Work Text:
Dick’s head was spinning. He was on a roof. He was on his feet. And he wasn’t alone.
He blinked hard trying to help the world come into focus. It was like looking through drunk goggles. His head was a mess, but this wasn’t a hangover, at least not one from any substance he had previously experienced. It was closer to a high powered tranq wearing off than the buzz of alcohol. But if he had been given a tranquilizer, how had he ended up in his suit, on a roof, in the middle of the night?
It’s hard to think of the last thing you remember when you aren’t sure where to even start. The days had been running together as it was. Was it still Tuesday? He’d been working overtime in Bludhaven, just to be called back to Gotham to assist in an all-hands-on-deck situation. Dick didn’t even remember what the nature of the emergency was. Arkham breakout? New villain themed chemical concoction wrecking havoc? Some world ending invasion? It hadn’t really mattered at the time. He’d just gone back to Gotham because that was where he needed to be.
He was pretty sure he was still in Gotham. Bludhaven and Gotham were similar, but Dick had spent enough time in both that he knew their tells better than most, even without looking directly at a skyline (and right now he didn’t really trust his legs to carry him across the roof for a better view). Gotham had more of a haze, but his eyes still weren’t cooperating. He let them drift closed and listened. Gotham was older, and its buildings amplified and carried sound differently. And then there was the smell. Both cities were on the waterfront, and yet they each had a distinct odor to them. Bludhaven’s was more often remarked upon, but that didn’t leave Gotham odorless. It wasn’t a lack of odor that confirmed he was in Gotham, just a different one (and frankly they were both terrible).
Okay. He was in Gotham. A quick self-evaluation didn’t reveal any obvious injuries. He could still feel the familiar weight of his escrima sticks and various gadgets, so it wasn’t likely he had been captured, unless Gotham henchmen had gotten so incompetent that disarming a masked vigilante was no longer part of the standard operating procedure.
None of this information had done anything to clarify who was with him on the roof. Whoever it was hadn’t said anything, hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything at all while he stood here and tried to put himself back together. It was impossible to determine if it was friend or foe. He couldn’t explain why he knew there was someone else on the roof with him, but years of training and honing his instincts specifically to not be caught unaware paid off sometimes. So now he was playing acknowledgement chicken with someone who might not be entirely interested in him regaining his bearings.
His eyes were still providing more noise than useful input, so he kept them closed. If things did take a turn, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to fight essentially blindfolded.
All of this thought process had taken less than a minute, but the longer it stretched, the less likely it seemed that his companion meant him direct harm. It wouldn’t be wise of an adversary to let him recover from… whatever this was. And yet a friend would likely have said something by now. Add to that, the rather small list of people capable of being this still and Dick was starting to have a suspicion.
When in doubt, lead with banter. “Look, I’m not having a great night, so if we could just skip the song and dance, that would be perfect.”
There was a deep chuckle to his left, finally letting him pinpoint the other’s location. “You look like hell, kid.” Sometimes Dick hated being right. Hopefully this wouldn’t be one of those times. Slade’s voice was clear, which meant no mask. Which probably meant that he wasn’t here for a fight. Probably.
“So, maybe you can help me out here.” Dick leaned his head back a bit and tried to appear relaxed. “Are we currently in the middle of a city or world ending catastrophe of some sort?”
“Currently? No, not that I’m aware of.” Slade’s voice was always hard to read. He didn’t give away much of anything he didn’t want to. But at the moment he almost seemed… concerned? That was new.
Maybe Dick was in worse shape than he thought.
Gotham was safe. That was good. But he might be missing a significant amount of time. That was less good. Dick sighed. “And, just to be clear, you’re not here to kill me right now, are you?”
It couldn’t hurt to check.
Slade snorted out a laugh. It was a very unfamiliar sound. “No, Grayson. No one’s been stupid enough to put a hit out on you in some time.”
Well, that was a comfort. Although it was bold of Slade to share.
Dick tried opening his eyes again. The world wasn’t spinning anymore, but everything still seemed… off. Like someone had given a kid a TV remote and let them mess with all of the settings. Maybe the contrast was too low and the tint of the colors was offset. Or maybe the sharpness was too high and there was too much motion smoothing. Or maybe he had been listening to Tim ramble too much about the “correct” settings for a TV.
Everything still just felt wrong. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the lenses of his mask. There were safeguards for that, and if the display was actually impeding vision, it was programmed to turn itself off entirely. So the problem was his eyes. Or his brain.
Neither was an easy fix. But it didn’t seem to be hallucinations, so he could probably trust them enough to keep his eyes open now.
He didn’t know this rooftop, which wasn’t entirely surprising. There were probably only about two dozen rooftops in all of Gotham he could just suddenly become aware on and still know where he was. That was… probably an impressively high number now that he thought about it, but still, considering the size of Gotham, it made sense that he wouldn’t know this one.
He could just ask Deathstroke where they were, but that seemed like admitting more than he was ready to. Slade was already keeping an eye on him, which, given his line of questioning so far, was fair. He didn’t need to give Slade any more ammunition.
“I didn’t think you were going to be in Gotham tonight.” Slade’s voice was softer than Dick expected. No hint of a taunt or a challenge. It was unnerving.
“Neither did I.” Dick sighed. “Got summoned. Showed up.” He decided not to include the part about not being exactly sure when “tonight” was.
“So, you just dropped everything and came when Daddy Bats called?” This wasn’t completely outside of normal for a Slade taunt, but the tone was wrong. It wasn’t condescending, it was almost exasperated.
Dick really didn’t want to be having this argument with Slade right now. He really didn't want to be having any argument with Slade right now, but this topic especially felt like it should be off limits. Luckily, he was an expert at deflection. “What can I say?” He shrugged. “I’m a people pleaser.”
Slade finally moved, which was somewhat of a relief as it gave Dick something to focus on. He was still giving Dick his space but began to leisurely pace along the roof. “Which wouldn’t be so bad if you would occasionally consider yourself as one of the ‘people’ whose needs should be considered.”
Dick would expect a callout like that from Roy or Donna or Wally, but from Slade? His head hurt too much for this. Well, if the conversation was going to be ridiculous, Dick could lean into it. “Awwwww, Slade. I didn’t know you cared.”
“Right, because you make it so easy,” Slade muttered. Which was again, kinda weird, but also, ouch? He had expected just an outright denial and not… that . Like, Slade, of all people, calling him out somehow made it worse. For reasons Dick didn’t really have the brain space for right now.
This was really turning into a delightful evening.
“Look,” Dick tried, but probably failed, to keep how tired he was out of his voice, “like I said, I’m having kind of a shit night, so if we could just not do… whatever this is, that would be much appreciated.”
Slade let out another snorted laugh. “Yeah, my money’s on it not being just the one night.” Dick hated when Slade was right. “You look like you crawled out of your own grave.”
“I’m sure it's no worse than when I was smothered to death while hooked up to a Murder Machine.” Not his best attempt at gallows humor (he still had much to learn from Jason), but he wasn’t really anywhere near his best right now. “I’ll have to tell you about that sometime.”
