realized who'd
been attacking him—the fourth Robin and the ex-assassin girl, both out of costume, both
looking about one second away from leaping at Slade again.

The mercenary pulled in a calming breath, let it out slowly, and then sat on the edge of the
bed. He shot Dick a glare, one clearly saying Fix this, or I will.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Dick snapped at the demon child, wiping a hand down
his face. Suddenly, the vigilante seemed to realize that he was completely naked, too, and
cursed, quickly yanking on a pair of underwear from the floor.

"He was—" the demon child began furiously, then his cheeks pinked, and finished with, "—
hurting you!"

Dick stared at his youngest brother, and Slade could practically see him screaming internally.
Slowly, his gaze slid to the other one, Cassandra Cain.

"Damian, I can understand," Dick said lowly. "He's twelve. But you are twenty years old,
Cass; I would seriously hope you could put some context to the situation."

The girl rose her chin indignantly, her jaw set. "I'm not blind!" she said firmly. "But this
is...Deathstroke. He..." Her brow furrowed with frustration as spoken language failed her, and
then she switched to ASL. He's a very powerful mercenary, and he was pinning you down!
We came to see you and found your enemy—what were we supposed to do? Leave you to
whatever fate he had in store?

Dick gaped at her and his eye twitched a few times.

Slade wondered if this is when he was going to witness his young lover have a mental
breakdown. Two of his siblings—the pair not raised in a normal society, the pair raised in
seclusion and by assassins, the pair least likely to understand things that were typically
obvious—had just walked in on him naked, "pinned" to the bed by the much larger form of
Deathstroke the Terminator, a man who had many times over proven himself to be their
enemy.

He could see where their urge to attack had come from. But that didn't make this any easier,
because now Dick had to explain that no, he wasn't being held against his will, but willingly
having sex with a killer, someone who represented everything their father taught them not to
be. Everything Dick told them they shouldn't be.

"Uh, let's, uh, um." Dick blinked rapidly, trying to think of something to say, and then his
eyes met Slade's own. He seemed to draw strength from that small connection, straightening
and rolling his shoulders until he seemed much calmer and more in control.

"Dami, Cass, sit down," Dick said, gesturing to the small loveseat Dick had crammed in the
corner of his bedroom. The pair followed the instruction without a word, staring at their
brother. Dick sat on the edge of the bed, facing them.

"Okay, um." Dick cleared his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "You are both very
reasonable people, so I'm going to lay this all out for you in very clear terms. Will you let me
say everything before interjecting?" he asked, his eyes lingering on the demon child for the
question far more than the girl.

Cain nodded without hesitation, her gaze level as she waited for an explanation. Slade
wondered if she harbored any ill will towards him personally; he'd trained her for a time,
after all, and it hadn't ended well. Dick was right, though; she was a very reasonable person,
and seemed to have set her sights on new targets since their run-in. However, this incident
might just put him back in her bad graces.

The demon child narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded sharply. "Fine. Tell me
what is going on!"

Dick drew in a slow breath and let it out. Slade resisted the urge to reach out to him and
provide comfort; it wouldn't be appreciated in this moment, not by anyone in the room.

"Ten and a half months ago, I got pretty badly hurt on the job. Slade found me and took care
of my injuries without asking for anything in return. It wasn't the first time he'd helped me in
such a way; for as long as I can remember Slade has looked out for me in some form or
another."

"But he fought you countless times!" the demon child protested, already having forgotten his
promise not to interrupt.

B once said that for some reason Deathstroke seemed to help Dick when they were around
each other, Cain signed, and her gaze was intent as she watched her eldest brother. Her eyes
shifted briefly to Slade. They may fight, but no one has been able to harm Dick around
Deathstroke in years.
The young Robin bristled, clearly unhappy with the logical argument he'd been presented
with, and Slade blinked at the girl, taken aback; Batman had commented on it? He'd taken
note? What did he think of it? Did he simply think Slade wanted to recruit Nightwing, or did
he suspect something more? Was he—?

"Oh," Dick said faintly. "Yes, well. So. Uh." He cleared his throat again. "Anyway, he took
care of me. And for a while before then I'd felt something...gentler than animosity towards
him, and he to me. So one thing led to another, and now for the past ten and a half months
we've been in a relationship. We haven't told anyone for precisely the reason of this kind of
response. I appreciate you both wanting to protect me immensely, but there was no need—
everything that has occurred has been one hundred percent consensual."

The pair of younger siblings stared at their big brother with narrowed, calculating eyes. The
boy seemed to be struggling with this more than the girl, and was still glaring at Dick as Cain
stood up fluidly and made her way over to Slade.

Dick went tense and stood, clearly anxious, but Slade remained absolutely still, tilting his
head up to meet her gaze as she stood in front of him with a hard look in her eyes.

There's a lot I could say, Cain signed, about what will happen if you hurt him. But in the end
it's simple. She then said, "You hurt Dick, you touch him without...permission, and you die."

She turned back to her brothers and gave Dick a firm hug, then left, heading for the front
door.

Dick stared after her for a long moment, eyes a little wide, and Slade wondered what was
surprising him more—the girl's dedicated protectiveness, or the length of the sentence she'd
said.

"Dami—" Dick began hesitantly as his little brother stood up, and stopped with a quick
breath when the demon child approached Slade and pressed a very sharp dagger against the
mercenary's jugular vein. Slade remained very still. "Damian, don't!"

