Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Slade was in Moscow when he got the message; camped out on top of some shitty highrise building, enduring the late-fall Russian cold for the chance at a clean shot. The biting wind fought feebly against a thick leather jacket drawn over his usual armor. His rifle was carefully balanced on the edge of the roof, the product of several weeks worth of careful espionage and planning. Through his scope, Slade coolly stared down the man he was about to kill. 

Hugo Mancharov– oil exec, millionaire CEO, golf-hobbyist, wine taster and human trafficker. Slade couldn’t care less about the guy, but the FBI agents who hired him sure as hell did, so he knew the man better than Hugo knew himself at that point. Hobbies, patterns of behavior– Slade shifted carefully, adjusting his aim– usual haunts. 

Through the opulent glass window of the high rise across from Slade, Hugo gestured wildly, sloshing the contents of his wine glass on the plush, white carpet. The men around him laughed, in what Slade couldn’t hear, but assumed was an uproarious howl. The thin, painted woman hanging off his arm swooned artificially. Slade moved his finger over the cold metal of the trigger. He narrowed his eye, and– 

His phone went off. His burner phone, to be more specific, a clunky, dated device whose number was so rarely given out it might as well have been a walkie-talkie. Slade hesitated for a split second, before cursing, and lowering the tip of the gun to reach back and grab the phone. A single message lit up the screen, from a contact labeled only as ‘Bird’. 

Richard Grayson, better known to most of Gotham as Nightwing. Or Robin, to those in the know. The last time he’d seen the kid had been a little less than two months ago now, on a routine jaunt over to Gotham. He’d picked up a few contracts on the way– nothing lethal, although he certainly didn’t tell Dick that. The two had met as they usually do, on city rooftops armed with advanced weaponry and thinly veiled sexual tension. And then… things had progressed, as they usually do. He’d spent a few days, quite enjoyably, in Dick’s apartment, before completing his contracts and heading international once again. They hadn’t spoken since. 

Prolonged silences were hardly unusual for the two. Their relationship consisted mainly of sporadic meetings under cover of night, sometimes friendly, and sometimes not. Slade honestly hadn’t thought much of Dick since, aside from the occasional passing fantasy when all he had for company was his left hand. Now, brow furrowed, staring down at his phone, Slade’s mind churned slightly in regret. 

A single word. A codeword, they had agreed upon, after Slade had accidentally come across Dick indisposed on a contract one too many times. “February," meaning danger. Meaning immediate danger. Meaning get your ass in gear now kind of danger. Dick hadn’t ever had to use it before. 

In one smooth motion, Slade picked up his rifle and swung it over his shoulder. He grabbed his pack, and activated a tracker he had planted on Dick’s Nightwing suit the last time they had met. It read Gotham- whether or not Dick was actually there was still to be seen, but it was a better start than nothing. He could be there in a day, if he hauled ass. 

He hauled ass.

~~~

By the time Slade reached Gotham, a grueling 11 hours later, it was dark and felt hardly warmer than Moscow. He’d gotten no response back from Dick, which wasn’t unexpected but certainly didn't settle his nerves. Tracker hadn’t moved either. It was possible this was a trap– that someone was holding Dick hostage in anticipation of Slade. Although Slade thought Dick would be rather hard pressed to admit their connection to a third party, so it was at least unlikely. He could be injured– although there’s no reason he wouldn’t just go to the Bat. A unique poison perhaps?

Slade mused on the potentials of the situation as he moved swiftly across the Gotham skyline, not having bothered to shed his Deathstroke gear along the way. When he finally reached the run-down apartment complex currently housing Dick’s place– and his tracker– Slade had disregarded any of his theories, and aptly concluded that he was going into things completely blind. He cocked his pistol, and held it by his side. Best to be ready for anything, then. He soundlessly landed on Dick’s fire escape, peering into his half-shuttered window. Dick’s bedroom was dark and messy, with clothes and trash strewn about. No signs of a struggle. He slid his fingers underneath the window, and pried it open smoothly, ignoring a twinge of annoyance. It wasn’t even locked, Jesus. Vigilante or not, this kid was practically begging to get murdered. 

He ducked through the small opening, boots landing on carpet with a soft thud. He closed the window behind him, before slowly creeping forward to press his ear up against Dick’s bedroom door, listening intently to the rest of the house. One heartbeat. Young, healthy… possibly Dick. He turned the handle of the door, letting a small crack of light into the room, and peered through to Dick’s living room. 

The place looked the same as it had two months ago. The same cracked, fading paint- marred by the occasional wet stain seeping from the ceiling. Same cheap box TV, neighbored by a sagging, aging couch. Same dusty yellow carpet. And the same man– standing there, seemingly unharmed. Dick was pacing back and forth, his face drawn and pale, his eyes trained on the floor. He didn't notice Slade– worrying, considering his normal perceptiveness. But other than that, Slade saw no immediate danger. 

Slade opened the door fully, and took two quiet steps into the living room, eyebrows furrowing as he took in Dick’s distraught expression. “Dick?” he asked, tone low and serious. 

Dick’s head snapped up. “Oh. Slade.”

...He didn’t say anything else, just stared at Slade with an expression like a deer in headlights. Slade glanced around the room again for something that he must’ve missed. But his scan returned nothing to explain Dick’s distress. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked pointedly, hands curling tight around the grip of his pistol as his instincts screamed at him to be ready for something, anything. The silence between them weighed heavily down like a thick, suffocating blanket. 

Dick looked vaguely dazed. “No… I’m- everything is fine.” 

Slade shifted, straightening out of his combative stance. “You called for me,” he said, a dangerous edge in his voice. “I’m here. What’s happening?” 

Dick blinked, and dropped his gaze again. “Right… the codeword. I… Slade, I need to- I need to tell you something.” 

Slade’s eye narrowed in scrutiny.  “You urgently called me out of Moscow just to tell me something? ” Dick nodded, uncowed by the man's irritation. 

“It's- I couldn't- I couldn't say it over interceptable lines.” 

Slade’s burner phone was the most untraceable piece of tech he had. The thing was so simple it was basically a calculator, and profoundly difficult to “intercept” as a result. That was why he used it. The odds of someone hijacking the number were so low they were practically nonexistent– but Slade figured now wasn’t the best moment to mention that. He just jerked a hand impatiently, gesturing for Dick to continue. 

Dick looked as if he'd swallowed something very unpleasant. “Well,” he said blandly, low and flat, “I’m pregnant.” 

The deafening silence that followed was perhaps the loudest thing Slade had ever heard. Distantly, he wondered how many times in a man's life one could hear those words before they stopped feeling like such a punch to the gut. Clearly more than four, not that he had heard that for Rose, of course, so maybe it was four, although he was disinclined to find out, as that many children seems inconvenient to manage. Three was a handful, and Slade had never had to handle all of them at the same time, even. Children were so fragile and breakable and vulnerable–

...And Slade was quickly realizing that it had been several long moments of silence and Dick was staring at him rather expectantly. “What?” He managed to choke out, feeling remarkably off balance. 

“I'm pregnant,” Dick repeated insistently. Disappointingly, the two words made no more sense than they did the first time. 

“You're positive?” 

Dick’s anxious demeanor finally shifted, a flicker of annoyance flashing over his face. “Yes, I’m positive, Slade. There’s three tests in the bathroom if you don't believe me.” 

Slade brought a hand up to rub at his temple, almost subconsciously. “Are you keeping it?” Another long beat of silence. Dick flicked his eyes up to Slade, as if trying to read him. Then he nodded. 

“Yeah,” he responded hoarsely. “I am.” 

“Christ,” Slade muttered. Dick just kept staring at him. 

“It's yours.” The kid informed him- as if he would've called Slade there if it wasn't.  

“Christ.” Slade repeated, and grit his teeth. “Well. The fuck am I here for?” Dick looked stunned for a split second, hurt making the barest appearance before being smothered by indigence. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Why am I here, birdie? What do you want from me? You think I'm just gonna drop everything to come play house with you?” Slade snapped, frustration and panic welling up inside him. “I kill people. I don’t change diapers.” 

“What about Rose?” Dick sniped back, and Slade's lip curled. 

“Didn’t change hers either, in case you're forgetting. Don't bring her into this. I don’t want another fucking kid, Grayson.” 

Grayson. Slade hadn't called Dick that in a long time, and its impact was immediately apparent. Dick's face closed off entirely, a wall of cool indifference slamming over his anger like a closing door. “Well, you've got one. Deal with it,” he said flatly. Dick squeezed his fists absent-mindedly, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and opened them. Slade stared into that steely, unyielding blue, and felt a soft flicker of shame in his gut. “Now if you'll excuse me, I've spent the last week puking my guts up growing a fucking fetus. I don't have the energy for this. I'm going to bed.” Dick stalked towards Slade. “Stay. Or don't. I don't care,” he mumbled, shouldering past Slade’s stunned form into his room. 

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Slade alone with only his thoughts, his gun, and probably a few cockroaches. He stood there for a long, long moment. Cars whizzed by on the street across from the building. The occasional honk broke the quiet night air. A relentless, underlying buzzing sound circled Slade’s head, attacking his sensitive hearing and being generally a nuisance. 

Dick’s refrigerator is loud as fuck, he noted. Probably as cheap as the rest of this place. The electrical sound seemed to overpower the entire room, leaving Slade’s brain shaking in his skull. He turned around jerkily and walked over to the hallway window on autopilot, moving to open it. It was locked. Good, he thought, at least he's got the sense to keep one closed. Won’t get murdered in his sleep after all. Because wouldn't that just be the cherry on the cake. One more dead kid on his watch. One more… 

This is really happening, huh? Slade turned around, abandoning the window. He slid down the wall, and sat on the floor. The wallpaper across from him was scratched at the bottom. It was blue. Had flowers on it. Slade wondered if Dick had put it in himself. If he had scratched the paper after patrol one night, too tired to be careful with his sticks… That would be like him. Refuse the Bat’s money, get an apartment on his own merit, turn it into somewhere actually liveable with sheer determination alone. Slade had never met anyone more bullheaded, other than maybe himself. 

Jesus.

He couldn't go.

He couldn't leave another one behind. Dick was so young– it'd never bothered him before, but suddenly all he could think about was Dick raising a kid, his kid, in that shit ass apartment, surrounded by that shit ass blue floral wallpaper with its shit ass scratches all over it. Alone. And he couldn't do it. He tilted his head back up, and stared at the dim yellow light flicking on the ceiling. He took a deep breath, and then stood. Slade trudged his way over to the couch, and stripped off the black domino mask covering his eyes. He slowly shed the rest of his gear, then arranged it meticulously on the coffee table, taking comfort in the organization. Then, he sat back on the couch. The cushions sank down under his weight pitifully, and Slade put his face in his hands, and his elbows on his knees, and stayed there for a very long time.

~~~

Dick hadn’t started crying the second he closed the door, a fact that he was very proud of. Being a parent, he figured, was something that started long before he actually popped out the kid. It started now, in his bedroom, not crying, and definitely not leaving the room to go yell at Slade, who probably wasn’t even there anymore because he was a deadbeat piece of shit who can’t take responsibility to save his life, and why had Dick ever thought it was a good idea to sleep with him and- 

And there were the tears. Dick sniffed, and wiped his puffy eyes quickly, hiding the evidence of his breakdown from the dirty clothes judging him from the floor. Well. The point remained. The point remained that he wasn’t allowed to be sensitive anymore. He was living for two now, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was going to have to do it with or without Slade’s help. Dick shuffled over to his bed, and flopped down face first. He stayed there until it got hard to breathe, and then rolled over. He laced his hands together over his stomach, and didn’t bother to fix the mussed sheets beneath him.

Dick had had a sneaking suspicion for about a week now. The kind of impending premonition that sat deep in his gut like a thick, black sludge. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it– had only bought the pregnancy tests on a whim in the first place– but unfortunately children were not the kind of problem that could be solved by pretending they weren't there. And wasn’t that a crazy fucking thought. He was going to have a kid. God, some days he felt like barely more than a kid himself. How could he ever think he could handle this? 

But despite the sickening anxiety swirling around inside him, every time he remembered the life in his stomach, he couldn’t– he couldn’t bear to even consider an abortion. Dick had gotten… God. Dick had gotten so tired of being on his own. You’d think he’d be adjusted to the quiet, having grown up in a mansion with only two other people, but sometimes Dick thought the life and levity of Haley’s had never fully left his ears. Anything under 60 decibels was like silence to him. And he dealt with a lot of silence these days. 

How wonderful would that be, to have a kid running around the place, he mused. Another flying Grayson. How wonderful, to have a family again. 

Dick stared up at his stained ceiling and worried at his lip. But how selfish, too, to condemn a baby to this shithole. His apartment was barely habitable for himself, and babies were so fragile. In the winter, it was so cold, and not to mention the dust, and the mold, and the bugs - it just wouldn’t be right. 

He could always go back to the manor, he supposed. He and Jason, despite their rough start, had actually developed a close enough friendship. The kid would love to be an uncle. And Alfred would love another child in the family. 

But Bruce… He had left the manor about two years ago now. Their conversations had since consisted of short, clipped, one word sentences on shared missions, and the occasional screaming match. They wouldn’t last one week in the same house without ripping each other’s heads off. And the question remained– would Bruce even let him come back? Dick brought a hand up to pick at his cuticles aggressively. Single, knocked up- by fucking Deathstroke the Terminator no less; he wouldn’t be surprised if Bruce told him he was on his own. 

Dick… Dick didn’t know if he could bear to hear that. Better to keep it to himself, for now. Dick sighed, and finally closed his eyes. He’d come up with a plan tomorrow. For now, he was wrung out and emotionally exhausted. He needed sleep. His thoughts whirled in circles for another half hour at least, before finally, Dick drifted off into a light, restless slumber. 

~~~

Dick woke long after the first beams of light had started drifting through the scuffed and dusty windows. Slade hadn’t gone to sleep at all, and thus, when morning arrived, had started cleaning the apartment- just to keep himself busy. While there wasn’t much he could do for… most of it, he managed to clean up the kitchen enough that he would actually eat anything that came out of it. He had just thrown away the last of his paper towels when he was alerted by the soft squeak of Dick’s bedroom door being pushed open. The boy padded softly out of his room, clothed in an oversized shirt and dragging an entire bedsheet behind him. Dick rubbed his red, puffy eyes, and turned into the kitchen. When he noticed Slade standing there awkwardly, like some vacant interloper, he stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked. “Wh- um. Hey.” 

Slade nodded stiffly in acknowledgement, then turned around to pick up Dick’s kettle, which had been placed on the stove. Dick stared at his back, bewildered. Eventually, he pried himself from his frozen state, and shuffled over to the kitchen table. He sat there awkwardly as Slade poured the kettle, and brought over two cups of tea. Dick didn't even know he had tea. Or a kettle. 

Slade settled into the seat across from Dick with a huff. Dick watched the steam billow off of their mugs. He tapped a finger against his tea nervously. “...So,” he started painfully, “You’re still... here.” 

Slade nodded grimly. “I’m still here,” he agreed. The man brought his tea up to his lips and blew on it. Then he took a long sip, as if steeling himself. By the time Slade set the mug back down on the table, Dick’s face was scrunched up in annoyed confusion. “I’m not leaving,” he clarified, “If you keep it, I’ll be here.” 

Dick’s lips parted slightly in surprise. And truthfully, Slade shared the sentiment. He took another sip of tea. He’d never once been a good father. And it was undeniably doubtful that he would decide to start now. But the truth was this: in one way or another, Slade had already failed every one of his children. He would not fail another. 

“You will?” Dick questioned, still processing. Slade nodded simply. 

“I can’t promise much. I’m no family man. You know that. But I’ll… try anyway.” 

Dick visibly slumped in relief, and Slade felt a spark of empathy. However… intimidating this was for him, it was obviously ten times worse for Dick. This would be Slade’s fourth child, but Dick was only a few years into adulthood. He was being strong, sure, but Slade wasn’t blind to his trepidation. He didn't do Dick the dishonor of pointing it out, however, and instead moved onto the details of the situation. 

“I can lay back on contracts for the next few months, and support you throughout gestation. We can get you a doctor, figure out a birth plan, maybe a fake identity for the kid. There are a lot of logistics here, Dick-” Slade reminded him, “–you need to be sure before we get too far down this road.” There was no threat or anger in his voice, just matter of factness. 

Dick brought his knees up to his chest, shifting into a ball on the chair. “I know. I don’t care. I’m keeping it.” Slade huffed, and nodded. 

“Alright then. Where are you planning on staying? Will Bruce want you back in the manor?” Dick’s face dropped into uncertainty. 

“I… don’t know.” He admitted. “I couldn’t– I mean, I couldn’t just stay here, right?” 

Slade’s eye narrowed. “Absolutely not.” No kid of his would be staying in a place so insecure. “I’ll look into some places for us.” Dick choked slightly on his tea. 

“Us? You’d come with?” 

Slade barely registered the question, mind already whirring with preparations. He’d get a mansion on the edge of Gotham, nice and out of the way. Facial scanners, perimeter detectors, bullet-proof windows– “Of course,” he replied absentmindedly, making a note to contact Wintergreen about procuring some discrete contractors. “Where else would I be?” 

Dick shook his head in disbelief, taken aback. “I mean, I… alright.” The boy looked down at the table, picking at the worn wood. Slade continued, determined to power through and get this conversation over as soon as possible. 

“What about a doctor? Have you been to anyone yet?” 

“No,” Dick said sheepishly, “I only found out yesterday morning. But I should be what, five? No, six weeks along, so I’m about due for it, I think.” Slade processed that, running through anyone he trusted who might be able to come out to the area. “But I don’t need to find anyone. I want Leslie.” Slade looked up, meeting eyes with Dick. His expression darkened slightly. 

“Thompkins? I didn’t know she did prenatal.” 

“She doesn’t, really,” Dick replied, “but she had a stint in a maternity ward for a couple years before she met Bruce, and I trust her.” Slade drummed his fingers on the table, looking unconvinced. Dick persisted. “Slade, I haven’t been to another doctor since I was twelve. I want Leslie.” 

“Fine,” he acquiesced, although he’d definitely be grilling Wintergreen on the woman’s credentials later. “Then you set up an appointment. I’ll get started on the house.” From across the table, Dick breathed an internal sigh of relief.  For the first time since the last morning, when he decided to go through with the pregnancy, Dick felt like… like this might actually work. 

“Okay. I’m on it,” he said softly. 

With that, Slade stood. He deposited his now empty mug into the sink and headed into the living room to work, leaving Dick at the table still finishing his tea. After a moment, he popped his head back into the room with a frown. “Eat something first. Real food, not that cereal shit, Richard, I mean it.” Dick shooed him off with a wave of his hand, and went to root through his fridge for some eggs, or something. Afterwards, he’d call Leslie and… and start being a Dad, apparently. But for now, Slade was right. Breakfast.

Chapter Text

Five days later, Dick found himself standing outside the contemporary nightmare he was meant to call his home. The house Slade had bought sat atop a sloping hill surrounded by pine trees, connected to a long, winding driveway leading back out into Gotham. Comically, Dick had noted on his way up, the mailbox was sat all the way on the other end. It’d take half the morning just to get the day’s paper, he thought, suddenly struck by an intense and fervent longing for home. Where that was, exactly, Dick couldn’t seem to place.

The property overlooked the city, the imposing Gotham towers cutting a dark figure into the sky. The buildings sprawled outward from them looked like ants circling the city’s epicenter, growing smaller and more sparse until petering out a good few miles before the property line. The building itself was a series of interlaced rectangles, jutting out of each other in angles a pretentious architect probably thought was artistic, but overall came across as… disjointed. There was no color, each wall either gray, black, white, or glass. Dick shifted uncomfortably, tilting his head back to peer up the multiple stories. From behind him, Slade climbed out of the car, hefting Dick’s paltry three suitcases up and over his broad shoulders. The man headed into the house without another word. 

The last few days had been… an adjustment, to say the least. Neither of them were truly used to spending more than a few hours in each other's company– and even then, were used to hours spent otherwise… occupied. Dick had rapidly come to the realization that he had no idea how to actually talk to Slade– a sentiment he was sure the other man shared. Slade had spent most of the week working on the house; making phone calls, day trips, payments. Which, while appreciated, seemed mostly like an excuse to keep busy. Slade would always find some reason to leave a room once Dick entered it. And despite Slade’s few assurances of his desire to stick around, Dick had a hard time believing this arrangement would last too long. If he was lucky, Slade might stay long enough for the kid to pop out before making himself scarce. 

Dick sighed, and headed into the house. Well, impermanence aside, this was an opportunity he really couldn’t afford to pass up. Might as well milk it while he could.

Inside the building was at least marginally more inviting. A thick, plush black rug lined the entryway beyond a small divot meant for removing and storing shoes. Dick kicked his own off, shoving them to the side absentmindedly as he took in the rest of the place. Down the hall, lit by an opulent chandelier was a family room. It was massive, lined with a gorgeous white couch and the biggest television Dick had ever seen in his life. He padded into the room, eyes wide. Slade had disappeared down a hallway somewhere, presumably to put the bags away. 

The Manor had always been a darker atmosphere. Mahogany walls and classical paintings cradled knit rugs and endless corridors. It seemed to be the kind of place Dick could wander forever, and still not discover all of its secrets. The Manor was a beast in and of itself, and despite its vaguely ominous nature, Dick had always found some sense of comfort in its labyrinth-like structure. This new house, in comparison, felt cold and dead. Staring at the gleaming floors, ivory cushions, and glass walls of the living room, all Dick could think was– has this man ever met a child? 

Well, sterility or no, Dick found himself at least relatively settled in the master bedroom a few hours later. The room was much like the rest of the house, mainly black and white. But the bed was massive, and the most plush thing Dick had ever felt. The first time he fell into it, he was practically swallowed whole. Plus, there was an attached bathroom with a luxury tub the size of a swimming pool. The soft, gold-yellow lights lining both rooms gave the place a slightly more homey feel. It was a substantial upgrade from his $500-a-month apartment in town. 

Slade had claimed the room down the hall for himself, as well as a second one to store his gear. Dick, who was used to keeping all of his junk balled up in a closet, needed no such space and told him to go right ahead. 

He had spent the day exploring the place until he knew it like the back of his hand, and could maneuver through it confidently in the dark or an emergency. Just in case. To his delight, his examination had yielded multiple exciting discoveries, from a gym complete with trapeze bars to an entire home movie theater. Dick was optimistically hopefully he’d be able to keep himself entertained while benched from Nightwing duty. On that note, he’d have to find some excuse to have Bruce cover his shifts in Bludhaven for a bit… maybe a broken leg? Nothing serious enough that Bruce would want to check up on him… but enough that he’d be justifiably out of commission. Dick added it to his mental to-do list.

His appointment with Leslie was scheduled for two days from then. Slade had left the place after a brief explanation of its security systems, off to complete a quick job a few hours south of Gotham before returning in time to accompany him to Leslie’s. Secretly, Dick was grateful for the privacy. A funny thought, given that only a week ago he had been terrified at the thought of being alone. But truthfully, the awkwardness between him and Slade, along with the new place, had had him on edge. Dick just needed some time to himself to adjust to his new situation away from Slade’s watchful eyes. 

He was currently sprawled out on the couch, TV blasting some old movie or another. The fireplace beneath it was crackling vigorously, banishing the late fall chill from the drafty corners of the room. He kicked his leg back and forth from its place hanging off the couch. Dick didn’t think he’d been still for so long since before he could walk. Maybe these nine months of off duty would kill him after all. Full of restless energy, Dick swung up from his position on the couch, vaulting over the back and landing smoothly on his feet with a flourish. He stared at the empty corridors for a moment, before cupping his hands to his mouth with a grin. 

“Hellllooooo?!” He shouted out, reveling in the slight ringing echo. “Echoo!!” The house wasn’t large enough to return his full voice, but Dick’s shouts were reverberated enough to make the noise satisfying. He slumped back over the back of the couch for a moment, taking in the atmosphere. 

“I’m gonna be a Dad!” He yelled, just to make sure the house knew. “A fucking great one!” The house didn’t say anything back, but Dick was pretty sure it believed him. Which was good, because there was a small candle of nerves flickering in his stomach near constantly now that definitely didn’t. Nevertheless, Dick huffed out a breath and climbed back over the couch with a self-satisfied smile. Now feeling properly settled, he tried his best to enjoy the movie and finally, finally relax. 

