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Part 43 of Dick Rare Pair Challenge , Part 43 of Q Event Fics 2021 , Part 1 of Foundations
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DCU Rarepair Exchange 2021, Dick Grayson Rare Pair Challenge
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2021-10-10
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Out of Reach

Summary:

Instead of Kaldur pretending to take his father's side, it's Dick who winds up undercover with the Light. And Kaldur knows it's just a role, knows Dick is just faking it to get them all closer to their goals, but that doesn't make it easy to watch his friend destroy himself for the good of the mission.

Notes:

I saw "Dick/Kaldur" and "angst" and couldn't resist XD

(Yea, yea, I know Slade only joined the Light to replace Sportsmaster after the "death" of Artemis, but shhhhh it's my fic and I do what I want.

Also, in case you're curious about Dick's costume, it's kind of a mix between his apprentice uniform from the animated TT show and his Renegade outfit in the Nightwing comic.)

(See the end of the work for more notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Work Text:

While Dick talks, Kaldur can't resist the urge to look him over.

It's been a month or so since the last time they saw each other, and it's instinct to need to update himself on Dick's status, even knowing that it's unlikely he'll find anything that will make him feel better. There will be no relaxed posture (just a mockery of it), no bright smile (just a sharp one, all jagged edges and teeth), no tinkling laugh (just a rough bark that can never be mistaken for actual humor). There will be no jokes or teasing, just a factual report of the Light's goings on before he leaves.

There seem to be no new injuries, at the very least. (Well, with an important addendum: no injuries that Kaldur can see, because Dick has always been adept at hiding them, even more so since his mission began.) The dark circles under his eyes thankfully seem smaller than they were the last time, but it's very possible his mask is just hiding the worst of it.

His mask, which is no longer the simple domino of a Bat, but instead a half-cowl that pulls down over his head to cover the top half of his face, the top open to allow his hair free. It's a vibrant orange, matching the color of the left half of the suit over his chest.

But thinking about his suit only draws Kaldur's gaze down, eyes landing on the sharp metal S over Dick's heart.

Silence rings through the warehouse, and Kaldur lifts his gaze again, finding that Dick has finished speaking and is watching him with a level look. There's a sudden tension to his shoulders, like he's bracing for something after what Kaldur was staring at, and Kaldur bites his tongue to keep himself from saying anything at all. He doesn't know what would come out, if he allowed himself to speak, but he doesn't want to risk it.

(Because if he voices concern, Dick will shut down so fast it will make Kaldur's head spin. And if he asks for more details on the progress of the mission, a furrow will appear between Dick's brows as he says how little he's made, a furrow that means Dick hates himself for his own perceived 'failure' despite how much he's accomplished, how much he's done for them, how much he's given up.

And if he says I miss you, if he says I wish you were by my side, if he says it should be you in my place and me in yours, then Dick will smile at him, but it will be filled with so much loss and exhaustion and emptiness and something nearly dead, and the last time Dick looked at him like that Kaldur nearly vomited, so he can't—he can't let it happen again.)

Instead, Kaldur settles for the only thing that won't make this all even harder on the other boy, and says, "Thank you for the update, my friend."

Dick twitches at 'my friend', but the tension in his shoulders eases, so it must've been the right thing to say.

(The right thing to say is very hard around Dick these days. Kaldur wishes he could provide comfort, could ease the teenager's burden at least a little, but that time has long passed. It's too late; Dick has been in this role for many months now, and probably will be for many months to come. The door on Dick allowing anyone in closed the first time Slade Wilson 'tested' his loyalty.)

"I'll let you know if anything changes," Dick says. His right hand fiddles with the grip of the gun strapped to his thigh, and Kaldur pretends not to notice the antsy action. He stands, silent and open, hoping for something he doesn't even know while Dick stares back at him. Usually he leaves right away, but this time he's just standing there, fiddling, like he's waiting for something, like he's going to say something, and Kaldur aches for how easy it used to be between the pair of them—

"See y'round," Dick says with a short nod, and then he's turning on his heels and striding away, vanishing out into the night once more.

Watching Dick fight is like poetry in motion.