"Cain and I were both raised to be master assassins, and neither of us would hesitate to throw
off my father's no killing rule if this occasion calls for it. Understand that the only reason you
are still breathing right now is because your death would apparently make Grayson upset. I
don't think I need to say anything else; Cain covered it simply and well. The moment you
cease to make Grayson happy, or you hurt him, I hope you understand that you will have us
hunting you to the ends of the earth, and we won't settle for just the other eye."

Slade met the child's gaze steadily. Damian genuinely cared for Dick's happiness and
wellbeing, that much was obvious, despite how his grandfather had tried to force emotions
out of him. This boy wanted nothing more than to protect his big brother, one of the only
people to ever truly give him a chance, to see the potential in him, the capacity to be good.

It was for that reason that Slade said, "I have no intention of ever hurting Dick. I would give
my life for his safety and happiness. If I ever cease to be a good thing in his life, I will
remove myself immediately and you will never hear from me again. That I swear to you,
kid."
The demon child frowned at him for a few moments longer and then nodded, the knife
vanishing into his sleeve. He turned for the door. "I won't tell anyone, Grayson, but I expect
to see you at dinner tomorrow night—Alfred is making Tacos."

Neither Dick nor Slade said anything for a while, both staring at the empty bedroom
doorway. Slade turned his attention to his partner then, watching him while Dick remained
still. Part of his life had just exploded, and Slade wanted to give the twenty-four-year-old
time to process it.

Really, Slade didn't give a single shit whether or not anyone knew. If Dick wanted to tell
people, fine. If Dick wanted to keep it a secret, fine. Neither option bothered Slade, but he
knew that Dick had been bothered by the idea of his family finding out. He'd been afraid of
what they'd say, of the judgment, of the fighting. He was probably even scared of being
disowned, but Slade knew that would never happen—the bat would be pissed, and there
would probably be some yelling, but nothing in the entire universe would make Batman (nor
Bruce Wayne) permanently cast his son out.

He was still welcoming Jason Todd into his home, wasn't he? Wayne was hardly going to turn
on Dick for being in a relationship with a killer when his other son was actually killing
people himself.

None of that logic would make Dick feel better, though. His boy felt everything so deeply,
and he wouldn't be able to believe Slade's words until he experienced it for himself. And until
Dick was ready to face Wayne, that experience would never come.

Slade was fine with waiting for as long as it took. He was in this for the long haul, and
certainly not going anywhere unless Dick told him to hit the road.

"Are you alright?" Slade asked.

Dick startled out of his own thoughts and turned to look at the older man. He smiled; it was
weak, but it was real, so Slade smiled back.

"Yeah," the vigilante said on a sigh, walking over to Slade's side. He sat down beside the
mercenary and snuggled against him, humming when Slade wrapped his arms around him.

"It was just...very startling, is all. I wasn't ready for..." He waved a hand aimlessly in the air,
but Slade understood. "Damian was one of the ones I'd been really worried about. I still am.
He struggles with not looking at things as black-and-white, and I've always told him that
killing is wrong, that he doesn't have to follow the things the League taught him, that he can
be a good person. I'm worried that he'll think I'm a hypocrite, or that he can't trust me
anymore—"

"That boy worships the ground you walk on," Slade interrupted, because Dick needed to hear
it. "This hasn't changed the way he looks at you, it's only added a bit more to his
understanding. He knows you don't condone killing because he's spent two years at your side,
Dick—he'll probably ask you more questions about all this in the future, but there's no way
he'll turn on you. He knows you too well; they all do. Okay?"
Dick nodded and relaxed, letting out a shaky breath. "Okay."

Slade kissed the top of his partner's head. "Good. Do you want to try and get some more
sleep?"

The vigilante glanced at the clock—4am—and snorted. "Unlikely. Want to watch some crap
television?"

Slade rolled his eye but smiled and nodded. "You're on, little bird."

Anyone who knew Dick would tell you that he was an affectionate person.

He wasn't afraid to let people know how he felt about them, wasn't hesitant about offering
touch, and certainly enjoyed being held in return. But despite all of that, despite how loving
he was, he'd never been in a relationship that lasted a year.

Barbara and he'd had something real, but it had been brief, and they were far better as friends;
she was like a sister to him now. Then, he'd truly fallen for Koriand'r, and she for him, but at
the time their lives had been far too complicated, and after eight months they'd had to call it
quits. He and Wally had hooked up a couple times but after one date they'd both decided that
neither of them wanted a relationship with each other, and he remained one of his best friends
to this day.

But now, on March 16th, Dick was celebrating his one year anniversary with Slade Wilson of
all people.

And, okay, Dick could admit to himself that he was a little anxious. He was starting to get
afraid, because he was truly in this now, and that was slightly terrifying. He was twenty-four
years old and in a relationship with a man who'd been alive for sixty-eight years and didn't
look a day over forty-five. A mercenary, an assassin, everything Dick fought against.

And frankly, Dick loved him with everything he was.

Because the thing was, at the end of the day, Slade loved him. Wholly, completely, like there
was nothing else in the world that mattered but the two of them. It might've been cliched to
say but Slade made him feel things he'd never felt before, made Dick calm like no one could,
understood him and challenged him and defended him and loved him.

At the end of the day, Dick could look past the differences in their professions. That could be
an argument for a later date. And maybe one day, it would be too much to handle. Maybe one
day, Dick wouldn't be able to look past the killing anymore, or Slade wouldn't be able to put
up with the hero shit any longer, and they'd break up.

Bu really, Dick didn't see that happening. If they got to that bridge they'd cross it, but he
didn't see that in their future. He just saw stupid, cliched, dangerous, perfect love.
Slade had told him not to make any plans from March 13th to the 19th, which made Dick
slightly suspicious, but also excited. Clearly his boyfriend had something planned and was
being very tightlipped about it, only giving the barest of minimum details possible.

