Welcome to the third and final part of Future History! I had hoped to get this done in less than a year, but apparently this is a January series for me. The whole fic is finished with five total chapters, so I hope to post one every weekend until it's done. (I am a bit slammed this month, so please bear with me if a chapter is late!)
I'll add specific warnings in the author's note when applicable, but I don't think it's really anything beyond what was in the other fics in the series. Generally, be aware of the abusive dynamics (both past and present) between Dick and Deathstroke and general PTSD symptoms.
The thing was, the night started out well. Dick and Jason had just fought their way through a warehouse full of mob enforcers, and they were catching their breath outside while Jason alerted the cops to pick up the handcuffed men inside, and they were enjoying the high of a job well done, and then Dick saw a scuff on the window frame.
Except it wasn't just a scuff, and he knew it.
His heart began to pound as he checked the mark, hoping against hope that he was reading too much into it. But there was a pattern to it, one too specific to be natural and one that Dick knew by heart, no matter how much he'd like to forget. And even worse, the mark was fresh, no more than a few hours old.
It was the mark he and Deathstroke had used to indicate a meeting place, which meant Deathstroke was in the city, and he wanted to talk to Dick.
"Hey, you good?"
Dick jumped as he turned around, resolutely pushing away thoughts of Deathstroke until he had a moment to process them. "Ja- Hood! Yeah, I'm fine. I'm good."
Jason took off his helmet, apparently just so Dick could see that he was scowling at him. "Did you get shot in there?"
"What? No, I'm fine."
Jason jabbed at Dick's side. "Then what's this?"
Dick looked down at his side, noticing the bloodstains that trailed down his torso and leg. "Oh. Huh. In my defense, I didn't even notice it."
"Is that supposed to make it better?"
"It was probably just a graze," Dick dismissed, poking at the rip in his suit. "I don't think there's a bullet lodged in there. I know what that feels like."
Jason's scowl deepened. "You're hopeless."
"It's already healed, it's not a big deal," Dick dismissed. "Let's just get back to the Cave. The cops should be here soon to deal with the guys inside."
The domino mask meant Dick couldn't see Jason's eyes, but he knew exactly what look Jason was giving him anyway. "Is something up?"
Dick didn't look back at the scuff mark behind him. "I'm fine. But it's late - or early, technically - and we dealt with these enforcers, so we should go back to the Cave."
And then I need to figure out what the hell I'm going to do next.
"Fine, but I'm telling B you got shot."
"Oh, come on, it's already healed, and it wasn't a big deal anyway!"
"Yeah, but we're all on a campaign to try and get you to stop getting yourself hurt constantly, so I need to tell B about the latest failure."
Dick rolled his eyes, even though Jason couldn't see it behind his domino mask. The others worried too much. It wasn't like anything would permanently hurt him, and honestly, he was used to the pain by now. He'd been hurt so often with Deathstroke - by Deathstroke, a lot of the time - that injuries hardly phased him anymore. And if it was a choice between him getting hurt or someone in his family getting hurt, he was always going to use himself as a shield. He used to do that before he had a healing factor, so he thought the others should just be glad that he was better-equipped to do it now.
"B would be able to tell, anyway," Jason added as he swung a leg over his bike. "You've got blood all down your side."
"Could be someone else's blood," Dick suggested as he straddled his own bike.
"Pouring out from a hole in your suit? Doesn't take the World's Greatest Detective to figure out what happened there."
Dick was the one scowling now. "He's going to hover."
"Hey," Jason said with a grin, "you're the one who wanted to go back to the Cave."
He took off on his bike before Dick could reply, which Dick knew was purposeful. He started his own bike and took off after Jason, the wind roaring in his ears.
It wasn't enough to drown out his thoughts.
Deathstroke was back. Deathstroke was back. He'd returned, and he was probably here to kill someone, and he'd left a note for Dick in a way that only they would recognize. He wanted to see him. Dick didn't know why, but he couldn't imagine the reason was good.
He didn't want to see Deathstroke. He knew he had to go anyway.
He also knew he should tell the others, but he wouldn't.
They'd just worry, he rationalized, and he didn't want to worry them. Maybe it wouldn't even be a big deal. If it was a problem that needed the whole family, he'd tell them everything, but until he knew it would be, he didn't want to say anything that would upset them unnecessarily.
