Dick had told the others, back when they first got him back from Deathstroke a year before, where all of Deathstroke's Gotham safe houses were. Deathstroke must have known he would do that, and Dick knew he wouldn't use them again. None of them had been special enough to justify that. There were plenty of spaces in Gotham that could be used as safe houses for anyone who had need of such a thing, so Deathstroke would have his pick of properties. Dick knew what sorts of things Deathstroke would look for, and he could narrow down a list of possible places to the ones that Deathstroke would prefer, but it would still leave him with too many options. He didn't have the time to waste sorting through long lists of potential safe houses, not if he wanted to make sure he got to Deathstroke before anyone else.
Dick also knew where their old safe houses had been, and he knew the sorts of messages Deathstroke could leave in them.
He went the next day, around midmorning. At night, as Nightwing, he knew everyone would be watching him, but during the day, he had a bit more freedom. The others had daytime responsibilities of their own, between school and work, but Dick had nothing. He waited for the moment when everyone was the most busy - when Damian and Duke were at school, when Steph was at a lecture, when Cass and Babs were at the Clocktower, when Alfred was cleaning, when Jason was back at his own apartment, when Tim and Bruce were at a meeting with Wayne Enterprises - and slipped out. He didn't have anything on him that Bruce could use to track him, as far as he could tell, despite Bruce's best (thwarted) efforts. If Babs wanted to track him, he knew there was little he could do to stop her, but hopefully, no one would realize he was doing anything that needed monitoring in the first place.
He didn't think Deathstroke would be in any of the old safe houses. He still didn't want to risk him getting near any of his family.
He went to their primary safe house first. It was the one with the most memories, and it would be the hardest to handle, but it was also the most likely one to have some sort of message in it. Dick had considered putting it off until the end, to put off having to deal with the memories it would provoke, but he'd have to do it eventually, so he might as well get it over with. If it gave him any answers, it would be worth it.
The floor, he noticed, had been damaged slightly by whatever cleaning methods had been used to clean up all the bloodstains. Dick wouldn't have damaged the floor if he'd cleaned it; he took pride in his ability to erase bloodstains completely without leaving any sign that it had ever been there. Considering how often Deathstroke shot him, it was something he'd gotten used to, and he did it well. Whoever had cleaned this floor hadn't done it as well as him, and Renegade felt a smug sort of-
No. No. He wasn't Renegade, he would never be Renegade, he was Dick Grayson, and he would never clean up after Deathstroke again.
Dick shook himself, then he forced himself to start looking around the safe house. His hands were trembling, but that was fine; he didn't need to do any delicate work with them. He could work through it. He had to work through it. He hadn't worked through it on the rooftop, and his whole family got involved as a result. He couldn't make that mistake again.
There was, he realized, a message hidden in the damage to the floor.
Nothing in words, and nothing that most people would recognize. But much like the scuff on the window frame, there were shapes that were too deliberate to be natural. Dick bent down and traced them lightly with his fingers. He hardly even had to think to translate them.
A location. A time. A different spot from where he'd met Deathstroke before, but not a spot that was likely to be a true base. It was fresh too, Dick could tell as he touched the damaged wood. Deathstroke had made the marks after he'd spoken to Dick on the other rooftop. Dick was doing exactly what Deathstroke had expected he would do.
He told himself that was a good thing. He wanted to get under Deathstroke's guard the best he could. Deathstroke thought he was going to come back; Deathstroke would think, if Dick did, that he was returning to being Renegade. Dick could take advantage of that. Dick could hit Deathstroke where he was vulnerable.
He ignored the little voice that whispered that Deathstroke was never vulnerable.
He wondered, briefly, if he could play the long game. Go to Deathstroke, give himself up as Renegade, work alongside him for as long as it took for Deathstroke to truly let his guard down, and then strike. It might be smarter. If he did a good job, Deathstroke would be less likely to see it coming. Dick could wait until Deathstroke was no longer expecting a betrayal, and then he could betray him.
The only problem was, he didn't think he could last that long without either losing his mind or losing himself.
He'd stick to his original plan. He would end this now, in Gotham. It was riskier, yes, but it was also more possible. He knew he could manage this. He had to manage this. He didn't know if he could manage to draw it out.
Dick committed the message on the floor to memory, then he started searching the rest of the safe house. Just because Deathstroke had left one obvious message didn't mean he hadn't left another as well, one that Dick would only see if he looked. And just because there had been a message in this safe house didn't mean there wouldn't be messages in the others. He'd have to check every one of them, and carefully.
He was in for a long day. He told himself it had to be worth it.
Cass found him in the second to last safe house. If Dick hadn't been enhanced, she probably would have been able to sneak up on him without him noticing, but his senses were sharp, and he was on edge enough that he was utilizing them all to their fullest extent. He knew Cass was coming before she crawled through the window.
There was no point in hiding. He didn't even bother to try.
"Did Babs send you after me?"
Cass nodded. "We were worried."
"I'm fine."
"You have checked almost all of Deathstroke's safe houses. Why?"
"I was looking for any clues about where he is now," Dick said truthfully. It was hard to lie to Cass; he'd avoid doing so as much as he could.
"Why alone?"
"Everyone was busy."
Cass wasn't in costume, so Dick was treated to the full force of her disapproving look. "Not that busy."
"I knew he wouldn't be using any of the safe houses. I didn't need a babysitter."
Cass's look managed to become even more disapproving. "Not babysitting. Trying to help."
I don't want your help, Dick managed to stop himself from saying. "You can help me with this one, then. Then we have one more left."
"Have you found anything?"
"No."
Cass gave him a long look, but she nodded without calling him for lying, so Dick hoped that meant she believed him. "We will go to the Clocktower after."