He arcs through the air like gravity can't lay a finger on him, like the laws of physics simply don't apply. Every strike of his blades is precise and powerful, every placement of his feet designed for success. Even after having known Dick for maybe seven years now, Kaldur doesn't know if he'll ever get used to the sheer grace in the way Dick fights.

But he knows he'll never get used to having that grace be turned against him and his—their—team.

Almost nine months with the Light, with Deathstroke, has changed Dick's style a little, though. Moments of mercy and holding back Kaldur hadn't even taken note of before are certainly gone now, leaving behind a lethal creature who will stop at nothing to achieve his master's goals.

Renegade, Deathstroke's loyal apprentice. A traitor to the heroes. Deadly and skilled and ambitious, a perfect heir to the mercenary's work. A perfect addition to the Light.

Watching Dick fight is like poetry, but watching Dick and Deathstroke fight together is like entering another plane of existence.

Batman and Robin had always been perfectly in sync, both so familiar with each other than the bare twitch of a finger could communicate what they needed to do. They were a ferocious pair, a force to be reckoned with. Artemis once commented that watching the pair of them together made her feel like they were actually just robots programmed to work side by side, that's how seamless it was. It didn't feel possible.

But Dick and Deathstroke. Dick and Deathstroke...

It burns in Kaldur's chest, seeing the way they move around each other. The effortless way Dick moves to cover Wilson's blindspot, and the automatic way Wilson always guards Dick's six. It was like they were made to do this, made to have each others' backs and fight for the same cause. No one can stand in their way, like a blessing from God. Or the devil.

(And Kaldur knows what Wilson has done, to get them to this point. Knows the training he's put Dick through, the pain, the torture, the tests. Knows that they didn't pop out this way, that Wilson has put a lot of time and effort into making Dick his perfect disciple, that he expects nothing less than perfection and Dick has paid the price for 'failure' many times.

But knowing that doesn't lessen the impact of seeing their partnership. Doesn't change the fact that it looks like they were made to work together.

That is, after all, the point.)

And Kaldur has to play his role (infinitely easier than Dick's, he knows, but still so very hard), so he calls across the battlefield, "Nightwing! Please, stand down!"

Dick spins to face him, Wilson moving with him to cover the other side without a moment of hesitation. There's a sneer twisting Dick's mouth, hateful and angry, and Kaldur knows (he knows he knows he knows) it's a show, but his heart aches all the same.

"When are you going to let this go, Kaldur?" Dick spits, lips curling up in a cruel expression that doesn't seem right on his face, not even after all of this. "And if you keep getting my name wrong, you're just going to make me want to carve it into you until it sticks."

There's an amused huff from Wilson, something like approval in the tilt of his head, and it makes Kaldur sick but not as sick as Dick's reaction does.

You can't spend three quarters of a year around a master manipulator like Wilson, constantly being tortured, having no other companionship than him, and not start to let the man get in your head a little. Wilson has surely brought out the conditioning—the brainwashing—in spades, and Kaldur cannot fault Dick for being impacted by it. Not when the teenager has already been so strong, is constantly working for the goals of the League and the team despite Wilson's best efforts.

So no, Kaldur doesn't blame Dick for the way he seems to lean slightly towards Deathstroke, like he's soaking in the approval. He doesn't blame him at all.

He just. He just hates it.

"Please, my friend," Kaldur calls, mindful of their audience. The time for rumination is later, when he can be alone with his thoughts. "Please come back to us."

Dick barks a laugh, grins, all teeth and jagged edges. (Real. Heartbreakingly real, and Kaldur doesn't let himself examine it.) "Go back to you? After everything? You've lost your fucking mind. I am right where I belong."

The conviction in his voice nearly takes Kaldur's breath away, even knowing it's just a performance. "That's not true—"

"It is," Deathstroke interrupts. He sweeps his blade out to the side in a wide, dramatic arc, and gives a small shrug of his shoulders. "Renegade always has, and always will, belong at my side. The sooner you accept that, the better. For your health, of course."

Kaldur levels the mercenary with a stony expression, but there is no more time for words as Superboy comes crashing in with a furious yell, and the fight begins anew.

Dick and Deathstroke escape, and the last Kaldur sees of them is Wilson's hand clasped on the back of Dick's neck, pulling him close against his side.