So, with no actual clue what was going to happen (and briefly entertaining the possibility that
maybe this was all a set-up and he was about to be murdered), Dick told his family that he
was going on a small vacation with his friends (Wally and Roy agreed to cover for him for a
few days, not even asking for details) and then boarded the plane when Slade told him to.

As it turned out, apparently Slade had planned seven days of crimefighting. Which...okay,
watching Deathstroke the Terminator beat up some bad guys (and not taking any lives) in
Paris, and then Rome, and then London, was a pretty amazing way to spend an anniversary.

"Something like this was going to be your birthday present," Slade murmured to him on their
first night, brushing the hair back from Dick's eyes. Dick snuggled in deeper against his
boyfriend's chest, drinking in his warmth, his heartbeat, his breathing. "But then you had to
go and almost get murdered on me, so I thought I'd postpone."

Dick smiled and closed his eyes.

"Woe is you," he replied with a dramatic sigh, and felt more than heard the quiet rumble of a
chuckle out of Slade.

"Thank you," Dick then said, because this was truly a fantastic gift. Not only being able to
fight at Slade's side but with the sole purpose of helping people, the two of them acting as
heroes, no lives taken—it was a gorgeous way to spend a week.

"You're welcome, little bird," Slade whispered, and then tilted Dick's head up to capture the
younger man's lips in a kiss, passionate and loving and communicating a thousand things that
Dick never wanted to let go of.

Each day went perfectly. Dick had been momentarily anxious that Slade was going to
struggle not to take down their targets permanently, but when he'd awkwardly voiced that
concern, Slade had risen an eyebrow at him and said, "I am not a wild animal, Dick; I am
perfectly capable of not killing people in a fight."

True to his word, the mercenary acted with no excessive force, and Dick hadn't been able to
stop the grin that split across his face when Slade knelt down without hesitation to perform
first aid on a victim's bleeding wound, murmuring comforting words to her in Italian.

On their last night, they went to a nice restaurant in London. If they'd been in Gotham—or
any city in the States, really—doing this would've been a dangerous gamble, simply because
Dick was a public figure, which meant it was very likely he'd be recognized, have his picture
taken, and then be on the front page of the gossip rags for the whole heroing community to
see him at dinner with Slade Wilson.

And while it was possible to get recognized in the UK, Dick wasn't that famous, so they were
far safer.
The dinner was amazing. It was another fantastic memory in a countless stream of them with
his partner. Once more, Dick felt that burst of fear, that slight anxiety, for how far in he was.
Slade could so easily break him now with only a few words. Because it would break him, if
Slade decided he wasn't good enough anymore. It would break him like so many had tried
and failed to do.

Startling him from his thoughts, Slade took his hand, rubbing his thumb gently across Dick's
knuckles. "Where's your mind?" he asked.

Dick hesitated and briefly considered lying, but eventually sighed and shook his head,
deciding on the truth.

"I've never been in a relationship that lasted this long," Dick admitted, staring at their hands
instead of Slade's face. "I've never...felt the way I do about you. It's terrifying, because it's
like I've handed you my heart and asked you not to crush it in your palm. I have faith in you
not to, but I'm..."

He licked his lips and was grateful that Slade didn't say anything, letting him collect his
thoughts. "I love you. And I know you love me. And this love is..." A soft smile pulled at his
lips, "Dangerous, and perfect, and exciting, and more pure than people would guess. But I'm
afraid that one day you'll wake up and decide that you don't want me anymore, or that I'm not
enough, or get sick of my judgments, or..."

"Oh, little bird," Slade breathed sadly. "Come on, follow me."

Slade paid and they left, Slade taking his hand and pulling him along on a quiet walk through
the streets. It was far past December, but for some reason some places still had their
Christmas decorations up, and they lit the streets in a beautiful array of colors.

Eventually, after leaving Dick to stew for far too long—and probably just taking the time to
collect his thoughts—Slade stopped them on the middle of a bridge, overlooking the river. It
was a full moon, and more stars were visible here than they would've been in Gotham. Slade
put his arms around Dick's waist and walked the younger man backwards, leaning them both
against the concrete barrier.

"Look at me, Dick," Slade murmured, and cupped one of his cheeks, tilting his head up. Dick
met his gaze and took comfort from the calm surety in Slade's expression.

"I want you to understand me when I say in no uncertain terms that there is not a single
universe where I wake up and decide I don't want you anymore."

Dick opened his mouth to reply but Slade shook his head.

"No, little bird, listen to me. The idea of you being not enough is truly unthinkable. I could
never get enough of your mind, or your body, or your light. I spend my days worried that I
am tainting you simply by loving you, and if I were a better man I'd leave you to become the
great hero you are meant to be. But I'm not a good man, Dick, and so if you get any comfort
from my lack of morals it should be that I will never leave you as long as I'm breathing. As
long as you want me, Dick, I'm not going anywhere."
Dick let out a shuddering breath and crashed their mouths together. He moaned as Slade
pressed his entire body firmly against the younger man, trapping him on the side of the
bridge, and his breath hitched as Slade began undoing their belts.

"We're in public, Slade," Dick said with a laugh, putting a hand on his boyfriend's own in
order to halt the movement.

Slade didn't make any further attempt to push down Dick's pants, but he did look around in
an exaggerated fashion and say, "I don't see anyone else, do you?"

Dick laughed again and then undid his own zipper, giving Slade permission to continue.
Which he did, with wonderful vigor.

They were lucky that it was late and there was no one on their particular bridge, because Dick
was most certainly not silent, and Slade was making no attempts to try and quiet him, even
urging him on the one time Dick tried to muffle his moans.