"Okay." The meeting time Deathstroke had left on the floor of the first safe house wasn't until much later; Dick could wait. He wasn't sure it made sense to go so quickly anyway. There was just a time and a place, no date, so Dick assumed he could go any night and find Deathstroke there. It might be better to wait a little longer, so Dick could do a bit more research before seeing Deathstroke again.
He was self-aware enough to know that he also just wanted to put it off for as long as he could, but he thought that was okay for now. He couldn't waste time, but he also didn't want to move too quickly and miss his chance. He'd probably only have one shot at this, so he had to make it count.
"What should I look for?"
"Anything that looks almost right but not quite," Dick said. It wasn't a very good explanation, but he couldn't think of how else to word it. "Deathstroke likes to leave messages that other people would dismiss. A scuff mark that's a little too distinct to be natural, or a stain that's shaped a little too carefully."
Cass nodded. "I will tell you if I see anything."
Dick nodded, and he and Cass began searching the safe house together. Dick had looked over most of it already, but he checked the last few spots, then turned to Cass as she studied the stains on the countertop. "I don't think there's anything here."
Cass nodded. "One left?"
"One left." Dick had been working through the safe houses in the order of probability that there would be something there, at least as far as he could calculate. The last one was the least likely. It wasn't a safe house Deathstroke had actually ever used, he didn't think, and it wasn't the sort of place he usually liked. It had been a place of last resort, and now that it was compromised, Deathstroke would have no real reason to go there. But Dick needed to be thorough. He'd never forgive himself if he was sloppy and missed something important.
"Ready to go?"
Dick shook himself and nodded. "Let's go."
The last safe house wasn't too far by bike, but it was far enough from the center of Gotham to be less useful than the others. It was a squat little house, dusty and dilapidated, and it wasn't Deathstroke's style at all. He'd still claimed it, though, so Dick snuck inside, Cass on his heels.
"Be careful," he warned her. "Deathstroke hasn't left any nasty surprises in the other safe houses, but I wouldn't put it past him."
Cass nodded. "You too."
They split off, both searching through the building. The more Dick saw of it, the less he understood why Deathstroke had even bothered with it. It was nothing like he usually liked, and given the volume of safe houses he had, it wasn't like this one was ever likely to be needed.
But in the bedroom, against all odds, he found a message.
It was a water stain on the wallpaper, one with a too-distinct curve to it. It was a symbol that just meant "look up," so Dick did, and poking just slightly out from behind one of the ceiling beams was a folded corner of paper.
It was too obvious. Dick knew it was too obvious. But Deathstroke didn't want him dead, and Dick had to know what he wanted to say.
He tugged the paper free and unfolded it. The words were written in Deathstroke's usual careless hand, and there were only three of them.
Tenacious, aren't you?
There was a slight smudge in the corner. Gunpowder, if Dick's nose was right. It made sense; Deathstroke always smelled at least faintly of gunpowder, and he often had it on his hands.
But the smudge was too specific, and Dick's blood ran cold when he realized what it meant. He flipped the paper over and found the thin little cord trailing from it, delicate enough to almost be mistaken for a spiderweb, then he sprinted out of the room as fast as he could.
"Cass! Get out!"
Cass moved quickly, but she couldn't move quickly enough. No human could. When Dick reached her, just outside the house, he pushed her to the ground, and he threw himself on top of her, covering as much of her as he could.
The house exploded.
Dick didn't think he lost too much time, but he must have lost some, because the next thing he was aware of, a phone was in the middle of ringing. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and rasped, "Cass?"
Cass looked up at him, her eyes wide. There was blood on her forehead, but there didn't seem to be a wound, and as another drop splashed against her skin, Dick realized he was the one bleeding on her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Cass nodded. One of her hands reached up towards his head, brushing against his temple gently, and when she pulled her hand back, her fingers were red with blood.
The phone stopped ringing, then started up again a moment later. It had to be Cass's; Dick hadn't brought his phone in an apparently vain attempt to keep anyone from tracking him. He tried to straighten up to free Cass, but the instant he tried to move, pain flared up over his back. Burns, he realized after a moment, and he realized he could hear fire crackling behind him. It seemed like the explosive Deathstroke had used was more of a firebomb than anything else. Dick didn't think he'd been hit with any shrapnel, although he wasn't entirely sure he would have been able to tell, with how damaged the nerves in his back appeared to be.
"Can you reach your phone with me here?" he asked Cass, not daring to move again.
Cass nodded, and with a bit of wriggling, she was able to pull her phone out of her pocket. She answered the call and put it on speaker, and Babs's voice cut through the air.
"Cass? Dick? I swear to god, one of you had better answer me right now-"
"Hi, Babs."
"Dick," Babs gasped, relief clear in her tone. "Is Cass-"
"She's also okay," Dick said, looking down at her. "You're not hurt at all, are you?"
Cass shook her head. "You protected me."
"You two are never allowed to pull something like this again," Babs declared. "Especially not as unprepared as you were today. God, Dick, you're just wearing a t-shirt."
"I was wearing a t-shirt," Dick corrected. "Pretty sure it's been incinerated by this point."
"Do not start making jokes about this, Richard Grayson."
"Right, bad timing, sorry."
Babs let out a long, slow breath, and Dick felt a twist of guilt. He didn't have much lingering trauma from nearly dying in an explosion - those memories had remained foggy, even as most of his others returned, and he'd had enough trauma afterwards to wipe it out anyway - but the others very much did. Dick didn't know how much of what happened Babs was able to see, but he was sure it was enough to bring back memories.
"Babs, I'm okay," he told her gently. "We got out of the house in time, and it didn't blow up so much as just light on fire. I'm already healing."
He was, if a bit slowly. His healing factor would focus on the deepest damage first, which meant it might take a little while before the surface burns healed. The sheer expansiveness of the burns wouldn't help either, but they would heal. Dick knew they would. He'd healed from worse.