Slade stopped cold. When he spoke, his voice was flat. “I know, kid. I was there.”
Well, that was certainly the most ridiculous thing Slade could have said. Dick barely restrained a laugh. “No, you weren’t.”
Dick stared at him. There was no moon tonight, so the shadows on the rooftop were thick. Still, he could see that Slade’s face wasn’t the stony, expressionless mask he usually hid behind. Slade just looked confused. Just as confused as Dick was.
This whole conversation had felt slightly off. Slade’s responses were never quite what Dick had expected. And by this point, Dick could usually anticipate Slade fairly well. Lying about something of this magnitude also wasn’t like Slade. Dick didn’t think he actually was lying. All of that, combined with Dick’s messed up head, meant that things were possibly much worse than he had previously expected.
“Okay, you are either weirdly trying to gaslight me, or…” He turned from Slade and walked over to the edge of the roof, toward the lights of downtown, trying very hard to convince his legs not to shake as he did so. He leaned over the waist-high ledge and gazed out at the Gotham skyline.
It was like looking at one of those picture sets in a kid’s puzzle book. Find the ten differences between these two pictures. The man’s shirt is red on the left, but it’s yellow on the right. The cat on the left has three stripes, but on the right it only has two. The woman on the left is missing her hat.
Except this was on a much grander scale. The skyline was still familiar, still recognizable as Gotham. But it was also different enough that it was completely foreign to him.
Dick turned away and let his body sink down until his back was resting against the ledge. He felt completely drained, and his head was getting worse again. “I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
Slade wasn’t an idiot. “This isn’t your universe. Your Earth.”
“Give the man a prize.” Dick pressed the heels of his hand against the top of his mask. He really needed to remember how he got here.
Okay. Start over. He was a fish out of water in completely unknown territory. His assets were limited to what he had on him. His allies… perhaps included this version of Deathstroke. He had responded with humor at the suggestion of trying to kill Dick, so unless he had a vendetta against all multiverse travelers, he might be at least willing to help him get in touch with someone here who could get him home.
Well, he had to start somewhere. “What’s your relationship with this universe’s Dick Grayson?”
Slade bristled at the question. “It’s… complicated.”
Holy unhelpful and yet somehow entirely expected answers, Batman. Dick gave a small laugh. “Okay, so some things never change.”
Dick could feel Slade’s eyes on him, and he felt like a bug in a jar. Slade was evaluating him, looking for differences, sizing him up like he would an opponent. But there was something else too, something unfamiliar. Slade was looking at him with a sense of sympathy and protection, and again, he wasn’t trying to hide it.
This Slade had an air of care and concern about him. And while that wasn’t something Dick was familiar with in his reality, it was an all too familiar fantasy.
Of course, Dick had thought about it. His thoughts about Slade had always been too complicated to define, but there was one thought that always led the charge. The mantra of doomed relationships everywhere: Maybe I can change him. And he had tried, in little ways, things that he had hoped would snowball into something more.
There had been glimmers, moments where Dick thought the momentum might be shifting, but nothing ever seemed to stick. And their uneasy status quo of not trying to kill each other was all that remained.
This Slade seemed different in all the ways he had dared to hope for. It was like some sort of cruel multiverse joke. But if this universe’s Slade was different…
“Just tell me that I’m… that he’s not a villain or something.”
Slade gave a breathy laugh and offered him a small smile. “No. He’s almost annoyingly on the side of the angels.”
Dick nodded. He really hated multiverse doppelgangers. They always seemed to be a sort of distortion, like looking in a funhouse mirror. They were either an exaggeration of all of your worst traits, a reflection of just how vile you could easily become, or they were a success in every way you were not, showing just how much you had failed.
He didn’t bear this universe’s Dick Grayson any ill will, but he also hoped to get home without ever having to meet him.
Multiverse travel was always wonky and often came with unexpected side effects. And since he still wasn’t entirely sure how he had ended up here in the first place…
“Can you… I don’t think I really want details, but is there an easy way for you to check if the Dick Grayson of this Earth is still where he’s supposed to be?”
Slade's head cocked to the side slightly. “Yeah. That won't be a problem.” He was still watching Dick intently. Which, again, was fair. He didn’t have any idea as to why Dick was here or what his motives might be. Slade wasn’t the type to turn his back on an unknown threat.
Which was why it surprised Dick so much when Slade promptly turned away and walked to the other side of the roof, seemingly without a single worry about a possible attack. Well, then. Dick must really look like hell to be ignored so easily.
Slade had crossed the roof, but it wasn’t a massive one to begin with. And while Dick couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the comm line, he could still make out Slade’s side of the conversation clearly, despite his hushed tone. You could only be so quiet on windy rooftops and expect the comm to pick up what you were saying.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
Dick tried very hard not to fill in the other side of the conversation in his head.
“No, I’m fine. I just ran into some weirdness and wanted to check in.”
But it was almost impossible not to at least imagine the other version of himself on the other end of the line.
“Nothing dangerous. Just unexpected.”
The other him who was concerned for this version of Slade.
“It’ll be fine. I want to see this through.”
The version of Dick who Slade reassured instead of taunted.
“Yes, Dick. I promise. I will.”
Dick.
That was what did it. That was what sealed in his mind exactly how different his relationship with Slade was on this Earth. Slade called him kid or Nightwing or Grayson or Robin (when he was feeling extra smug) and, every so often, he got as intimate as Richard. But he almost never called him Dick. And when he did, well, it certainly didn’t sound like that.
He was used to hearing his name with a hint of malice. Not fondness. Not like Slade was smiling as he said it, without the hint of a sneer.
Eavesdropping had left him feeling unbalanced, and it took a moment to realize that his body seemed to be tagging along with the feeling. He had started to sway. Not enough that he couldn’t correct it yet, but it was getting harder to convince his body to do what he wanted. There was a darkness at the edge of his vision, the threat of unconsciousness looming just beyond his stubborn willpower.
Slade was about halfway back across the roof when he noticed. “What’s wrong, kid?”
He wanted to lie. He wanted to say that nothing was wrong. But lying took too much effort right now. “I’m not feeling so great. Wally warned me about this. It’s a multiverse travel thing. He calls it Summoning Sickness. Sort of like dimensional jetlag. Takes a bit to get in sync. Makes everything fuzzy.”
Slade was appraising him again. “Far be it for me to question a well-traveled speedster, but could the fuzziness also have something to do with how little sleep I assume you’ve been getting?”
Dick paused. “That’s not fair.”
“What?"
“I’m enough like your Dick that you can call me out. But you’re not… I don’t have the same advantage.” Dick felt warm. He didn’t think he was blushing. He hadn’t admitted anything too telling. No, this was more like a rising fever, except that it was coming on way too fast.
This time he barely caught himself from swaying past the point of equilibrium.
Slade moved toward him, and the sudden movement, combined with the fact that it was never wise to let your guard down around Deathstroke the Terminator, made Dick throw up his hands in defense. Not that he could do much against a full powered blow from Slade in his position, but the instincts were strong.