"Slade," Dick gasped, pulling his boyfriend closer and closer still. "Slade, I want—"

The mercenary grinned against his neck and said, "I've got you, little bird."

Then, quite suddenly, Slade whirled him around, bending him over the concrete barrier. Dick
yelped in surprise, feeling briefly dizzy as he stared down at the water below, but the sound
of surprise quickly morphed into a moan as Slade grinded against his ass. Slade grabbed
Dick's hands and pinned them against the barrier, then kissed and licked his way down Dick's
neck.

"Oh, I'm never letting you go," Slade breathed, voice thick with lust, thrusting against Dick's
ass. Dick pushed back against the sensation, his breathing hitching in his lungs. "I've got you
now, little bird, and—"

There was a flash of red light, a surprised grunt of pain from Slade, and then his boyfriend
was flying off of him and across the bridge.

Dick gasped in surprise and whirled around, feeling lightheaded. Never in his life had he ever
been so quickly ripped out of arousal.

"Shit," Dick breathed when he saw what was happening. Superman, somehow, had appeared
and was now giving Slade a merciless beating. Slade was skilled and powerful and so doing
alright, but Clark was going after him with a vengeance, and fighting a kryptonian one-on-
one was a challenging thing.

"Cl—Superman, stop!" Dick screamed as the hero slammed Slade against the ground, his
eyes burning red. Dick ran over to them, grabbing Clark's arm as he geared up to hit the
mercenary again. "Stop!"

"He won't touch you again," Clark growled back at him, leaving Dick dizzy for a moment as
he realized why the kryptonian was so obviously filled with rage. Is this going to be the
assumption each time? Dick wondered, remembering what Damian and Cassandra did.
"No, no, no, he wasn't assaulting me, please!"

The desperation in his voice gave Clark pause, allowing Slade the moment he needed to
shove the hero off of him and back a few feet to get some distance. Dick instantly put himself
between the two older men, his heart pounding in his chest with slight panic.

"Don't!" Dick shouted, when it looked like Clark was simply going to ignore him and fly
over to Slade anyway. "Christ, Superman, just listen to me!"

Clark was practically vibrating with anger, his eye narrowed hatefully as he stared past Dick
and at Slade. With obvious effort, Clark looked back to Dick, reining in his rage.

"Alright," he said, taking deep breaths, "talk, then."

Dick's shoulders slumped with a small amount of relief, but then anxiety hit him about the
fact that he was about to tell Superman that he was sleeping with the enemy.

"Right, uh, it was—consensual. Slade wasn't forcing me into anything, it wasn't an assault or
attempted rape or anything like that."

"He had you trapped," Clark replied, his voice tight with anger. "He had your hands pinned,
you had no leverage for escape, and he was saying he was never going to let you go!"

Dick's cheeks heated. "Yeah," he said weakly, not sure where to go from there.

Clark still looked like he didn't believe him, his expression that of someone not
understanding why a victim was protecting their attacker.

"Jesus Christ," Slade muttered behind Dick. "The demon child I could understand,
considering his upbringing. What's the excuse for a grown ass man?"

"It's Superman," Dick said, like that should be reason enough. He felt faint. "He's—" He
waved a hand inarticulately in the air.

Slade snorted. "Far as I know, he was raised on Earth since birth in a normal fucking place.
He has no excuse to not understand what gay sex is."

Clark glared at the mercenary with hate for a moment before something seemed to hit him.
He blinked at Dick. "Wait—does he mean Damian? Damian knows about—?" Then complete
understand dawned. "You're actually...Does Batman know?" he demanded.

"No," Dick winced, "just some of my siblings. And...is there any way I can persuade you
to not tell him?"

Clark gave him a hard stare, his arms folded across his chest and then sighed. "I won't tell
him. But you really should, Dick."

Dick nodded mutely, not really having a definitive answer for that. If telling Superman that
he was in a relationship with a killer was hard, it would be a million times worse if Dick had
to tell Bruce.
Once more, Clark's eyes slid past the young vigilante and to the mercenary. "Are you using
him?" he asked, voice deadly calm.

Slade shook his head and—knowing about Superman's super hearing, knowing he would
know if he lied—said, "I would protect him with my life."

Clark just nodded, not looking happy but no longer hostile, and took a few steps towards
Dick. He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Be safe,
Dick," he said earnestly.

Dick smiled, pulling the kryptonian into a brief hug. He'd known Clark since he was ten years
old, brand new to the hero business and completely in awe at getting to meet the Superman.
Clark had always been a fantastic person to be around, and as he'd gotten older they'd become
actual friends. Clark's opinion meant something to him, and this acceptance—as hesitant as it
was—was a nice thing to have.

"You too," he murmured. "I'll see you around, Superman."

The older hero offered a smile in return and, with one final wary glance at Deathstroke, took
off, immediately fading into the night sky.

Slade and Dick remained in silence for a bit longer, then Dick heard Slade approach from
behind and say, "I feel like I need to reevaluate my values if all these heroes are so quick to
assume I'm raping you when they catch us together."

Dick cracked a smile and leaned back against his boyfriend's chest, humming when Slade
wrapped his arms around him. "I think it's less an insult on your character and more a
compliment to mine."

The mercenary snorted and dryly said, "Thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

Dick laughed and tilted his head back on Slade's shoulder, pressing a delicate kiss to the
underside of his jaw. "They mean well, and are simply protective. These people have never
known me to be anything other than—as Jay calls it—the Golden Boy. They don't want to
wrap their head around the concept that maybe people aren't perfect and I'm not black-and-
white, and I might just be perfectly happy being fucked by Deathstroke the Terminator."