Artemis' only reaction is a raised brow, when she opens the door to find Kaldur standing on her porch.

It's the middle of the night, when any sane person would be sleeping, but she doesn't hesitate to step to the side to allow him to enter. He wants to apologize for surely waking her, for interrupting sleep that he knows she needs considering her busy schedule, but he can't get his mouth to open, and he knows she'd just wave the apology aside anyway. Instead he nods to her offer of something to drink, and tries to collect his nerve to ask something impossible of her.

"Out with it, Kaldur," Artemis sighs, after a couple minutes of pointless chatter that Kalur can't even keep up with. "You didn't come here to ask about my term paper, so. What's up?"

I need your help. Dick is losing himself. He's going to destroy himself for this mission. I want to be by his side. I need to help him. Someone needs to help him. He won't let me fucking help him—

"Nightwing did not betray us," Kaldur says suddenly, and Artemis' hand spasms in surprise, the mug dropping from her hand. It shatters on the floor, but neither of them flinch, Artemis' wide eyes searching Kaldur's face before narrowing when she finds the truth she's looking for.

"You're going to start from the beginning," she says firmly. "And I...am gonna get Wally. Because whatever you're here for, whyever you're telling me this—after an entire year—I know it isn't ending there."

Kaldur grimaces, and does not contest the point. It doesn't, after all, end there. He needs her help. She's the only one in a position who can do what he needs, what Dick needs.

(And more than that, she's the one who will understand the most, Kaldur thinks. Understand what's going on inside Dick's head right now. She'll be able to help him more than any random hero could. Sportsmaster's daughter has a unique perspective on the world, and as much as he hates reducing her to that, it's true. And right now Deathstroke's apprentice needs her.)

"Acceptable terms," Kaldur tries, a weak joke that at least gets him a small smile, and then Artemis is padding down the hall to fetch her boyfriend while Kaldur braces himself for the conversation to come.

Kaldur can't remember the last time he saw Dick surprised, saw him in any way caught off-guard, but the teen's jaw actually drops when he walks into the warehouse and spots Artemis and Wally standing beside Kaldur.

Almost immediately, his expression shutters, mouth pressing into a flat line, but it's too late. The emotion was there, and apparently that's all Wally needed, because the speedster is rushing forward in the next moment, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Dick in a tight hug.

Wally is babbling, his words too fast for Kaldur to make them all out, and Dick has his focus besides. The teenager is stiff as a board, jaw clenched so hard Kaldur is almost worried for the state of his teeth. His hands flex down at his sides, curling into tight fists before purposefully relaxing, and then repeating the process over again.

When was the last time he was touched, Kaldur wonders. By someone other than Wilson. When was the last time Dick was able to enjoy the casual affection he used to give out so freely? When was the last time touch didn't involve pain, or an impending attack?

"Good to see you too, Wally," Dick says eventually, once the speedster's words begin to taper off. His voice starts strangled and is something resembling casual by the end, so purposeful that it clenches Kaldur's chest in a vice grip.

(When he glances at Artemis, he sees her eyes locked onto Dick, and something terribly knowing in her gaze that nearly makes Kaldur relieved. He knew Artemis would understand, would be able to help. He's putting so much on her shoulders, but maybe her presence will mean Dick actually makes it out alive at the end of this—)

Artemis manages to drag Wally off of their friend, and offers Dick a far more reserved greeting herself, which he returns with what seems like gratitude.

While Kaldur lays out the plan—faking Artemis' death, sending her undercover—Dick listens with a blank expression, body language purposefully relaxed and at ease in a way that isn't at all, really. A mockery of the comfort Dick used to have around them, before all of this. Before Deathstroke shattered Dick's ability to relax around anyone for any reason, even when he should feel safe.

"I don't need backup," Dick says once Kaldur has finished speaking, a flatness to his voice that has Wally shifting. "And S—Deathstroke already trusts me, I don't need to prove it with this."

"I know," Kaldur agrees calmly. "But it will be one more leg up, yes?"

Dick's lips thin, and he doesn't agree, but he doesn't argue any more either, so Kaldur accepts the win. And he does his best to conceal his relief; with Artemis there to watch Dick's back...Yes, Kaldur will definitely sleep better at night.