Slade ceased forward motion immediately. He seemed hurt by Dick’s reaction. “I don’t know if where you’re from my word means anything to you, but I swear that you are safe here with me. I won't let anything happen to you.”
And Dick believed him. He knew he was safe. Because this Slade cared about him. This Slade maybe even…
Darkness took him before his mind could complete the thought.
Dick woke up to the humming of a familiar lullaby. It was an old song from far away, one he had long since forgotten the words to, and hearing it convinced him that he must still be dreaming. Dreaming of his mother, moving about the room with quite happiness as she prepared for the day. Soon his father would come in and embrace her from behind, kissing her neck and joining her movement so the two were practically dancing.
But the voice humming the song wasn’t female, and Dick jerked fully awake from the dissonance of his expectations. He was curled up on a couch, a brown shabby thing that was far more comfortable than it appeared. His mask and weapons were on a nearby coffee table along with a glass of water. The apartment was nondescript, neither falling apart nor luxurious, and seemed to lack the personal touches of a home. A safehouse. And not one of his.
He pushed himself up slightly to look into the adjoining kitchen where he spotted Slade washing some dishes while humming his mother’s lullaby.
The song paused when Slade noticed him, and he smiled. “Good. You’re up.” He watched Dick’s eyes roam the apartment again. “I was going to give you the bed, but…” Dick’s head may still be pounding, but he’d been a detective long enough to tell that, when Slade finished his sentence, it was not with the words he had originally intended to say. “But I wanted to keep an eye on you.”
Dick was silently very grateful for not waking up in Slade’s bed. That seemed… like entirely too much to deal with right now.
Slade went back to busying himself in the kitchen. “How’s your head?”
“Better.” He would have said it even if it wasn't true, but fortunately, it was. A headache remained, but the fuzziness was gone, and he felt settled and present. Now he just felt normal bad instead of wacky interdimensional travel bad. He still didn’t remember exactly how he had ended up on another Earth entirely, but he hoped it would come, given time.
“There’s aspirin on the table if you need it.”
Dick considered it. It was standard Bat-paranoia not to take random pills from unknown subjects (and most known subjects honestly…), and Dick really knew nothing about this version of Deathstroke other than what his loopy brain had supposedly pieced together. And yet…
He downed the pills and the water. He could feel Slade’s eyes on him. The trust, or perhaps poor judgment, had not gone unnoticed.
At least if this was the world’s most obvious murder attempt, Bruce would never know he had walked right into it.
Slade had finished his chores in the kitchen and came to stand closer to the couch. He’d shed his armor while Dick had slept, and he now wore a casual jacket over a black t-shirt and dark jeans. There was something almost unnerving about seeing Slade in civilian clothes. “I’d like to try to help you get home, kid. Do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Dick looked down at his lap as he reached for the memories. They still felt a long way off. “Bruce called me for an all-hands in Gotham. I must have gotten caught up in whatever we were up against.”
Slade crossed his arms. It was such a familiar gesture that Dick knew, without looking up, the impatient look Slade was giving him. “Was it technology based? Magic? You gotta give me something, Wing.”
Add that to the list of nicknames he was fairly certain his Slade had never called him. He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to block out the six-foot distraction in the room. There was a flash of memory, not much but…
“Magic,” he said looking up at Slade. “I think it was magic. Zee was there.”
Slade nodded. He didn’t look quite as annoyed as Dick had imagined. There was frustration, sure, but also sympathy. He was pretty sure his Slade back home would have seen all of this as a burden, a wayward bird to send on its way as quickly as possible. But this Slade… he looked genuinely concerned. He looked like being stuck in a safehouse babysitting another version of Dick Grayson wasn’t the last place in the world he wanted to be. Which baffled Dick when it seemed like this Slade could be spending that time with his version of–
Best not to let his mind dwell on that.
Slade interrupted his thoughts again. “You still look beat. Get some more rest, and I’ll make a few calls.”
Dick nodded but didn’t move to follow the suggestion.
Slade seemed to hesitate. “Do you want to change? I’m sure I have something around here that would fit.”
Dick very much wanted out of his suit. But he wasn’t sure if changing into Slade’s clothing would make him any more comfortable. Plus there was the possibility that the proffered clothing would fit him because it belonged to the other him. “No. I think I’m good.”
Slade let out a huffed little exhale that Dick couldn’t quite interpret. “Good to know all Graysons are equally impossible,” he muttered.
Dick had to smile at that. “The great multi-universal constant.” There was a small sense of victory in the idea that he could get under the skin of any version of Slade Wilson.
Slade shook his head slightly and returned the smile. He closed the distance between them and scooped up the blanket Dick had dislodged when he awoke. “Get some sleep. I’m sure your people are already working on how to get you back, and we’ll do what we can to help out on our end.”
If there was one thing Dick hated, it was when Slade was unquestionably right. He was still exhausted, working off a long overdue sleep debt. There wasn’t much he could do in this state. He needed to rely on this Slade and the mysterious “we” he had referred to. He needed to rest.
Still, Dick didn’t hide his reluctance as he laid back down on the couch. Just because Slade was right didn’t mean Dick had to be happy about it. Slade covered him with the blanket and tucked him in with a fond look in his eye. Dick wanted to hate it. But he couldn’t hate something that he had been waiting for for such a long time.
Dick could already feel his body pulling him toward sleep. He eyed Slade. “Were those aspirin or sleeping pills?”
“Aspirin,” Slade said gently, “and don’t act like you wouldn’t have known the difference.” He brushed Dick’s bangs out of his eyes. It was such a tender gesture that Dick felt his breath catch in his throat. Slade’s hand froze before he quickly pulled it back. The last thought Dick had as he drifted back to sleep was that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Slade embarrassed before.
It was quiet when Dick next woke. From his vantage point on the couch he couldn’t make out a clock anywhere, so he had no idea how long he had been asleep, let alone how long he had been displaced in this strange universe that was so very close to being like his own.
While he still wasn’t back at one hundred percent, it was fair to say that he was feeling better. It was another reminder not to push himself so hard, not to let it get this bad. He could hear Alfred’s gentle, but firm, admonishments in his head, “You can’t pour from an empty cup, Master Richard.” He was no good to anyone like this, and it was probably a miracle that whatever had sent him to this universe hadn’t outright killed him instead.
Dick sighed as he studied the safehouse’s textured ceiling, allowing his mind to trace shapes and patterns amid the chaos. This was the first time he’d actually been alone since arriving here, and the quiet was nice. And yet, even now, there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind chastising him for not doing more. He should be trying to get back home, and if that was beyond him, then surely there were people who needed help in any version of Gotham.
There was also the annoying voice, which always sounded a bit too much like Bruce, that was questioning everything about this version of Slade. Could he really be trusted? Why would he be so willing to help Dick? What did he have to gain?
There were so many reasons that he should be getting off this couch and out of this apartment and into action, but there were three reasons he wasn’t going to. First of all, he wasn’t Bruce, and Dick was able to trust people. Despite his mentor’s example, Dick believed in people and wasn't usually a terrible judge of character. This Slade had done nothing so far to provoke any suspicion, and he had abundant evidence that the Dick Grayson of this universe trusted him completely. For now, at least, that was good enough for him.