Slade groaned, his eyes sliding shut. "I believe there's something we never got to finish," he
murmured huskily against Dick's hair.

With a smirk, Dick said, "Then we better get back to the hotel, because no way am I risking
another interruption on this bridge."

+1

"Can't talk right now, kid," Slade said quietly, bracing the phone between his ear and his
shoulder. "Can I call you back later?"
"'Course," Dick replied easily, "but this is quick—want to grab dinner tomorrow night?"

Slade frowned. They were both in the same city for the next couple of nights so he just
figured they'd already had "plans" to grab dinner, but if Dick wanted to make it official, Slade
didn't have a problem with it, even if it was a little strange, and breaking the pattern.

"Sure," Slade said, lowering his voice even further as his targets got closer far below him.
"Any place in particular?"

"I've got an idea," Dick said breezily, evasively, and then asked, "You're in the middle of a
job, aren't you?" Slade hummed in confirmation, watching his targets crowd around a table
on the factory floor. "Non-lethal?" Slade cracked a smile, and actually wasn't lying when he
hummed again; this job wasn't about killing the targets, just sending a message and stealing
something. "Cool—see you later."

Slade hung up the call, put the phone back in his pocket, and then dropped soundlessly to the
ground, getting to work.

That night, when he got back to his safehouse, Dick was in the bedroom, pulling off his
Nightwing suit. The younger man shot him a lopsided grin, placing his mask on the
nightstand, and then headed towards the bathroom.

"I need a shower," Dick said, wrinkling his nose.

"Any injuries?" Slade asked, and began to remove his own uniform.

"Few bumps and bruises," Dick called, and Slade heard the shower start up. "Nothing major."

Nights like this, Sade was struck by their domesticity. They'd been together just about
fourteen months, and despite Slade's profession and the way Dick spent his nights, there was
something so very normal about evenings like this, when they were both done for the day and
just settled in to watch a movie or go to sleep. Nothing about life with Dick was ever boring,
and normal was certainly not a word he would use to describe them and their relationship,
but nights like these...

Well, he could almost see what normal people liked so much about normal shit.

Sure enough, they ended up on the couch and watched TV until three in the morning, Dick
drifting off to sleep against Slade's arm, his legs curled over Slade's lap. Slade pressed a soft
kiss against the top of his head and slowly picked him up, careful not to wake the younger
man, and then tucked them both into bed.

The next day around 6pm, they headed out for dinner. Slade asked where they were going but
Dick just shrugged a shoulder absently and didn't actually respond to the question, slipping in
the driver's seat and taking off.

The longer they drove, the more tense Dick got, and Slade frowned, not knowing how to
remedy Dick's anxiety since he didn't know what was causing it.
"We're going into Gotham," Slade observed half an hour later as they began crossing the
bridge linking Blüdhaven to its twin city.

"Mmm-hmm," Dick confirmed, nodding, and his hands tightened almost imperceptibly on
the steering wheel. Slade watched him carefully, not understanding.

They drove for a bit longer and Slade tried to work out what their destination was. It wasn't
until they took a certain turn that would lead to the more open edge of the city that it dawned
on Slade.

"We're going to the manor," Slade realized. Dick didn't say anything, staring straight ahead.
"Why are we going to the manor, little bird?"

For a moment Slade thought that his partner wasn't going to say anything, but then Dick wet
his lips and said, "Bruce told me yesterday that apparently Kid-Flash said something to Flash
which created proof that I hadn't been on a trip with him and Arsenal during our anniversary.
Bruce said that he knows I'm seeing someone and wanted me to bring them to dinner tonight.
So, after considering it, I am."

He glanced at Slade out of the corner of his eye. "If you don't want to, we can easily go eat
somewhere else. We're actually really close to a Chinese place I like."

Now all of the anxiety made sense. Dick had been very adamant over the last year about
keeping their relationship a secret, and Slade had been perfectly fine to go along with it; he
didn't have a family of superheroes who could judge him for dating an assassin. Dick's fear
over telling his father about their relationship had been something Slade tried to respect, and
didn't feel any need to push. He'd wanted it to be 100% Dick's choice to tell Batman.

And now, apparently, Dick had made that choice.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Slade said. "Don't feel like you need to tell
your family about us because it will make me happy, because I honestly don't care one way or
another. You can just tell Wayne that the relationship he knows about isn't serious enough for
meeting the family, or whatever."

Dick smiled. It was weak, but it seemed real. He was still very, very tense. "I know. But
I...I'm sure. We've been together for over a year, and I love you. If Bruce doesn't approve, or
is angry..." He rolled his shoulders, clearly displeased with the idea. "Well, then he can suck
it. I'm happy with you, and he's my dad; he should be happy for me, too. And if he's not, well,
Bruce Wayne's approval isn't everything."

Slade nodded and the corners of his mouth tilted up. He reached over and ran his hand briefly
through Dick's hair. "I agree."

He wasn't going to say it, but he was extremely pleased Dick had reached this mindset. Not
about telling his family, but about putting aside his hero worship, his desperate need to gain
Wayne's approval. Each Robin had it, even Todd—it was like when the kids signed up for the
gig they got a pair of tights and an inferiority complex. Slade never pushed the issue because
there was no point in questioning the brilliance of Batman with Dick, but he was so happy to
see Dick slowly allowing that to slide away, to not define himself and what he did by the
approval of Bruce Wayne.

They drove the next few minutes in silence, and then Slade asked, "So just so I'm clear—
we're just springing this on him and the rest of your brood?"