He just hoped his t-shirt had really been incinerated, because if there were fibers left, he'd probably heal over them. It would be difficult to pick them out himself, given the placement of the burns, but he didn't really want to put anyone else through that either.
"Both of you get your asses to the Clocktower pronto," Babs ordered. "And don't you even think about arguing with me, Dick-"
"Wasn't going to," Dick replied. He tried moving again and found that he could, if slowly. It still hurt, but the pain wasn't blinding anymore, and he did need to get off of Cass. "We'll head over now."
"Can you?" Cass asked him, watching with concern. Dick couldn't fully hide his pain from her, even if he tried.
"I'll be fine, as long as we move slow," he replied. "That okay, Babs?"
"Don't push yourself too hard," Babs replied. "But head directly here. God, you scared the shit out of me."
"I know," Dick said, carefully straightening so Cass could slip out from under him. He hoped Babs couldn't hear the breathless pain in his words. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, asshole, just don't do it again. And next time you're trying to track down an assassin with a fixation on you specifically, don't do it alone."
"Trust me, Babs, I don't want to get blown up again either."
He hoped she wouldn't call him out on the fact that he hadn't promised - and wouldn't promise, couldn't promise - not to go after Deathstroke alone again.
"We will head to the Clocktower," Cass said. She stood and held out a hand for Dick, who took it and let her pull him to his feet. It hurt, but he knew that the increased sensation in his back was actually a good thing, since it meant the nerves were repairing themselves. That bit was always the worst, but he knew it would pass.
"I'll make sure the route is clear," Babs replied. "Both of you, be careful. I'll see you soon."
"See you soon," Dick agreed, leaning slightly on Cass as they made their way over to their bikes. They weren't the ideal means of transportation with Dick's burns, but if they waited for Babs to send someone with a car, he'd be healed by the time they arrived. He could manage on a bike.
"Can you help me get my jacket on?" Dick asked Cass, picking it up off the seat and handing it to her. "Probably best not to ride around Gotham with exposed burns all over my back."
Cass frowned. "It will hurt."
"Not too badly. Please, Cass?"
Carefully, Cass helped Dick slide the jacket up his arms until it reached his back. It wasn't comfortable, and Dick had the feeling it would get worse as more of the nerves in his back healed, but he had to cover the burns somehow. "Thanks," he told Cass with a smile. He couldn't fool her into thinking he wasn't in pain at all, but hopefully he could keep her from realizing how bad it was. "You ready to go?"
"Are you?"
"As I'll ever be, I think."
Cass nodded, but she didn't go over to her bike until Dick had gotten onto his. She also let him take the lead, which was probably a good thing. Dick was mostly certain he'd be able to stay on his bike the whole ride, but he wouldn't have bet money on it.
By the time they reached the Clocktower - thankfully without Dick having fallen off of his bike - the burns were mostly healed. Dick was glad of it when they entered the top floor and Babs's first words to him were, "How badly are you hurt? Show me your back."
"I'm fine, Babs, I promise," Dick replied, shrugging off his jacket and turning to show Babs his almost-healed back. "I'll be back to normal in a couple of minutes."
"You scared the shit out of me," Babs told him, her tone a mixture of relieved and furious. "And Bruce is going to kill you."
"Oh, come on, do you have to tell Bruce?"
"Do I have to tell Bruce that the two of you were caught in an explosion while searching Deathstroke's old safe houses? Yes, Dick, I do. Go get yourself cleaned up, your face is covered in blood."
Dick sighed. It wasn't worth arguing with Babs about it. It was rarely worth arguing with Babs about anything, honestly, but especially not with something like this. Dick supposed it was his fault she was that upset, but he hadn't done it on purpose, and Bruce was going to be impossible. Dick wouldn't be able to breathe without at least three sets of eyes on him, which would make it very difficult for Dick to meet up with Deathstroke at the time and place he'd left in the first safe house. That was the whole point, of course, but that didn't make it any less inconvenient for him.
When Dick emerged from the Clocktower bathroom, face washed and borrowed t-shirt covering the last of the healing burns, Babs and Cass were sitting at the table, a tablet in Babs's hands. When she saw him coming, Babs turned off the tablet and set it aside, which is how Dick knew he was really in trouble.
"I'm guessing you want to know what I found?"
"First, I want to know why you thought it was a smart idea to go digging around in Deathstroke's old safe houses on your own, without even telling anyone where you were going," Babs replied. "And then, yes, I want to know what you found."
Cass handed Dick a glass of water with a vaguely sympathetic look. Dick wouldn't fool himself into thinking she was on his side over Babs's, but he hoped that she at least would try to keep Babs from losing it too much.
"Pretty sure explaining my thought process is only going to make you more mad at me, to be honest," he said as he sat. If he explained his real thought process, Babs would be furious, but Dick was a Bat, so he'd come up with a carefully-prepared excuse already. He had to make it believable but not too worrying, which meant Babs wouldn't be happy, but she hopefully wouldn't deem him too much of an immediate flight risk either.
"Pretty sure you should have thought about that before almost getting yourself blown up again," Babs retorted. "What were you thinking, Dick? Were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that Deathstroke wouldn't be there, but he might have left a message," Dick replied. "And I was thinking that I'm the only one who could decipher it if he did."
"That still gives me absolutely no explanation for why you decided to do it alone, without even letting anyone know where you were."
"I kinda assume you always know where I am," Dick replied. "And I didn't want anyone to come with me."
"Why, Dick?"
"Because I knew Deathstroke wouldn't be there, but I honestly wasn't that surprised about the bomb, and I'm the only one in the family that it wouldn't hurt."