~~~

Somewhere south of Gotham, Slade spared a quick second to check on the home cameras he’d installed, having received an alert for “excess noise”. Despite his best efforts, his lips quirked up slightly in amusement.

~~~

Slade wiped his hands on his pants nervously. Dick spared him an odd glance before climbing into the passenger seat of the armored SUV. “Is this a car, or a tank?” he complained, as Slade walked back around to get in the driver’s seat and closed the door. 

“This car has exactly the amount of security that is appropriate," the man replied flatly.

Dick turned around, leaning over the center counsel to peer at the back of the car. “Right,” he said skeptically, staring at the barely hidden titanium plating lining the walls. He turned back around as Slade pulled out, clicking his seatbelt on with a single smooth motion. 

Slade drove carefully to the edge of their underground garage, clicking a small button to lift up the exit wall. He eased out, closed the door behind him and started down the half-mile driveway to the main roads. 

The pines shadowed the driveway, still dark green even heading into winter, and the typical overcast weather draped soft shadows over the forest. Slade did his best to focus on the road, and the car, and his plans for dinner– as opposed to their destination. That, Slade was trying to push out of his mind. Dick seemed to be doing the same, gazing out the window with an expression Slade couldn’t entirely read. They drove about halfway there before the awkward silence began to feel suffocatingly oppressive. 

Dick glanced at him pointedly from the side of his eye, tapping his fingers nervously on the side of his arm. Slade pursed his lips and kept his eyes determinedly forward. Dick cleared his throat, a sharp a-hem that made Slade wince slightly. He stewed in the tension for just a little bit longer, before grudgingly acquiescing. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked half-heartedly. Dick huffed, lip twitching in a sardonic smile. 

“Pregnant,” he replied dryly, slumping back into his seat. The first trimester had been hitting him hard. Dick spent a good portion of every morning bent over a toilet seat these days. Slade grimaced sympathetically. He'd undergone many discomforts in his life, but growing a child seemed particularly unenviable. Even from beyond the seemingly cavernous distance between them, Slade was very aware of Dick’s displeasure about the emerging physical aspects of his pregnancy. 

“Yes, well,” he offered unhelpfully, “you can rest more when we get back to the house.”

Dick huffed again, petulance seeping into his tone. “I don’t want to rest more. I’m tired of resting. I’m bored out of my mind, Slade.”

Slade narrowed an eye slightly in annoyance. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about that.” 

Dick went quiet again, crossing his arms and staring out the window with a pout. Slade felt a twinge of regret. 

He glanced at Dick’s unmoving form a few times, before sighing, and trying again. “You hoping for a girl or a boy?” Dick hummed thoughtfully, eyes still fixed on the buildings now flying by outside. 

“I don’t care, really. I just want them to be healthy.” Slade nodded thoughtfully. In truth, he felt much the same- although not for quite the same reasons. He couldn’t quite bring himself to actually picture the kid, couldn’t allow the pregnancy to be anymore than just an abstract concept just yet. He’d had a week to adjust to the idea, and yet he still felt like he was moving through life on autopilot. Find the next thing. Solve the next problem. Just one step at a time; don’t think about anything more than that. 

Well, this appointment was soon to be the end of that. Driving to Thompkins, Slade felt an increasing sense of trepidation growing inside him. This was it, where they found out if the pregnancy was even viable, and discussed their plans going forward. This was the moment where it all became real. Buying the house was nothing– Slade bought houses all the time. But this… 

Slade had never been to a prenatal before. Even with Adeline. Slade had been gone so much back then. He didn’t go to any appointments, didn’t see the births, wasn’t around to see the kids grow up. It was one of his deepest regrets. Slade had gotten few, few precious years with his boys– and he had wasted all of them. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, and pried himself out of the past. This time would be different. He would make sure of it. “Got any name ideas?” 

Dick shook his head with a smile. “No, I think I’ll have to meet them first.” Slade nodded. “Although,” he added, “Just so you know– they’re going to be a Grayson.”

Slade cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t remember agreeing to that. What’s wrong with Wilson?”

Dick hummed teasingly. “Sorry, who's the one actually growing the kid? My womb, my name.”

Slade finally pulled the car into Leslie’s parking garage, a small, cramped space underneath the building that housed her agency– the top floor of a run-down looking hospital in a shitty part of town. You’d think someone backed by the Prince of Gotham- or the Dark Knight, at the very least- could get a little more funding. “We can’t exactly hyphenate it. Grayson-Wilson sounds ridiculous,” Dick added matter of factly. Slade shot him a pseudo-reprimanding glare. 

“Wilson is more sophisticated.” He said, turning his key, and climbing out of the car. 

He turned to go open Dick’s door for him, but the man was already stepping out himself, waving a dismissive hand at Slade. “Yeah, but Grayson is trademarked, Slade. Don’t know if you know this, but my parents had a whole act… It was kind of a thing,” Dick joked as he joined Slade again. “Gotta take advantage of that copyright while we can.” He seemed mostly unserious, but there was a grain of truth threaded throughout Dick's voice. He wanted to continue his family’s legacy, pay homage to the parents he loved so much. Slade could understand that. With that being said… some dark, possessive part of Slade shirked at the idea of not being able to claim this child properly as his own. If he was going to do this right, he wanted all of it.

Something to be revisited at another time, maybe.  

Side by side, they walked through the garage until they reached the ground level elevator. Dick opened the doors, stepping in next to Slade. It chimed, and began climbing upward at a jolting pace that made Slade slightly uneasy. If the faded paint from outside was anything to go by, who knew when this thing last had maintenance. 

“Now listen,” Dick said, leaning in slightly and whispering out of the side of his mouth, “I’ve warned Leslie you’ll be here. But she’s not exactly happy about it, per say, so play nice. Please.” And Slade would have most definitely responded, except the elevator doors were already opening with a soft, out of tune jingle. So instead, Slade just curled the corner of his lip, and stepped out without a word, leaving Dick to hurry after him. They walked out into a long, drab hallway dressed in worn pastels and overly fluorescent lights. Ugh. Slade hated hospitals.

Despite his teasings, he had hope that this would go well. He didn’t know the complete details of Dick’s relationship with the Bat and his affiliates, but he knew enough to figure that if this had any hope of working out, he’d have to reach a civil enough relationship with the man that his threat level was lowered from “attack on sight”. Thompkins would be a good enough start to that. Dick followed passively behind Slade, pursing his lips worriedly. Slade was sure he had similar concerns. Perhaps it would be more kind to assure him of his intentions... but Slade was a cruel man at heart, and for now at least, it was entertaining to watch him squirm. 

They soon arrived at the end of the hall, where a small placard labeled, “L. Thompkins.” denoted their destination. Dick rapped on the white, plaster door. After a short beat, the door opened to reveal an older looking woman of a short stature. She stood straight and confidently, streaks of gray running through her black hair, which was slicked back into a neat bun. Although she only came up to about Dick’s shoulder, she possessed a certain commanding energy. Whether or not she could truly be trusted with Dick’s health was yet to be seen, but for now, Slade was content to let the scene play out.  “Richard!” she declared with a smile that crinkled her eyes pleasantly, bringing the boy in for a hug. 

“Hi, Leslie. It’s good to see you,” Dick responded with a charming grin. The woman pulled back and pinched his cheek reprimandingly. 

“I’d say it’s been too long, but truthfully, I much prefer you boys stay out of my office.” Dick chuckled good naturedly, and followed her into the room.

He sat down on a patient bed, crinkling the paper softly. Slade took a seat in a plastic folding chair next to it. It squeaked feebly under his weight. He watched Thompkins as she moved confidently to snap on some plastic gloves from a compartment on the wall. “I had an ultrasound machine moved up from prenatal this morning, so we’ll be able to complete your appointment entirely from my room. I’m just going to run you through a quick questionnaire. We’ll do a physical, use ol’ precious over here,” she tapped the ultrasound machine affectionately, “decide your next appointment date, and then we’re all done! No big thing,” she declared. 

Dick let out a shaky breath, and smiled, wide and confident. Slade, however, noted the slight tremble in his jaw, and he suspected Thompkins did too, as she continued to explain the procedures they’d be undergoing in a smooth, gentle voice. She slid into a chair across from Dick, and began asking him some questions, typing furiously on a computer as she went. Slade mostly tuned out, turning instead to focus on Dick. On the drive over, he had seemed perfectly at ease. Now, however, the anxiety of the appointment was clearly getting to his head. The kid was a good actor, a great one even, and years of fieldwork had given him a good hand at hiding nerves. But faced with Slade’s advanced senses, and the intuition of a woman who had known him for more than a decade, Dick’s veil of ease was a flimsy one indeed. 

By the time Thompkins completed the questionnaire, Dick's hands were shaking subtly in his lap. Slade stared down at them for a long moment. Then, simply and determinedly, he resolved himself. When Thompkins turned to fiddle with the ultrasound machine, Slade softly took one of Dick’s hands out of his lap, placing it on the bed between them and squeezing it. Dick’s gaze snapped over to him. Slade met his eyes seriously, and squeezed his hand again. After a moment, Dick gulped, and turned back towards Thompkins, keeping his hand firmly in Slade’s grasp. 

Slade could hear Dick’s heart rate slowly pick up as Thompkins moved his shirt, spread the cool gel over his stomach, and moved to grab the wand. By the time she returned, Dick’s heart was pounding deafeningly like a jackrabbit in his chest. Then, she slowly pressed the wand to his stomach, carefully narrating all of her actions to him as she went. On the screen, a small black and white blob appeared, and Dick gasped. 

There they were. Slade leaned forward unconsciously. That was his kid. This was real. This was happening. For the first time, Slade felt something else blooming inside him, right next to all the fear and anger and regret that had been his constant companions since this whole thing began. He couldn’t tear his eyes off that grainy picture. It was like the whole world had faded away, and all that remained were the small bean-shaped object on the screen, and Dick’s hand, warm and steady in his own. 

“Look at that,” Thompkins said, turning to take a look at the ultrasound. “Perfectly healthy.”

Dick squeezed Slade’s hand. He quickly blinked away his watery eyes, letting out a small laugh. “That’s amazing, Leslie, thank you.”

The woman smiled. “Anything for you, kiddo.” The two exchanged more pleasant small talk as Thompkins wrapped up the appointment. Just as Slade had assumed things were about over, she patted her pockets. “Ah, hold on. We have to sign some papers before you go– Slade, will you grab me a pen from the front desk?” 

Slade met her innocent eyes with a deadpan look. She had a pen right there in her pocket; he could see the outline of it. But the woman just looked back, uncowed, and so he stood, gently pulling his hand from Dick’s. “Of course,” he responded obligingly. Dick trusted her and he could handle himself. If she wanted to talk to him without Slade’s presence, then that was her prerogative. Dick made no move to stop him, just gave him a placating smile– so Slade left without another word. 

He gave them the dignity of not listening in as he made his trek down to the front office. Although he was dressed in civilian clothes, he still caught a few odd looks. Stark white hair and an eyepatch would do that to a man, massive stature aside. Dick had assured him that this hospital prided itself on its discretion, however, and he noted that there were no security cameras monitoring the halls. He would trust the staff to keep their observations to themselves for now. 

He couldn’t help his slight amusement at the poor receptionist- a college aged looking girl who went pale when he tapped her on the shoulder. The hand that handed him a pen was trembling slightly, and her customer service smile was feeble at best. He made an effort not to chuckle before he left the room. A few minutes later, by the time he had made his way back up through the corridors of beige barrenness, he paused a few feet down the hall. 

“I know… I know.” He heard Dick say, muffled from behind the door. “I’m not naive, Leslie, I’m perfectly aware–” Slade turned back around, focusing determinedly on the floor in front of him. He twirled the pen in his fingers for a bit.

Eventually, the almost imperceptible flickering of the fluorescent lights started to bother his head, so he headed down the hall once more. This time he made his footfalls purposely audible. The soft conversation went quiet, before Dick quickly added, “I’ll be okay, I promise.” Slade rapped on the door politely, and ducked inside. He held the pen out to Thompkins, who snatched it from his fingers with an artificial smile. 

“Thank you, dearie.” She said, keeping a careful eye on Slade as he made his way back over to his plastic chair. He sank back down on it, another loud squeak echoing through the room. They all sat there for a moment, staring at each other, before Thompkins clapped her hands together. “Well! Let’s get these signed and you on your way.” 

Fifteen minutes later, he and Dick headed out of Thompkins' room with a handful of ultrasound pictures, some old medical records of Dick’s, and a not insignificant amount of newfound anxiety. She and Dick exchanged familial hugs and promises to talk before their next appointment in a few weeks. Then they were off. Trapezing down the hall, Dick talked animatedly about the experience. 

Slade spared a look behind them. Down the long hall, Thompkins was staring him down, the polite veneer from before entirely gone. Her face was hard, and flat. It was only a second or two, but it seemed much longer as they locked eyes, giving the other one last look over. 

Thompkins didn’t give Slade any shovel talk. She didn’t have to. The look said it all, and furthermore, there’s nothing she could do to him that the Bat wouldn’t. Still, he could understand her reluctance. He wouldn’t envy being in her position. He’d probably blow a gasket if he had to entrust Rose’s well being with a man of his stock. So he gave her a slight incline of the head. Saying thank you, and I’ve got him. Thompkins looked disbelieving, but, after a moment, slid back into her room anyways, closing the door with a soft click. Slade looked back down at Dick, still obviously walking away. He didn’t know what Dick had said to her, but it was somehow convincing enough for that woman to let her almost-grandchild walk off with a serial murderer in tow. Slade felt his quiet respect for Dick tick up once more.

Chapter Text

They drove back home in relative silence– but unlike before, it didn’t feel uneasy. Slade’s iron grip on the steering wheel had relaxed onto a single, loose hand fixed at 6. Dick hummed along to the radio as they drove. The sun was beginning to set, casting Gotham’s streets in a golden glow that broke through the lingering clouds of the day. 

But the peace of the moment was interrupted only a few miles away from Thompkin’s place when Dick sucked in a panicked, dramatic gasp of air. It was only Slade’s decades of toned instinct that kept him from crashing the car. “Slade! Stop! Stop the car!” Slade yanked the vehicle to the side of the road, swerving across several lanes of traffic and maybe a small bird. He slid to the curb in a maneuver so sharp it left skids on the pavement. His head was on a swivel, hand reaching for the pistol in his glove compartment, when Dick unclipped his buckle, and leapt out the door. “Badmaash! I haven’t been there in years, we have to get take-out!” he cried excitedly. The boy darted away from the car, and into a small hole-in-the-wall sat parallel to the street. 

Slade leaned back in the seat and clutched at his chest. He exhaled shakily, taking a quick moment to mourn the several years that had just been shaved off his life. Staring at the clean interior of the SUV, he thought that if this became a regular thing, he might not survive until the baby. After properly composing himself, he opened the door with a growl and stalked in after his wayward coparent. The pavement underneath his boots was cracked and littered with tar and gum- but the bright atmosphere of the little restaurant seemed to be a burst of life in an otherwise less than attractive area. It was bright red, with a yellow, hand painted sign marking the entrance. Slade pushed open the thin wooden door, and lurched to a stop. 

Dick was leaning over the counter, conversing excitedly in Hindi with an older-looking man who seemed positively delighted to see him. Dick’s face was split into a massive grin. It was the happiest Slade had seen him in… ever, now that he thought about it. Dick counted on his fingers, seemingly going through a list of items as he talked to the man. The man nodded dutifully, laughing every couple sentences at Dick’s quips– a constant no matter what language he was speaking. After a long moment of conversation, the man hurried to the back of the restaurant and Dick turned back around, gesturing for Slade to join him. 

Cautiously, Slade walked forward, the annoyance from before magically vanishing into thin air. The restaurant smelled overwhelmingly of thick, warm spices and home-cooked food. “This was my favorite restaurant as a kid,” Dick explained as he got closer, “I used to come here all the time after my shifts.” Slade took his place at Dick’s side, peering around the room. It was cramped, but homey, and clearly the recipient of much love and care. It had a few unsteady looking tables crammed into the space– there was a couple tucked into the corner smiling at each other, talking in hushed voices, and a mother off to the side, trying unsuccessfully to feed some vegetables to her toddler. Music drifted from hidden speakers, cradling the soft meshing of voices. There was a bulletin board hanging on the back wall that was covered in pictures, posters, and a child’s drawings. The entire place was lit by strings of lights that cast a mellow glow over the room. 

“The food kind of reminded me of back home, at Haley’s. And the owner, Kamal,” Dick gestured to the kitchen, where the man was clanging pots and pans around busily, “was always very kind to me.” Dick gave a toothy smile. “Always gave me extra food.” The man barked out a laugh, and shouted back over the sounds of the kitchen. Dick slapped his hand on the counter boisterously, and shouted something back, sparking another rapid-fire discussion between the two. Slade knew some Hindi, but only a few words, and certainly not enough to follow the thread of conversation. 

The man was still chattering excitedly by the time he carried over their food, several bags of takeout stacked on top of eachother. Slade raised an eyebrow. “What?” Dick said sheepishly as he handed over his card. “I don’t need to pay rent anymore. I can splurge,” he justified. The man– Kamal– tried to refuse the card, but Dick forced it into his hand with an assertive encouragement. He swiped the card reluctantly, and turned to Slade as he handed it back. 

“You are friend of Dick’s?” he asked, voice bright and clear. Slade snorted.

 “Something like that.” The man smiled widely, and grabbed Slade’s hands. He patted them affectionately with warm, calloused palms. 

“I give extra pakoda for you. Eat well! A friend of Dick is a friend of mine.” Slade blinked, but nodded graciously, and took the several bags of food without complaint. Dick gushed over the food, thanking Kamal several times before Slade finally dragged him out of the restaurant, Dick waving vivaciously as they left. The boy stepped out into the cool Gotham air with renewed energy, taking a deep breath. 

The sun had set while they were inside, and the city was now illuminated by the soft glow of street lights and overhead windows. Dick moved to take some of the bags, but Slade simply shook his head, and nudged him back towards the car. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t been stolen while they were inside– the gleaming black paint seemed out of place on the cracked and broken down streets. Dick hurried ahead and climbed into the car, eager to get home and eat. Slade watched him go, feeling… warm, despite the chill creeping through his thin day clothes. “Hurry up!” Dick called, “I’m fucking hungry!” 

Too distracted to notice the security camera lodged on the side of the building, now focused on them intently, Slade followed. 

~~~

The food was still warm by the time they got home. Dick insisted on using the expensive ceramic plates that had been sitting untouched in the kitchen since they moved in, proclaiming “Badmaash was too good for paper”. Slade obliged him, thinking a nice meal was the least the kid deserved after their appointment that morning. They ate together for the first time since those cups of tea the morning after Slade had found out about the pregnancy. 

Despite a slight lingering awkwardness, the visit to the restaurant seemed to have opened the floodgates of Dick’s conversationalism, and he spent the meal regaling Slade with stories of his childhood under the Bat. Surprisingly, Slade found himself chuckling along at times, entertained by the kid’s antics. To fly around Gotham city pantless for years took guts, after all, and Dick had the battle scars to prove it. Slade had always wondered how someone like Dick would be content staying so long in the same place. Haley’s, to his knowledge, had been somewhat nomadic– in a different place every week. That kind of wanderlust never really left a person. Slade knew he certainly got antsy if he went too long without a contract in a new spot. But it was clear from the way Dick talked animatedly, waving his hands to emphasize his points, that he really loved the city, loved what he did. Not to mention, with a different rogue popping up every other week, it seemed a difficult task to get bored in the first place. Slade didn’t think he had seen a greater hotspot of crime in his life. 

“So,” Slade said as they were finishing up, collecting Dick’s plate and his own. “I think it’s about time to tell Rose.” He walked to the edge of the kitchen and slipped the plates into the cavernous marble sink sunk into the counter. He washed them by hand, before slipping them gently into the industrial dishwasher next to the sink . “Wintergreen already knows, and I don’t plan on keeping it from her,” he declared definitively, half-expecting Dick to protest. But Dick just nodded, looking at Slade from his spot at the table. 