Dick laughed and nodded. "Damian and Cassandra are aware of course, and Jason pieced the
last bit of truth together when he saw the way they were acting, but Bruce, Tim, Steph,
Alfred...yeah. They have no clue. So this dinner will certainly be interesting."

Slade snorted. "Oh, the first five minutes will be interesting, everything after that will either
be awkward or we'll be gone." Dick pursed his lips, clearly uneasy with that idea, so Slade
moved the conversation forward. "There's also the fact that they'll realize I know who they
are tonight."

"Shit!" Dick cursed, and then Slade echoed the sentiment when their car suddenly swerved in
Dick's shock, causing a couple other cars to honk at them. Dick called a few apologies
halfheartedly, his eyes wide as Slade's words settled in.

"Oh my god. Bruce is going to kill me for not telling him that. It's been—what, eight years
since you found out? Damn. Shit."

"Well, at least he won't be focused on the fact that we're together then," Slade offered wryly,
and smirked at the glare the younger man sent his way.

Frankly, out of the pair of them, Slade was in far more danger of being on the receiving end
of Wayne's anger. He was just about four times Dick's age and a killer, one who they'd fought
many, many times. Wayne was not going to be happy with the fact that his eldest son was in a
relationship with someone like Deathstroke. And Slade still wouldn't put it past the demon
child and assassin girl to make an attempt on his life.

"That's not funny," Dick muttered. He seemed to be eyeing each of the turnoffs, like he was
contemplating scraping this whole plan and turning around. He didn't, though, and within a
few minutes they were pulling up the long gravel driveway of Wayne Manor.

Dick stopped the car but made no attempts to get out, gripping the steering wheel like it was
his last tether to this world.

Slade sighed and reached over to cup his partner's face, gently turning Dick to look at him.
He waited until Dick met his gaze before speaking.

"I wish I could lie to you and say that you had nothing to worry about, but yeah they'll
probably be upset. But trust me when I say it is going to be nowhere near as bad as you're
picturing in your head. I figured out your identities, you didn't give them up. We love each
other, and they can all fuck right off if they can't be happy for you. But Dick, little bird, it
is not going to end that way; it's all going to be okay."

Dick nodded shakily and kissed him, taking a moment of comfort in the older man's arms,
and then turned to get out of the car. Slade followed suit.
They approached the front door and saw Jason Todd lounging against it, attention focused on
the cellphone in his hand. He glanced up at them when they were close, and smirked.

"So you did know whose pants you were trying to get into, huh?" Todd mused, raising his
eyebrows at Slade. "And it looks like you succeeded."

"Jason," Dick chastised, exasperated.

"Let me guess—brother," Jason echoed in an imitation of Slade's voice. "Nice acting,

Deathstroke."

Slade simply rose an eyebrow in return. "Thanks, Red Hood."

Todd narrowed his eyes for a second, and then rolled them. He pushed himself off the door
and strode forward, throwing an arm around Dick's shoulders. Dick allowed himself to be
pulled forward, an amused smile tilting his lips, and Slade was pleased to see some of the
tension bleed out of Dick's frame. Being confronted with easy support from one of his
siblings helped.

"Into battle," Todd declared extravagantly as they pushed through the door. Cassandra Cain
was sitting at the base of the large staircase and got fluidly to her feet when she saw them,
then strode over.

When she looped her arm through Slade's own, the mercenary couldn't help but stare in
surprise, taken aback, and knew Dick was doing the same.

"Hello," Slade said hesitantly, glancing at the point of contact.

"Less likely to attack," she told him. And...yeah, he had to admit that was a pretty smart idea
—if he was arm in arm with a member of the family, the rest would be far less likely to
attack, instead listen first.

He shared a look with Dick and saw that he was thinking the same thing.

Todd led them further into the house, and Slade analyzed everything he saw, making a mental
floorplan as well. You never knew when it would come in handy, after all.

"Dick," he heard Bruce Wayne call out a few feet ahead, far calmer than his public image
counterpart, "good to see you. Where's...?"

Slade stepped into the living room, glancing around and taking it all in in a second.

The third Robin and the Spoiler were on a couch together, the girl's legs thrown over the
boy's lap. Drake had a book open and balanced on her shins, while Brown was sketching
something in a notebook. The demon child was sitting in a stiff-looking armchair, focused
very intently on the computer resting on his folded lap. And then Wayne was in another
couch, one arm thrown along the back of it.

His expression was relaxed, open, but there was something very weighted about his gaze, and
he could very easily see how this man became Batman. It was interesting to see both sides of
Wayne; that stupid playboy from the party and this in-control hero at home, the one only
those close to him saw.

When Wayne's eyes landed on Slade, he got slowly to his feet, the relaxation immediately
draining from him. Drake glanced up as his father trailed off and sucked in a sharp breath,
which led Brown to do the same, and she got to her feet. Damian Wayne looked up and
watched everything, not moving from his spot.

"What are you doing in my house?" Wayne asked coldly, his narrowed eyes darting down to
where Cain had her arm looped through the mercenary's.

"I was invited," Slade said smoothly, and felt a brief moment of satisfaction when Wayne
stiffened ever-so-slightly.

The billionaire looked to Cain, then, which was what seemed like the obvious answer to who
had invited him.

"Uh," Dick said hesitantly. "That...would be me, actually." Wayne immediately whirled
around on his eldest son, who put his hands up in surrender, eyes wide. "You, uh, you told me
to bring the person I'm dating over for dinner, so...here he is." He smiled weakly. "Ta da."