Babs stared at Dick for a moment, then she leaned forward and smacked his arm. "You" - another smack - "self" - smack - "sacrificing" - smack - "asshole!"
Dick sighed. "And this is why I didn't want to tell you."
"You're an idiot. Do you honestly think- If you'd told someone, we could have planned for this. We could have done a sweep for bombs before you went in the safe house. We could have made sure nothing would blow up in the first place! Also, newsflash, dumbass, you can still get hurt! Just because you heal doesn't mean it doesn't hurt!"
"Deathstroke knows what he's doing when it comes to explosives. The bomb wouldn't have shown up on any sweep."
"Oh, so the better way to deal with Deathstroke planting a bomb is just to let it blow up?"
"Babs, I'm fine. I had some burns on my back, but they're gone already. If someone else had gone instead, they'd be in critical condition, if they weren't already dead. I was barely able to shield Cass-"
"How did you know?" Cass asked.
Dick hesitated, looking over at her. "How did I know what?"
"You warned me, before the bomb exploded. You told me to get out. How did you know?"
"There was a note," Dick replied. "Which is another reason it had to be me, because I'm the only one who would have understood it."
"What do you mean?" Babs asked.
"Deathstroke likes to leave messages that just look like some sort of natural marking. Like the scuff on the windowsill that I saw with Jason. There was a mark on the wallpaper in the bedroom that meant look up, so I did, and I found the note."
"And this didn't seem like a trap to you?"
"Of course it seemed like a trap, but that didn't mean I was just going to leave the note there. I couldn't be sure it wasn't important."
"You are going to give me gray hairs, Richard John Grayson," Babs groaned. "Okay, so what did the note say?"
"It said 'tenacious, aren't you?' But that's not the important part. It also had a smudge on the bottom, and that meant there was an explosive. Which is a message that only I could translate."
"What set the bomb off, though?" Babs asked, leaning forward with her eyes narrowed. "Because if Deathstroke wanted you to find the note, he had to make sure the bomb wouldn't go off before you did. So I'm guessing the note was connected to the fuse, so the bomb would only go off once the note was removed, which means no one else would have been in danger from the bomb anyway."
Dick shook his head. "You're right about the note being attached to the fuse, but it wasn't that well hidden. Anyone would have found it if they looked. Deathstroke left the mark on the wallpaper because he wanted me to find it first, but the others would have found it eventually if they were there instead. But they would have been caught in the bomb, because they wouldn't have been able to read the warning."
Babs looked away. "I still don't like it."
Dick sighed, reaching for her hand. She didn't pull away, which he took as a good sign. "Listen, Babs, you know I thought it through. I wouldn't have done something like that if I thought there were other options. But this was the option that keeps everyone safest, so I took it. I'm not going to apologize for wanting to keep everyone safe."
Dick didn't mention how far he would take that line of thinking. He knew Babs wouldn't like it. He wished guiltily that he wasn't having this conversation with Cass there, because he didn't know what she would pick up on, and he wasn't sure if he could hide from her.
"Okay," Babs said, twisting her hand slightly so she could hold Dick's properly. "I get why you wanted to do this alone. But next time you want to do something like this, tell us, even if you're going to go alone."
"If I told you, would any of you have let me go alone?"
"Don't you pull that 'better to ask forgiveness than permission' shit with me."
"If I had told Bruce about this, do you think he could have controlled his rampant protective instincts long enough to let me go alone?"
Babs pursed her lips. "Fine. Don't tell Bruce, then. But tell me. And if you have a legitimate reason to want to do it alone, I'll accept it. But at least I'll know what you're doing, and if you do need backup, I'll be there to give it."
For a moment, Dick felt a wild urge to unburden himself completely. He could tell Babs everything, and she could help him figure out the best way to take Deathstroke down. But he also knew that she wouldn't agree that he should do it alone. She would think it was too much, that he needed backup, and he didn't think he'd be able to convince her otherwise.
He couldn't tell her anything, so he just nodded. "Okay."
He wasn't sure he liked the look in Cass's eyes.
Babs believed him, at least. "Okay. Good. Now that we've got that covered, did you find anything other than a bomb in any of the safe houses?"
"No," Dick replied, hoping Cass couldn't see the lie. "The bomb was the only message. It's his way of saying we're doing this on his terms, not mine."
"Well, we're not doing a damn thing on his terms, so he'll have to live with that." Babs looked over at Cass. "I'm guessing you didn't notice anything either?"
Cass shook her head. "Nothing."
"You said the note called you tenacious," Babs said to Dick. "But that seems to indicate he knew you'd go to that safe house last. Could he have been tracking you?"
"He could have, but I doubt it. I think- I went to that safe house last because I know it's not Deathstroke's usual style. It was sort of a last-last ditch place, only for if everything else had really hit the fan. I'm not sure he ever even used it. I figured it would be the least likely to have anything important because of that, so I figured I'd go to it last. I decided that based on how Deathstroke works. I think he knows enough about how I work to have figured out my plan too."
"So you're both trying to bluff each other, but you both know each other too well to fall for it."
"I think he's doing a better job at getting me to fall for things than I am with him, but generally, yeah."
"Do you think you can use that knowledge of Deathstroke to figure out what his plans are?"
"I might be able to, but he knows that too, so he won't use the plans that I could figure out easily."
"Maybe, but then you could you guess what plans he would use?"
"If we keep going that way, then this is going to just end up getting into a convoluted mess of bluffing and double bluffing and triple bluffing. I'm expecting him to do one thing, so he'll do the other, except he knows I know he'll try to do something unexpected, so he'll actually do the first thing, except I'll expect that, so he'll end up doing some third unrelated thing. It's too much to really be able to figure out. It gets too complicated."
Babs sighed. "You're probably right."
"I'm always right."