“I think that’s a good idea.” Slade turned around, trying to read his expression. Dick raised his hands placatingly. “I mean it! I like Rose, Slade, I think it’ll go well enough.” And that was… true. The two had fostered a close enough relationship back when the Teen Titans were still together. Rose adored Dick, and while Slade hadn’t told her about the two of them, he’d be surprised if she didn’t at least suspect. She had told him once that Dick was a good influence on him, that he made Slade… softer . “Which isn’t always a good thing,” she had explained, “but I think you could use a little softness, Papa.” 

Well, a little softness was hardly the same thing as a child. Dick seemed confident she would react well, but Slade still had his doubts. In truth, he was… nervous. Wintergreen, when he had heard the news, hadn’t said anything unkind but took on a tone of voice so disapproving that Slade still shuddered thinking of it. Thankfully, Slade had worked with the man so long there was practically no getting rid of him now– he hadn’t let it get to him too much. But Rose… his daughter would have no such qualms of abandoning him, or at least lashing out in reaction. And he couldn’t lose his girl, he just couldn’t. 

He barely saw her these days– she was camped out with some new Supers team in South America or something. Slade didn’t ask too many questions. On their weekly phone calls, he was more preoccupied talking to her about more mundane things, friends and gossip, trying to provide her some sense of normalcy between the two of them. Additionally, to prevent her from asking too many questions in return. Rose was hardly naive, but Slade still preferred to keep her out of his businesses as much as possible. It was just better that way. 

If he was lucky, she would be excited. He could maybe even convince her to visit once the baby was born. If not… He paced nervously in the family room, wiping his hands on his pants. The phone sat on the coffee table, taunting him. Dick was leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching him. “You just gotta do it. Like ripping off a bandaid.” he advised unhelpfully, looking slightly amused. 

“I haven’t worn a bandaid since I was five,” Slade muttered, mostly to himself. He put his hands behind his back to stop himself from fidgeting with them. Mercenaries didn’t fidget. 

Dick sighed sympathetically. “Do you want me to stay? I can be your emotional-support coparent. Slade just shook his head, eyes fixed on the phone. 

“No. I’m fine. You go to bed.” Dick hesitated for a moment, before nodding. He walked forward, rested a brief, gentle hand on Slade’s shoulder, and gave one last encouraging smile. Then he headed up the stairs to his room. It was just Slade and the phone. He took a deep breath, and then grabbed it, quickly punching in Rose’s number before he could talk himself out of it. It rang for a few heart pounding moments, then– she picked up. 

“Papa?” Rose asked, muffled. She sounded slightly out of breath, as if she had just been running somewhere. 

“Rose. Is this a bad time? I can call back.” 

“No, no!” She interrupted him. “It’s fine, I can talk, I– Donna!” She shouted to someone, “Cover me for a sec, it’s my dad!” There was some sound of agreement, then Rose lifted the phone to her mouth again. “What’s wrong?” Slade jumped awkwardly, resuming his pacing. 

“Why does something have to be wrong? Can’t I just call you?” Rose paused. 

“You do call me. On Thursdays. It’s Monday. What’s wrong?” 

Slade swallowed. “Well.” Then he went quiet. 

“Well?” Rose prompted. 

“Well,” he continued blandly, “Do you… you remember Dick, right?” Shit. That was terrible, why did he start with that ?

Slade could practically see Rose’s puzzled expression from across the line. “Do I remember …? Yes, Papa, I remember Dick Grayson.” Slade went quiet again, trying to best figure out how to say this. He felt like he was going to choke on the knot in his throat. His socks rubbed softly against the living room rug as he paced. Rose spoke up again, sensing his hesitance. “Papa, what the fuck is happening? Is he dead? Is he kidnapped? Did you fucking knock him up or something?” She laughed, concern seeping into her voice despite her attempt at levity. Her only answer was the soft, aged crackle of the flip phone. Slade cursed the universe at his daughter’s inconvenient sense of humor.  There was a long beat of silence. Then another. Then another, as Slade tried desperately to think of how to spin the conversation so he didn’t have to tell her like that. 

“No fucking way,” she said, concern giving way to stunned disbelief. “No fucking way.” Slade cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his long hair. 

“It… It wasn’t planned.” He started, figuring it was best to just begin talking. “But I want you to know that this changes nothing between you and I. You’ll always be my daughter, and I–” He was interrupted by Rose’s screech, clearly having used his little speech to process the information. 

“You knocked up Dick Grayson ?” Slade’s heart sank into his stomach like a rock thrown off a pier. He swallowed, trying to come up with a way to take control of the conversation again.

Rose erupted into uproarious cackles. Slade had to pull the phone away from his ear, wincing at the volume. “It’s not funny. ” He said gruffly, glaring at his dim reflection on the TV, but his displeasure only made her laugh harder. 

Rose wheezed, taking in huge gulps of air. Slade didn’t know how long it took before she finally calmed down, laughter dissolving into soft giggles. “I can’t believe it. Actually, I can believe it, and that’s what makes it incredible.” Slade tried not to feel annoyed at that. He hated that she had a point. “How far along is he? Do you know the gender yet?” She continued, and Slade blinked. 

“You’re not angry?” he posed hopefully.

“Angry? Wha- of course not! This is great, Papa, I’d love another sibling. And you know how I feel about Dick.” Slade took a breath for what felt like the first time since the call began, and brought a hand up to swipe his face. His eyes were entirely dry. No water. Not even a little bit. They were dusty, even, a veritable desert. Absolutely no tears from him, that was for sure.

“I’m glad, babygirl,” he said hoarsely, and Rose’s demeanor softened.

“Hey… You’re gonna be just fine, Papa, I know it. You’re doing better now,” she reassured him. Slade nodded to himself, alone in that big empty room but feeling more loved than he had in years.

“Damn straight,” he agreed, despite his own worries. “Damn straight.”

Slade spent about the next half hour talking to his daughter, going over the events of the last week, and their plans for the future. She gushed to him about her team, and their latest missions. And, to Slade’s quiet delight, Rose agreed to come up and meet the baby in the summer. Everything seemed a little brighter, and by the time Slade said his goodbyes and hung up, there was a small smile pinned to his face. He breathed an internal sigh of relief. The hard part was over– at least for him. Slade held no preconceptions that Dick’s side of the family would be any easier– at least he only had two people to tell. Dick was practically laughing at him earlier… he wouldn’t be laughing when it was his turn, Slade thought in satisfaction, turning to go climb the stairs and go to bed. 

Well, speak of the devil, because Slade had only just begun to move when the lights around him dimmed and the TV beside him flickered to life. Immediately, he tensed, instincts alert and ready for danger. His eyes darted around the room.  There, on the TV screen, was a white circle. He moved to grab the remote when the speakers clicked on. 

“Slade Wilson,” a voice said, steely and vaguely feminine. Slade stiffened, mind whirling to the closest weapon. He had a gun in the car, upstairs in his gear room, and- shit, he had left his pistol in the kitchen- did he have time to grab it? And Dick, Dick was still upstairs, he needed to alert him, and get him out, get them both out- “My name is Oracle,” The voice continued, “And I’d like to know what the fuck your intentions are with my best friend.” 

Slade’s mind stumbled, throwing him out of his defensive spiral. Some…some pissed off Bat? How the hell did she get into his system? It should’ve been uncrackable, Wintergreen himself had worked on it and Slade had never met anyone who could get past him. “Who are you?” He demanded, mind speeding through a list of all the vigilantes in Gotham. 

“I’m asking the questions here,” the voice demanded, a hard edge coloring her tone with anger. “What are your intentions with Dick ?”

Slade frowned. His eyes flickered to the security cameras hidden in the corner of the room- if the woman had gotten into the TV, she definitely had eyes on him now. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” he said, just to see her reaction, feeling her out. Immediately, there was a loud bang, like someone had slammed a fist on a table. Slade winced slightly, the feedback from the speaker grating against his sensitive ears. 

The house was entirely soundproofed– Dick probably hadn’t heard anything. “It is my concern, because I swear to god, if you hurt him I don’t give a shit about Batman’s rules I will kill you myself. You think I can’t do it?” she hissed, “Breaking into your systems? That’s fucking nothing. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” So she was connected to the Bat, enough so that she was seemingly beholden to his arbitrary “rules”. The woman was incensed, Slade noted, but not immediately violent. The fact that she hadn’t already moved to the offensive– that she had contacted him to have a conversation at all– told Slade that she wasn’t out to separate him and Dick just yet. Just like Slade, she was conducting a test, feeling out his threat level. She knew his full name, something that, while not impossible to find, wasn’t exactly common knowledge. Slade could only wonder what else she knew about him. After a long, calculated pause, he raised his hands placatingly. 

“I mean him no harm. I want to protect him, and the kid. That’s all.” The woman barked out a dismissive laugh. 

“And I’m supposed to trust that? From you, a serial fucking murderer ?” Slade kept his face calculatingly neutral. 

“Dick does,” he said simply. 

That… seemed to stump her. A chair squeaked, slightly, from behind the mic, and the woman muted herself. Slade spent a long moment, alone in the dark room with only the screen casting light. The circle- or the O, Slade realized, cast a sickly fluorescent glow over the place. The mic clicked back on. 

“You get one chance. One, ” she said, sounding slightly unsure of herself, before continuing. “If you so much as make him slightly nervous , I will end you. Do you understand that?” Slade nodded, arms still held up. He’d have Wintergreen purge the systems in the morning, but he didn’t truly believe they’d be able to keep her out if they couldn’t the first time. Dick had some friends in his arsenal, damn. The thought of someone monitoring the house rankled him, but a small part of him felt the more eyes watching the place the better. More security, especially if the woman is personally invested in Dick’s safety. Maybe a friend, or another adoptee of Bruce’s? Still, he’d do his best to resecure the place anyways. 

The TV went blank without another word. The lights didn’t go back on, so Slade simply unplugged the TV, and headed up to his room in the dark, clutching his phone tightly in his hand. He climbed the stairs, and then paused at the mouth of the hallway. He deliberated for a moment, and then padded over to Dick’s door. He opened it as silently as he could. 

Inside, Dick was curled up, looking absolutely tiny on his king sized bed. He snored loudly, undisturbed by the scene downstairs. His dark hair was splayed out on the bed in an arm, pillows and blankets kicked off to the side and around his body. He was drooling slightly. He looked like a mess. He looked at peace. He looked safe.

Slade lingered for a long moment, committing the details of Dick’s face to his memory for a reason he couldn’t quite place. He paused just a little longer, before shutting the door and heading back to his own room. He’d get rid of all the cameras in the house that night, switch as many safety protocols over to manual as he could. Slade pulled out his phone as he walked back to his room. The device rang only once before it was answered. “Wintergreen?” Slade said, closing the door behind him. “We just had a breach. I’m going to need your help. 

~~~

Slade had debated informing Dick of the interaction, but ultimately decided against it. For some reason or another, the woman had decided to talk to him instead of going to Dick directly, and until Slade knew what that reason was, he preferred Dick didn’t know about her. Stress was bad for the baby, after all. 

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, Slade worked with Wintergreen to re-secure the house. All the internal security cameras were stripped, and many of the electronic locks were replaced. While the Oracle’s access had definitely been limited, there was only so much he could do and so as Dick clicked through the various movies stored on the TV, Slade eyed the device warily, half expecting that ominous O to black out the screen once more. 

Dick glanced at him, and raised an eyebrow. “What, not a fan of the Lion King?” he asked teasingly. Slade rolled his eyes at him, and went back to his laptop, scrolling through a list of contract offers. 

“Watch what you want. I don’t care.”

Dick cocked his head, and continued in a sing-songy voice. “Are you sure? You were glaring at that thing pretty hard…” 

“That’s just my face,” Slade responded flatly. Luckily, despite his paranoia, they hadn’t been contacted by the woman since. It was strange, almost. Things had been so quiet lately. Both of them were used to lives full of constant danger and excitement, but they’d officially been in the house for almost two months now, and things had settled into a comfortable rhythm. 

Slade would walk up at five, make his coffee, and go for a run. Then he’d come back, and make some breakfast for Dick at six. Then, he would go work in the gear room that was quickly becoming his office while Dick headed down to their gym for his morning yoga. The two would keep themselves busy, until Dick made lunch. Usually something simple like sandwiches. 

Slade had been working on improving the man’s diet– and while anything was better than the boxed cereal and takeout diet he had subsisted on before, Slade still didn’t fully trust him alone with the stove. (Almost burning the house down once had been enough.) They didn’t usually eat together, going their separate ways again until dinner. Slade would cook something- all organic foods, meal plans optimized for prenatal development- and Dick would put on a movie while Slade worked some more.

He hadn’t been in one place for so long since Adeline. And horrifyingly, he didn’t hate it. While the domestic turn his life had taken certainly had its ups and downs, Slade found himself adjusting to the comforts of a consistent home. He could almost find himself looking forward to the day little footsteps would accompany his own down the halls. 

“Well, your face is going to have to get over it, because I love this movie,” Dick said matter of factly, and turned it on. Slade responded with a dull grunt. Dick was sixteen weeks along now, and his flat plane of abs had slowly started to round out, a little bump finding its place on his body. Slade felt transfixed by it sometimes, fascinated by the growth of the little life inside. Not that he would ever let Dick know that. Or anyone else. The interest was mortifying, really, so Slade kept it resolutely to himself. Instead, he stayed a careful few feet away from Dick on the couch, and only allowed himself a glance over every few minutes. 

He was hesitant to initiate anything with Dick, for multiple reasons. One being that he didn’t want the kid to feel like he was obliged for the house, or for him staying. Dick had never been afraid to tell Slade no before, but now, living off of his paycheck… Slade would rather be safe than sorry. Another reason was that things were already so different between them. The months spent in each other's company had shifted their dynamic into something Slade didn’t quite understand, and wasn’t quite ready to complicate with sex. And on top of the appointments, and their busy schedules, and stress about families, it was just something Slade thought he should refrain from for now. 

Still, the way he had to subtly adjust his pants every time Dick bent over or exposed his belly was starting to get annoying. A man’s hand could only do so much, goddammit.

Chapter Text

20 weeks in, Slade found himself at their fourth meeting with Thompkins. To Slade, their appointment felt exactly the same as all the other ones before it had. Show up, talk, glare, and leave. Dick, however, had been very excited for it, talking animatedly with the woman throughout his physical. He told her all about their new house, and the food Slade made for him, and the movies he’d been watching, and the yoga routines he’d been working on and on and on and on he went. In truth, Slade was almost glad Dick had someone else to direct his endless chatter towards. He didn’t mind listening to the kid, but Dick was a very social person, and he’d basically only been in contact with Slade for the last few months. Dick hadn't complained, but it was still clearly driving him up the wall. It was good for him to get some outside interaction, Slade thought, and so he sat, dutifully playing his role of quiet support-giver.

There was one thing he had genuinely been looking forward to: today they’d get to find out the gender of the baby. It was an important milestone, and something else he had missed for the boys. Slade kept realizing his foot was tapping on the floor, and having to physically force it still. Mercenaries didn’t fidget, he reminded himself. 

Dick had wanted to hold off on preparations for the nursery until they knew. He’d said he had two different designs he liked, and knowing more about the baby would help him choose between them. In Slade’s mind, a crib was a crib– as long as it did the job, it didn't matter what color it was. But Dick was the one carrying the damn kid, so he got final say. Slade was trying to remain impartial, not hoping one way or another. But gone were the days of unimaginable fog regarding the future of this kid, and Slade couldn’t help but obsess over it slightly. 

He loved Rose more than life itself. He’d be perfectly happy with another daughter– and he knew Rose had been hoping for a sister. But more potently than that, something about the thought of… of having another son made him feel sick. Maybe that was cruel, but the only one of his children he’d managed to keep alive was his daughter. Logically, he knew that there was no correlation to gender there. Emotionally, however, he couldn’t help fear that he was just doomed to fail all of his sons. His foot was tapping again. 

But health was what mattered . That’s what he kept repeating in his head. Just as long as they’re healthy. Thompkins walked over to the ultrasound machine, and Slade pulled himself forcefully back to reality. “Ready?” She asked them with a smile. Well, it was mostly directed at Dick. But a little bit at Slade too- the tension between Thompkins and himself over the last few appointments had reduced significantly, as she came to trust he wouldn’t kill Dick in his sleep, and he came to trust she wouldn’t do it by accident on the patient bed. The woman was incredibly competent, he had to admit begrudgingly. 

She spread the gel over Dick’s belly, bringing the wand over. Dick looked back at Slade with a nervous grin. “This is it!” he mouthed, and Slade nodded jerkily. The screen flickered to life, and both their heads snapped over, trying eagerly to make out any shapes. 

Unfortunately, neither of them were exactly trained in prenatal recognition, so they had to wait another few seconds before Thompkins turned. She let out a happy laugh. “Well, I’m happy to report that you two are the proud fathers of one healthy baby girl.” 

Slade clutched his chest, and exhaled happily. Dick’s smile just about split his face. “A girl? You’re sure? And she’s alright?” Thompkins nodded, still moving the wand to change the angles. 

“Yes, everything looks perfect. She’s a beauty, Dick.” Dick leaned his head back against the patient bed with a disbelieving laugh and looked up at the ceiling. 

“A daughter. Amazing.” Slade couldn’t help but drag his gaze over to Dick. 

For the first time, he allowed himself to imagine Dick’s blue eyes with his snow white hair. Darker skin. Long eyelashes. Maybe Slade’s height and strength. A beautiful baby girl indeed. Rose would be ecstatic- he’d have to call her with the news as soon as they got home. For now, he simply settled back into his chair, content to watch Dick converse with Thompkins for the rest of their appointment.

~~~

Rose had been ecstatic. So ecstatic in fact, that she had proceeded to spend the next hour telling Slade all of her ideas for the girl’s name. Despite Slade’s conviction that the decision was ultimately up to Dick, Rose was convinced that in a few months, she’d be visiting her little sister “Gertrude”. Don’t ask Slade why she liked that name- he loved his girl, but god knew he’d never understood her. 

Despite Dick’s initial excitement, Slade had noticed that he’d been quiet ever since the appointment a few days ago. Something was clearly weighing on him. Slade hoped it was just the exhaustion of the pregnancy- Dick had made a habit of falling asleep anytime and anywhere in the house. Currently, Slade was watching over Dick carefully, quietly working on his laptop as the boy snored, sprawled over the couch. (Much better than when Slade had found him passed out on his yoga mat downstairs. Or slumped over the kitchen table. Or on the living room rug, for Christ’s sake.) He was dressed in boxers and one of Slade’s dress shirts, something that made his chest tighten possessively. Dressed in his clothes, safe and comfortable in his house, belly swollen with his child… The image was startingly appealing, and Slade was starting to realize that maybe this whole domesticity thing was awakening some fantasies within him that he didn't know he had. 

Slade shifted, peering down at Dick unabashedly now that he was asleep. The boy's lips parted slightly, and Slade had to repress the urge to bite them. So intently focused on Dick’s face, he immediately noticed when the boy’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. Then his breathing hitched, and Slade leaned forward slightly, concerned. A nightmare, maybe?

Dick gasped awake, flailing his arms, lurching forward, and almost falling off the couch with a yelp. Slade’s heart leapt into his throat. “Are you alright?” He asked immediately, half standing and reaching out a hand to steady Dick if necessary. Dick turns to look at him, eyes massive, and then back to his stomach. 

“Slade!” He gasped out, hands shooting to his waist. Slade just about threw up, and rushed over to his side. 

“What is it?” His hands moved to Dick’s stomach as well, hovering over the other man’s nervously. Dick just grabbed Slade’s wrists, and pressed the man’s palms down to his belly. 

Nothing happened for a moment, and Slade was opening his mouth to question again when he felt it. A kick. “Shit,” Slade said, awestruck, “She’s kicking.” 

“She’s kicking,” Dick agreed, smiling disbelievingly. Another kick bumped his stomach, harder than the last, and Dick’s smile twitched into a wince. “Ow, fuck.” Slade felt his grin widen. Thompkins had discussed the possibility of the girl being a meta- had determined it was really a fifty-fifty chance. Dick, obviously, had bet on her being normal like him, claiming that some serum was no match for “Grayson genes”. Slade had bet otherwise, merely on the hope that a superpowered kid would be harder to kill. Now he didn’t know anything about normal baby strengths, but that kick sure as hell felt super to him. 

“Well, don’t look so proud of yourself,” Dick mumbled as the baby continued to batter against his inner walls. “You’re not the one getting sucker punched with your insides, now are you?” Slade rolled his eyes, enjoying every little knock against his hands. 

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured him. They’d been slightly concerned about an incompatibility between Dick and a meta baby, but Thompkins had determined that the side effects of the passed down serum would increase over time, meaning the kid would only be slightly stronger than average while in the womb. “What, the great Nightwing’s no match for an infant’s feet?” Dick pouted ingenuinely, and knocked Slade’s hands off his belly, curling in on himself. 

“Don’t tease me, I’ll kick you. We’ll see who’s laughing then.” His little smirk faded then, and Slade brought a hand up to his arm, rubbing his thumb against it soothingly. 

“What?” He probed. 

Dick took a minute to speak, working through something in his mind. He lifted his head to meet Slade’s eye, chewing his lip slightly. “Slade, we have to tell Bruce.” Slade shifted, demeanor dropping into seriousness. He kept rubbing at Dick’s arm. 

“Are you ready for that?” Dick ducked and looked away. 

“We’re halfway through already. The bump is so big, and we- we’re having a girl, and she’s kicking , and he just has no idea.” Slade looked at Dick intently as he talked. 

“I know. But that’s not what I asked. I asked if you were ready ,” he insisted firmly. Dick sighed. 

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, really. But it’s time. I wouldn’t feel right keeping it from him any longer.” Slade nodded. 

“Alright. Then we’ll tell him.”

Dick raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Just like that?” he questioned.

Slade nodded again. “Just like that. I don’t care what the Bat thinks, little bird. Tell him, or don’t. It’s your decision.”

Dick exhaled softly. "You’ll be there?” he said, turning his eyes up dolefully. 

“If you want,” Slade offered. Personally, he thought his presence would only piss the man off even more, but if Dick wanted him there, he would be. A wave of relief washed over Dick’s face. 

“Alright. Okay. Let’s do this, then.”