Wayne stared at Dick in what looked like incomprehension, or disbelief. He glanced back to
Slade, then took in the way Cain was standing, and Todd's easy presence with them, and then
straightened and narrowed his eyes.

"How long?" he asked, and Slade saw a small shiver run down Dick's spine at the flat,
unfeeling tone the billionaire was using.

"Just about fourteen months," Dick said quietly.

"And how long have the pair of you known?" Wayne then asked, nodding at Cain and Todd.

"Damian too," Cain said, making Wayne slowly turned around to look at his youngest son.

The fourth Robin lifted his chin stubbornly and said, "Three and a half months ago Cain and I
found out. We threatened Deathstroke and then promised to keep Grayson's secret, so we
did."

"I knew Dick hooked up with Wilson seven months ago, but I didn't know until a few days
ago that they were in an actual relationship," Todd added in a bored tone. "C'mon, B, it's not a
huge deal—"

"And how long have you known our identities?" Wayne asked Slade, clearly uninterested in
his second son's attempt to lessen the blow. "Because you don't seem all that surprised about
anything." He turned his attention to Dick and coldly followed it with, "Did you
even consider talking to me or any of us before revealing our secret identities to a
mercenary? This isn't some fun story to share, Dick, you can't just unilaterally make this
decision—"
"He didn't," Slade interrupted. Cain released him and he folded his arms across his chest,
glaring right back at the bat. "When he was sixteen the Teen Titans were in a major battle and
his mask got ripped off. The robot that did it got smashed immediately but I was less than
five feet away from Dick so I saw his face. It wasn't hard to put the rest of it together. I've
known your identity for eight years, Wayne, and I've never said a word."

He didn't tell them that he had been the one to smash the robot—one of Ivo's—when he saw
what happened, but it was true, and he'd done it without hesitation. He hadn't understood
why; it had simply been instinct.

Wayne stared at him, surprised into silence. It was quite the declaration, and Slade could see
it hit each of the batfamily individually. He could see each of them going over every
encounter they'd had with him, looking for any signs that he might've given it away that he
knew who they were.

"If that's true," Wayne said slowly, "why didn't you tell anyone? Batman's identity is a
valuable secret—why not sell it?"

Slade shook his head. "I didn't want to." He looked over to Dick and met his gaze; the
younger man offered him a strained but real smile. "And I'm glad I didn't."

Wayne took a few deep breaths and asked, "Does anyone else know? About...you two, I
mean."

"The mercenary Angelica," Dick said immediately, clearly relieved to be back on easier
territory. "She broke into his apartment while I was there, but she doesn't know I'm
Nightwing. Also Shrike—the League of Assassins agent—knows, because he helped
Blockbuster kidnap me in an attempt to kill me and was there when Slade saved me."

"You killed Blockbuster, didn't you?" Drake asked, looking at Slade appraisingly. "And the
Trigger Twins, and Lady Vic?"

"Yes," Slade said, with absolutely zero remorse. "They were two seconds away from blowing
Dick's brains out; I acted."

"Anyone else?" Wayne asked, and despite the admittance of murder just a few moments ago,
he sounded slightly less freezing cold.

Dick was already shaking his head, lips pressed into a thin line, but no way was Slade about
to let the Man of Steel get out of this unscathed; if Batman was going to be pissed at people,
Slade was going to ensure that the kryptonian was on that list.

"Superman," Slade declared, and ignored the glare—exasperated and incredulous—that Dick
sent his way.

"Superman," Wayne repeated dubiously, clearly not believing him. "Superman knows that
Nightwing and Deathstroke are in a relationship."
"Yes," Slade agreed. "He's known for just about two months, ever since he caught me and
Dick feeling each other up on a bridge in London."

"Slade!" Dick yelled, scandalized, his cheeks very quickly turning to a deep shade of pink.
Brown and Drake appeared to choke on air. Todd was grinning.

Wayne pursed his lips and then pulled out his cellphone. "Oh my god," Slade heard both Dick
and Todd whisper under their breaths, clearly knowing what their father was doing before the
rest of them.

"Hey, Bruce," the person on the other end of the line said, easily hearable with Slade's
enhanced senses. He blinked when he realized that was probably Superman, though his voice
was a little softer than when actually out doing the hero shit. "What's up?"

"Nightwing and Deathstroke; did you know?" Wayne asked, his tone leaving nothing up for
debate, and Dick once again muttered "Oh my god," rubbing a hand down his face.

"I..." Superman began hesitantly, then sighed and said, "Yeah, I found out back in March.
Don't be mad—Dick wanted to be able to tell you in his own time, and for what it's worth I
think Deathstroke actually loves Dick, so try to take a few deep breaths and give it a chance."

"Talk later," Wayne said, and immediately cut the call off. He looked to Dick and didn't say
anything, just frowning, and then the words seemed to burst from within him; "He's tried to
kill you, Dick!"

"Cass?" Dick prompted weakly, sending a slightly desperate look at his sister.

Cain rose her chin and signed, You once said to Alfred that you saw Deathstroke helping Dick
when he didn't need to. Multiple times. You thought maybe Deathstroke wanted to recruit
Dick, but also thought there was something else going on. You acknowledged that
Deathstroke was protecting Dick, not trying to kill him.

Wayne's eye twitched, his irritation at his words being tossed back at him obvious.

Then, certainly surprising Slade, Dick took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Bruce, I know you just want me safe and happy, and you're afraid that my choice of partner
is just putting myself in unnecessary danger, and probably asking for trouble. But dad, I've
been in this relationship for more than a year now and Slade has done nothing but protect me
and stand by my side and make me happy. I understand your frustration, I really do, I just
need you to look past it for me. Because this is...it's real, B, and I want you to be happy for
me."