"Oh, that is definitely not true, and also not something you should say when you got yourself blown up earlier today."
"I didn't get blown up, I got slightly burned-"
"More than slightly," Cass cut in.
"Okay, but they healed quickly, so it wasn't like it was critical. Non-critically burned. Still not blown up, either way."
"You're impossible," Babs told him, but her lips were just on the verge of smiling, so Dick knew she wasn't that angry. He was glad to see it. If she wasn't angry with him, she probably wasn't suspicious of him, and Dick didn't want to attract any suspicion.
He hated that that was even a consideration. He hated that Deathstroke had put him in this position. He hated Deathstroke, really, just in general. He wondered if he hated him enough to kill him without flinching. He supposed it didn't matter; he had to do it either way.
"Have you told anyone else yet?" Dick asked.
"I'm putting together a report, but I haven't filed it yet. I am going to file it, though. I get why you didn't tell Bruce, but we've got to tell him now."
"I know, but could we tell him in a way that's less likely to cause him to have a panic attack and try to lock me in the Manor for my own safety?"
"Pretty sure B's on the verge of doing that anyway."
"Exactly, which is why I don't want to give him any more ammo."
Babs eyed him suspiciously. "What are you thinking, then?"
"We could pretend you knew all along?"
"Oh, so Bruce will be mad at me too?"
"He's at a Wayne Enterprises meeting. He's busy."
Babs narrowed her eyes. "You did that on purpose."
"Did what on purpose?"
"Bruce and Tim are at that meeting," Babs said, counting off on her fingers. "Duke and Damian are at school. Steph's at a lecture. Jason went back to his place because he had an informant issue he had to deal with. Cass and I were here. I'd bet Alfred was busy when you snuck out too. You timed it for the moment when we'd be least likely to notice you were gone and least able to follow you."
"I already admitted that I wanted to do it alone," Dick said, shrugging.
"Yeah, but it's one thing to want to do something alone, and it's another thing to specifically engineer things so there's the least chance of someone following you. You're a sneaky little shit sometimes."
"I've been trying to sneak things past Bruce since I was nine. I've got a lot of experience."
"Then you should also have experience with the consequences of trying to sneak things past Bruce. I'm not pretending I knew about you sneaking out to check Deathstroke's safe houses."
Dick sighed, draping himself dramatically across the back of his chair. "Then take a good look, because you'll never see me again. I'll be trapped in the Manor forevermore. Bruce will lock me in my room, and you'll only see me when I gaze longingly out the window like a gothic heroine."
"You'd climb out the window first."
"Trapped forevermore, I say!"
Cass giggled. "Bars on the window," she suggested.
"Exactly," Dick said, pointing at her. "Bruce will put bars on my windows. Or probably some sort of fancy wrought-iron lacework that'll match the Manor's aesthetic but still keep me from getting out."
"And what are the rest of us doing in this scenario?" Babs asked with amusement. "Just letting Bruce lock you up?"
"Bruce wouldn't let you stop him. The most you'd be able to do is give me little trinkets from the outside world when he lets you visit. We'd have to talk through the door, of course. He wouldn't let anyone open it. But sometimes, you'd be able to slide things under it, like flowers so I wouldn't forget what the garden was like, or books so I'd have some connection to the world outside."
"You've really put way too much thought into this."
"Like you said, I've got experience with the consequences of trying to sneak things past Bruce. I've had a lot of time to consider my life as a trapped gothic heroine."
"Did Jason make you read Wuthering Heights at some point?"
"Kinda rude that you assume I'd only read it because he made me, but yeah, he made me."
Babs snorted. "I figured you either read it for school or because Jason made you, and you'd be more likely to actually read it if Jason made you."
"You know me too well," Dick sighed. "If Bruce locks me up in my room, will you visit me?"
"Tell you what. If Bruce locks you up in your room and puts bars on your windows, I'll lead an effort to break you out."
"My hero!"
"But we're still telling Bruce that you snuck out to visit all of Deathstroke's safe houses on your own."
"Dammit!"
Babs rolled her eyes. "If you didn't want Bruce to freak out, maybe you shouldn't have done something that everyone knows would freak Bruce out."
"Could you at least not mention the whole bit where I deliberately left at the time when people would be the least likely to follow me? Or at least you think I did, because I haven't technically admitted to that."
Babs studied Dick for a moment. Dick tried to look trustworthy. She'd only leave out her suspicions in the report for Bruce if she believed he really wouldn't do it again, so Dick had to make sure she believed him.
He wished he could just tell her the truth. He knew he couldn't.
"Fine," Babs finally agreed. "But. If you do anything like this again, I'm telling Bruce immediately."
"Deal," Dick agreed. "You're the best, Babs."
"Yeah, I know."
"Steph is on her way," Cass reported, looking up from her phone. "Her lecture is over. She says she has tea."
Babs frowned. "Actual tea from the really good café near campus, or gossip?"
Cass bent over her phone again.
"Why haven't I heard about this really good café near campus?" Dick demanded. "What sort of tea do they have?"
"They have a lot of good loose-leaf blends that they make themselves," Babs replied. "And you'd hear more about it if you spent more time in the Clocktower."
"I spend time in the Clocktower! Don't I?"
Babs shrugged. "Not as much as the girls."
"Then I'll start spending more time here," Dick declared. "Although maybe not right this second, because I think Bruce will freak if I spend too much time away from the Manor, even if it's just to come here. But once he calms down, I'll spend more time here."
"So, never?"
"He doesn't need to be entirely calm, just calmer."
"Steph says she has gossip," Cass reported. "But she can pick up tea, if you want it."
"Next time," Babs dismissed.
Dick pouted. "Hey, maybe I wanted to try the tea!"
"People who got blown up don't get fancy tea."
"Unfair and rude."