Now it was Slade’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What, now?” Dick laughed awkwardly and shook his head. 

“Oh hell no. No, I need a couple days to psyche myself up. Bruce starts patrol earlier on Friday’s,” he said thoughtfully, “so we can go in the evening then. That way it won’t drag out too much.” Slade nodded. 

“Alright. Friday it is.” Dick grinned weakly. 

“What a good baby daddy you are,” he said, and Slade’s eye twitched. 

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled flatly, and pushed back to his spot on the couch. His heart settled a bit at the sound of Dick’s laughter. 

~~~

Dick wrung his hands and contemplated throwing up. The manor loomed ahead of him, seemingly thousands of feet tall. Its steep walls cast a dark shadow over Dick. The darkness felt like a suffocating weight on his shoulders. 

Slade stood behind him passively, a steadying presence at his back. He didn’t say anything- didn’t encourage him to go in, or tell him it’s okay to leave. He just waited for Dick to make a decision on his own. Dick took in several long, deep breaths. “I’m fine,” he said to no-one in particular, “This is totally fine. It’s not even a big deal, really.” Slade didn’t call him out on the way his voice wavered. He brought a steady hand up to Dick’s shoulder, rubbing it slightly with his thumb. “We have to go in eventually,” Dick continued pointlessly, staring down the door. “Alfred buzzed us in. He’ll come looking if we take too long.” Slade just kept rubbing. Dick glanced at him briefly with a squint. “This is the part where you tell me it’s okay to leave if I want to,” he added sarcastically. 

Slade stared at him down, unimpressed. He raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t want to. Don’t let your nerves get the better of you, little bird. You came here for a reason.” Dick let out a shaky exhale, and turned back towards the house. He came here for a reason. Right. He just had to remember that. 

Bruce would want to know. So would Alfred, and Jason– just think of Alfred and Jason, he reminded himself. They wouldn’t disown him. They wouldn’t- okay, they would probably yell at him. And be mad for a while, but not disown him. So it was fine. Everything was going to be fine. “Fuck. Alright. Okay. Let’s go,” Dick said resolutely, and strode towards the door. Slade let his hand fall from Dick’s shoulder, and followed. 

By the time he reached the doorstep, Dick had almost lost his nerve again. Still, he lifted his hand to thud the heavy iron door knocker against the dark mahogany, and waited. The sound seemed to echo endlessly in the cavernous entryway. It was only a few seconds before Alfred opened the door with a smile. “Master Dick, you-” His smile quickly fell away, and his eyes went wide as he took in Dick’s swollen belly, and Slade’s imposing figure behind him. There were a few long, heart-dropping seconds where he just stared at them before finally speaking again. “Oh my. I- I do believe you should come in.” 

Dick nodded, and stepped in robotically. Slade gave Alfred a short, cordial nod as they entered. His boots thudded comfortingly down on the carpet behind Dick as Alfred led them through the foyer. “Master Bruce is down in the cave,” he said, and to his credit, his voice didn’t falter. The man’s composure had broken for barely a second before he recovered it– and while Dick could respect his professionalism, the mask of clean politeness only made his nerves spike. He didn’t- he couldn’t read Alfred, didn’t know what he was really thinking. “I’ll take you right to him,” he continued, walking briskly through the halls. Dick couldn’t bring himself to ask Alfred to turn around and face him. 

They reached the clock entrance to the cave in short order. Alfred opened the door, and headed down the stairs. Slade’s eye widened slightly. Dick could tell he was resisting the urge to make a comment on Bruce’s stereotypical melodrama, so he shot him a reprimanding glare. Slade just shrugged unapologetically.

Their footsteps clattered on the steps leading down. Dick's eyes roamed around the cavern, taking in sights he hadn't seen in… in a long time. The cave was just as wide and empty as he remembered, shadows teasing the edges in jutting waves of darkness. Bats squeaked softly somewhere in the distance. Beneath them, lights illuminated different platforms holding vehicles and trophies of past fights, an iron gallery of victory and strength.

Maybe Slade had a point about that melodrama.

Bruce was typing furiously away at the massive computer blanketing the end of the cavern, so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even turn his head to see them come in. Dick felt a familiar flash of annoyance spark up before it was quickly reabsorbed into the maelstrom of anxiety. "Master Bruce," Alfred said calmly– although his hurried pace betrayed his seemingly unharried demeanor, "you have some visitors."

Bruce finally turned from his desk. To any stranger, he would seem to barely react. But Dick knew better. Bruce's eyes widened slightly, and his jaw went tense. His entire body went tense, shifting downward as if preparing to spring into action. In a split second, he went from passive to predator, and Dick could only croak out a paltry, "Hello ."

Alfred bowed his head and quickly retreated, leaving them alone. Every step echoed thunderously against the tall ceilings and walls. The squeaks of the bats seemed louder than ever before. Dick had never noticed how cold it was down there.

"Dick?" Bruce finally said, his voice low and dangerous. Dick heard Slade shift slightly behind him, the soft ruffle of clothing reminding him that he wasn't alone. He wasn’t alone. He swallowed. 

"Bruce. I- this is Slade," he said, and immediately winced, gesturing behind him like an idiot. Bruce knew who Slade was; of course he knew who Slade was, that was half the problem. Bruce had fought Slade before, had scars from Slade forever carved onto his body– that was a terrible start to things. 

"I'm aware. What I'd like to know is why he’s in my house?" Bruce growled, his eyes darting between them rapidly. Dick felt the tension in the air thicken so much it was like he was trying to breathe in molasses. He tried to choke out something more, but he couldn't. He couldn't.

He was just– Bruce was just looking at him and his eyes were so hard. And blank. He had never seen Bruce look at him like that before, not ever, not in their worst fights. And despite all of the obsessive worrying Dick had done before reaching this point, it was only just now, standing in the hero's hall he had grown up in, that it occurred to him that this might be the day he lost his father for good.

Again.

So he couldn't speak. The lump in his throat was too big. And the silence between them was dragging out longer and longer, and Bruce was only looking more angry. Dick felt like he was falling. His breath quickened. He had to- he couldn't- he had to do something, how could he-

Dick was saved by the deep, familiar rumble of Slade’s voice, and a steady grip fastening itself around his lower back as Slade stepped forward. “I don’t normally explain my business to other people,” he rumbled, “but Dick and I are having a baby. He came to tell you about it.” Bruce’s eyes slid to Dick, face still frozen and still. It was all Dick could do to nod. He fell back a half step, scooting almost subconsciously closer to Slade. Dick could practically hear the blood vessels bursting in Bruce’s head. 

“What?” the man asked, so softly Dick could barely hear him. It was like something unlocked inside of him, and finally Dick could speak again. 

“I’m pregnant,” he said, “And I came here to let you know.” 

“I’m not asking for your approval,” he continued, voice trembling slightly but growing stronger. “This is happening whether you like it or not. If you can manage to–” Dick stumbled over his words, but powered through. “–if you can manage to be civil, you can be in her life. I’d like you to be in her life.” He clarified, forcing his voice to stabilize. He straightened, squaring his shoulders confidently and resting a hand over his stomach. “But this is my choice, and you don’t get a say in it.” 

Bruce stood there, stunned, for a long moment. Then he took a threatening step forward. “You can’t be serious.” He said firmly, hands tightening into fists. “Slade is a–” 

“I know who he is.” Dick cuts him off, jerking his chin up. “I know who he is. I don’t need you to remind me.” Bruce hissed. 

“You expect me to stand by and watch while you run off with a murderer twice your age to raise a child? ” 

“I’m taking fucking responsibility for my actions, Bruce.” Dick cried, finally stepping away from Slade. “Yes, I fucked up. I made a mistake, but now I’m owning up to it. I’m not running anymore, especially not when the collateral damage is an innocent goddamn life!” 

“You’re being stupid.” Bruce spit. “And illogical, and reckless. You can’t do this, Dick–” Dick shook his head. He didn’t want to argue anymore. He was so sick of the fighting. All the time, the fighting. Of course he knew it was reckless. Of course he knew! He wasn’t naive. Nobody knew the intricacies of Slade’s resume better than Dick. He wasn’t just standing around living in some delusion that they were just going to run off and be some happy normal family. But the facts of the situation were this: he was pregnant. He was going to have a daughter, and there was no way in hell he was abandoning her. And Slade, cruel and violent as he was, wasn’t going to either. Dick couldn’t fight him on that! He knew what it was like to grow up without parents, and he refused to deny his daughter access to hers. 

And furthermore- furthermore , Slade had been nothing but kind, and supportive. He’d seen Slade interact with Rose, seen the love that man had for her in every goddamn fiber of his being. Maybe he wasn’t a good father, but he tried. And sometimes, that was more than he could say for Bruce. 

But those were too many words for him to force out. And he didn’t believe Bruce would listen, even if he could. Dick had done what he had come to do, and he didn’t need to be there a second longer.  “No, I am doing this. I am. And that’s all there is to say about it. Goodbye, Bruce.” He turned sharply, and stormed away. 

“Dick!” Bruce roared behind him, but he didn’t falter. He didn’t even bother to check if Slade was following behind him, and couldn't hear anything other than his own pounding heart. He didn’t stop until he was up the stairs, through the door, and out of the manor again. It was over. Everything. He would leave Gotham, Bruce, all of it– just him and his daughter and Slade, and they’d start over, away from all the yelling and judgment and– 

Dick was jerked out of his spiral by a soft, wrinkled hand on his arm. He froze. A gentle, chilled wind ruffled his hair. 

“Master Dick.” Dick felt his eyes well up. He bit down so hard on his tongue that the sharp tang of iron filled his mouth. He didn’t want to face Alfred right now. He didn’t want Alfred to see him like this. But Alfred gently put a hand on his other arm, and guided him into turning around. They faced each other, standing a scant foot apart on the steps of Bruce’s manor. The man paused then, and looked him up and down. He rubbed his hands softly over Dick’s arms, lifting his head up slightly to make eye contact with Dick’s wrecked face. “My dear boy,” he said, affection seeping unwaveringly into his tone. Dick sniffed like a child. 

“While I cannot say I approve of your choice in partner,” Alfred said, so softly Dick feared he would shatter if he had to listen a moment more, “I must tell you that of all the paths you could take with your life, being a father is assuredly the most difficult and the most rewarding.” The tears gathering in his eyes spilled over silently as Dick listened. “And I have no doubt that you will be wonderful at it.” 

Slade padded softly to the door, and paused, watching them. He leaned against the doorframe. “You have such a big heart. You’re so brave, and so determined to do the right thing, my boy.” Dick brought his forehead down to rest against the older man’s, arms still held tightly in his grasp. “Any child would be lucky to have you as a parent. And Master Bruce…” Alfred trailed off, and let out a weary sigh, closing his eyes. “He’ll come around. Just give him time.” Dick nodded, and they stayed there for a long moment, before Alfred’s British sensibilities finally reemerged, and he pulled back. He smoothed a hand over a nonexistent wrinkle in Dick's shirt, and cleared his throat. Dick wiped his eyes. “There will always be a place for you in my home. Don’t forget that.” 

“I won’t,” Dick promised hoarsely, and Alfred smiled. Then, he turned and headed back into the house. He passed Slade with a wary eye and a polite, if stiff, nod. Slade stepped out, and Alfred shut the doors gently behind him. They were alone outside once more. 

The second the doors clicked shut, Dick’s composure collapsed entirely. He let out a deep, cloying sob, and pressed a tight fist over his mouth, bowing his head slightly. He stood there, trembling, tears spilling uncontrollably over his cheeks. He couldn’t stop. The sounds echoed uncomfortably, and he prayed Alfred couldn’t hear them from inside the house. He distantly registered arms wrapping around him, pulling him close to a broad chest. Dick slumped against the warmth, tucking his head in against Slade’s neck, and tried to take comfort in the steady beat of his heart. 

“Come on, little bird. Time to go home,” Slade murmured over Dick’s sobs. He gently guided him over to their car. Dick just kept his head against his chest, hiding from the harsh reality of his new world.

Chapter Text

Dick was quiet on the drive home. He’d run out of tears halfway there, sobs reduced to an occasional sniffle. Slade was silent, too, but he kept a steady hand on Dick’s thigh the whole way there. It was almost shameful how much Dick took comfort in that single point of contact, the warmth from Slade’s hand spreading throughout his whole body. He’d never been so vulnerable in front of Slade before. Months ago, he would’ve been mortified. Months ago, Slade probably would’ve sprinted as fast and far away as he could by the time the first tear had fallen. And yet here they were, side by side, a united front. 

His head hurt, and his eyes felt red and swollen, and he’d never been so emotionally drained in his life. But pulling into their garage, Dick couldn’t help but feel lighter than when they had left an hour before. It was over. Telling Bruce had come and gone, and yet the world was still standing around them. His life hadn’t crumbled. He still had his girl, and his house, and Slade. Dick couldn’t quite bring himself to believe Alfred’s words– that Bruce would come around eventually. His mind kept circling back to that look on his face when he had first seen Dick, the disgust and confusion that marred his former guardian’s usually placid demeanor. Dick had never felt so small in his life. 

But for the first time, Dick was able to admit that that was… out of his control. He couldn’t magically win Bruce’s approval with the right combination of words. And he couldn’t conform to Bruce’s expectations of what he should be either. Dick was done begging for Bruce’s approval. If Bruce wanted to be a part of Dick’s life, he’d have to accept the path his life was taking. If he couldn’t… that wasn’t Dick’s fault. So there was no point worrying about it anymore. Dick resigned himself to one sleepless night, and then the rest of his life afterwards. Whatever that might look like. 

Trudging into his bedroom, he’d never been so grateful for Slade’s tendency to overbuy. The massive porcelain tub that had seemed so intimidating when he’d first moved in had become Dick’s best fucking friend. He’d used it practically every single night since, and had never felt cleaner in his life. Sinking into the steaming hot water already fogging up his mirror, Dick let out a deep sigh. He pulled his scented soaps off the shelf, and poured a veritable mountain of shampoo over his head, releasing the sweet tang of orange into the room. He wiggled back onto one of the jets (jets!!) littering the tub, and started scrubbing his head furiously, trying to wash the events of the day off of him. 

He didn’t stop until the foam had blubbled down to his eyes and his scalp was starting to hurt. Then, he dunked his head fully under the water, ignoring the way the heat stung his skin. He stayed there for as long as he could, finally bursting up to take a deep breath. Dick stared up at the ceiling, and finally let his muscles relax. 

Dick soaked in the water until his hands and feet were wrinkled beyond recognition, and his head was fuzzy from the warmth. He would’ve stayed longer, but his stomach was rumbling insistently, and he had a sneaking suspicion Slade was already preparing dinner. So he begrudgingly hauled himself up out of the tub, cascading a wave of water onto the floor. He groaned, hitting the plug. That would be a pain in the ass to clean up. 

A problem for later, though. For now, he simply grabbed a soft, plush towel from the rack by the door, and headed back into his room. 

He was toweling off his hair when his phone buzzed from its position on the bed. He absentmindedly picked it up. When he saw the notification his heart dropped. 

Someone had just crossed their property line. 

Dick quickly yanked on an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, tucking his sticks discreetly into his waistband. He hurried out into the hall just in time to see Slade duck into his weapons room. Dick followed him, pausing with a hand in the doorframe of the room. Inside, Slade was reloading a gun from a case on the floor. 

“Did you see that?” Dick asked, watching him nervously. 

“The perimeter alert? Yes,” Slade said, fully concentrating on his work. “Stay here.” He turned around and cocked the gun, striding past Dick. 

Dick followed. 

“Wait- what if it’s Bruce?” he called after him, taking the stairs two steps at a time. Slade grit his teeth. 

“What if it’s not? Get back upstairs, Dick. I mean it.” 

“Fuck off,” Dick hissed with more concern than venom, “I’m pregnant, not useless. I’m not leaving you down here without backup.” Slade whipped his head around with a snarl, brow furrowed and face hard. He held a hand out to stop Dick from going any further down. 

“I’m not having this discussion with you. You’re compromised. No combat.” Dick was opening his mouth to retort when there was the sudden crash of a fist slamming against their door. They both jolted, Slade moving to shove Dick behind him and point his gun up. 

“Dick! Open the fuck up!” a furious, vaguely prepubescent voice cried.

Dick’s eyes widened. “That’s… not Bruce.”

Slade blinked, his gun arm lowering slightly. “No,” he agreed, “it’s not.” 

Dick pushed past Slade, crossing the floor within a few quick strides. Slade made no move to stop him, but followed closely behind. He didn’t put his gun away, although he was no longer holding it at ready. Dick pried open the door to reveal Jason , dressed fully in his robin gear, fists clenched tightly at his side. “Wha- little wing? What are you-” 

Dick was cut off by Jason charging past him with a shout, darting into the hall and slamming into Slade so hard the man stumbled back a half-step with a grunt. Dick’s eyes widened in horror and shock. 

Slade grabbed the back of the kid’s costume, and tossed him back at Dick one handed, like throwing a small kitten. Jason skidded across the floor with a yelp. The second he regained his balance he lunged again, and Dick had to grab onto his arm to hold him back. Dick yanked him to the side, putting himself between him and Slade. “Jason!” he cried, trying to wrangle the boy’s flying arms. Jason shoved a hand out to grab at Slade unsuccessfully. 

“Fuck you! You fucking creep!” the boy yelled across the room.

Slade's eyes narrowed. “I think it’s past your bedtime, kid,” he drawled in a monotone voice, gun lowered. 

Dick struggled to keep the violently wiggling Jason in place. “I think it’s past your expiration date, you ancient piece of shit! ” he shouted back, and Dick flushed in embarrassment.

“Jason, calm down!” Finally, he managed to shove Jason back towards the door, holding his hands out placatingly. Jason, thankfully, stayed there, eyes wide and furious, panting slightly. “What are you doing here?” Dick ventured, stepping forward slightly in concern. “Are you okay? Does Bruce know you’re gone?” Jason used to come over to Dick’s house sometimes after patrol, or after school. Bruce usually signed off on it- but he had a hard time believing he would’ve let Jason anywhere near him now. 

“I’m here to tell you,” he pointed a furious finger at Slade, “to leave my fucking brother alone!” 

Dick blinked, and Slade let out a chortle. Jason’s face went so red with anger it was practically glowing behind his mask. “Oh yeah? Your brother’s a big boy, squirt, I think he can make his own choices.” Jason choked, and lunged for him again. Dick yanked him back. 

“Jay ! Can you stop attacking my–” he stumbled slightly over his words, “–attacking Slade for two seconds, please?” He shot Slade a furious glare. “And can you stop antagonizing him?” Slade raised his hands up innocently with a sardonic grin. Dick huffed, and turned back to Jason, who was sticking his tongue out at Slade. He pulled it back in quickly at Dick’s exasperated look. 

“Jason-” 

“Dickie-” 

They both started at once. Dick went quiet and Jason grabbed onto his arms with an imploring look. “Dickie, come home. Come back to the manor, please. We can take care of you. You don’t have to stay with this guy! ” he pleaded. Dick’s heart dropped.

“Jay…” he said slowly, his brows pinching. “I can’t do that.”

Jason shook his head, dismayed. “You can! Bruce wants you home even if he can’t say it, you know he does! And Alfred and I can help with the baby, and- and you’ll be safe! You’ll both be safe!” he insisted, eyes darting down to Dick’s belly. 

“I’m safe here,” Dick reassured him softly. 

“Dick doesn’t need a knight in shining armor,” Slade rumbled from behind them. Jason bared his teeth. 

“You’ve killed two kids already! Don’t sit there and pretend you won’t kill another!” he snapped.

The room went quiet.

Even Jason went still, as if sensing he’d made a mistake.

Dick’s eyes widened in horror, and he turned slightly. 

Slade was a dark figure in the hall. He was more tense than Dick had ever seen him. His pistol was gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white. Dick swore to god he could hear it creaking, and despite the fact that Dick knew he would never lay a hand on Jason, his heart fluttered uncomfortably in his chest. 

“Okay, we’re done here,” he said, and grabbed Jason’s arm. This was a recipe for disaster, and he needed to defuse the situation fast. He hauled the kid out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Dick turned sharply the second it was closed, and shook Jason. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you say that to him?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Jason spat back. “You can’t honestly think that staying with him is a good idea! You’ve been fighting him since you were barely older than me!” 

“Yeah, well,” Dick responded flatly, “now I’m not.” He glanced back at the door leading inside. “Look, Jay… I’m not going to explain this to you. He’s earned my trust, alright? And frankly, Bruce hasn’t.” 

Jason’s lower lip wobbled slightly, and Dick’s heart twisted. The boy’s anger seemed to fade quickly into genuine dismay.

“I… I would be a good uncle,” he said quietly after a long moment.

Dick’s cold heart melted instantly. Jason looked so small now that he wasn’t all bristled up. It was too easy to forget sometimes how young he was, with all that bravado and bluster. It was too easy to forget that he was just a kid who had been so, so alone. Dick knew how much his fights with Bruce bothered Jason. He must have been feeling like the only family he had was falling apart at the seams. 

Dick knew what that was like. And he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, much less his baby brother. "Oh, Jay," he breathed, pulling the kid into a crushing hug before he could help himself, pressing Jay up against his swollen belly as best he could. “Oh, little wing.”

He tucked his face into Jason’s hair, breathing in the scent of his aloe shampoo. “You will be. You will be, I promise,” he reassured him, rubbing a firm hand along his back. Jason brought his hands up to clutch at Dick’s back tightly. “I’m not leaving you, okay?”

He sighed then, staring out into the night. So far from the city, the stars were visible. They twinkled down at him. 

Dick pulled back to look at Jason’s face. It was still covered by his domino mask, so Dick peeled it away to reveal Jason’s big, brown eyes. “You’ll always be my brother,” he affirmed. “This… this new thing with Slade, it doesn’t change that. I know it’s scary to see us together. I know you don’t trust him. But I need you to trust me.” 

He brought a hand up to Jason’s face, cradling his cheek softly. “Trust that I know what I’m doing.” 

Jason stared at him for a long, long time, trying to read his face. Eventually, he nodded reluctantly. “Okay. I trust you.”

Dick breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled.

“But you have to promise that if anything goes wrong, you’ll call me,” Jason added sternly. “Do you promise?” 

“I promise, little wing.”

Jason swallowed, and held out his hand. Dick locked their pinkies together. They shook their hands once, then twice. 

Jason looked mollified, so Dick pulled his hand back. He winced then, remembering Slade. “But then you have to promise not to piss off Slade anymore. He gets cranky,” Dick said, trying to add some levity. Jason’s face shut down in a scowly pout once more, and Dick couldn’t help but laugh. The boy crossed his arms and pointed his chin up haughtily. 

“Fuck Slade.” 

“Language,” Dick reprimanded softly with a smile. “What would Alfred think?” Jason flushed, and Dick was unfortunately reminded of their situation. “And speaking of Alfred, you need to get home, little wing. Don’t even try to tell me they know where you are right now,” he said sternly. “I do not want to have to talk down a pissed off Bruce.”

Jason frowned down at his feet. 

“He told me to go back from patrol early. It’s not my fault he didn’t specify where.” 

Dick gave a wry smile, and ruffled Jay’s hair. “Sneaky bastard. Better run, unless you want him to get home before you.” Jason went pale slightly, as if reminded that was a possibility in the first place. He gave Dick one last worried look. 

“You’ll be okay?” 

“I’ll be fine. Now go,” Dick said, nodding slightly. Jason gave him one last squeeze, and darted off the porch. He froze a few feet away, however, and then scrambled back. He gave Dick’s belly a little pat. 

“Nice to meet you,” he mumbled, and then ran into the night once more. Dick suppressed a startled laugh. 

He stood there and watched the skyline until Jason was well out of sight. He trusted Jason to make it back to the manor safely, but there was a little twinge of worry that persisted every time he had to watch him run off in uniform. He’d make sure to check in later. For now– Dick turned back towards the door– he had another problem to deal with. 

Slade wasn’t in the hallway when he stepped inside. Dick closed the door behind him, and stepped into the living room. Still nothing. He heard a muffled clatter from upstairs.

Dick walked carefully up the stairs, a steadying hand on the banister. At the top of the hallway, the clanks of metal grew louder. He paused outside of Slade’s closed weapon’s door, and rapped his knuckles on it. “Slade?” he asked. 

There was a loud crash, and then a muffled curse. Dick took initiative, and pushed open the door. Slade was standing beside an unended case of guns. “What?” he growled. Dick bit his lip, and stepped inside. He knelt, and picked up one of the guns. Ignoring the bite of the cool metal, he set it back into the case, carefully as possible. Then, he grabbed another and did the same. He cleaned up the floor for a few more seconds before Slade dropped and started helping him. 

His hands were shaking. Dick glanced up at his face. It was drawn, and pale. Dick thought that Slade had never looked older, and more tired than he did in that moment. He didn’t comment, however, just kept cleaning. 

“I was trying to put it away,” Slade justified hoarsely, “and it fell.” He put the last gun away in its slot nestled in foam. He stared down at it. “I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t fast enough.”

Dick frowned gently. 

“Slade…” 

It was like Slade didn’t even hear him. He kept talking, his voice getting faster and more broken the longer he went on. “I was too late. What’s the use of being like this if I can’t even- if I’m always too late? I can’t- not when it counts- never when it counts-” He tried to close the case but his hands were shaking too much.

“I’m too fucking weak,” he snarled, and finally slammed it shut with a loud bang.

The sound echoed in the quiet room.

Slade stared down at the case, panting, eye wide and lip curled in anger. After a moment, he seemed to slump. Dick reached out a hesitant hand, and pressed it to Slade’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have said that to you.” 

Slade’s face was flat, and resigned. “Why? It’s the truth.”

Dick shook his head. "It wasn’t your fault," he murmured.

Slade squeezed his hands into tight fists. 

“I don't need pretty lies to feel better about myself, Dick. It was my fault.”

He stood, gritting his teeth as he spoke. “I did kill them.”

Dick looked up at him from the floor in dismay. Slade clenched and unclenched his hands before looking down at Dick once more, gaze steely and hard.

“But it won’t happen again,” he growled, and then left the room. His footsteps crashed down the stairs. 

Dick frowned, and stared down at his own hands, feeling helpless. Slade had done so- so well for him. Every time he’d been upset, or scared, Slade had been there. But now Slade needed him, and he was useless. He had no idea how to comfort him. 

He’d lost his chance though. There was no use talking to Slade now– it would be in one ear and out the other. All Dick could do was wait for Slade to work out his frustration on his own. Dick sighed, and heaved himself up– a feat much harder than it had been a few months ago. He had to pause for a minute, and let out a huff, hand on his belly. Then he heaved Slade’s case up onto its shelf, and went to his own room. He was exhausted . 

He half expected to be up for the next few hours, just digesting the events of the day, but the second Dick’s head hit his pillow, he was out like a light. 