(None of them ask why Dick is so sure Wilson trusts him, or mention the almost-slip of using his first name. None of them pry at that wall, knowing nothing good will come of it. Someday, maybe, but now...)

"Let's run it through," Kaldur says, mainly for an excuse to keep Dick in his line of sight, and lets out a slow breath of relief when Dick doesn't say he has to leave.

There's a ringing in Kaldur's ears, staring at the crumpled form of Dick. His eyes are blank and sightless, swaying faintly on his knees like he's no longer in control of his body. Like there's no one home.

At Kaldur's side, M'gann thumps down to her knees, a strangled, "No," crawling out of her throat. And Kaldur knows he—he knows he has to get M'gann out of here, they're still on the Reach ship and deep in enemy territory, his priority is his teammate beside him—

But Dick is—

God, what did M'gann do—

Footsteps come pounding around the corner, and Deathstroke pulls to a sudden stop, taking in the scene in front of him. Kaldur goes rigid, shifting to stand in front of M'gann, blocking his vulnerable friend from the view of the dangerous mercenary. Wishing he could do the same for Dick, just a few feet away, helpless and broken and—

Deathstroke crouches at Dick's side, one large hand settling on Dick's shoulder and drawing him in. Dick goes pliantly, not even blinking as his body is moved, his mind in pieces thanks to whatever M'gann did.

"Kid," Deathstroke says quietly, but Dick doesn't react, and the mercenary's body language turns instantly more threatening as his head lifts to look at Kaldur and M'gann just a few feet away.

"What," he says dangerously, "did you do?"

Kaldur's mouth is dry. He feels a single instant away from shattering. Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick. She broke Dick.

"Take him and go," Kaldur says, unable to prevent the way his voice shakes at the edges. "This fight can end here."

Deathstroke's hand curls around the hilt of his sword, clearly debating attacking them anyway—and with M'gann the way she is right now, with Kaldur needing to guard her, Wilson would win, and then what would happen to them all—but then all at once he releases his weapon and heaves Dick up over his shoulder. His arm settles possessively around Dick's thighs, and Kaldur's stomach rolls at the action, but he forces himself to remain silent.

Letting Deathstroke walk away with the broken form of Kaldur's best friend is one of the hardest things Kaldur's ever had to do, but he makes himself breath through it, waiting until they're gone from view before turning back to M'gann and carefully lifting her into his arms.

Kaldur hesitates at the end of the hall, watching where Dick stands in front of the monitor bay. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes fixed on a camera feed that Kaldur can't see from this distance, but he still knows exactly what Dick is watching.

Taking a deep breath, Kaldur squares his shoulders and begins to approach. He knows Dick must be aware of him, but the teen doesn't acknowledge him, not even blinking as Kaldur comes to a stop at his side.

Sure enough, the camera feed for Deathstroke's cell in the one that's been enlarged for viewing. The mercenary is running through what his jailers have informed Kaldur is his normal morning workout routine; his tan skin shines slightly with sweat as he runs through a series of pushups, and his expression is perfectly relaxed, unbothered by his imprisonment.

He's been like this since they managed to take him down, before the summit with the Reach. Calm and collected. Still sure that he's going to escape, most likely. Sure that his apprentice will come for him eventually.

(Dick's cover with Wilson has not yet been blown. There was no point to reveal the information when they were locking Wilson up, and of course the man was not present at the summit when the truth came out to everyone. In Deathstroke's mind, Renegade is still out there somewhere. Loyal and deadly and sure to make an attempt at a breakout.)

(Kaldur doesn't ask Dick if he has the urge to.)

"How are you doing, my friend?" Kaldur asks, after a few moments of silence. He wants to pull Dick away from this place, make him forget about Deathstroke and all that has happened for at least an hour, but he doesn't dare try to force it. He certainly doesn't dare try to touch him, not after the way Dick nearly hit Gar when the boy startled Dick with a big hug. No matter how much Kaldur wants to.

"Fine," Dick responds. His tone is not quite short, but it resembles a mission report far more than it does casual conversation. "My ribs still ache a little, but they're on the mend."