The others would probably disagree with what he thought was necessary, but Dick would deal with that later, if he had to.
So he'd go back to the Cave, and he'd debrief with Jason and shower and change and go upstairs and pretend like everything was fine, and then he'd sneak out and find Deathstroke. And once he found him… Well, he supposed that would depend on what Deathstroke had to say. He couldn't imagine it would be anything good.
He'd told Deathstroke to stay the hell out of Gotham. Deathstroke had left, but he hadn't actually agreed to stay away. Dick should have expected that he would show up sooner or later. Even before the whole Renegade mess, Deathstroke would always show up sooner or later. Now that he'd finally gotten a taste of Dick fighting at his side, just like he'd always wanted, Dick was honestly surprised he'd taken this long to come back. Never let it be said Deathstroke lacked persistence.
But Dick could be pretty persistent too, and Gotham was his home. He would figure out a way to get Deathstroke out of it.
Sneaking out of the manor wasn't easy, but Dick was pretty sure he'd managed to get out without alerting anyone else. He was in costume, but he'd turned off the comm. If someone really wanted to get a hold of him, he knew Babs could turn it back on remotely, but he hoped to get back home before anyone even figured out he was gone. If that didn't happen - to be entirely honest, he kind of doubted it would - he'd left a note saying that he wasn't in any trouble and there was no need to worry. Given his family, he was sure they'd worry anyway, but it might buy him a bit of time.
It didn't take long to reach the building where he knew Deathstroke would be waiting. Sure enough, once he leapt onto the rooftop, a figure melted out of the shadows.
"Renegade."
"That's not my name," Dick said, taking great care to keep his voice even. "That's never going to be my name again."
"Nightwing, then," Deathstroke said, with an air of amusement. "But would Nightwing recognize a message between mercenaries and answer it? That seems more like Renegade's behavior."
"I only answered your message to tell you to get out the hell of my city. Again."
"You don't own the whole city. Besides, what I'm doing here has nothing to do with you."
"You're here to kill someone. You know I can't let you do that."
Deathstroke hummed. Dick hated that there was still a part of him, even after a year, that wanted to fall in step at Deathstroke's side. He never would again, never, but the little bit of him that remained Renegade didn't seem likely to go away any time soon.
"What if I told you," Deathstroke began, "that the person I'm here to kill is the Joker?"
Dick's breath caught in his throat. "I'd say you're lying."
It was getting harder to keep his voice even.
"What, you don't think there's anyone who would pay to have the Joker eliminated?"
"No, I believe that. I just don't believe that you'd be the one doing it." Dick crossed his arms over his chest, hoping it would hide the slight tremble in his fingers. "If you wanted to take out a contract on the Joker, you could have done it years ago. You're just saying this because you think it means I won't try to stop you. But even if you really are here to kill the Joker, I'm not going to let you do it."
"You're right that I could have killed the Joker years ago," Deathstroke agreed. "I've considered it before, but it never seemed worth it. It's not like he's an easy mark."
Dick narrowed his eyes. "What's changed, then?"
Deathstroke shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe I want to do the right thing. Eliminating that clown has to be the right thing, doesn't it?"
"Don't bullshit me."
"Or maybe," Deathstroke said slowly, "I want my partner back."
Dick's blood ran cold. "I'm not helping you kill the Joker."
"From what I've heard, you've done it yourself before, long before you were at my side. Not that I can blame you, of course. He did kill your little brother. Tell me, is Red Hood still looking for revenge? Maybe he'd help me out instead."
"Stay the hell away from him," Dick snapped. At least the way his hands were shaking was at least partially from rage now. "And get the hell out of Gotham. I won't say it again, Slade."
"You want me to leave Gotham?" Deathstroke asked. "Make me."
Deathstroke moved faster than an unenhanced human could see, but Dick was enhanced himself, and he could see the way Deathstroke reached for his gun just fine. He could have dodged it, except Renegade's not-so-buried instincts told him not to fight it, that it would only make things worse if he did. The gun went off, and a bullet tore through Dick's side, right above his hip.
It went all the way through. Dick would have thought Deathstroke was mad enough that he would have aimed just an inch lower, where the bullet would have lodged itself in bone and needed to be dug out. Then again, if he wanted Dick to come back, maybe he was restraining himself.