~~~

The next morning, Dick woke to the sound of Slade making breakfast in the kitchen, as usual. He’d headed down with some amount of trepidation, but Slade seemed to be acting normally. Aside from the deep bags on his eyes, he acted as if nothing had happened. Dick could only assume he’d had a long night. His heart ached, but he couldn’t find the words to bring it up. He just hoped that Slade felt comfortable enough to come to him if he wanted to talk. That idea, to be honest, felt thin, and stale. Something like denial. But it was all Dick had, so he clung to it. 

On a brighter note, he had begun work on the nursery. It was a little room across the hall from him, angled towards the rising sun. The way the light filtered in through the glass in the mornings made the place practically glow. Dick couldn’t wait to finish decorating it. 

First on the menu was repainting the walls from that drab, clinical white. Slade had already ordered the crib– its pieces were waiting in the corner of the room– so that was next. Then shopping for some books to fill the shelves, and toys, and clothes, and– 

The task seemed overwhelming. But frankly, Dick had nothing but time to fill these days, and so he dove right in. Slade even visited later in the day, leaning against the doorframe to watch him fail at building the crib with a half grin. “You did read the instructions, right?” he teased. Dick had shot him an unamused glare, surrounded by the half-constructed pieces of the bed. 

“If you’re so smart why don’t you give it a try, huh?” he had responded- and to his delight, Slade had tried. 

The two of them sat on the floor for the next two hours before they realized they had been building the crib upside-down. Dick had stormed out of the room in anger to the sound of Slade’s uproarious laughter. 

The crib would be… a problem for another day. 

~~~

Dick’s days started to blur together into a steady beat of sun ups and sun downs. A lack of patrol was starting to grate on his nerves. He was fidgety to a level that prenatal yoga could no longer properly contain. He’d started joining Slade in his workouts twice a day– doubling up on his activity just to get his blood pumping. Nothing extreme, just light movement while Slade really worked alongside him. Slade hated it. He’d much prefer Dick was confined to bedrest until the baby popped out. After a few weeks of enduring Dick bouncing off the walls, however, he begrudgingly admitted that maybe Dick did need those extra hours after all. 

It was a Thursday. Dick was officially 24 weeks along. Slade was out on a short contract, and Dick was down in the gym, stretching along to one of his favorite playlists. He chatted happily to his daughter as he stretched, a habit becoming more and more common as his pregnancy progressed. He told her about his day, and her room, and his plans for once she came out. More and more, the future was shaping up to be something beautiful, and he was so excited to share it with her. 

He startled at the soft ding of the doorbell echoing through the house. He hadn’t been alerted by someone crossing the perimeter. Dick’s heart stuttered slightly, but he didn’t panic. He stretched over to his phone, quickly opening their entryway camera. When he saw who was at the door, he sprung up and darted upstairs with a wide grin. 

Dick flung open the door to reveal Clark, dressed awkwardly in his frumpy civilian clothes and holding a massive bouquet of flowers. “Clark!” Dick cried happily, opening his arms to give the man a hug. Clark chuckled, and brought one arm around to squeeze Dick, his belly bumping between them awkwardly. 

“Hi, Dick. Heard you got a new place and figured I’d stop by.” Dick stepped back, and Clark gestured to the flowers. “Brought you a housewarming gift.” His teeth were blindingly white. To his credit, his eyes didn’t stray to Dick’s stomach a single time. Dick gave him a soft smile back, taking the truly massive vase of flowers. 

“Thanks, Clark. Come in, I’ll show you around,” he said, and navigated back down the hall best he could with his vision obscured by pink and red petals. 

Dick led Clark into the kitchen, where he placed the flowers next to their window overlooking the city. He poured some water into a cup for them as he talked. “How are you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” 

Clark rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, the world likes to keep me busy.”

Dick carefully tipped the cup over into the vase, filling it halfway. “God, I miss being busy,” he said wistfully, and Clark chuckled. 

“You’ve never been one for bedrest. When, uh… when are you going to be back out in the field?” he asked, awkwardly dodging around the elephant in the room. Dick sighed, and patted his belly. No point in avoiding it. 

“Well, we’re about halfway through now, so it’ll still be another couple months.” Clark’s eyes finally drifted down. 

“Wow. Seems like only yesterday you were just some little squirt hanging off Bruce’s coattails.” Dick went cold at the mention of Bruce. He turned around to rummage with the flowers more. 

“Yeah, well. Things change,” he said flatly, hoping Clark would take the hint and just drop it. 

Clark did not take the hint and drop it.

“Hey, look… about Bruce.”

Dick froze. “What about him?” he said, voice dangerously low. Clark took a few awkward steps towards Dick, wringing his hands. 

“He’s been… He’s been rough, lately. He really misses you.” 

Dick sighed, letting his hands fall down to his sides. “You know what, Clark. I’m getting real fucking tired of people making excuses for him.” He turned around, his face screwed up in anger, and frustration. “It’s always– ‘he’s doing his best, Dick,’ or ‘he doesn’t really mean it, Dick– you just have to be patient, you just have to talk to him, you just have to give him a chance.’” He flung his hands up. “Well I fucking tried, alright? I gave him chances! So don’t come here and tell me that I need to just- just cut him some slack, or whatever! I’m over here growing a whole-ass child! I don’t need to be accommodating for another,” he finally finished, glaring at Clark resolutely. He crossed his arms. 

Clark stepped forward, hands held up gently. “Hey, no. That’s not what I was trying to say. You’re right, Dick. This is on him. You’re not responsible for his emotional immaturity.” He put a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I came here to remind you that he loves you. Because you deserve to know that. ” 

Dick looked at the floor pensively. “I… thanks, Clark. But I don’t need you to play messenger for him. If he has something to say, he needs to tell me himself.” Clark nodded respectfully, and pulled back. 

“Alright. I just- remember you’re not in this alone, okay? We’re all in your corner,” he reminded him gently. 

Dick gave a half hearted smile. “I know I’m not alone, big blue. Don’t worry about me.” They stood there for a moment before Dick took a deep breath. “Well, Slade won’t be home for another few hours. Lemme give you a tour, huh?”

Chapter Text

They hadn’t had sex since Dick had gotten pregnant.

They hadn’t had sex, and now Dick was standing in front of the full-length mirror in his bathroom poking at his stomach unhappily. Less than three months away from his due date, Dick’s belly had swollen outward dramatically. His trim figure had been completely eaten away by the belly bump, leaving him feeling big and bloated. Big, and bloated, sure, but not- not ugly. His skin and hair had never looked better, His eyebags had faded, now that he was on a consistent sleep schedule. He smiled more, and felt better, and so what was a couple extra pounds, really? His chest was still flat, too, thankfully. Growing breasts the first time had been uncomfortable enough. Dick traced a finger along the scar lining his left pec with a frown.

And yet Slade still hadn’t touched him. 

And it wasn’t like Dick hadn’t been trying! He’d lay a hand on Slade’s chest, or sit closer than normal; he’d been dropping some pretty overt hints– or so he thought, because Slade still retired to his own bedroom down the hall every night. Dick, pumped full of pregnancy hormones and horny out of his mind, had been left with just an unsatisfying dildo and his hands to keep himself company. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong, and it was really starting to piss him off. Was this just how things were now? Did the pregnancy somehow change how Slade felt about him? If anything, he’d thought things were getting better between the two. They’d spend so much time together, conversation flowy easily as anything. They’d… Dick had started to feel genuinely close to Slade.  

His heart sank. Maybe that was the point. Maybe now that Slade knew him, really knew him, he didn’t think Dick was attractive anymore. Maybe he’d only wanted Dick when he was some stranger to bump uglies with in the night. Maybe– and this was the thought that really stung– Slade was only sticking around for the kid after all, and Dick had just deluded himself into thinking Slade liked him too. 

Dick dropped his hands down to his side, dismayed. He stood there for a moment, feeling sorry for himself, before he turned sharply around and walked out of the room. He yanked on one of Slade’s stolen dress shirts (left over from one of his failed attempts) and grabbed his laptop, flopping on the much too big bed. He wiggled, getting comfortable, before placing it on the bump and opening Amazon. 

Well, Dick Grayson had never been one to give up easily. He scrolled through a men’s lingerie site for a few minutes, before hovering his mouse over a dark blue set. It wouldn’t touch his stomach, so it’d probably still fit… And Slade had always loved his Nightwing blue. He hesitated for a moment, before buying it, and then tossing his laptop aside on the bed. He brought his hands up to his flushed face. Dick had never gotten anything like that before, but hopefully– hopefully, it would work well enough. 

~~~

It had been a terrible fucking idea.

Dick was once again standing in front of his mirror, now dressed in the lacy blue number he had bought a few days prior. He’d snuck the package past Slade that morning, claiming it was just some toys for the baby’s room. After breakfast, he’d hurried through his morning yoga to try it on, and now here he was, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. 

All his confidence from earlier had vanished. He brought down a hand to pinch at the excess weight at his hips. He hadn’t even noticed it before, but the bottoms of the thing barely fit him. And the bright color just drew attention to the massive stretch marks running from the bottom of his stomach to his thighs. The two-piece framed him like an oreo, his belly sticking out farther than it'd ever seemed to before. Dick met the dismayed eyes of his reflection. He couldn’t show Slade this. He didn’t even want to see it himself. Actually, he should burn it, hide it away where nobody would ever see it ever again.

And then go live under a rock for a thousand years.

“Just you and me, baby,” he muttered, patting his belly and turning to go. He stripped out of the thing dejectedly, and tossed it in his hamper. All he wanted was to flop down face first in his bed, but he settled for a pouty side-lay instead. Maybe Dick Grayson was one to give up easily after all. 

Dick resigned himself to his dildo, and in the bustle of getting the nursery ready, forgot about the whole ordeal soon enough. Which lasted until Sunday. Laundry day. 

~~~

The thing about Slade was that he was perhaps the most anal man Dick had ever met. Dick, who was raised by Bruce fucking Wayne. Slade-there was this thing he did just about three million times a day when he saw something out of place, this little eye twitch that said, “You are an ant beneath my feet, scum.”

Terrifying.

He washed his dishes twice before putting them in the dishwasher. He made his bed military style every morning. He took apart his guns every two days for cleaning.

All of them, and to say Slade had a lot of guns would be like saying the ocean had “a lot of water." Technically true, but such an immense understatement that one would have to see it to truly understand. 

Anyways, all this to say that when Dick moved in with him, it was like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Dick’s usual style of organization consisted mainly of throwing everything into a pile on the floor, and leaving it there. That lasted about two days before Slade’s eye twitch of doom had turned into the throbbing forehead vein of death, and he had instituted the “chore wheel." 

Dick fucking hated the chore wheel.

It was a colorful child’s poster hanging off their fridge, complete with moveable magnets. There was a little column for Dick, and a little column for Slade, and a list of their assigned chores. After a chore was completed, they’d move a magnet into its spot. If Dick had moved all of his magnets by the end of the week, Slade would bring him take-out instead of forcing his organic kale shit down his throat. Dick, obviously offended by the idea that he needed to be treated like a child, had made it his mission to destroy the thing. 

He was unsuccessful. He’d burned it, tossed it out the window, hidden in it almost every closet they had, but no luck. He had no fucking idea how Slade did it, but no matter how Dick got rid of it, it always appeared, unscathed, hung with a passive aggressive smiley face the next day. Eventually, Dick accepted his fate. He did his best to complete the chores, and the house actually got marginally cleaner. Slade seemed way too proud of himself, but whatever. 

The one chore, though, that he could never seem to manage, was laundry. He’d put in too much soap, or forget the soap, or forget the clothes and come back in a day to find a sopping wet, mildewy pile of cloth. After a month of failures, culminating in Dick accidentally filling the entire laundry room with soap, Slade had revoked his laundry duties and assumed the title of sole laundry-doer for the household. Dick took the win for what it was, and forgot about his clothes at all, just tossing them in his hamper and calling it a day. 

Until. 

~~~

Until Dick was sitting in the living room Sunday evening, and Slade walked into the room.

Dick knew Slade walked into the room, because he could hear him pad up the stairs from the level below. But then he just stopped at the entrance for strangely prolonged stretch of time. After a moment, Dick turned around from his spot on the couch to peer at Slade. “You alright?” he asked skeptically. Slade’s eye was dark, and hard, but when he spoke it was with careful calmness. 

“Dick,” he lifted his hand. Dick spotted familiar blue lace, and his heart dropped into his stomach. “What are these?” 

“Um,” Dick said stupidly, his brain stalling out for at least half of an eternity. "Uh. That's a- thong, I think," he replied, forcing the corners of his lip, up into a wobbly smile. Slade looked at him flatly. 

“Why do you have it?” he said, and Dick’s weak smile dropped. He wiggled over the back of the couch and darted forward. 

“No reason. You can give it back now, I’ll wash it!” He tried to snatch it out of Slade’s hand, but the man just lifted his arm up. Dick was by no means short, but Slade’s behemoth reach was no match for even him. 

“You never used to wear lingerie before,” he stated, staring down at Dick. Dick crossed his arms, glaring up at him. Normally he’d just climb the man, but he could hardly do that now. 

“How would you know that?”

Slade’s eye narrowed even more and- yep, there it was. Eye twitch of doom. “Because I do your laundry, Dick. Why do you have this?” he repeated, and Dick flushed. 

“Because I wanted it! I don’t know!” Slade grit his teeth, looking like he’d swallowed something incredibly sour. He worked his jaw for a moment, clearly sorting through several things he wanted to say. 

“If you want to sleep with someone else, that’s fine. You don’t have to sneak around,” he muttered finally, and turned around to head back to the laundry room, the blue fabric still tightly fisted in his hand. 

Dick stood there for a moment, shell-shocked. He swayed backwards on his heels slightly. Slade made it all of halfway down the stairs, before Dick came back to himself, and shouted. “What? ” 

Slade stumbled slightly, and turned around with a glare. He met only bewilderment from the top of the stairs. “You think I’m sleeping with someone else?” Dick cried incredulously.

Slade just gripped the cloth tighter, glaring unsubtlety up at Dick. “Well, aren’t you?”

Dick’s mouth gaped, and he shouted again. “I’m fucking seven months pregnant, Slade! Who in the possible fuck would be sleeping with me?” He suddenly wished desperately he had something to throw at the man. 

“How am I supposed to know who you're meeting?" Slade grumbled dismissively, a hint of sheepishness in his eye.  

Dick shook his head slightly in disbelief. “I’m not meeting anyone! I bought it for you, you fucking idiot!” 

With that, Dick turned and stormed up to his room, hands clenched tightly into fists. His feet thudded against the stairs loudly until he reached his bedroom door. He slammed the door behind him, and brought up a hand to swipe at his eyes. Stupid pregnancy hormones, making him cry all the time. Stupid Slade, oblivious and- and rude. Dick had never wanted anyone to see that thing, least of all him. 

He scrubbed at his face harder, and huffed when Slade rapped on the door a minute later. “Go away.” 

“I’m… Dick,” Slade said through the wood, voice muffled and pleading.

Another flare of anger sparked in Dick, and he whirled around and whipped the door open. Slade stood there, looking like he had a stomach ache, the emotionally constipated jackass. “I mean, what the hell, Slade? You don’t touch me for months, and then you just assume I’m sleeping with someone else? Why the hell would you think that?” Dick snapped.

Slade looked upset, still holding the lingerie. “I just-” Dick snatched it out of his hands with a glare. 

“Give me that.” he muttered, and went back into his room to shove it in one of his drawers. Slade followed him in. 

“I just thought…because we hadn’t been…” He continued in a low voice. 

“Well, who’s fault is that?” Dick said, stuffing the lingerie deep enough into his drawer that it would never see the light of day again. Suddenly, an iron band wrapped around his rounded stomach, and Slade pressed himself to the line of Dick’s back. 

“Dick, I’m sorry,” he said firmly into his ear, making the hair on the back of Dick’s neck rise. His hands stilled their frantic rearranging. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to,” Slade justified.

Dick couldn’t help but lean slightly back, but he still crossed his arms and pursed his lips. 

“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, ask me ? You just leapt straight to accusations?”

Slade rubbed his thumb over Dick’s belly soothingly. “I’m sorry," he repeated. "We can have sex if you want.” Dick felt his heart flip worryingly fondly in his chest. 

“Well, now I don’t,” he declared, arms still tight and crossed. 

“Alright,” Slade responded, but he didn’t pull back or stop moving his thumb. 

Against his will, Dick felt himself slowly slumping back into Slade’s arms. He was a naturally tactile person to begin with, and although he had gotten used to being on his own, the pregnancy had all of his emotions cranked up to one hundred. The last few months had been rough, on that account. He’d formed a habit of stealing pillows for his bed at night, so he could pile them on himself and pretend the weight was someone else. Slade was warm, and strong, and holding him, and that was making it very difficult to stay angry. 

“I’d still like to see you in it,” Slade said, the hand that wasn’t already preoccupied reaching into the drawer to pull out the fabric. “If you’d be willing to show me.” Dick sniffed forlornly. 

“You don’t want to. It’s hideous. I’m hideous now.”

“No,” Slade steadily denied, voice low and husky, “you’re beautiful.” Dick felt a shiver run down his spine. Slade pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the skin behind Dick’s ear. “Handsome.” He moved down to his neck. “Radiant.” Then Dick’s shoulder. There, he scraped his teeth along the skin. “Mine,” he growled. “I want to see you, Dick.” Dick turned his head hesitantly, and chewed on his lip, searching Slade for any trace of dishonesty. Slade just brought a hand to the back of his head, lacing it through his hair with a tight grip, and kissed him. 

Dick was gone.