"Try not getting blown up next time."
"I'll do my best."
Babs rolled her eyes. "Cass, entertain Dick so he stops distracting me while I write up the report for Bruce."
Cass looked over at Dick. "Spar?"
Dick grinned. Cass was one of the few people he didn't have to hold back with, at least not much. "Absolutely."
When Steph entered the Clocktower, loudly announcing herself with a declaration of, "You will not believe what my professor said today," Dick had his legs hooked around Cass's shoulders and was doing his to pin her down on the mat without letting her dislocate his hips. It probably said something about their lives that Steph didn't even blink, just dropped down into the chair next to Babs and sprawled dramatically.
"What did your professor say today?" Dick asked, only a little breathless as Cass managed to twist out from under him and roll a foot away. They both eyed each other warily as they got back to their feet, then Cass shrugged a little, and by unspoken consensus, they joined Steph and Babs at the table, their spar ended for the moment.
"Wait a sec, before I get into my story, why are you wearing one of Babs's shirts?" Steph demanded.
"Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it," Babs said. "Dick is wearing one of my shirts because he got himself and his old shirt blown up doing something stupid."
Dick looked down at the shirt he was wearing. "This is yours?"
Babs shrugged. "It's baggy and comfortable. I don't wear it much."
"I would ask if we could revisit the whole Dick getting blown up thing, but no one seems too worried," Steph said. "And honestly, it sounds like the sort of stupid shit Dick would do."
"Ouch."
"She's not wrong," Babs countered. "It is the sort of stupid shit you would do, because you did it."
"I get no support in this family."
"I support you," Cass said.
"Thank you, Cass."
"Even when you do stupid shit."
"I take back my thanks."
"What sort of stupid shit did Dick do this time?" Steph asked. "I'm guessing something Deathstroke-related, given all the everything, but what was it specifically?"
"Dick," Babs said, saying his name in the way that was just on the edge of using it as an insult, "decided it was a good idea to check Deathstroke's old safe houses on his own, with no backup."
Steph nodded. "As one does."
"And Deathstroke had a bomb waiting for him in one of them."
"Also as one does. Very normal behavior all around."
"I really got more burned than blown up," Dick said. "And Cass didn't get hurt at all, so I think it was a win."
"Cass was there?" Steph asked. "I thought you went without backup?"
"I found him and sent Cass after him," Babs said. "Not all of us are as stupid as Dick."
"It is a pretty high bar," Steph agreed.
"I don't have to just sit here and be insulted, you know," Dick said, although he made no move to go anywhere else.
"I've already given him a lecture, and Bruce is definitely going to give him another one," Babs told Steph. "I think we can let him off the hook for the moment."
"Anyway, I want to know what your professor said that was so unbelievable," Dick added. "I'm invested."
Steph leaned forward in her chair, and Dick knew his actions were temporarily forgotten in lieu of gossip. He only wished all their problems could be solved so easily.
"Okay, so first off, this professor is a total ass…"
The less said about Bruce's lecture, in Dick's opinion, the better. He hadn't entirely lost his cool, but Dick thought that had less to do with a lack of desire to do so and more to do with Alfred's presence and his mildly disapproving looks whenever Bruce's voice got too loud. Dick appreciated it. He'd thought that he was over his occasional tension when it came to Bruce and Jason, the only two people in the family who came close to matching Deathstroke's body type, but judging by how hard he had to concentrate to keep from tensing up every time Bruce gestured too close to him, Dick was pretty sure he wasn't as over it as he'd thought. It made sense, he supposed, that Deathstroke's return had brought it back. He was more stressed about Deathstroke than usual; he wasn't surprised that it manifested itself in him being jumpier than usual too.
Bruce's lecture had ended with him benching Dick, and even though Dick was a grown man who could make his own decisions, he decided he'd play along for the night. He hoped that would lull Bruce into thinking Dick would follow his orders, which would hopefully make it easier to sneak out and see Deathstroke alone at the location he'd indicated in the first safe house. Deathstroke had set the meeting for early morning, late enough that patrol would be over but early enough that no one would be awake for daytime activities yet. It was probably the easiest time for Dick to sneak away, assuming Bruce didn't actually lock Dick in his room and put bars on the window. Dick had been mostly joking when he'd worried about it with Babs, but he was pretty sure Bruce would do it if he thought he could get away with it.
Since he wasn't going out, Dick sat down at the computer instead, pulling up the files on the Joker. He was currently in Arkham, but that wouldn't stop Deathstroke from getting to him if he wanted to. It would make it easy, honestly, but Dick couldn't help but think that Deathstroke wouldn't let things stay that way.
"Is B done yelling at you, then?" a voice behind Dick asked, and Dick forced himself not to jump too dramatically as he turned around to face Tim.
"For now, at least. Are you not going out tonight?"
Tim shrugged, but he looked a bit shifty. "I was going to do some research."
"B asked you to stay home and keep an eye on me, didn't he?"
"Uh, yeah, he did."
Dick sighed. "I guess I can't really be too upset at him for not trusting me, given how many times I've blown him off when he's benched me."
"Are you going to blow him off tonight?"
"No, I'm going to stay home and behave."
Tim shot him an unimpressed look. "Are you just saying that because you think I'll snitch to Bruce?"
Dick snorted. "No, I'm serious. I'm actually doing research, see?"
Tim looked over Dick's shoulder. "The Joker?"
"Deathstroke said he's here to kill him. Which, given that the Joker is in Arkham right now, would be really easy. It's not like Arkham's security could do anything to stop him. Arkham's security never does anything to stop anyone. Honestly, why has no one snuck into Arkham to kill the Joker yet?"
"Don't say that in front of Jason, he'll do it."