"See you around, Renegade," Deathstroke said, and then he was gone.
Dick lingered on the rooftop, not quite able to bring himself to move even after his side healed over. At some point, he found that he was on his knees, although he wasn't sure when he'd stopped standing. He should leave, he told himself; he should get up and go home. He should move.
He hadn't even managed to get up yet when Batman swooped down in front of him, the worry on his face clear even through the cowl. "Nightwing? Are you alright?"
Dick blinked and looked up at his father. He'd wanted to keep this from his family, to deal with it himself, but he knew they would find out sooner or later, and in that moment, he desperately wanted his father to tell him everything would be okay, even if it wouldn't.
"Deathstroke," he rasped. "Deathstroke is back."
And apparently, there was more of him left in Dick's head than Dick had realized.
When they returned to the manor, Alfred was waiting in the Batcave with a steaming mug of tea that he immediately pressed into Dick's hands. "Thanks," Dick said, although he couldn't bring himself to drink it. The warmth in his hands felt comforting, and that would have to be enough.
"Of course, Master Dick," Alfred agreed. His eyes flitted over Dick's bloodied suit, but he didn't say a word about it. That was a clear sign of concern; earlier, when Dick had come back with blood all down his side, Alfred had made a dry comment about how he rather wished Dick would stop adding to his workload with so much mending. Dick's offer to mend his own suit had been met with a flat look. Dick had elected not to mention how Deathstroke had made him mend and wash all of his own clothing after he shot him in it, and so things had remained mostly lighthearted. But there was only silence now, and it was heavy.
To his surprise, no one else seemed to be in the Cave. He'd been expecting a full inquisition. "Did you ban the others?"
"I haven't told them," Bruce replied. "Alfred noticed you were gone and told me. We saw your note, so we decided to let the others sleep until we knew if something was wrong."
"I think we know now that something is."
"I didn't think you'd want to be swarmed with all your siblings at once," Bruce said. "Tell me what happened, and then we can tell them tomorrow."
Dick wasn't sure he loved the idea of telling the story two times, but he knew he wasn't ready to tell it to all of his siblings right now. Bruce and Alfred, he could probably manage, but his siblings were much worse at hiding their anger towards Deathstroke, and he didn't think he could handle all their yelling. And to be honest, he was a bit… ashamed. Deathstroke was still in his head, even after everything he'd done to try and get him out. There was still a part of his brain that belonged to Renegade. All he wanted was to put that behind him, and he still couldn't quite manage to do it.
"Dick," Bruce said gently, sitting down and gesturing for Dick and Alfred to do the same, "what happened?"
Dick sat, vaguely aware of Alfred sitting down near him. "I- I don't know where to start."
"You went out for a reason. Start there. Why did you go out tonight?"
"I saw a mark," Dick said slowly. "When I was out with Jason. It was something that Deathstroke and I used to communicate with each other, back when I was still-" He swallowed. "So I knew he was here, and I knew he'd be waiting for me."
"And you went to see him alone," Bruce said flatly, in the tone that meant he was very displeased.
"I thought I could handle it. And I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I- I just wanted to tell him to leave."
"And what did he say?"
Dick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He said he's here to kill the Joker."
Alfred sucked in a shocked breath. Bruce leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
"Do you believe him?"
"I…" Dick's initial immediate thought had been that Deathstroke was lying, but after everything Deathstroke said, after thinking about it more…
"I think he was telling the truth. And he said he was doing it because he wanted me to work with him again, and I think he was telling the truth about that too."
"Deathstroke is never getting his hands on you again," Bruce growled.
"He's still in my head, though," Dick said, looking down at the blood on the side of his costume. "He- I could have gotten out of the way of the bullet before it hit me. I didn't. Before, it was always… If I fought back, or if I tried to avoid the bullet, it was always worse. I could have avoided it tonight, I wanted to avoid it tonight, but there was a part of my brain that told me not to."
There's a part of my brain that's still Renegade.
"We'll get him out of Gotham," Bruce said firmly. "He's not going to get close to you again."
"B, none of you can go up against Deathstroke."
"Alone, no, but there are six of us and one of him."
Dick shook his head. This was half the reason he'd gone to visit Deathstroke alone; he hadn't wanted anyone else in the family anywhere near him. He was the only one who stood a chance, the only one who would heal from whatever Deathstroke broke.