Wayne stared hard at his eldest son for another few moments, then rolled his neck and sighed,
the tension slowly leaving his body. He was clearly forcing himself into acceptance, but the
fact that he was doing it at all meant a lot.

"I don't like you," Wayne said to Slade, causing the mercenary to raise his eyebrows, "and I
don't like the fact that you're dating my son."
"Dad—" Dick began, looking disappointed, but Wayne interrupted, continuing to speak to
Slade.

"I think it's highly possible that you're going to hurt him, whether intentionally or not, and
being in a relationship with you puts Dick in even more danger than he already is by being a
vigilante. I think you're not a good match—you have made your career out of killing and
stealing and a million other horrible crimes, and Dick has done nothing but be an amazing
hero his entire life. I think that if this relationship ends, it might just end bloody, and my son
will be the one damaged at the end of it, and you'll go on to live another hundred years of not
giving a shit about who you hurt."

"Bruce—" Dick tried again, and the look in his eyes was heartbroken.

"But," Wayne continued, "I trust Dick. He's kind and tends to look on the bright side of things
but he's not naïve, and he's not stupid. If he says that you protect him and stand by his side
and make him happy, then I believe that you do. I'm still concerned, and I'm still not one
hundred percent happy with the existence of this relationship, but you're both grown adults
and deserve the chance to build something together, if it's what you want.

"Plus," he added, one corner of his mouth quirking up wryly, "you actually came here today
knowing what you were probably walking into, so I have to give you props for that." He
glanced at his other kids, then back to Slade. "This is normally the part where a parent gives
the shovel talk, but I don't think that's necessary, do you? After all, Dick has the entire Justice
League at his back."

Slade smiled, knowing how very true that was. Dick was easy to love, and Slade could
imagine that every single hero who met the kid would drop everything to protect him,
especially against a villain such as Deathstroke the Terminator.

"I do keep that in mind, yes," Slade agreed, inclining his head. "And two of your children
already delivered quite a good speech about the harm that would befall my person if I hurt
Dick, so you should be proud."

In the back, the demon child smiled smugly, clearly pleased with the praise, and Cain
smirked as well.

"I bet," Wayne said dryly, glancing at the pair of young heroes, and then back to Slade. "I
imagine that once word spreads about your relationship, you'll be receiving a lot of visits
from League members who all want you to understand the danger behind hurting Dick."

"Oh my god," Dick said, his eyes wide with horror, because they all knew it was true; if word
got out, Slade would have a million heroes on his hands, all giving their own variation of the
shovel talk. The thought was a little dizzying, and definitely amusing.

"Right," Slade sighed, "I can imagine that's true."

Dick stepped forward and hugged his father tightly, murmuring a quiet "Thank you" against
his shoulder. When he stepped back, they both offered each other a smile, Wayne's far smaller
but the warmth in his expression was still visible.
"Well, I don't think we've reached the comfort level of sitting down to dinner with a
mercenary," Dick said, lips quirking in amusement as he looked around at his family, "so I
think we're gonna head out."

"Dick—" Wayne began worriedly, but Dick wasn't trying to rush them out of there; he looked
relaxed and happy, and his amusement was genuine, not forced.

"I'll see you soon, k?" the vigilante said, and Wayne nodded, his eyes flitting briefly to Slade
and then back to his son. "C'mon, squirt, give me a hug," Dick called, his eyes on the demon
child.

The fourth Robin scowled, his expression one of ultimate displeasure, but he did get up and
give Dick a brief hug before striding stiffly from the room. Dick was grinning, and the smile
softened when Brown stepped forward and hugged him as well, saying something in his ear,
and then leaving as well.

Drake snorted, shaking his head, and stepped forward. "My relationship seems
exceedingly normal compared to yours now, Dick."

"The fact that you're in a relationship at all, Timmy, is something so odd Goldie's status could
never beat it," Todd drawled, and winked at the scowl that his little brother then sent his way.

"Whatever, Jay. See you soon, Dick."

Cain and Todd let them go without actual goodbyes, Todd offering a sloppy salute before the
both of them vanished. And, with one last small hug from Dick to Wayne, Slade and his
partner departed.

Slade took the driver's seat this time, and then pulled out. Dick tilted his head back and
closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. A small smile was playing at the corners of his lips.
He looked happy. It made Slade deeply pleased.

"Time to head home, little bird?" the mercenary asked, and Dick opened his eyes, looking
over at him.

"Yeah. We can order in, celebrate my lack of disownment."

Slade chuckled, and didn't tell Dick how there had been zero chance of him being kicked out.
"Sounds good to me, kid."

And when Dick leaned over, resting his head on Slade's shoulder with an expression of
utmost contentment, Slade felt relieved that Wayne had given his approval, because though
neither of them needed it, the lack of it would've hurt Dick for a while to come.

Instead, his partner was happy, relaxed, and entirely his. The fact that this night had gone so
well made what Slade was planning infinitely easier.

After all, there was a small box waiting back at home with Dick's name on it.
End Notes

Hope you guys enjoyed it!

I take requests, by the way. I've received a couple from you wonderful people and everyone is
welcome to send some! I can't promise to fulfil them all but I'll certainly give them a shot.
Also, if you ever just want to talk/chat, I'm always open!

You can find my tumblr here and my email is withthekeyisking@gmail.com

(Also - "A pair of tights and an inferiority complex" comes from Booster Gold not me, but it
is so accurate and I love it so much that I had to include it, and will probably include it in a
million works to come)

Works inspired by this one

[podfic] Ease My Mind by read_by_Sophie (Sophie)

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