The information is offered up mechanically, like Dick is saying it just because he believes that's what he's supposed to do, and Kaldur flounders for the right thing to say.

He settles on nothing, and they stand there silently together, watching Deathstroke go about his morning routine.

This is the first time Kaldur has seen Dick out of his Renegade uniform in...a very long time. Right now he's wearing something tactical, an all black ensemble that wouldn't be out of place on a soldier. It's actually not too dissimilar from his Nightwing uniform, except of course for the obviously missing bird in blue across his chest. And in place of escrima sticks, the short swords he carried as Renegade are instead attached to his back.

(Kaldur doesn't point it out, doesn't ask why. He doubts he could even come close to understanding, anyway.)

"I need to explain it to him," Dick blurts out suddenly, and Kaldur barely keeps himself from startling. He keeps his body language calm, open. An easy sounding board for whatever Dick needs to say.

"Explain what?"

"Why I did it," Dick says, and when Kaldur looks at him, his legs are twitching with restless energy. Kaldur doesn't comment on it. "Why I—he needs to know what happened. I need to tell him what happened."

Kaldur thinks that if Dick never goes near Slade Wilson ever again, it will be too soon. He thinks that Wilson doesn't need an explanation, doesn't deserve one, that the man is a monster on so many levels and it would be so much better for Dick to stay far away from him. To allow this to all be put in his rearview mirror.

But Dick spent almost sixteen months at Wilson's side. Day in, day out, just the two of them. And Kaldur knows...Kaldur is observant. He knows what went on. He knows what Wilson did to Dick. And that is—not an easy thing for a captive to manage.

(Because Dick was a captive. He might deny it, and the League might put it in pretty words, but that's what Dick lived. He was a prisoner who was tortured and conditioned and—

And that causes complicated feelings. And it isn't Kaldur's place to tell Dick whether those feelings are right or wrong.)

"Are you sure?" Kaldur asks, instead of telling Dick not to do it.

Dick looks at him, something searching in his gaze, and the fragility of it has Kaldur's breath catching. Dick was the youngest of their original team, but so often he felt like the oldest, always the one with the most experience and hands-on knowledge. He was never...vulnerable. But here he stands, blue eyes shining, hands shaking. And Kaldur has no idea how to help.

"Yes," Dick says, and his voice has a tremor but the conviction is there. His arms fall down to his sides. "Yes, I'm sure. I need...Kaldur, I need to tell him. I need him to hear it from me."

This will hurt you, Kaldur thinks. Wilson will be angry, and his anger will cut you deep, even if you pretend it doesn't. This is a bad idea. Please let me help you move on.

"Alright," Kaldur says. "Do you want to go now?" Dick gives a short, jerky nod. "Alright. Let us go, then."

Surprise flits across Dick's face before vanishing from sight, and Kaldur's heart aches when he realizes it's in response to Kaldur's automatic offer to accompany him.

They'll get there again, Kaldur promises himself. They'll reach the point where Dick first assumes Kaldur is always on his side, instead of being surprised by it. They'll rebuild the trust Wilson ripped from Dick, rebuild the care and partnership. They'll get there. Kaldur is patient, and Dick is so very worth it.

Hesitantly, Kaldur reaches out and takes Dick's hand in his own. He holds it loosely, making it easy for Dick to pull back if he wants to, unwilling to force any kind of contact on Dick if he doesn't want it.

Dick stares down at their hands, and then slowly turns his around in Kaldur's grip until he's holding back. He gives a small squeeze, and then he's gripping tightly, holding on for dear life. Kaldur holds back just as tight, his eyes stinging.

Dick is here, with him. And that's all that matters. There are so many issues ahead of them, but they're both here, in one piece. The bad guys are taken care of for the time being, and they're all safe. Everything is going to be okay. They just have to take it one step at a time.

So Kaldur and Dick walk side by side down the hall, hands clasped together, and head on to face the first step.

Notes:

Comments spark joy! <3

Also y'all should check out Walker's series With Morality Like a Polynomial, in which the Young Justice team all end up on the villain side. If you like "X hero is working for X villain" stories that's seriously a great AU for it!

Edit: this fic now has a series!

Works inspired by this one:

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