Next, any venture out into the wider world would risk encounters with more alternate universe doppelgangers, and while he seemed to have, somewhat, lucked out with his first encounter, he wasn’t in a hurry to roll the dice again. Multiverse travel was just too weird. He didn’t know how Wally could stand it.
And finally, although it was somewhat of a moot point given that Dick had already made up his mind to stay, he would have found it difficult to leave, since it seemed that wherever Slade had gone, he had taken Dick’s domino mask with him. Still clad in his Nightwing uniform, it would be unthinkable to venture outside without it, and even if he were willing to raid Slade’s closet for clothes he still did not particularly want to wear, venturing out in civilian mode had its own dangers. There was every likelihood that Dick Grayson was just as public of a figure here as he was back home, and the odds of being recognized were always above average at best. And this version of Dick Grayson wasn’t meant to be in Gotham at the moment.
Dick wouldn’t risk exposing the identity of another version of himself, and Slade had clearly figured that out. Yet again, Slade had the advantage, which was something Dick was not entirely unfamiliar with, but it seemed to annoy him more in his current situation.
He tried, once again, to think back to the events that brought him to another universe. He was sure he was right about Zatanna being present, and while she was a formidable opponent against any threat, magical or otherwise, he felt like she hadn’t just been there in a supporting role. Zee had been calling the shots, directing their attack. Which lent support to his guess that it was magic that had displaced him, and thus, most likely magic that would send him back. Dick Grayson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t magical. Which meant that resting was probably the right call, so he would be ready once someone in one or both of their universes figured out how to send him home. He hoped the return trip wouldn’t be quite so disorienting.
And yet, Dick wasn’t exactly in a hurry to go home. He was here, with Slade, not his Slade, but a Slade, and a Slade that he couldn’t resist the temptation to learn more about. He knew that he was treading dangerously and part of him already regretted knowing that this version of Slade even existed. Because if he existed, then maybe it really was possible for him to effect such a change in his Slade. Maybe it was possible for their relationship to become something more. This Slade was proof, wasn’t he?
Dick scrubbed a hand down his face. This was not a productive path to go down, and he knew it. The what ifs in this situation were only going to lead around in circles. Sure, things looked remarkably similar to his own universe, but there could be millions if not billions of tiny variances that had all added up to something different. There was no way to recreate it, that wasn’t how the multiverse worked. No matter how much he learned about this Slade or about the relationship he strongly suspected that he shared with this version of Dick Grayson, it wasn’t going to help him achieve the same back home.
Knowing it was possible didn’t mean that it was something he could have. Any hope he derived from this would be a false one, and learning more was just going to make it hurt so much more once he returned home.
And yet…
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of keys in the door. He bolted upright and had a hand on his escrima sticks where they rested on the coffee table, when Slade’s voice drifted through the still opening door.
“It's just me, Little Bird. Stand down.”
Dick pulled his hand back, embarrassed at Slade, once again, predicting his reactions. He remained sitting up on the sofa, looking down at his hands in his lap and wondering what surprises Slade had in store for him next.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Slade walked into the living room and plopped a plastic bag down on the coffee table. Dick didn’t recognize the logo on the bag, but the contents were clear. Slade had bought him a fresh set of clothing.
Dick looked away, caught off guard again by the kindness. “Thanks. You really didn’t have to–”
Slade cut him off, leaning over him and using every inch of his height to be imposing. Not threateningly so, simply throwing his significant weight around to make a point. “Oh, yes I did. Because you didn’t want to wear my clothes, and you certainly didn’t want to wear his clothes, and you would rather sit around and suffer in silence than actually use your words to say what you want.”
Dick didn’t know what to say, and Slade rightly assumed that he had hit the nail on the head.
“You may not be mine,” and the possessiveness in that one word was intoxicating, “but I can still read you like a book.”
Dick felt a blush rising in his cheeks. As Slade noticed, the smugness in his expression faded a bit, and he straightened, pulling himself out of Dick’s personal space. “Bathroom’s down the hall on the right. There’s some fresh toiletries in there too, if you can bear to use one of my towels.”
“I… Yes. Thank you,” Dick stammered. He felt like he had when he first started attending galas and got dressed down by rich strangers for not knowing every bit of etiquette. He didn’t know how to navigate this situation, but he knew he was doing it wrong.
Why couldn’t this Slade have just tried to kill him?
Despite how off-balance he was feeling, Dick managed to reach out for the bag of clothing and stand without his arms or legs shaking. He took a few steps across the room, in the direction Slade had indicated, before he paused. The distance between them had returned a bit of his confidence, as well as his annoyance.
“You didn’t have to take my mask, you know,” he said without looking back. While it wasn’t exactly typical for his Slade to ask for trust, this one had, but then, in typical Slade fashion, had refused to offer the same in return. Maybe Slade couldn’t read him so well after all.
Without waiting for a response, he continued on to the bathroom, determined to put Slade out of his mind and enjoy shedding the Gotham grime and the mundane pleasure of a hot shower.
The shower was exceedingly normal, and normal was just what Dick needed. The shampoo and soap Slade had provided weren’t brands he recognized, but Dick wasn’t one to be strictly brand loyal, and they were close enough to his usual tastes that he could just close his eyes and try to forget where he was for a few moments.
He tried to remind himself that, in all likelihood, he would be home soon and nothing that happened here would really matter. It would have all the repercussions of a dream. And yet, any time he tried to push past thoughts of Slade and the other version of himself somewhere out there in this universe, his mind drifted back to the soft melody of Slade humming and a part of him, deep down, ached like he hadn’t in a long time.
The clothes Slade had picked out for him (and Dick had to fight to not let himself spiral around that fact for too long) were comfortable and, of course, fit him perfectly. And not just because they were the proper size, no, the clothes fit in the way Dick specifically felt the most comfortable. The shirt was snug without being constricting and the pants were loose without being baggy. Clothes he could move in, forgiving of the occasional impromptu handstand or flip, while remaining cozy and casual.
It was enough to make him almost certain that this wasn’t the first time Slade had bought clothing for a Dick Grayson.
Dick took a moment to remind himself that there were any number of universes that, had he ended up there instead, he would already be dead. And then he took another moment to assure himself that that was, in fact, worse.
He returned to the living room with a towel draped around his neck, still pawing at his damp hair. Slade did not skimp on towels. It was soft and plush, like the kind you find at the most exclusive of resorts. It felt out of place among the exceptionally mediocre furnishings of the safehouse.
Slade was sitting in a chair by the window, a book open in his lap, although he didn’t seem to be reading it and was instead staring broodingly out the window. He didn't look up as Dick reclaimed his seat on the sofa.
Dick noticed that his mask had been returned to his scattered pile of possessions on the coffee table, along with a large mug of what looked to be hot chocolate. There was another pair of aspirin as well, but Dick was feeling good enough to ignore them this time. He settled the blanket around his lap and reached for the mug, taking a tentative sip to check the temperature, and then a longer one once he knew he wouldn’t burn himself.