He turned completely, wrapping his arms tightly around Slade’s neck in an expression of the unrelenting, suppressed horniness of the last few months. The kiss was rough, teeth and tongue clashing intensely. Dick let out a soft whimper as Slade bit down on his lower lip. The man moved his other hand down to Dick’s hips, pulling him impossibly closer and caging him in against the dresser behind him. The whole world faded away, Dick’s senses reducing to Slade’s lips on him, Slade’s hands on him, thick and strong and clutching him so tightly he might have bruises later. 

Dick finally pulled away. “Slade–” he gasped out. Slade immediately bent down and scooped him up in a bridal carry, lifting him effortlessly to the bed, baby weight and all. Dick let out a startled laugh, which was quickly smothered by Slade’s mouth as he set him gently on the bed. Slade climbed on top of him, maneuvering around Dick’s belly as best he could, trying to strip off his own clothes without breaking the kiss. Slade’s stubble scratched deliciously against his face. 

Dick kicked off his boxers as Slade guided his shirt up and over his arms, leaving him entirely exposed. Slade pulled back for a moment to look him up and down hungrily. Dick flushed, and his hands up to wrap around his chest. “Stop staring at me,” he said sheepishly. 

“No,” Slade refused, and then started to strip himself. Dick dragged his eyes down Slade’s scarred and muscular form appreciatively. The man’s long, white hair framed his impressive figure.

Slade leaned back down, locking Dick in between his muscular arms. Dick tilted his chin up, and pressed their mouths together. At first, it was just as intense and passionate as it had been over by the dresser. But as the minutes ticked on, and Slade made no move to further the interaction, it became softer. Sweeter, but no less deep. 

Dick sighed softly into Slade’s mouth, and ground his hips upward impatiently. It’d been his longest dry spell since he was sixteen, dammit. So sue him. Slade brought down an indulgent hand to stroke at his thigh, and then broke their kiss. He brought his head down to mouth along Dick’s chin. Then his throat. Then the spot where his neck and shoulder met. Slade bit down hard, leaving a bright red mark. Dick panted loudly, clutching at Slade’s arms.

The man pressed soft, open mouthed kisses to the skin in apology for a moment, before traveling downward once more. He laved over Dick’s nipples, and then kissed down to his navel. By the time Slade had gotten down to his hips, Dick was positively dripping. Slade nipped at his skin roughly, and Dick whimpered in annoyance. “Slade, get on with it,” he whined petulantly. 

Slade smirked against his thigh. “Needy.” Still, he leaned in and sucked on Dick’s clit. Dick moaned, and squeezed his thighs around Slade’s head, reveling in the soft scrape of stubble against his skin. 

“Oh, fuck–” 

Dick had forgotten how good Slade was at this. The man’s tongue rubbed relentlessly against him, sucking and pulling and teasing until Dick was sure he’d melt into the sheets beneath him. Slade tweaked one of Dick’s nipples, eliciting a sharp cry, before bringing a hand down. He shoved two of his fingers into Dick without warning. 

And fuck, even just those two fingers already felt larger than the dildo Dick had been using. Slade crooked his fingers just so , and Dick saw stars. He sunk a hand into Slade’s hair, pulling on it so hard a normal human probably would’ve lost some strands. Slade just redoubled his efforts. 

The knot in Dick’s gut was pulling tighter and tighter. “Slade, fuck– Uhn, I’m gonna-” he gasped out desperately. Just before it snapped, Slade suddenly pulled off, stilling his hand and biting harshly into Dick’s thigh to create a twin mark to the one on his neck. 

“No,” he grunted, “you’ll come on my cock or not at all.” 

Dick threw his head back with a disappointed groan, still clenching down rhythmically around Slade’s fingers. He’d also forgotten how fucking evil Slade was in bed. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, knowing if he looked back down he’d only be met with the smug, self-satisfied glint Slade always got when he was in charge. Slade didn’t tolerate that for very long though. 

He pulled his hand out of Dick and grabbed both of his thighs. In one smooth motion, Slade dragged him down until he was hovering above Dick again, Dick’s thighs bent up and cradling the man’s waist. The effortless show of strength made Dick’s core throb intensely. Slade dove down, aggressively pressing their mouths together until the sharp tang of Dick’s own taste flooded his mouth. He threaded his fingers through Slade’s hair again, letting his soft pants be swallowed by the man’s ravenous appetite.  

The white hot tremors still rippling through his core made it impossible for him to ignore the subtle scrap of Slade’s cock against his skin. Dick bucked upwards as best he could with the bump, trying to tempt him into movement. Slade jutted his hips forward, sliding himself through Dick’s legs with a slick noise. He brought up a hand to grip firmly to Dick’s face, forcing him into eye contact. Dick, uncomfortably flushed and slightly out of breath, stared back. The corner of Slade’s mouth twitched. “Beg, little bird,” he ordered, low and raspy. 

Dick bared his teeth. “Fuck you,” he retorted, ignoring the trill of excitement in his chest. Slade whipped his free hand to strike Dick’s thigh with a smack that reverberated around the room. Dick gasped, and Slade rubbed the mark soothingly. 

“I’m not asking,” he rumbled, “tell me what you want, or you get nothing.” Dick wiggled unsuccessfully beneath him for a moment. Slade just stayed there, impossibly in control and staring down at him relentlessly. Normally, Dick would drag things out longer. Fight Slade, make him really earn Dick’s submission. But tonight… he really just wanted to get laid. So finally, he went limp, and turned his eyes up towards with a resigned pout. 

“I want you.” 

Slade didn’t move. “Want me to what?” Dick groaned loudly. 

“I want you to fuck me, Slade!” The man smirked, but still didn’t move. 

“Ask nicely, little bird.” Dick, growled, fed up, and used his grip in Slade’s hair to yank the man’s face down  to his until their noses touched. 

“Put your goddamn dick in me before I fucking rip it off. Please,” he finished with a sickly sweet smile. 

Without another word, Slade angled their hips together and slammed in with one clean stroke. Dick choked. “F-Fuck!” he screamed, thankful that he no longer had to worry about being evicted if he was too loud. Slade had stretched him enough that the movement didn’t burn, but Slade’s massive length still stung deliciously inside him. Slade barely gave him a second to adjust before he was pulling back out, the drag against his inner walls sparking slow, tortuous pleasure- and then thrusting back in again.

He quickly established a  steady rhythm, pounding into Dick so hard that he was practically being shoved halfway up the bed again. Dick squeezed his legs as tightly around Slade’s waist as he could, (which, to be fair, was not very tight), and tried desperately not to come in the first five seconds like a teenager. Dick raked his nails down Slade’s back, relishing the grunt the man made. “Karma for- uh! Biting me- oh, god-” he said through harsh pants. Slade snarled, and snapped his hips forward. Dick’s eyes rolled back into his head, and Slade laughed cruelly. “You gonna come, little bird?”

Dick nodded shakily.

“Ask permission,” Slade ordered, not slowing his pace. 

“Slade, uhn, please-ah, please can I come?” he gasped out. Slade snaked a hand under his head to tightly fist his hair and pull his head back, revealing Dick’s neck in a clean arc. 

“Do it,” he snarled, and bit down once more on the side not yet marked. 

Dick’s vision went white, and he came harder than he ever had in his entire life. When he recovered several minutes– or maybe hours– later, it was to Slade, still hard and thrusting slightly inside him. Dick let out a pathetic whimper. 

“On your knees,” Slade grunted, “We’re not finished yet.” Dick couldn’t tell if the feeling in his chest was genuine fear, or the most intense arousal he’d ever felt. Still shaking, he obeyed without another word, presenting with his ass as high in the air as he could get it. Slade gave him a sharp smack, and pulled him back onto his cock. 

It was going to be a long night. 

~~~

Much, much later, Slade slowly brushed a hand over Dick’s face. He carefully moved his hair, tucking it behind his ear. Dick snored softly in his sleep.

Slade just stared at him, because god fucking dammit, he was in love with the kid.

And there it was. The simple truth of the matter. Slade loved Dick, and the sudden realization just about made him sick to his stomach. Because sharing a home, and a child, and having occasional mind blowing sex was one thing, but love? That wasn’t- that wasn’t in Slade’s plans. He hadn’t truly loved anyone since Adeline, and even that had been… well, it hadn’t anything been like Dick. 

Nothing was like Dick.

This brave, vicious, loud, beautiful man- his partner. That’s what they were now, partners. Slade didn’t know when that line had blurred between them, but it had, and now he was lying in Dick’s room naked, holding the softly snoring man to his chest, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck he was going to do now. Because how could he ever tie Dick closer to him than he already had? He, a vicious, sociopathic murderer with two dead kids and one failed marriage already stuck on his resume, circled and underlined with bright red ink. How many times had he been warned away from Dick now? Five? Six? Warned by people who loved him, and wanted the best for him– and selfish as he was, Slade could still admit that wasn’t ever going to be him. 

Raising a child together already put Slade and Dick next to each other for the rest of their lives. No matter what happened, they’d still be connected by that single thread- their daughter. But to tell Dick the truth was to ask so much more of him than Slade had any right to expect. Dick was young, smart, and beautiful. He had his whole life ahead of him. He deserved better than some washed-up manic tying him down. So Slade would keep his mouth shut. 

He’d protect Dick, and their girl. He’d keep them safe. He’d give Dick whatever the fuck he asked for, and then, when it was time, he’d let him go. Slade swallowed, and pressed a long kiss to the boy’s forehead. Then, he slowly shifted out from underneath him. Slade tucked him back into the blankets, and then walked out of his room without a sound. He needed to get out of this house. He needed some air. 

~~~

By the time Dick woke up, Slade was gone. Dick blinked his eyes open blearily, met with mussed sheets and a dark room. He splayed out a hand on the bed next to him, and felt a twinge of disappointment. He’d thought… Well, it didn’t matter what he thought. Slade was probably downstairs making breakfast, so after a moment, Dick heaved himself out of bed lazily. He tugged on an old hoodie and some boxers, and headed downstairs, yawning. The heating system in the house was insane– spring Gotham storms raging outside and it was a balmy 80 degrees inside. Back in his old apartment, the place had been so drafty and cold he practically had to hibernate half of the year. Dick padded into the kitchen, expecting to see Slade flipping eggs by the stove. 

The room was empty, and the blinds were still shuttered. Dick furrowed his brow in concern. Slade always opened the blinds in the morning– said the sunlight helped him wake up. Dick turned, slowly, inspecting the untouched counters, clean as they had been left last night. Dick poked his head out of the kitchen. “Slade?” He called out to the rest of the house. Nothing but that slight echo. The family room windows were still shuttered too. He turned back around, eyes shifting warily. Worry had seriously started to blossom in his chest when he spotted the note taped onto the fridge, right next to that goddamn chore chart. He walked over slowly, hand coming up to pull the paper off. 

“Out. Will be back soon.” 

 -Slade 

Dick stared down at the note in confusion, his heart sinking. Slade was… gone? Where? They’d agreed he wouldn’t do any more contracts until the baby was born. And… and with no warning? 

That was always what had happened. They’d spend the night together, and Slade would be gone by the time he woke up. But that was before . Back when they were practically strangers, just looking to get laid with no strings attached. Last night… wasn’t like that. Slade never used to call him beautiful. Clearly things had changed between them. Maybe it was naive, but… Dick had thought this would change too. Dick didn’t cry, just slid down the cabinets to sit on the floor. 

He… he was sure Slade would come back. He wouldn’t just leave, at this point. Maybe in the beginning, sure, but so close to the birth of their daughter… Slade would come back. He had to. 

Dick sat on the kitchen floor, pregnant and alone. The house didn’t feel so warm anymore.    

~~~

Just beyond the property line, a man dressed in a tactical combat suit and a dark set of shades brought a walky talky up to his mouth. “Sir, we have confirmation. The bird has flown the coop, I repeat the bird has flown the coop.” His compatriots shifted restlessly behind him, sheltered by the pine foliage. They kept their eyes trained on the house. The device crackled to life. 

“Good,” a deep voice responded, “move in. This is our shot, boys, fuck it up and it’s your heads on the line, got that?” The man nodded crisply. His face betrayed no fear. 

“Understood.” He clipped the radio back to his belt, and motioned quickly for the men behind him to follow. “In and out men. I want the cargo secured in ten minutes or less.” Without another word, the group stepped over the property line and moved swiftly towards the large, modern house sitting up on the hill. Behind them, a black van began rolling up the driveway. 

~~~ 

Dick had left his phone in his bedroom, so he didn’t receive the alert when the men crossed onto their property. He sat there on the kitchen floor for a long moment, breathing deeply and steadying himself. By the time he had gathered enough calm to stand and head back to his room, the men were already at his door. By the time they were inside, he had grabbed one of Slade’s pistols and was standing with it aimed down at the group from the top of the stairs, eyes wide and steely. 

He’d kill to protect his baby girl. Bruce would just have to handle it. “Drop your weapons on the floor and get the fuck out of my house,” He said, voice clear of any weakness or waver. Inside though, his heart was pounding a mile a minute. 

One of the men stepped forward and raised his hands in the air placatingly with an artificial smile. “Hello, friend. My name is 02. There are two ways this could play out,” he started. Dick interrupted, gun held steadily at the man’s head. 

“Yeah. You leave, or I kill you.” The man tutted patronizingly. 

“Not quite. See, hun, there’s seven of us, and one of you. You don’t stand much of a chance, I’m afraid.” 

Dick narrowed his eyes. “You have no fucking idea what I’m capable of.” The man shrugged, and took a step forward. 

“Maybe. But what I do know is that standard pistol only has five bullets. And it only takes one good hit to kill a fetus.” Dick’s breath hitched slightly, and the man continued. “We just need you alive. What condition you’re in is entirely up to you.” He started walking slowly up the stairs. Dick kept his gun trained on the man’s head. 

“Maybe you fight us off. Maybe you don’t.” The man stopped a few steps down from Dick, and held out his hand. “Do you want to take that chance?” Dick stood there, mind racing.  Even on his best nights, taking out seven men without the element of surprise would be difficult. But now he was bloated, and slow, and what that man didn’t know was that the pistol only had three bullets in it– he hadn’t had time to reload before they were inside. There was no way he could win. At least if he gave up, he could buy himself time. He could find some way to escape. Slade would come home to find him missing. Or someone else would come visit. Something would happen to get him out of this. 

Dick swallowed, and placed the gun in the man’s outstretched hand, never breaking eye contact. The man smiled, closing his fingers around the barrel. “Good choice.” He pulled the gun back towards himself and tucked it into his belt. Then he turned, gesturing his hands down the stairs. “After you.” 

Dick walked past him cautiously, eyes glancing around the room and hands now fixed securely on his belly. He’d be fine. He was Nightwing, for fucks sake, he could figure this out. There was always a way out. 

The men surrounded him, and guided him out the door where a black painted van was waiting. Dick blinked away the water running into his eyes from the soft spring rain falling down. Dick suppressed one last irrational urge to run, and climbed clumsily into the vehicle. The men didn’t bother to handcuff him, just clambered in around where he was sitting on the barren floor. 

He doubted they knew who he really was. If they did, they wouldn’t be underestimating him so much. He could use that to his advantage. They were probably enemies of Slade, who had tracked him to this house. Had seen Dick and figured they’d found a weak spot. They were most likely kidnapping Dick to use him as blackmail, or bait. Dick’s heart sank, knowing there was a good chance he was being used to lure Slade into a trap. 

Pissed at Slade or not, the thought sent an unpleasant chill down his spine. A blindfold was roughly tied around his eyes. The van lurched into movement, bumping Dick around as it carted him to his next destination.

Chapter Text

The drive had lasted about twenty-five minutes by Dick’s count before the men had pulled him out of the car. One had grabbed his arm and walked him into some sort of building, cuffing one hand to a desk. Only then was his blindfold removed, revealing what looked to be a broken-down and abandoned office building. He was probably in some part of Crime Alley, given the drive time and the location. Dick tested the give of the handcuffs, eyes darting around the room and quickly taking in his surroundings. 

Inside the room were two men on either side of the doorless entryway. There was a boarded up window to his left, and a larger, broken window behind him. The cool spring air brought a draft into the room that made Dick- still only dressed in a hoodie and some boxers- shiver slightly. He could slip the handcuffs easily. The question was what happened after . He could climb out the window behind him, but barefoot and pregnant, he didn’t know how much he trusted his abilities. And given how long he had to walk up stairs to get there, Dick figured they were on the third or fourth floor of the place at least. There’s no way he’d make it out the front door, unless he went the stealth route- difficult, unless he found some way to get rid of those guards.

Dick would only have one real chance at escaping. He had no doubts that if these men realized how competent he was, they’d up the guards and handcuffs real quick. That meant he had to be smart, and patient- not blow his chance because he got too emotional to think clearly. 

That was easier said than done. Being held hostage normally wouldn’t bother him- just a normal Tuesday night, really. But with his daughter inevitably ending up as collateral damage for any hit he took… Dick was scared out of his mind. 

Images of blood and bruising kept flying through his mind. Dick imagined a world where the nursery he had been working on stayed dark and empty, and had to stop himself from throwing up. 

He was pulled out of his catastrophizing by the sound of footsteps heading up to the door. He snapped his head up, and drew his face into a fierce snarl, ready for anything. One of the guards stepped aside from the gaping hole in the wall that might have once housed a door, revealing a man with a crisp black suit and a sly grin. Unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing any sunglasses, face totally bare. 

That was a bad sign. Or a good one. It either meant that he wasn’t planning on letting Dick out of there alive, which unfortunately decreased the timeline for escape quite dramatically– or it meant these men were even more stupid than he originally thought. Dick bared his teeth as the man stepped further into the room. 

“Hello there,” he said, smiling cockily. The man was tall, with a crisp posture and greasy, slicked-back hair. Dick squinted his eyes at him, growl turning into an aggressive smile right back. 

“Fuck off.” 

The man ignored him, walking further into the room and fiddling with something in his pocket. “Let me introduce myself: my name is Hugo,” he pulled the thing out– it was Dick’s phone. Shit, he must've left it on the kitchen floor, “and I'm not sure if you know this, but your husband has been trying to kill me.” He crouched smoothly in front of Dick, and held out the phone. “So you're going to call him and tell him to come here. Then we can have a little chat, and just sort everything out, alright? 

“So you can kill him?” Dick asked simply.

The man's eyes narrowed, but that sleazy smile never faltered. “So we can chat.” Dick grabbed the phone with his free hand. It didn't really matter if he called Slade or not. The man would already be on his way soon enough. Dick could only hope that whatever these men had in store, Slade would be able to outmaneuver. 

Dick dialed his number, deftly moving his fingers over the buttons. He brought the phone up to his ear, glaring at Hugo as it rang. There was the soft click of the line being accepted, and then Slade’s voice, rushed and worried. “Di-” 

“I've been kidnapped,” Dick cut him off.

Hugo nodded in approval. 

“I can see that,” Slade responded. “Where are you?” Dick flicked his eyes up to Hugo’s. 

“1834 Twenty-second street. Second floor.”

“1834–” Dick parroted back into the phone, tapping his finger against the receiver as he spoke. An almost unnoticeable tick, but hopefully Slade would hear the Morse through the speaker. Eight men, maybe more. Armed. Trained. “Please come pick me up. I'm scared,” he said flatly, trying to convey as much of his displeasure as possible. Hugo took the phone back from Dick’s hand and held it up to his mouth. 

“It’s all very simple, Deathstroke. Come meet with me, and your little bitch here will walk away just fine.” Hugo reached out a finger, and traced it up Dick’s stomach slowly. “If not… well, I’m sure my boys would appreciate having a new toy to play with.” 

There was a stretch of silence from on the other side. “One hour,” Slade responded bluntly, and then hung up. Hugo blinked, clearly not used to having people hang up on him. Then he stood, and pulled out some high tech smartphone, typing on it above Dick’s restrained body. Dick considered spitting on him. 

“Thanks for your cooperation, darling. Keep up the good work,” He said dismissively as he headed back out of the room, waving to the guards to bring Dick with them. The two men unclipped Dick from the desk, and locked his hands back together. Then, they walked him out onto the main floor, and set him on the ground next to Hugo, who had pulled up an office chair. The seven men from earlier littered the room. One handed Hugo a gun. “Now,” he said, leaning back in his seat, “we wait.” 

Dick settled in as well, maneuvering himself to be able to spring up at a moment’s notice. He focused on memorizing the room around him, paying attention to any ticks or details that might help him. The shorter man to his left favored his right leg. The tall one in the back kept shifting nervously- probably a rookie. There was a stairwell to his right leading down, and one to his left leading up. Most of the windows were boarded, leaving the room in a dusty darkness. The only source of light was a few beams shooting through the cracks in the wood. 

Dick shivered slightly. His clothes were wet, and the place was drafty and cold. He thought fondly back to his warm bed, feeling as if it was practically across the world.

It was only thirty minutes later when Dick’s attention flickered to an odd shadow that flashed across the floor from over by the stairwell leading up. He forced his head not to turn and draw attention to it. Things happened very quickly from there. 

Slade killed two of the men in quick succession, dropping them with clean bullets through the head. The rest erupted in shouts, turning rapidly to try and identify Slade’s position. Dick lunged upwards, dislocating his thumbs and tearing off the handcuffs. He ducked under an abandoned desk to the sounds of cracking bones and screaming, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. 

Then, the boards on the window across from him burst apart into scrap wood and splinters as the Batman grappled into the building feet-first. Robin quickly followed through the gaping hole that remained. Dick let out a strangled gasp, which could barely be heard over the chaos. 

Bruce charged into the fray, slamming into one of the armed men and grappling him roughly to the ground. Then he turned, sweeping out a leg to trip another, and sliced a batarang through the air, knocking Slade’s gun out of his hand and stopping him from killing the leader of the men. Slade swore loudly, and took a shot to the shoulder. He dove beneath a desk, reaching into his belt to pull out another pistol. Jason slid to join Dick under his own desk as the fight raged around them. “Dick, come on, we have to get you out of here!” He grabbed Dick’s wrist and tugged on it, trying to pull him out of the room. Dick stayed resolutely still. 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. 

“Saving you! ” Jason yelled back, wincing as one of the men screamed loudly. “Ba- Oracle told us what happened! Come on!” Dick slid out slightly, poking his head up to view the carnage. Six of the men had been taken out, three dead and three unconscious. The leader of the grunts, Hugo, and the tall man who had been fidgeting remained, trying desperately to fight off the two armored tanks attacking them. 