"Anyway," Dick continued, "it would be very easy for Deathstroke to kill the Joker, which means there must be more to his plan, because this is way too simple for him. Especially because he'll want to drag it out if he wants to use this as a way to get me to join him again."
"What do you think he'll do?" Tim asked seriously.
Dick frowned. He'd been trying to get into Deathstroke's head, but he'd been hesitant to try too hard while he was alone, for fear of losing himself in Renegade. With Tim here, though…
"If I start calling myself Renegade or referring to me and Deathstroke as 'we,' smack me, okay?"
Tim looked at Dick, eyes wide and startled. "What?"
Dick closed his eyes and let himself fall back into memory, trying to trace Deathstroke's thought process. He knew the man well, far better than he'd ever wanted to, and he could use that knowledge for good. It was the only even remotely thing that had come out of Dick's time as Renegade, so he had to use it as much as he could.
"Okay," Dick said aloud, eyes still closed, "Deathstroke is here to kill the Joker. He wants to use that to get me to join him again as Renegade. He has to know that I'm not just going to join him out of nowhere. But I think he thinks that, if I kill the Joker, if I kill someone of my own free will, then I'll join him again. He said something that implied he knew about me killing the Joker before, which means he probably knows at least vaguely how badly that went over. And he knows Bruce well enough to know that Bruce won't be happy if I kill someone. He's trying to break down my support system and position himself as the only one left. But he also wants me to want to kill the Joker, which means he can't just go in and shoot him when he's in Arkham. He needs to do something else. He needs the Joker to be a threat. He needs…"
Dick opened his eyes and looked at Tim. "Shit. Check the records at Arkham, see if the Joker has said anything about any plans. And make sure we're keeping an eye on Arkham in general. Maybe someone should guard it."
"I feel like I'm missing a step here," Tim said, although he did obediently pull up the Arkham records. "What is Deathstroke going to do?"
"He needs the Joker to be a threat," Dick said. "And the Joker's not a threat as long as he's in Arkham."
"He's going to break him out?"
"I think he might even help him with whatever plan he has," Dick said. "Or encourage- Shit, he's definitely going to encourage the Joker to go after the family specifically."
"If Deathstroke knows about last time," Tim said slowly, "then he might know that you only did it because you thought the Joker killed me."
"And between you and Jason, I couldn't keep it together," Dick finished. "And there's more of us now. I- I have more to lose. If the Joker hurt all of you, I- I don't know-"
"You wouldn't kill him," Tim said, although there was the tiniest waver in his voice that betrayed him.
"If I was thinking straight, no. But if I was grieving, and if Deathstroke was there, and he encouraged me, and he handed me my- a gun, then…"
If he handed Dick his old gun, the one he'd used as Renegade, the one that fit so well into his hand and was so perversely familiar, and he pointed it at the Joker's head, then Dick didn't know whether he'd be able to stop himself from pulling the trigger. He didn't know if he'd want to stop himself at all.
If the Joker killed his family… If the Joker took one more person from him…
Dick had prepared himself, as much as he could, for the idea of killing Deathstroke. He was not prepared to kill the Joker, and he didn't want to. If he killed the Joker, especially on Deathstroke's orders, he shuddered to think what it would do to him. If the Joker had already killed one - or, god forbid, all - of the others…
Ever since Renegade, there had been times when Dick's sanity had felt paper-thin. If he was being honest, there had been times like that before too, but Renegade had made it worse. If Dick lost one more member of his family, he thought he would snap, and he had no idea what he would do next.
"We'll stop Deathstroke," Tim assured him. "And we'll stop the Joker. It's going to be alright, Dick."
Tim couldn't promise that. Deathstroke would already be working towards his plan. Dick's track record on stopping Deathstroke in the past was mixed, and the stakes were too high to take risks.
He had to meet with Deathstroke as soon as possible, and he had to stop him. Whatever it took, he had to stop him.
"Dick?" Tim asked, a hint of fear in his voice.
"We'll stop him," Dick said, only half aware of his own words. "We'll stop him. I'm not letting Deathstroke or the Joker hurt any of you."
He would kill them both first. He'd rather a different solution, one less likely to make him lose himself, but he'd rather lose himself than his family. If that was what it took, it was a price he would pay without hesitation.
He'd planned on waiting before going to see Deathstroke. He didn't think he had that luxury anymore.
Getting out of the Manor unnoticed had been almost impossible, but Dick was never one to let the impossible stop him. He knew it was possible that the others would figure out that he was gone, especially if Bruce woke up and went to check on him, but he hoped he'd be back quickly enough that that wouldn't be an option. He didn't wear his Nightwing suit, and he was careful not to take anything that could include trackers, and he hesitated for a long moment before he stole one of Jason's guns from the Cave and tucked it into the waistband of his pants.
A shot through the head wouldn't kill Deathstroke, but it might keep him down just long enough for Dick to finish the job.
He didn't know if he'd manage to kill Deathstroke tonight. He didn't know if it would come to that. If he had a chance, he knew he should take it, but if there was any chance that he could talk Deathstroke down without having to kill him, he wanted to take it. He knew it was unlikely, perhaps even impossible, but if he could get through this without having Deathstroke's blood on his hands, he wanted to.
He kept the gun with him anyway, and he made his way to the meeting place Deathstroke had specified.
He arrived a few minutes early, but Deathstroke was already there. His helmet was off, tucked under his arm. Dick wasn't sure if that made things better or worse.
"Renegade. You came sooner than I expected."
"I'm not Renegade."
"And yet you keep coming whenever I call."
"Because you refuse to leave my city."
"As much as you and your father would like it, you do not truly have ownership of the entirety of Gotham. I don't need your permission to be here."
"You're a mercenary, Slade. Legally speaking, you're not supposed to be anywhere other than a jail cell."