“I didn’t really think you’d leave,” Slade grumbled.
This, at least, felt a bit familiar. Of course Slade had sat here the entire time Dick had been gone, waiting to continue the conversation and refusing to let Dick have the last word. Still, Slade’s words were apology adjacent at least, so Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Just taking precautions, in case I turned out to be evil?”
Slade scoffed.
“Hey!” Dick felt weirdly offended. “I could be evil!!”
Slade shook his head. “While I’m sure there are plenty of evil Dick Graysons out there in the multiverse, I’m fairly confident in my ability to tell the difference.”
Now Dick did roll his eyes. “Oh, of course, because you are such an expert on good and evil.”
“No,” Slade leaned forward in his seat a bit, “I just know–”
Slade stopped abruptly and sat back in his chair. And while he hadn’t actually said it, Dick could hear the words as clearly as if Slade had spoken them aloud.
I just know you.
“Besides,” Slade was back to looking out the window, “based on your reactions earlier, it seems like you should be the one worried about me.” Slade’s face was unreadable now, but Dick remembered the hurt on Slade’s face when Dick had recoiled from his advance on the roof.
Dick looked down at his hot chocolate. “I’m not worried about that anymore.”
“And why’s that?”
Dick hesitated, but then began to hum his mother’s lullaby. He allowed his eyes to drift close, and he drank in the warmth and comfort that the song always brought him. A small smile had crept onto his face by the time he finished. When he opened his eyes, Slade was staring at him, and Dick looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
“I don’t…” Dick stopped a moment to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “I don’t share that with many people.” He had, in fact, only shared it with two other people in his entire life. He’d never even shared it with Bruce. “If he trusted you with it…” Dick trailed off again, unsure how to end that sentence without saying too much. “It’s enough for me to believe what you said. That I’m safe with you.”
Slade nodded slowly and turned to look back out the window, giving Dick a moment to breathe without being under close scrutiny. He was grateful for it. Even though he hadn’t been the one to share the lullaby with this Slade, explaining its importance still felt intimate.
Dick finished his hot chocolate and glanced at Slade again. He wasn’t sure if Slade had known how significant the song was before now, and Dick assumed Slade was thinking about his doppelganger, probably missing him. Dick tried to shake it, but it dwelled just on the edge of his thoughts. It seemed wrong that Slade should be here buying him clothes, making him hot chocolate, and tucking him in when there was another Dick out there somewhere who he should be with instead.
He wondered how long this Slade would be forced to endure him as a houseguest.
As if reading his thoughts, Slade interrupted his brooding. “We’re maintaining surveillance of the rooftop where I found you. Apparently that’s the most likely place for your people to try to punch back through to get you. So far there’s been no change, and I guess there isn’t too much to be done on our end until a connection is established.” Slade shrugged. There was that mysterious “we” again.
“I’ll get the call as soon as there’s any change, but until then–”
Dick’s stomach chose that exact moment to growl. Loudly.
Slade frowned. “I don’t even want to ask how long it's been since you ate something.” He stood and stretched. “Pizza or Chinese?”
The next three days passed in a cozy blur as he and Slade grew used to each other. Dick caught up on sleep and Slade popped out a few times a day to get takeout or groceries. Slade had assured Dick that they could leave the apartment without too much risk to the other Dick Grayson’s identity, but Dick said he still preferred not to chance it. In truth, he really wanted to avoid the disjointed feeling of wandering streets that should be familiar. If he was in Star City or Metropolis it might have been fun to play spot-the-difference, but the idea of feeling lost in Gotham wasn’t an appealing one. Plus, going out to eat with Slade felt a bit too date adjacent. It was bad enough that they were sharing every meal and even cooking for each other. By the second day, Dick had sent Slade out with a shopping list and whipped up some of his favorite recipes Alfred had taught him, both out of desperation for something to do and due to a desire not to completely be leeching off of Slade.
At first, Dick had been on edge, jumping at his own shadow, anxious, and constantly feeling out of place and unsure of himself. But as the days passed, they settled into a rhythm, or, rather, Dick settled, as Slade barely seemed bothered by Dick’s presence in the first place. Slade’s ease with Dick was almost unnerving at first, but it seemed to be slowly contagious. Still, every now and then, Dick would catch Slade staring at him, and occasionally Slade would stand a bit too close or act just a touch too casual, and then he would pull back suddenly, remembering himself.
But overall, things were comfortable between them. While Dick was normally talkative, he was surprised to find that, with Slade, he was comfortable even as silence stretched between them. And that was fortunate since Slade didn’t have a TV in this safehouse.
They had fallen into silence again this evening, Slade reading in his seat by the window while Dick finished cleaning up after dinner. Dick settled back into what had become his spot on the couch and finished another hot chocolate before returning his mug to the table. When he glanced back at Slade, he had closed his book and set it aside.
“So, the Crime Syndicate thing.” Slade paused and Dick was surprised to find that he was hesitating. Slade was usually the picture of confidence, often to the point of arrogance, so seeing him falter was alarming. “Where you’re from… since I wasn’t there, I assume things went differently. What happened?”
Dick didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t really like talking about what had happened. He’d gotten away with not talking about it much since he’d been shuffled off to Spyral afterward. And, once he’d returned, emotions had been running high all around. He still cringed thinking about how angry Tim and Jason had been. So no one had really been interested in asking him about the details. They thought they knew what had gone down, and Dick wasn’t invested in correcting them.
But the truth was, it was still something that kept him up at night. It was a nightmare he knew some new version of Crane’s fear toxin would be ripping out of him for years. The feeling of slow suffocation. The burning in his chest. The rising panic. The creeping blackness. The absolute helplessness.
After a long moment, Dick sighed. If all went well, he would be home soon, so what did he care about letting this version of Slade see his weakness? Depending on how similar things had been, he might have seen it already. Maybe it would help to talk about it to someone who wouldn’t be able to use it against him later…
“They had me strapped up to a bomb, very subtly named the Murder Machine, that was connected to my heartbeat. You couldn’t disarm it without removing me from the equation.” Dick looked at Slade, and he nodded. Things matched up so far apparently.
“Batman showed up with Catwoman, Lex Luthor, and Bizarro. It was a trap, of course, and the bomb would have killed them all. I–” Dick took a shaky breath and continued. “I begged Batman to get out of there, to save themselves, but he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t accept that this was a problem he couldn’t solve.” Dick didn’t think he could get the words out if he kept looking at Slade, so he found a spot on the couch to stare at instead.
“So Luthor made the call.” Dick shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure why. “Bizarro kept Batman and Catwoman busy, and Luthor looked me in the eye, apologized, and smothered me until my heart stopped.”
He paused, unsure if he wanted to say the next part. “I didn’t fight him. I was so scared, but part of me knew it was the right call. I was doomed either way, and at least, with my death, the others would be saved. Bruce would be saved. I didn’t want to die. But I also didn’t want him to stop.”