On their own, Bruce and Slade could’ve easily ended the fight by now. But fighting side by side, they kept interrupting each other. Bruce was trying to keep himself alive, and stop Slade from killing anyone– a task that was proving difficult. Slade was having to stop himself from shooting Bruce every time he got in the way. (Something that, while satisfying, would probably make things a little awkward between them. More so than things already were, that was.) 

Slade and the rookie exchanged quick, powerful blows. While the man was, admittedly, holding his own, he was clearly no match for Slade’s sheer force . In one last panicked move before he was overwhelmed, he aimed his gun at Dick and fired. Time seemed to slow down. 

Dick could see Slade, turning faster than any human could, but still not fast enough. He could see Bruce, reaching out, but so, so far away. Dick’s mind went back to that cold, still nursery once again. Then, he saw Jason leap in front of the bullet. 

It hit him directly in the chest. The boy was slammed backwards against Dick, body sliding to rest against his knees on the floor. Dick let out a strangled gasp, and lunged for his brother’s limp body. With shaking, desperate hands, he frantically turned him over, looking for the bullet wound.

No. 

No no no, not his little brother, please not his little baby brother-

Across the room, Bruce slammed his fist so hard into his opponent that Dick could hear the resulting crack. He streaked forward towards the two of them, moving faster than Dick had ever seen him move before. He slid to his knees and frantically moved his hands over Jason’s chest, gasping raggedly.

Jason, now facing the ceiling, just screwed up his eyes and yelled, “Fucking OW!” He brought a hand up to clutch at his chest, where his bullet-proof armor had absorbed the shot. Dick exhaled a shaky sigh of relief, before wincing sympathetically. Kevlar stopped bullet wounds, sure, but getting shot still hurt like a bitch. Jason expressed his displeasure at the sensation, loudly and with so many expletives Dick was pretty sure he’d be in debt to Alfred’s swear jar until the day he died. Which, thankfully, was not today.

Bruce sat there listening to Jason curse for a long moment. Then he grabbed the boy violently, clutching him to his chest. Jason went quiet, and looked at Dick, bewildered. After a moment of Bruce just breathing shakily and holding him, he brought a small hand up to the man’s shoulder. “Hey, B, I’m… I’m fine, man.” 

Dick felt strangely voyeuristic watching the two of them, and turned his eyes back towards Slade. He’d used Bruce’s distraction to kill the rest of the men. Their bodies littered the floor, bloodied and broken– damage seemingly incompatible with the scant few seconds Slade had had. Dick’s eyes widened in horror. But Slade wasn’t finished yet. 

The man had his back to Dick, holding a Hugo up against the wall. His limbs were bent at odd, unnatural angles. Slade was learning in close, whispering something into his ear. Dick made eye contact with the man. His eyes were massive, and terrified, tears leaking out the side. Dick shifted to get up, reaching a hand out to Slade, a protest on the tip of his tongue–

And then a shot rang out. Slade dropped Hugo’s body to the floor. It flopped over with a sickening crunch, the man’s eyes now staring lifelessly at the wall. Dick flinched back, stunned. Slade stared down at the body with a cold, satisfied expression. “Slade…” Dick said shakily. The man turned back around. He quickly paced over to Dick, crouching in front of him. He grabbed Dick’s face and moved it around, eyes roaming him up and down, looking for any injuries. 

“Are you hurt?” Dick shook his head.

“I’m fine, I-” His eyes kept creeping towards the growing blood stains littering the old, dusty office carpet. 

Next to him, Bruce growled violently. “That was unnecessary . Those men didn’t need to die.” He didn’t move, clearly unwilling to relinquish Jason, who was still bundled up confusedly in his arms. Slade shot a cold, dangerous look over to Bruce, keeping his hand firmly affixed to Dick’s cheeks. 

“They could’ve killed Dick . They got what they deserved,” he growled furiously. That got a reaction out of Bruce, who stood, shoving Jason behind him. 

“You don’t get to make that choice.” 

Slade stood as well, hand moving to the sword still sheathed neatly on his back. “Who’s going to stop me?” Bruce took a threatening step forward, mouth opening to retort, when Dick interrupted from his spot still sat on the floor, eschewing his shock in favor of anger.  

“Fuck off! ” He stood, using the desk to push himself up. Slade turned to offer him a hand, but Dick slapped it away. “Are you seriously having a fucking pissing contest right now? Now?? ” He gestured wildly at the disarray around them. 

“Dick-” Slade started, looking indignant. 

“No! Fuck you! First of all, they never would’ve grabbed me in the first place if you had been there, you absolute dickwad . You run off, no warning, barely a note– How the fuck do you think that made me feel, huh? How am I supposed to trust you after that?” Slade flinched back, looking appropriately chastised. Dick swallowed down his fear at the man’s actions. Now wasn’t the time and… and truthfully, he couldn’t pretend to be surprised. He’d always known Slade was a murderer. Now it was just… harder to push out of mind. Bruce was looking a little too proud of himself, so Dick turned to him next, pointing an accusing finger at him. 

“And you! You ignore me for months– send fucking Clark to come play peacemaker– have Barbara monitor my house– and you think you can just come back and play hero? Fuck you, too! Fuck both of you!” Jason was staring at him with wide eyes and a childish grin. He looked wildly entertained. Dick moved his finger to the boy. “And don't you ever jump in front of a gun for me again, J, I mean it. If you die for me I'll kill you myself–” Dick was distracted from his tirade by a shooting cramp in his stomach. He shook it off, wanting to continue– but he was interrupted by another. 

His breath hitched, and his hand went to his stomach. Slade stepped forward immediately. “Are you alright?” He asked intently. 

“I'm-” Dick cut himself off, hissing slightly in pain. Slade moved to his waist, cupping one hand around Dick’s back and pressing the other to his stomach. He moved it around, looking for any blood or soft spots. He didn’t find any, but when Dick suppressed another whimper, he wasted no time in scooping him up. “Wha- hey!” Dick said, clutching onto the man’s armor. 

Slade turned to Bruce. “You have a car outside?” Bruce nodded, hand stretched out in concern. Without another word, Slade charged out of the building, flying down the stairs as fast as he could without jostling Dick too much. Batman and Robin followed close behind him. 

Batman spoke rapidly into the comm in his cowl as they went. To Leslie, and then to Barbara, Dick figured, informing them of the situation en route. Outside, tucked into an alleyway behind that black van was a nondescript SUV, similar to the one Slade owned. Less conspicuous than the batmobile, but no less secure. Slade slid into the back passenger seat next to Dick, allowing Bruce to drive with a subtle nod. Jason came in from the other side. He sat anxiously next to Dick, hands fiddling tightly at his chest. Dick breathed carefully as Bruce peeled out of the alleyway, speeding to Leslie’s several miles over the legal limit. After a minute, he patted Slade’s hand, still resting on his stomach. “I’m fine. I think it’s passed. It was just some stress cramping probably.” 

Nobody looked assured by that, and Dick sank into his chair, feeling chagrined. “It’s fine,” he repeated, sounding much less sure of himself. Bruce just pressed harder on the gas. 

~~~

Dick gripped the sheet of the patient bed tightly. They had arrived at Leslie’s in record time– only being a couple blocks away in the first place. Benefits of working at a poor-ass hospital, he supposed. Now, Dick was resting in Leslie’s room as she went over some of his… medical… data. Or something. Dick didn’t know. All he knew was he had felt pain, and the baby hadn’t kicked since. 

Slade, Bruce, and Jason had been kicked out of the room for “hovering”, and were now waiting anxiously in the hall. In the back of his mind, Dick was slightly concerned one or both of them would be dead by the time he was finished. But he had too much stress and lingering anger to worry about it too much, and decided that it was their own fault if they killed each other. 

Leslie came over to his bed and grabbed his hand firmly. Dick looked up at her with wide, panicked eyes– fear that he hadn’t let himself show until that door had clicked shut with everyone else on the other side. “Everything is alright,” she said softly, and Dick just about wept from relief. “It was just some Braxton Hicks brought on by stress.” He shifted his grip to clutch tightly at her hand. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything– he hoped his face said enough. She gave a tired smile, and a nod, then pulled back. 

“I’ll give you a minute,” she said, going to leave the room, “and I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” The door closed, leaving Dick alone in the room he’d spent so much time in now. He put an arm over his eyes and just breathed for a moment, trying to process the events of the day. He had been so angry, but now… Now he just felt tired. 

Dick moved his arm to stare up at the ceiling, fluorescent white lights blinking softly back down at him. He listened absentmindedly to the hushed, rapid conversation outside. Muffled by the door, he couldn’t quite make out who was talking, or what they were talking about. It sounded very intense, though. 

After a few minutes, the talking went silent, and a quick rap sounded against the door. That was fast, he thought, and relished one last moment of silence. “Come in.” Jason burst through the door first, rushing past Bruce to wrap his arms around Dick tightly. Dick hovered his hands above the kid’s back for a second, surprised, before carefully hugging him back. He smiled into Jay’s hair, who quickly pulled back. Face bright red, he stammered something about a vending machine down the hall, and then stormed right back out, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor. 

Once the door closed again, Dick fixed his eyes on Bruce with a resigned look, Slade still somewhere out in the hall. “Well? Spit it out.” 

Bruce wrung his hands in an uncharacteristic show of nervousness, and reached up to pull off his cowl. Underneath it, his hair was mussed and greasy, and his eyebags were even larger than usual. “I wanted to say… that I’m sorry.” 

Dick’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. Bruce continued hurriedly, “You’re my son, and I shouldn’t have shut you out.” Bruce glanced up at his belly. “After the baby… and before, too. I’ve… Alfred’s missed you, Dick,” he said, copping out at the last second. “And I want you to be in our lives. I want us to be in yours. Even if that means…” his eyes darted back to the door, “letting go of some of my… trepidations.” He stepped forward hopefully. “I know things haven’t been great between us. But I want that to change.” He swallowed, trying to read Dick’s face, which was set in an impassive mask. “If you’ll let it,” he added softly. 

And it wasn’t like Dick wasn’t angry anymore. Because he was. There were still so many things about Bruce and his relationship that just made him want to bash his head through a wall. The way Jason became Robin, Bruce’s controlling overprotectiveness, the whole Gotham U. debacle– the fact that even in his apology , Bruce couldn’t say that he’d missed him.

But more than all of that, more than all the anger and sadness and resentment still sitting in his gut, deep down, Dick was just a kid who wanted his dad. So he nodded, and outstretched his arms. Bruce awkwardly shuffled over, leaning down dramatically just to reach Dick in the bed. He wrapped his strong, muscular arms around Dick, and patted a hand stiffly on his back. Dick clutched his shirt for a long moment. “Okay. Let’s try,” he whispered, and then pulled back, scrubbing quickly at his eye. Bruce lingered at his bedside. 

“I still think you should move back into the manor,” he said hurriedly, as if he was trying to get it out before Dick could interrupt. “Especially after today… It’d be safer, Dick. For the both of you.” 

Dick shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bruce, that’s definitely not happening. Look, I like my place now. And I’ll be able to defend myself better once this kid is out, so… so don’t worry about me, okay?” Bruce opened his mouth, but slammed it shut again, biting his tongue. He nodded slowly. Dick had no doubts that he’d be bringing this up again– but for now, he seemed to just want to keep the peace. The result of a substantial Thompkins lecture, for sure. Dick was sure that she’d strictly instructed them to keep Dick’s stress levels down until the baby was born. A blessing he was absolutely going to abuse.  

He moved to get to his feet. Bruce’s arm shot out to clutch at his forearm as he stood. “Are you sure you should be moving?” Dick waved a hand dismissively. 

“You heard Leslie. I’m fine. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said, glancing down conspicuously, “but I don’t have any pants on, and so I’d really like to be getting home.” Home. Is that what their mansion was to him now? Bruce guided him to the door, where Slade was standing, leaning stoically against the side of the hallway.

Dick exchanged one last hug with Jason and Leslie, and promised to visit the manor soon. They all escorted them downstairs, where Slade had called Wintergreen to come pick them up in the SUV. Slade didn’t say anything to him as they walked downstairs, or after they got in the car, or after they pulled into the garage. Dick hurried up to his room to change, and by the time he got downstairs, he was alone again.

Chapter Text

The good news was that Slade hadn’t actually left again. The bad news was that, for all that Dick saw him for the next few weeks, he might as well have. All the progress that had been made between the two of them had seemingly vanished, catapulting their relationship back to those early days of stilted conversations and awkward avoidances. Slade still made breakfast and dinner for him– but he would just serve Dick and leave, claiming to have “already eaten”.

Dick tried to catch him a couple times, coming down earlier and earlier each day, only to find an empty kitchen and a single plate full of food. More so than frustration, Slade’s absent behavior bred loneliness. Too many nights spent picking at his food in a dark and empty kitchen were beginning to wear on him. He wanted Slade to talk to him, but he didn’t know how, and the last time he tried to reach out had been what caused this whole mess in the first place! 

Even worse, Dick’s due date was creeping steadily closer. Slowly but surely, he was nine weeks away. Then eight. After two weeks of moping, Dick pried himself out of his isolation, and visited the manor for the first time in what felt like decades. It didn’t go… perfectly. Bruce barely said two words to him before escaping downstairs to his work. But Dick made scones with Alfred, and danced with Jason while they were waiting, and he’d gone home with a smile on his face. Wintergreen, for one, seemed delighted that he had gotten out of the house.

From then on, Dick forced himself to stay busy. He spent long days at the manor, reading in the library with Jason, and working in the gardens with Alfred. He reached out to Barbara, and arranged a weekly coffee date. They’d talk about books, or art, or the weather, or anything at all– just like before. Dick would smile, and wave goodbye to her, and she’d smile and wave back, and a warm feeling would kindle in his stomach. Not romance, not anymore, but a softer kind of love. The same kind he felt with the rest of his family. 

His family. He had a family again. Or maybe he’d had one all along, and he’d just been too blind to see it. Seven weeks. Six weeks. The final touches on the nursery had been completed- twinkling lights lining the corners of the room, little robins painted around the window, which was draped in flowing white curtains. There was even a small mobile hanging above the crib with little elephants on it. Unlike the rest of the house, the nursery had a warm, homey feel to it. Dick spent a lot of time there. For the first time in his life, he cleaned and dusted of his own volition. He’d sit in the rocking chair by the window, and leaf through the various children’s books littered about the room. Mainly gifts from Jason, who had started collecting them after he’d learned about the baby. 

Mostly, Dick would just look out the window and think. He’d think about how far he had come from that scared little boy watching his parents die. And then he’d think about Bruce, and about Slade, and feel that maybe he hadn’t come that far after all. 

He’d think about the baby, what he’d name her, and what she might be like. Dick hoped she’d like gymnastics, and that he could teach her how to fly. He hoped she’d be smart, smart enough that she could be anything she wanted. And strong, too, and brave. More than anything, though, Dick just wanted her to be happy. That was all that mattered, really. That she’d be happy. 

Five weeks. Then four, and then suddenly Dick was so swollen and bloated he had entirely relinquished his once dignified lope for an awkward waddle. He was constantly flushed, and had to stop for breath just to get up the stairs. And god forbid he had to bend over. 

Currently, the problem was that he did have to bend over. Dick had been in the kitchen, satisfying a sudden craving for strawberry jam on garlic bread, when he’d dropped a piece of bread on the floor. Dick stared at the piece ruefully for a long, long moment. He sighed, and set the lidless jam jar back into the open fridge. Not bothering to close it (he’d be back for the jam in a moment), Dick put a hand on his back and spread his legs like a baby giraffe drinking water for the first time.

He carefully positioned his bump between his legs and bent over– and immediately lost his balance. Dick had never lost his balance before in his life . He straightened quickly, and looked around as if checking no one had seen that. Time for a new strategy. 

Dick put one stabilizing hand on the fridge, and then knelt shakily. He squinted, and reached his hand down. It barely skimmed the edge of the bread, and Dick ended up knocking it further away. He dropped his head down and let out a loud groan. 

Now, he had a choice to make. He could leave the bread on the floor, sparing him the humiliation of calling Slade. But… that would only delay the humiliation until later, when Slade inevitably found the bread and brought out the eye twitch of doom. And also, that was the last slice, and Dick was starving , and he didn’t care that the fridge was full of food, he wanted garlic bread. So, Dick swallowed his pride, and the last bit of jam in his mouth. “Slade!” he called out into the rest of the house. There was only a short pause before the man came striding into the room– not exactly panicked, but quick enough that he couldn’t exactly act casual. He did a quick scan of the room, and, finding no danger, paused at the entryway. Dick looked at him sheepishly and pointed at the garlic bread, still crouched awkwardly on the floor. “Help?” 

Slade stared at him for a moment before snorting out a laugh. He walked over and heaved Dick up by his arms. Dick smiled gratefully as he deftly grabbed the garlic bread and handed it over. His face of amusement quickly fell into disgust as Dick popped it into his mouth. He chewed for a minute, before swallowing. “Baby wants what the baby wants,” he said with a shrug. Slade looked at him appallingly. 

Then, he turned to leave– but this was the most interaction Dick had gotten out of the man in weeks, he couldn’t just let him walk away . “Hey, I downloaded Moana this morning. Wanna watch it with me tonight?” he tried. Slade didn’t pause, just kept walking. 

“No.” 

“Slade,” Dick called after him, more serious. He crossed his arms, and when Slade turned again, met him with genuine eyes. “I would really like it if you watched Moana with me tonight.” This time, Slade hesitated, emotions warring in his eyes. But he still twisted, and walked out of the kitchen. 

“I’m busy tonight. Sorry.” 

Dick felt the spark of frustration in his chest blossom into a fire. He hurried out of the kitchen, whirling around the corner. “Busy with what, Slade?” he cried out after him. “What could possibly be more important than this?” Slade paused, leaning one hand against the wall with his back still to him. 

Dick shook his head in frustration. “I mean, I’m trying here, dammit. I know this isn’t ideal,” he said, stepping forward slightly, “but it’s what we’ve got, and I need you to work with me here. Our daughter is coming in four weeks, and if you want to be there for her, that starts now.” Slade lifted his head towards Dick, looking conflicted. “I… I need to know where we stand, okay? I want to be here, but… if you’re going to keep acting like this, then I’m going back to the manor,” Dick finished definitively. 

He’d meant what he’d said to Bruce. He did like the mansion, even with its cold decorations and ridiculous design. It was where he had made a life for himself. But… but there was nothing for him here without Slade. Without the terrible, obnoxious, uptight man that he’d come to care for so much. It was breaking his heart to stay in a place he was so clearly unwanted. He wouldn’t put his girl through the same. 

Slade swallowed roughly and turned back around. “That’s not… no. Don’t do that.” Dick crossed his arms. 

“Then give me a reason not to.” Slade dropped his gaze, looking ashamed. He clenched his fists softly. 

“I… Dick, I’m sorry,” he said, like Dick was pulling his damn teeth out. “Don’t go.” 

Dick let out a huff of air. “I just... can you please just talk to me? What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

 “No,” Slade said hurriedly, “no, it’s not your fault.” He took a deep breath, shoulders slumping as he finally let down his guard. His face filled with a mix of vulnerability and regret. “It’s not about you. I’m just… fucking hell, Dick, I don’t know how to do this.” 

Dick’s expression hardened. “So what? You’re going to shut me out?” 

Slade tensed. “I’m not trying to shut you out. I’m trying to do what’s best for you,” he snapped. Dick threw his hands up into the air. 

“Which is what? Abandoning me? Slade, we’re supposed to be a team here!” 

Slade growled. “And you can’t see what’s wrong with that? Then I’ll say it: This was a mistake.” Dick reeled back as if he’d been slapped, but Slade continued, stepping forward. “I never should’ve gotten involved with you. I never should’ve tied you to me. Those men captured you because of me, Dick–” 

“As if that’s something new? You think I’ve never been kidnapped before? I’m a vigilante, not some princess in a tower–” Dick cut him off, but Slade shook his head and kept on talking over him. 

“You’re half my age. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you and now you’re saddled with a kid and a criminal–” 

“A future that I chose for myself!” Dick cried desperately. They were suddenly only a few feet apart. 

“Then you’ll die just like everyone else who chose it!” Slade yelled. Dick gestured with his hands widely. 

“That’s always a fucking possibility, Slade! It has been since I was twelve. I know that, and so do you!”

“Bull shit . You’re in more danger for knowing me, don’t pretend you aren’t. Nightwing is a local hero. Deathstroke is an international mercenary, they’re not the same–” 

“That never used to bother you before! But now it’s some sort of deal breaker? Why do you care?” Slade grabbed onto Dick’s shirt and shouted back at him before he could stop himself. 

“Because I love you!"

Dick’s eyes went wide and the room went quiet. He could only hear the soft panting of both their breath, the blood rushing in his ears. Slade looked horrified, still clutching tightly to Dick’s shirt. “Wh- what?” he stammered out in disbelief. 

Dick’s shirt slipped softly from Slade’s hands. They flopped down the man’s side. “I love you,” he repeated hoarsely. Dick felt like… like he had been walking down stairs and missed a step. Like all the air in his lungs had evaporated. 

“Since when?” he asked shakily. 

“I don’t know. Too long,” Slade replied. “It doesn't mean anything. I'm here to take care of you. That's all I’m trying to do.” 

Dick growled, surprise evaporating into annoyance. Of all the hard-headed, emotionally immature, idiotic– “Stop deciding you know what's best for me without ever bothering to ask me how I feel!” 

“I–” Dick cut him off. He grabbed Slade’s shirt and yanked him down into an aggressive kiss. Their teeth clacked together roughly. Slade was frozen for a second, processing, before he grabbed onto Dick’s back and pulled them as close together as he could. Dick wrapped his arms around Slade’s neck. 

His mind wandered back to that abandoned building, to the way the puddles of blood had glinted in the low light. To the way Hugo had looked before he died, how Dick had never seen anyone so afraid. How he’d never seen Slade look so angry before. 

Make no mistake, he’d seen Slade kill. That wasn’t new. But he’d almost never done it with anything other than detached satisfaction. Dick could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen Slade genuinely enraged. With Grant. With Joey. And now… with him. 

Maybe he should be afraid. He was, after all, painstakingly aware that the hands cradling him so tightly now could also snap his neck without a second thought. But they wouldn’t. And so he wasn’t. 

Dick would never be able to agree with Slade’s… profession. If he had it his way, Slade would quit, and never look back. But for some reason, that wasn’t enough to hold him back anymore. What had started as a flight of passion half-based in rebellion against Bruce had grown into this. Slade holding him, and Dick, feeling not- not passionate, or afraid, or even lustful. Just safe. 

Eventually Dick pulled back, although Slade still kept one hand cradled against the back of his head. Dick smacked his chest lightly. “Of course I love you, you idiot,” he mumbled. Slade kept his eye fixed on Dick’s lips, now puffy and swollen. 

“That’s not a good idea,” he said softly. Dick rolled his eyes. 

“Okay.” He went up on his tiptoes and kissed Slade anyway. 