"And will you be the one to put me in one?" Deathstroke took a step forward. "Or will you try for something more permanent?"
Dick was very, very aware of the way the gun pressed into his back.
"Or," Deathstroke continued, "will you make this easier on all of us and give into the inevitable?"
"And what's that supposed to be?" Dick asked, lifting his chin. "Me becoming Renegade again? Because that's never going to happen."
"You joined me before."
"Because I had amnesia and you lied to me."
"Perhaps I need to wipe your memory again," Deathstroke mused.
"Again?" Dick repeated sharply. "Did you do it the first time?"
Deathstroke looked vaguely amused. "Do you want to know what happened the first time? I wasn't the one who blew up that building, but I was here, and I did know about it. I knew it would drag in all the Bats, and I thought it might be fun enough to watch. I wasn't expecting to find you in the rubble, abandoned by the others and left for dead."
"I'd just been blown up," Dick retorted. "Of course they thought I was dead. I don't blame them for that."
"You weren't dead. Not yet. I brought you back to my safe house, but I knew you wouldn't last long. But I knew I could change that."
"And what, you did it all out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Of course not. I thought it would be harder to get you to join me, but that was always my goal. It seems a fair exchange for saving you from death."
"I never asked you to save me."
"You'd rather be dead?"
"Than work with you again? Yes."
Deathstroke's mouth twisted slightly, and Dick almost expected him to try to kill him right there. But either Deathstroke had learned some self-control, or he still thought he had a chance of getting Dick back as Renegade, because he stayed his hand.
"You enjoyed it. When you were Renegade, you enjoyed it. And you were good at it."
"I didn't enjoy it, I just didn't know anything else."
"You don't argue your effectiveness."
"I'm good at a lot of things. Just because I'm good at something doesn't mean I need to do it."
"You're wasted here."
"You said that before too. I don't think it's a waste, and it's my choice. It has nothing to do with you. Why are you so obsessed with me anyway?"
Deathstroke sneered at him. "You're an irritation now. You could be a force to be reckoned with."
"I'd say I already am."
"Why did you come here tonight?" Deathstroke asked. He took a step forward, and Dick didn't let himself shy backwards. "If you don't want to join me, why answer my call?"
"To make you leave."
"Your whole family must be working on that, aren't they? You were with your sister earlier, when you blew up my safe house. But you're alone now. Don't try to deny it. Why not bring them with you, if you really want to stop me?"
Dick forced himself to look Deathstroke in the eye. "I know what you're planning. You told me that you're here to kill the Joker, but he's in Arkham. You could kill him in a minute if you wanted to. The security at Arkham is no match for you. You haven't done it yet for a reason."
"And what reason is that?" Deathstroke asked, sounding faintly amused.
"You want me to do it. You want to push me to do it. But you know I won't kill the Joker while he's in Arkham, so you want to try to set up a situation where I will."
"And is there one?"
"No."
"You don't sound confident about that. You've already killed the Joker once. Why not do it again?"
"I don't kill people."
"You killed him last time with your bare hands. It could be cleaner this time, if you want. I still have your gun. Or you could use your escrima sticks, those have always been your favorites. And he would never hurt your family again."
"And what, you'll just let me go after I kill him? This is more of the goodness of your heart?"
"There are plenty of people in the world who are dangerous to those around them. Some of them live in Gotham, but not all of them do. And a lot of them have enemies who want to get rid of them."
Dick stared at Deathstroke for a moment, then found himself laughing. It was a bit hysterical, but he couldn't help it.
"So what, you're saying you'll be a good mercenary now? You'll be a hero? You'll only kill people who deserve to die?"
"My interests are the money and the challenge. There are plenty of contracts that fit those. If you want to narrow it down more, we can."
"And meanwhile, you'll do whatever you can to widen my morals. And all of this hinges on me believing you, which I don't. And it also means I'd have to think there are people who deserve to die, which I don't. And I'd have to want to kill them myself, which, guess what, I don't."
"Don't you care about keeping people safe?"
"This is not the way to keep people safe."
"Think of how many the Joker has killed. Think of how many more he will kill in the future. You could stop all that death with one bullet."
"You really miss having me as your partner, huh? It's not happening."
Deathstroke hummed, and then he pulled out a knife that made Dick's heart trip over itself as it kicked into high gear. He knew that knife, he knew it, and he wouldn't let Deathstroke use it on him, but-
He hadn't meant to let Deathstroke shoot him last time either, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to fight back. He couldn't be sure that wouldn't happen again.
Deathstroke took a step forward, and Dick took a step back. He could feel Renegade's instincts urging him not to, telling him that he would only make things worse if he tried to fight back, but he wasn't Renegade anymore, he was Dick Grayson, he was Nightwing, and he wasn't going to let Deathstroke do anything without a fight.
"Relax," Deathstroke said, and he flipped the knife in his hand and held it out to Dick hilt-first.
Dick hesitated, not quite daring to reach out. "Why are you giving this to me?"
"Think of it as a souvenir," Deathstroke said. "Or a reminder."
"Reminder of what?"
"Take the knife before I stab you with it," Deathstroke said flatly.
Dick took one more moment to weigh his actions, then he took the knife.
"I'll be seeing you, Renegade," Deathstroke said, and then he was gone, leaving Dick alone on a rooftop once again.
Dick let out a long breath, and he looked down at the knife in his hand. It was a bad idea to keep the knife. It was definitely a bad idea. Even if it weren't a gift from Deathstroke - and nothing from Deathstroke was ever just a gift, everything had strings attached - the knife was wrapped up in enough of Dick's trauma that he knew keeping it was a stupid idea. He should throw it down on the ground and leave it there. He should detour to the docks and throw it into the harbor. He should get rid of it without any hesitation.
He looked at it for a long moment, then he slid the knife in his boot and went home.