Dick tried to blink away the tears that were threatening to spill. Banter, switch back to banter. Banter was safer. “I’m sure you have some experience with it, but suffocation is a pretty shitty way to die.”
Slade let out a small huff that Dick hoped was a laugh. He made himself chuckle, trying to deflect some of the tension, some of the truth, away from his words.
“Selena told me later that Bruce flipped. She thought he was going to kill him. Apparently said that he would. Lex told them he’d slipped me a pill to stop my heart. Pulled me out of the machine. Gave me a shot of adrenaline. All's well that ends well.
“But he lied. There was never a pill. There was never a plan beyond stopping my heart. I was just a chess piece to be sacrificed and then pulled back when he realized he might have miscalculated.”
Bruce had never asked. Selena had seemed like she wanted to ask but couldn’t quite bring herself to. Dick had never admitted it out loud. Lex had murdered him and then saved him, to further his own goals. Dick’s life was little more than an asset for others to use.
“So… yeah. That’s how it all went down.” Dick looked up at the ceiling, trying to recenter himself. He turned to Slade again. “Different from your version?”
The look on Slade’s face was unreadable. Not because he was hiding his emotions, but because Dick was so unfamiliar with seeing this kind of emotion on display from Slade. He looked away again when he thought he recognized a hint of pity.
“Wasn’t Luthor.” Slade’s voice was low and seemed strained. Dick glanced back up at him again and met Slade’s gaze. He was looking at Dick with such intensity that Dick knew he had been waiting for Dick to look at him before he continued. “It was me.”
Dick felt like he’d been punched in the gut. A sudden fear washed over him, and he felt cold all over. How badly had he misjudged this version of Slade?
“You?” His voice was shakier than he’d have liked.
Slade looked away. “You asked me to.”
Dick swallowed heavily. That made a certain amount of sense. If he had known that his only choice was to die or take others with him… yeah, he’d have asked Slade to take him out. Because he knew Slade would do it. And while he didn’t think Slade would enjoy it anymore, he knew that Slade would see the logic in the choice and would come to the same conclusion. Dick’s acceptance would only make things easier.
“You were…” Slade shook his head, seemingly troubled by the memory. “You were in bad shape, kid. Your identity had already been compromised. You didn’t have a lot left in the tank.” He crossed his arms. “Bats was beside himself, and, when it was clear he wasn’t going to be able to stop the thing, you turned to me. Asked me to stop the bomb the only way we could.
“I think you made some impassioned plea about the greater good or something, but I’d honestly stopped listening. Because I’d already run through every scenario I could think of, and you were right. It was the only way we didn’t all die.”
Slade sighed. “I just didn’t want to do it.”
Dick frowned. Somehow that made it worse.
“We didn’t have a lot of time to futz about it. You were right, I do have some experience with suffocation. Even before all this.” God, did Dick regret saying that now. “So I knew how long it could take. But bringing you back was always the plan.”
He said that last part with such ferocity, that Dick found himself leaning back at the intensity of it.
“I carry adrenaline. I’m surprised Bats doesn’t. Probably does now. I told you that I would stop your heart, but I wasn’t letting you stay that way. You tried to protest. I think you were worried about the time or that you were too badly injured. But that was my condition. I’d kill you, but I was bringing you back the second that stupid machine was neutralized.”
Slade’s voice was quiet when he continued. “It was the longest three minutes of my life.”
Dick couldn’t help but think about how different it would have been, staring into Slade’s steady eye with the promise of return instead of Luthor’s cold gaze with only the promise of an ending. It had probably still hurt like hell. No amount of reassurance could stop his lungs screaming for oxygen. But it had probably been more peaceful. Calm instead of panic. Trust instead of resignation. An unpleasant memory still, but probably not a nightmare.
“The rest isn’t much different. Your heart stopped and we pulled apart that damned machine. I shot you full of adrenaline. You called it–” Slade looked back up at Dick, and the small smile fell from his face before he continued. “ He called it pulling a Pulp Fiction.”
Dick had noticed Slade’s pronoun slips, but it had been hard to correct him when he wished so very much that everything Slade had been describing had been what had actually happened to him and not to some other version of himself.
His mind was still reeling, so he settled on the safest topic. “Good to see John Travolta changing lives across the multiverse.”
“Who?”
Dick stared at Slade. It was possible that this universe’s Pulp Fiction starred someone else, but it also seemed somehow equally likely, that despite this universe’s Dick Grayson’s clever reference, Slade had simply never seen the film.
But then Slade snickered and Dick knew he’d been had.
“Little multiverse humor, kid.”
“Hysterical.” Dick rolled his eyes. “But the question is, had you seen it before or after he made the reference?”
“Before.” Slade looked annoyed. “He didn’t believe I’d seen it either. I do watch movies, you know. I don’t spend all of my time skulking on rooftops and traipsing through jungles.”
“Maybe not, but you do spend a significant amount of time doing both of those things. It’s hard to imagine you doing normal, pedestrian things.”
“It’s not my fault that you lack imagination.”
Unfortunately, Dick was having no trouble imagining what his relationship with this Slade would be like. The conversation was easy. He could almost picture sitting next to Slade in an elaborate home theater set-up (because Slade seemed the type to not enjoy anything halfway) to watch some new film. Would he indulge Dick and sit through cartoons, or would they watch a lot of classics and war movies? Would it matter if he fell asleep part way through the film? Would Slade allow him to lean against his shoulder as he slept?
Dick pulled back from the fantasy as he remembered that this Slade didn’t need him for any of those things. He likely already had them, if he wanted them, with his version of Dick. He was just an imposter, benefitting from what the other him had built. None of this was his. None of the ease he felt with this Slade was a result of anything he’d done.
His mouth decided to sabotage any further thoughts along those lines, and before he could stop himself, he asked, “Were the two of you together then?”
Slade sat up a little straighter, just enough for Dick to know he’d made him uncomfortable. “No. That came later.” Slade was watching Dick closely. “I didn’t think you wanted to hear about any of that.”
“I don’t.” Dick sighed. “Not really. I just…” He looked down at his hands. “I just wish I knew what made things so different.”
“You are so like him. It’s unnerving.” Slade shook his head. “Your suits are a little different, which was more noticeable after I got you back here, but like this,” he motioned broadly to Dick in casual, civilian mode, “it’s easy to forget who I’m talking to.”
Dick smiled sadly. “Like you said earlier, we’re both equally impossible, right?”
Slade didn’t respond right away, which made Dick look up at him again. He kept falling for that. Slade’s gaze was heavy and Dick immediately wanted to look away again. “You’re sadder though. It’s hard seeing you so sad.”
Dick couldn’t completely choke back the strangled laugh. “Sorry.” He studied the ceiling, in case it held the words he needed. “It’s just… God, you keep saying things I’ve only thought about in my–” Dick stopped, sealing his lips together and wishing he’d stopped several words sooner. He did not need to be sharing tender moments with this Slade. It was bad enough that he knew there was a version of himself who got to do so.