~~~

Slade watched Moana with him. And spent the night with him after. Not doing anything, either, just… sleeping. They’d never done that before. It was sort of awkward at first, two bodies lying side by side like planks. But eventually, Dick got tired of listening to the vein in Slade’s head pulse, and poked a teasing finger on his nose. 

Slade had stared at his amused grin with the expression of a man who had just stepped in dog shit. But then he grumbled, and pulled Dick close, tucking him beneath his chin to hide his grin in Dick’s hair. Things weren’t as awkward after that. 

Slade slept with him the next night. And the night after that. And every night until his toothbrush had magically traveled into Dick’s bathroom, and there was a drawer full of his clothes in Dick’s wardrobe. Slade barely even went into the room that was technically “his” anymore. Undeniably, their relationship had shifted from one of mutual obligation, physical attraction, and grudging respect to an actual, honest-to-god, relationship. Which left only one path forward. 

It was time for Slade to meet the family. 

For real, this time. Not on a battlefield, or in a tense few minute conversation. Alfred had been pushing for a family dinner for weeks now, and Dick was running out of excuses to delay. Awkward as it was, it seemed Bruce was genuinely trying to make an effort at repairing their relationship. But right now, Slade was a jagged tear in between them. They’d been dancing around the subject, but they’d have to address it sooner or later. 

Hopefully, the presence of Alfred and Jason would prevent the two of them from tearing each other's throats out long enough for them to eat and leave. Dick shifted awkwardly as the manor door swung open, revealing Alfred. He held out the bottle of wine Slade had told him to bring with a smile that felt too wide on his face. “Hi, Alfred. We brought wine. Sorry we’re late,” he said. Slade stayed silent next to him, so Dick elbowed him discreetly. 

“Thank you for inviting us,” he said in a tone of voice Dick hoped wasn’t recognizable as sarcasm. 

Alfred graciously took the wine, and brought them down the hall, explaining the menu for the evening. Dick shot Slade a warning glare. “You’re not even trying, ” he mouthed. Slade rolled his eye. 

"Should I be?” he mouthed back apathetically. Dick felt his eye twitch, and he was opening his mouth to retort when he caught the tail end of Alfred asking him something. 

“-right, Master Dick?” Alfred said. Dick snapped his head back to the butler, who was staring at him expectantly. 

“Uh. Yes?” Dick responded hopefully. Alfred nodded, looking pleased, and continued down the hall. Dick shot a panicked glance at Slade. “What did I just agree to?” he whispered desperately. Slade just looked at him  with an amused glint in his eye, and followed Alfred into the dining room. 

Dick took in the massive room. It was gorgeous, rich mahogany with over-dramatic chandeliers and massive paintings decorating the space. Back when he was still living in the manor, it had been reserved for entertaining guests. The three of them had only ever eaten at the small table in the kitchen. The dining rooms (of which there were several) had always seemed too big and unused to be any comfort during dinner. 

That feeling lingered. There was too much empty space for them to fill– although Dick noted there was one more guest than he had been expecting. 

“Clark!” he exclaimed with a smile, spotting the man seated to the right of Bruce. “I didn’t know you’d be here!” Clark smiled at him as Slade pulled out their chairs and sat them down across from him. The layout of the table was now Jason, Dick, Slade- Bruce, at the head, and then Clark on the other side. Dick had the slight tugging thought that it perhaps wasn’t a good idea to seat Bruce and Slade next to each other- but it was too late. 

“Oh, yeah,” Clark replied sheepishly, “I had a free evening, so–” Alfred quickly returned to the room holding several platters piled high with food. In the distraction, Dick leaned over, whispering to Jason out of the side of his mouth. 

“Clark?” he questioned.

Jason shrugged. “You’ve kinda missed a lot,” he whispered back. Dick blinked in surprise, mind snagging on what the hell that was supposed to mean– but Bruce was already standing. Alfred took his seat next to Clark, and Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“I’d like to thank you all for coming,” he said, eyes darting to Slade, “and I hope you enjoy the food.”

 That was it, apparently, because he promptly sat back down and started serving himself food with the single minded focus of an extremely uncomfortable man. The other members of the table looked at each other for a moment, before following his lead. The next few minutes were filled only by the sound of clinking plates and silverware. Eventually, Clark broke the silence. “So… Jason, how’s that report on Frankenstein going?” Jason immediately started off on a rant on the themes and morals of the book, decreasing the tension a considerable amount. Dick could feel his shoulders slumping slightly. 

Bruce seemed grateful. He smiled softly at Jason, completely attentive. Dick’s gaze drifted slightly over to Clark, who was watching Bruce with a similar expression. Dick felt his curiosity peak even further. Missed a lot indeed… 

Thankfully, the conversation followed at least semi-naturally from there. Aside from the occasional awkward pause, the table soon filled with talk of Jason’s schooling, and Justice League missions, and Alfred’s latest struggles in trying to import a foreign tea Bruce had liked. Eventually, attention turned to Dick. 

“Whah arh you gunna name her?” Jason asked through a mouthful of food. Alfred shot him a reprimanding look, and he swallowed sheepishly. “I vote Elizabeth,” he declared. “It’s romantic.” 

“I like Lily,” Clark offered with a jab of his fork. 

“No, no!” Jason interrupted, “Think about it! Elizabeth has like, so many nicknames you could make!” He started listing them off his fingers. “Ellie, Lizzie, Beth, Liza, Eli–” 

“What about Edith?” Alfred proposed over Jason’s continual monologue. “Edith is sophisticated.”

Dick scrunched his face up in doubt. “Edith’s an old lady's name, though, don’t you think?”

Alfred hmphed pretentiously. “It’s traditional.”

Clark elbowed Bruce unsubtly. “Got any suggestions, Bruce?” he probed.

Bruce looked up from his food, making eye contact with Dick. He was quiet for a moment, working his jaw. He opened his mouth, before finally looking away. “No,” he finally settled on, turning back towards his food. There was a thud from underneath the table. “But I’m sure whatever you choose will be good,” he added hastily. Clark looked mollified. 

“Lily would be another flower name,” Slade added gruffly, the first time he’d spoken all night.

Clark blinked, and smiled stiffly. “Oh, your other daughter. Rose, was it?” Slade nodded. 

“Right,” Bruce drawled, “this will be your fourth child now, won’t it, Slade?” 

Slade’s grip on his fork tightened imperceptibly. Dick brought a cautious hand down to his thigh, and squeezed it softly. 

“Yes. My parents would’ve loved to see it,” he said flatly, and Bruce’s eye twitched. “I came from a big family myself, you have to understand.” 

“Really?” Bruce asked, scraping his fork against his plate loudly. “They’ve passed on by now, I’m assuming?” Slade nodded and Dick’s grip on his thigh strengthened. 

“Peacefully in their sleep,” he said, like he couldn’t fucking help himself.

“Old age, then. No surprise- how old are you again, Slade?” Bruce replied, tone high and artificially polite. Slade was opening his mouth to retort when Alfred stood abruptly, his chair scraping disruptively on the ground. 

“I do believe it’s time for dessert. Master Bruce, come help me in the kitchen?” he announced, tone of voice communicating that it was most definitely not a request. Bruce looked slightly disappointed, but stood anyway. 

Dick breathed a sigh of relief as they left. Crisis averted. “I’ve actually already decided on a name,” he said sheepishly. Jason perked up beside him. 

“Elizabeth?” he asked excitedly. Dick chuckled. 

“No, not Elizabeth. It’s a surprise, actually.”

Slade raised an eyebrow. “What, I don’t get a say?”

Dick wrapped his arms around his belly with a faux pout. “Yeah, you can get a say once you squeeze out a head the size of basketball from your-” 

Alfred and Bruce returned, both holding plates with slices of chocolate cake. Dick was distracted from his tirade by the watering in his mouth. Fuck, he missed Alfred’s cooking. He dove in immediately, pointedly ignoring the way Slade and Bruce glared at each other before doing the same. 

The rest of the night passed without incident. Well, relatively without incident. Slade and Bruce still made a variance of snarky comments to each other, but the poking at past traumas was kept to a minimum. Jason and Clark mostly entertained the table, unerringly positive in the face of the insurmountable social inadequacy of their tablemates. Dick just kept quiet and ate, watching everyone interact with the interest of someone watching a multi-car collision. 

Two hours after they had arrived, Dick and Slade headed out the door, sans wine, bellies full, and actually unscathed. “The food was great, Alfred, thank you,” Dick said with a smile, arms locked with Jason as they walked. Bruce stuck out a stubborn hand out to Slade, never one to back down from a challenge. Dick watched warily as they clasped hands and stood there. He swore he heard bones creak. “Well, we better get going,” he said after a moment, pulling Slade back with a polite smile. “Baby’s tired!” He patted his belly. 

He gave Clark a side hug. “You heading home too, big blue?”

Clark coughed awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, totally. I flew here, so…” 

Dick blinked and pulled back. “...Right. Well, goodnight everyone.” He waved and Slade pulled him out the door. Alfred waved back, and closed it behind them. They both slumped, relaxing now that they were free from judgment.

Slade sighed, and rubbed his eye. “Christ. I’m never doing that again.”

Dick looped his arm through his and they trudged to their car. “What, having a dick measuring contest with Bruce? You better not.” Slade’s mouth ticked up despite himself. 

“No, attending one of these hellish dinners.” 

Dick shrugged. “It’s cute that you think that.”

They climbed into the car. Dick wiggled, trying to get comfortable. He peered back at the manor, looming ominously in the night. It seemed so still and quiet now. “Clark didn’t leave,” he announced thoughtfully.

Slade hummed in acknowledgement, and started the car. Dick was quiet for a moment, before finally saying it aloud.

“Clark’s fucking my dad.” Slade nodded, flicking their headlights on. 

“Yup,” he confirmed unapologetically. Dick slid back in his seat, resting his hands on his belly. 

“I… don’t know how to feel about that.” 

“Personally,” Slade said, turning around to watch the driveway as he backed out, “I think it’s fucking hilarious.” 

~~~

Barbara, upon being asked to join the dinner, had laughed hysterically for a solid two minutes. She did not attend.

Chapter Text

Two weeks before his due date, Slade had packed an emergency “to-go” bag for the hospital. Just in case. Their plan was to head there the morning before, so they could get pre-situated in their room and wait out the birth there. But Slade said that both Grant and Joey had come early, and it was better to be prepared. 

Well, thank god for that. 

It had been a restless night. They’d gone to bed early, and Slade had passed out just about the moment his head hit the pillow. Dick never understood how someone with such a dangerous life could be such a heavy sleeper. He’d curled in close next to the man, and drifted in and out of sleep to the sound of his rumbling snores. He shifted constantly. More than the nausea, or the bloating, or the cravings, the worst part of the pregnancy was the soreness. No matter how he moved, he was always tugging on some muscle uncomfortably. 

Some time in the night- so late it was really considered early– Dick awoke with a grumble to a familiar twinge in his back. He twisted, wiggling over to his other side with a grunt to nuzzle up against Slade’s arm. He was almost falling back asleep again when he registered the wetness between his legs. 

Embarrassingly, that wasn’t exactly new either. Apparently, nothing was less appealing to a bladder than a solid 10 pounds of baby sitting directly on top of it. Still, it was the first time it had happened with Slade in the bed, so Dick felt his heart drop slightly. He rose, moving to get out of bed, when a shooting cramp made his breath stutter. His eyes widened in the dark of his room. Oh shit.  

“Slade,” he gasped out, moving to shake the man awake. Slade grunted, bringing a hand up blindly to tug at Dick’s arm. 

“'S early,” he mumbled, “sleep.” 

“Slade,” he hissed again, “it’s happening. Wake up.” 

That got his attention. Slade’s eye blinked open. “What? Now?” he slurred. Dick pressed a hand to his stomach, shifting uncomfortably on the damp sheets. 

“Yes!” 

“Fuck. Okay,” Slade tore off his sheets and got up, grabbing his eyepatch off the nightstand. He grabbed the go-bag off the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. Dick followed slowly, trying to breath slowly and controlled. Too slow for Slade, apparently, because a split second after watching Dick try climb off the bed, he scooped him up in a princess carry and strode out of the room. 

“Wait! Slade! Stop, I have to change–” 

“Change of clothes in the go bag,” he said immediately, flying down the stairs. 

“I am not driving to the hospital in wet pants,” Dick snapped, but cut off with a groan as another contraction hit him. How far apart was that? Five minutes? Six? He couldn’t tell. Whatever leniency Slade might have had was evaporated by the sound, and he doubled his pace. They reached the entryway, and Slade kicked on his shoes, and grabbed Dick’s. Then, they were out the door and running to the SUV, which Slade had been parking in the driveway for easy access. (Just in case.) 

Slade gently set Dick down on the passenger seat, whipping around the car to his side. Dick barely registered his surroundings. His perception sunk in, until all he was focused on was the pain of the contractions and his own steady breathing. He closed his eyes. In. Out. In. Out. This was nothing. He was fine. He was Nightwing, for fuck's sake, he could handle this. He just had to stay calm. 

For all his contemplation of life after the baby came, he was suddenly aware of the fact that he had spent hardly any time worrying about actually getting her there. And oh fuck, was it scary. There was a human inside of him. There was a human inside of him, and he was going to have to push her out. Right now. Pain was one thing. He could handle pain. But this was… fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

His steady breathing was quickly devolving into hyperventilation, and Dick could do nothing to stop it. Every time he started to get a handle on his spiraling thoughts, another contraction would hit and he’d be violently flung into panic once more. 

Dimly, Dick registered Slade grabbing his hand. The steady pressure served as an anchor point, enough for Dick to hear Slade murmuring comforts and encouragement. “It’s okay, little bird, you’re gonna be fine. You’ve got this, just breathe.” 

“I can’t-” Dick gasped out. 

“You can,” Slade stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. “With me, Dick, come on. In.” Dick sucked in a huge, gasping breath. “Out.” He let it all out in a huff and Slade squeezed his hand again. “In. We’re almost there, baby, you’ve got it.” 

He continued talking until they reached the hospital. Apparently Slade had called ahead sometime during Dick’s little black out, because there was a team of nurses waiting with a stretcher in the garage when they arrived. Dick paled, once again reminded that this was really happening. The few moments Slade let go of his hand moving around the car to get him felt like a lifetime. 

Still, it was only a few seconds before he was in Slade’s arms again as the man transferred him to the stretcher. “Contractions started at least 20 minutes ago, maybe less. Four minutes apart–” someone started to wheel him towards the elevator, Slade following closely behind, “–he’s O positive, had minor asthma, although it’s mostly gone now, and–”

One of the nurses cut him off. “Mr. Grayson is one of our most high-profile cases. We have all of his records on file, Mr. Wilson. I promise you, he is in good hands.” Slade went quiet then, biting the inside of his mouth with a pained look down at Dick. He looked as if he was suppressing more word vomit. 

“Where’s Leslie?” Dick asked worriedly. He couldn’t- he didn’t recognize any of the nurses. 

“It’s the middle of the night, Mr. Grayson,” a masked face said down at him, hospital blurring around him. “Thompkins is at home.” 

“What?” he exclaimed, heart rate rising. “But that’s- I need her! She's supposed to be here!” Slade moved alongside the stretcher, walking quickly to keep up. 

“I called her, Dick, she’s on her way.” 

Dick nodded breathlessly, and then let out a sharp cry as his insides clenched down again. “Fuck! Fuck! Slade!” he reached out blindly with his hand and Slade grabbed it tightly. 

“I’m right here, little bird, I’ve got you.” 

“Ah- god! This fucking sucks!” he yelped, screwing his eyes shut tightly. Slade opened his mouth to speak again, and Dick snapped his eyes open to glare at him fiercely. “You,” he snarled, “you did this to me!” 

Slade blanched, and the nurses finally rolled him into his room. Dick groaned loudly, tossing his head back. Panic and fear were quickly lost to the sheer need to weather the pain. Dick’s sense of time evaporated once more. It could’ve been minutes. It could’ve been hours. Nurses hurried in and out of his room. Someone peeled his soiled pajama pants off, and guided his legs into stirrups. Slade stayed by his side, weathering the crushing strength of Dick’s grip. As well as his occasional screams of expletives. 

“Fucking shit fuck dammit!” Dick screeched right about when Leslie finally walked in. Undeterred by the screaming, she snapped on a pair of latex gloves and made her way immediately to his side. 

“Dilation?” she asked some person off to the side, checking a place that showed her more of Dick than he had ever realistically wanted her to see. “Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?” she asked, leaning in to push his sweaty hair out of his face. 

“Just dandy,” he gritted out. Leslie stroked his hair. 

“Don’t worry, you’re almost there, okay? Just a little longer.” She turned to Slade then, talking to him in some kind of medical jargon that Dick couldn’t muster the concentration to understand. 

He clung to that hope. Just a little longer. Almost done. He’s almost done. Some blurry figure waved a hand in front of his face. “Mr. Grayson, I need you to push. Don’t fight the contractions. Work with them.” He nodded as best he could, and on the next hard push down, he felt something– something in between his legs. 

Holy fuck. That was her. That was– his daughter was in between his legs . His next howl was partly due to that realization. Only partly, because wouldn’t you know, his daughter just so happened to hurt like hell. “That’s it, push!” Someone yelled. 

“Dilation increasing-” 

“She’s crowning!” The whole room pulsed with movement, loud voices and beeping machinery. Dick tipped his head to the side, panting. His eyes met Slade, and everything went quiet. 

The fear disappeared. Slade didn’t spare a single glance to the doctors and nurses flurrying about the room. Instead, he just stared at Dick with something akin to awe.  He stroked a thumb softly over Dick’s hand. “Come on, little bird. Almost there,” he murmured, and the moment broke. 

Dick squeezed his eyes shut and pushed one last time, letting out a shriek. The pressure between his legs grew and grew until he didn’t think he could bear it anymore. And then all at once, it vanished, and a small, weak cry filled the room. Dick gasped as someone lifted up a  tiny little… red wrinkly thing up off the bed. They wiped it off and then handed it to him. 

And there she was. 

Dick had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. She screwed her eyes shut and wailed at a volume seemingly incompatible with her tiny lungs. God. She was so small. Her little fingers, and toes, and– 

“We did that,” he whispered to Slade, who was leaning over his shoulder to look at her too. 

“We did,” he whispered back, staring at her like she hung the moon and stars. She hiccupped on her own tears, fluid still dripping off most of her body. Some small, buried part of Dick wanted to be grossed out. The rest of him wanted to hold her tightly and never, ever let her go, no matter what she might be covered in. 

“Mostly me,” Dick couldn’t help but whisper out of the corner of his mouth. 

Slade huffed in amusement. “Mostly you,” he agreed. “She looks just like you,” he murmured. She really did– her dark skin and hair, the little dimples on the side of her cheek, even the way her nose crinkled up. She was like a little Richard twin– if Dick didn’t know who the father was, he’d never be able to guess. More than anything, though… Dick thought she looked like his mom. The thought made his eyes well up even more. His parents always wanted more kids. And despite the circumstances of her birth, he thought they would be overjoyed to meet her. 

It was like a little piece of them had been restored to the world. Dick wasn’t the only Grayson left, anymore. 

He couldn’t wait to tell her all about them. 

After a moment that was heartbreakingly too short, Thompkins reached over and gently took her away. Dick let out a panicked noise, and she shushed him reassuringly, handing the baby over to a nurse. 

“We need to get some tests done, and we’ll bring her right back, alright? Just a few minutes.” Dick nodded, feeling unconvinced, hands still outstretched slightly. Slade brought a hand up to rub at his shoulder reassuringly, and turned to speak with someone behind him. 

Dick lay back, closing his eyes. He let darkness take him, fading in and out of sleep for a few minutes until someone was pushing a little bundle into his arms. His daughter, now cleaned and wrapped in a blue blanket, still whimpering softly. A nurse handed him a bottle. “She’s all good,” the man said, handing a paper to Slade. “That’s her birth certificate. Fill it out when you get a minute. And, uh–” His eyes darted to the door. “You don’t have to let them in yet. But just so you know, you have some visitors.” Dick let out an exhausted moan. He could only imagine the hoard waiting outside. 

“They can wait,” Slade said firmly. “Tell them I’ll let them in when he’s ready.” The nurse nodded, and went out, leaving them alone. All three of them. 

Dick pressed the bottle to his daughter’s lips hesitantly. She immediately latched on, guzzling the formula in big gulps. “Oh, baby. You hungry?” he asked her with quiet awe. 

“What a strong girl,” Slade said, reaching out a finger to bump against her hand. She immediately curled her little fingers around his, barely managing to fit it in her palm. Dick melted, more overcome with love than he’d ever been in his life.

“Do I get to know her name now?” Slade asked jokingly. Dick nodded, ignoring the way his voice wavered as he spoke.  

“Haley Martha Grayson-Wilson,” Dick answered.

Slade looked up, raising an eyebrow in surprise, a smile tugging at his face. “That’s a mouthful. I thought you said Grayson-Wilson sounded stupid?” Dick shifted, peering down at the little girl sleeping in his arms. 

“I changed my mind,” he murmured, “I think it’s a perfect fit.” 

Slade looked down at his small family. A perfect fit indeed. 

“Grayson still goes first though,” Dick added, not looking up from Haley. Slade just hummed indulgently, and pressed a soft kiss to the man’s sweaty forehead. 

“Whatever you want, little bird.”