Slade stood up and moved over to the couch and sat down next to Dick. Dick could smell his aftershave, and he fought to keep his breathing even to not inhale the scent too deeply. It was a woody scent, smokey, and with a hint of leather. It suited him.
“God, I wish I could show you.” Slade reached out, slowly, bringing his hand to tenderly cradle Dick’s cheek, and, for just a moment, Dick let himself lean into it, letting himself indulge in the touch. In the intimacy. In the fantasy that seemed to be so very real here.
But only for a moment.
He leaned back, steadying himself with a deep breath. “But I’m not your Dick Grayson.”
Slade always had a habit of putting a pin in what Dick was really thinking. “And I’m not your Slade.”
He couldn’t have this. It was unearned. As much as he wanted this to be a part of his reality, this wasn’t how it had gone for him, and stealing it on another Earth, only to have it ripped away again, was too much.
He shouldn’t be inviting comfort from this Slade. He shouldn’t be muddying the waters for his apparently nearly indistinguishable doppelganger. He’d never forgive himself for ruining things between himself and Slade in multiple universes.
And even though this Slade was seemingly everything he had ever wanted, he wasn’t really the Slade Dick wanted. He didn’t have a history with this Slade. While the resemblance between them was strong, this version of Slade was basically a stranger. As ridiculous and backward as it seemed, deep down he didn’t want this version of Slade. He wanted to end up here, with his Slade.
“You know,” Slade began, but then he stopped suddenly and brought a hand up to his ear. “Yes, I’m here.” Holy enhanced senses, that thing was quiet. Dick was mere feet from Slade, yet he couldn’t make out anything from the comm line. Slade gave a small nod at whatever he was hearing. He glanced back at Dick. “He’ll be happy to hear that.” Another nod. “Right. We’ll be there.”
Dick hadn’t realized until now how much softer Slade’s tone had been during their conversation. His words now were heavier, harder, and felt like they had more sharp edges. It seemed shocking that he hadn’t noticed the difference until now.
Slade brought his hand down, apparently having closed the channel. “Seems like there’s some action on the roof where I found you. They suspect it's the beginnings of a portal. As soon as you’re ready, we can head that way.
Dick barely stopped himself from frowning. This was of course what he wanted, what he’d been waiting for. And yet, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. There was nothing here for him, but a part of him yearned for just a bit more time.
“Great,” he forced out, although he knew he didn’t sound entirely convincing, “guess I should suit back up.”
Slade regarded him for a moment before he nodded and stood up.
They went about the task with practiced ease. Slade retreated to the bedroom, while Dick returned to the small bathroom to change. He was back in the living room, double checking that everything was where it was supposed to be, when Slade returned, and Dick froze.
Dick hadn’t gotten a good look at Slade’s suit the night he arrived. It was strikingly similar to the one his version of Slade wore, with one major difference. Where Slade’s suit and helmet had once been orange, it had been replaced with a very familiar shade of blue.
There was no way Slade wasn’t noticing his very obvious staring, but Dick found it hard to look away.
Slade didn’t seem bothered by the attention. “Yeah, I needed a bit of a facelift when I gave up the mercenary thing.”
“You ‘gave up the mercenary thing’?” Dick was certain he could not have heard him correctly.
Slade shrugged. “You can be very persuasive.”
Slade led the way back to the rooftop he had found Dick on. Dick tried to focus on following Slade so he wouldn’t get disoriented by this almost familiar version of Gotham. Or caught up in the all too familiar blue of Slade’s uniform.
They could see the wavering distortion from about a block away. It was shimmery, like a mirage, and seemed to give off a slight glow. This universe’s version of Zatanna wasn’t sure how long the portal would remain open, so the plan was to wait to stabilize it until Dick was ready to go through.
Zee was waiting for them on the roof, on the opposite side from the shimmering portal. Her hair was shorter here. It suited her, but then, most things did. She eyed Dick suspiciously. “You’re sure he isn’t from an evil universe trying to gain intel on us?”
Slade rolled his eye. “He’s no more evil than ours is.”
Zee grinned. “Okay. You’re the expert.” She winked at Dick.
The jab was playful and Dick realized that it probably hadn’t occurred to Zatanna that he and Slade might not be together in Dick’s universe. Which was sweet in a way, but it also stung as Dick wondered if it was possible that his universe was one of the few where they weren’t together.
Zee had turned back to Slade. “You want a lift back to the Watchtower after this? You’re on call this weekend, right?”
Slade shifted his weight in a way that was dangerously close to a fidget. “Yeah, but I’ll find my own way. I’ve got a few things to wrap up before then.”
“Fair enough. See you then.” Zee gave another wink and a wave to Dick as she made her way closer to the disturbance.
“Wait…” Dick’s brain took a moment to process what he’d just heard. “You’re in the Justice League?!” This universe was full of surprises.
“Probationary member. Heavy on the probationary. There were a lot of votes against me, but again,” Slade gave him another smile that radiated such fondness it nearly took Dick’s breath away, “you can be very persuasive.”
“Alright, boys, you ready?” Zee called.
Dick nodded before he could overthink it.
“Then, here we go! Latrop ot siht S’gniwthgin emoh noisnemid, NEPO!”
Dick could feel a tingling like goosebumps all along his arms as unseen energy seemed to be drawn into the distortion and then just as suddenly rushed outward as a glowing yellow portal opened before them.
Before Dick could say anything, there was a blur of crimson light, and he was nearly knocked to the ground as Wally embraced him.
“Thought we lost you for a minute there.” The relief in his voice was clear.
Dick couldn’t help but smile. “Missed you too, buddy.”
Wally’s eyes flicked suspiciously toward Slade, but, taking in Dick’s posture, he seemed to accept that he wasn’t a threat and turned back to Dick.
“Ready to go home?”
Dick only hesitated a moment. “Yeah.” He managed not to look at Slade and took a few steps closer to the portal with Wally.
“Hey, Dick,” Slade called out, and there was his name again, sounding simultaneously foreign and perfect rolling off Slade’s tongue.
Dick turned back to Slade, unsure of what he wanted the other to say.
Slade hesitated again, and Dick could feel Wally’s eyes roaming between them.
“Good luck,” Slade finally said, “with everything.”
Dick wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to stay.
He had to go.
He swallowed heavily, but all he could manage to say was, “Thanks,” before turning back toward the portal.
He could practically feel the weight of the questions he knew Wally was barely holding back, but to his friend’s credit, he didn’t push.
“Princess carry or piggyback?” Wally asked.
Dick groaned. So much for leaving this dimension with any sense of dignity intact.
There was an obnoxiously large group of super people waiting on his side of the portal (which made Dick doubly grateful that he had opted for piggyback). A collection of Titans and Bats and even a few League members were there to fawn over him, and, despite Dick’s protests that he hadn’t even been gone a week, they all seemed immensely relieved to have him back.
When Dick had returned after his time with Spyral, once his identity was again securely wiped from the minds of the masses, his reunions had been in small groups or with individuals. His return from his short jaunt into another dimension was a homecoming on a different level.
Dick tried to assure everyone that he was completely fine, but he supposed he understood. For all they knew, he had spent the past few days in the most evil and hostile dimension imaginable, instead of mostly on his doppelganger's boyfriend’s couch.
Finally assured of his well-being, the heroes began to depart, back to their own cities and missions, leaving Dick with hugs and plans to meet up again later. Zee wanted him to check in after a few days, just to be sure that he wasn’t experiencing any side effects from the magic that had blasted him in the first place. He was instructed to contact her immediately if his hair suddenly changed color or if things didn’t seem as solid as they should be. Dick had agreed to let Wally crash on his couch tonight, just to be sure nothing was off.
And then, it was just him and Wally.
Although that wasn’t quite true. Just like before, Dick could sense him, even if he couldn’t pinpoint exactly how he knew he was there.
“Ready to head home?” Wally was ready to zip him back to his apartment in Bludhaven, but Dick hesitated.
“I’m actually still feeling a bit dizzy from the trip back here.” It wasn’t a lie. While the trip home had been much smoother than popping into another universe had been, he was still feeling a bit off balance. Which was something he would normally prefer to recover from at home. “Any chance I could get like 20 minutes alone to just zen a bit before we head out?”
Wally glanced from the nearby darkened rooftops back to Dick with a slight frown.
Wally knew Dick better than almost anyone, and Dick was beginning to suspect that he might not be the only one who had learned to sense the dangerous presence of a nearly silent mercenary.
“Sure,” Wally said in a way that almost hid his reluctance, “if that’s what you need.”
Dick nodded. He was going to be answering so many questions once they got home. “I’ll be fine.”
Wally glanced back at the rooftops but nodded. “I’ll do a few laps around Gotham. See how many purse snatchers and muggers I can convince that Batman has developed superpowers.”
“You could drop by the Manor, too, if you need a snack.”
“I do love Alfred’s cooking.” Wally finally smiled. “Okay, I’ll leave you be, but,” Wally’s grin grew, “I’ll be back in a flash.”
And before Dick could even groan or roll his eyes, Wally was gone.
Dick walked over to the edge of the building and sat sideways on the ledge, one leg still on the roof. Before he could talk himself out of having this conversion, he said, only a bit louder than his normal speaking voice, “You’ve got about 20 minutes if you want to come out and talk instead of skulking in the shadows.”
There was a long moment of stillness, and Dick thought Slade might have decided to leave. But then he heard the sound of heavy footsteps as Slade steadily moved toward where Dick sat.
Slade was wearing heavier armor than normal, but Dick had interrupted enough of Slade’s jobs to recognize that this particular armor was lined with lead. Lead that could hide him from X-ray vision and muffle his heartbeat enough that even someone with enhanced senses, like his own, would think it was coming from inside a building several floors below, rather than from an adjacent rooftop.
It was stealth armor, specifically for the kinds of heroes Dick had recently been surrounded by.
Slade hadn’t wanted to be seen. But now, here he was.
He was wearing his mask, and Dick felt a heavy wave of déjà vu as he asked, “You’re not here to kill me right now, are you? Because that would put a real damper on my homecoming.”
Slade stopped a few feet away, out of arm's reach, but still close enough to be dangerous. “No,” he said curtly. “Not this time.”
Dick nodded and then laid back on the ledge, intertwining his fingers and resting his head back on his hands. “That’s good.” He probably shouldn’t be behaving quite this casually around Slade, but the familiarity he had developed with the other version of Slade was still bleeding through.
It took every ounce of his willpower to not ask if Slade had been worried about him. It seemed like the obvious inference to make. If Slade wasn’t here to kill him, then he was here to check in on him and make sure he got back okay. But Dick knew that even if it was somehow true, Slade would deny it, and he didn’t need his afterglow from knowing what could have been smashed to bits by bitter reality just yet.
Banter was always safer.
“I met another version of you over there,” he offered playfully.
“Oh?” Slade sounded entirely disinterested.
Dick continued, undaunted. “Yeah, completely different from you in every way, you see…” Dick lowered his voice as though he was about to share a secret and paused for dramatic effect, “he was missing the other eye!”
Slade didn’t respond at all to Dick’s joke.
Dick sighed. “He wasn’t trying to kill me either.”
“How fortunate for you.”
Dick put his hands back on the roof ledge and kicked himself up into a handstand. It was… probably inadvisable to be walking on his hands on a narrow ledge fifteen stories up while still dizzy from interdimensional travel when his only company was a dangerous man who had tried to kill him more times than he cared to remember. And yet, here he was.
Dick felt better when he was moving. There was safety in motion, and he’d been relatively stationary for the past several days. It made him fidgety. As ridiculous as it seemed, he was better able to respond to any threat Slade might pose if he was active, even if that threat was only to his heart.
“He claimed he’d seen Pulp Fiction , but I’m still not sure I believe him.” Still no response from Slade. “Then he tried to make me think John Travolta didn’t exist in his universe.”
That got a small chuckle from Slade. “Is his universe’s Grayson as gullible as you?”
Dick balanced on one hand, slightly shakier than usual, but nothing too dangerous or out of control. “Not sure, didn’t meet him. Although according to that Slade, we are all equally impossible, so take from that what you will.”
Dick dismounted back onto the roof and stood facing Slade. Before he could think too hard about it, he blurted out. “So I’m trying to break up a smuggling ring in Bludhaven, and I’ve traced the suppliers back to Columbia. Do you still have contacts in South America?”
Slade pulled off his mask and narrowed his eye at Dick. “Are you asking me to give up my contacts?”
“No, I’m asking you to work the case with me.” It was a long shot and Dick knew it. But if he wanted to inch closer to something like the universe he had left behind, then he had to try.
Slade shook his head slowly. “You can’t afford me, kid.”
“Money isn’t the only thing that has value. I have intel, secrets that might interest you.” Dick stretched out his arms, trying to gauge Slade’s reaction.
Slade seemed skeptical. “And you’d share that intel with me?”
“Depends on how good your contacts are.” He wasn’t going to help Slade hurt anyone, but he was willing to try to build more trust between them.
Slade was staring at him, his expression unreadable as always.
“What?” Dick finally asked.
“I’m starting to think those idiots brought back the wrong Grayson.”
Dick sat back down on the ledge and cocked his head to the side. “Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you thought.”
“Oh, please,” and Dick could hear the eye roll in Slade’s voice, “I know you.”
“Prove it then.”
Slade paused. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”
Dick couldn’t suppress his grin. “I’ve been told I can be very persuasive.”
“Are you sure they didn’t mean very annoying?”
Dick laughed. “Hey,” he shrugged, “whatever works.”
Maybe this would end up being nothing. Another false start. Another dead end.
Maybe it would have been better to never even know it was possible. Maybe it would hurt less not to know what could be.
But now that Dick had seen it, had felt Slade’s warmth and kindness, had felt his touch without an ounce of malice, he couldn’t let go of the hope. He would keep trying to build something like that here, brick by brick, even if Slade kept knocking it all down. And if Slade really did know Dick Grayson, then he would know that Dick wasn’t going to give up without a fight.