Deathstroke had taken so much from him already. Dick couldn't bear to lose anything more.
"You can't fight him," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You can't, Bruce. Even with all of you- He's too strong-"
"Breathe, Master Dick," Alfred said quietly, reaching out and putting a hand on Dick's arm.
"We'll figure this out, Dick," Bruce said in a low, reassuring voice. "And we'll figure it out in a way where no one gets hurt."
Dick looked down at the mug in his hands. "I should change," he said, seeing the blood on his gloves. "I- I need to clean up."
Alfred patted his arm. "I brought down a change of clothes. If you put your suit with the mending, I can repair it."
"I can fix it," Dick offered. "And I can wash it. I'm good at getting blood out of things."
"Perhaps you are, but I would like to do this for you. And you needn't do everything alone."
Dick swallowed, then he stood. He picked up the change of clothes and started heading towards the showers, and he was halfway there when Bruce finally said, "Chum?"
"Yeah?" Dick asked, turning around.
"We'll fix this," Bruce said in a low rumble. "I promise. It'll be alright."
Dick couldn't say that Bruce had never lied to him, but he didn't lie about things that were important, and he didn't like to break his promises. This one, though, Dick wasn't sure he could keep.
"Okay," he said, aware that his voice was dull. "I'm gonna change and go to bed."
"Goodnight, Master Dick."
"Goodnight, Dick."
Dick nodded, then he hurried to the showers and stripped out of his bloodied suit as fast as possible. Only when he was under the too-hot spray did he let his breathing grow jagged and let the tears escape.
Bruce couldn't promise that everything would be alright. He couldn't promise that they would fix things. But Dick promised himself that he would do everything in his power to make sure no one in his family got hurt. If Deathstroke wanted Renegade back, Dick would fight tooth and nail to stay away from him, but he'd do his best to keep his family from getting caught up in the middle.
He'd lost too much to Deathstroke already. He refused to lose anything more.
When Dick went down to breakfast the next morning, everyone was sitting around the table, which only ever happened when it was specifically requested. Bruce usually was the one to request it, and half of them wouldn't agree until Alfred quietly backed him up. Often, Bruce just asked for everyone to be there because he wanted to see them, but this morning, Dick knew he wanted everyone to be there so they could strategize. Bruce would want to figure out a plan.
And that meant Dick would have to explain everything all over again.
"About time you got down here," Jason said as Dick sank down into his chair. "We weren't out that late last night."
Dick met Bruce's eyes for a moment, then ducked his head and poured himself some coffee.
"What the hell is that about?" Jason demanded immediately. "What are you two hiding from us?"
"We were about to tell you," Bruce said, keeping his voice mild. "Something happened last night."
"What happened?" Damian demanded, his gaze flickering from Bruce to Dick. "Richard?"
"Deathstroke is back in Gotham," Dick said, then he huddled down to let the flood of angry yelling pass over him.
"That piece of shit-!" Jason yelled, while Steph cried, "I'll make him regret even thinking about Gotham again," and Damian threatened, "I'll take his other eye and his head along with it." Tim started strategizing about the best ways to take him down while Duke snapped about how Deathstroke had some nerve, and Cass glared with murder in her eyes, apparently so angry as to be past words. Dick took a deep breath and forced himself not to react to the increasing tension.
"Quiet," Bruce said, his voice just slightly raised but stern enough to cut through the babble anyway. "Deathstroke is here, like Dick said, and he's on a contract. He says he's here to kill the Joker."
The room went silent, then Jason groaned loudly. "Great. Not only did he steal my brother, but now he's stealing my schtick."
"We have to stop him," Bruce continued. "And we have to make sure he gets out of Gotham, preferably for good."
"And I don't know if I can help," Dick added. "I… I saw him last night, and he's still in my head. I might be a liability."
"You fought him when we had only just taken the shrapnel out of your head," Tim protested.
"That was a short fight, and I still did let him shoot me. And this time, part of the whole reason he's here is to try and win me back."
Steph snorted, and all eyes went to her. "Sorry," she said, waving a hand. "It's just- Dick, I don't think I've ever heard the phrase 'win me back' outside of like, shitty romcoms."
Somehow, the joke managed to actually lighten the atmosphere. Dick grinned, and it didn't feel entirely forced. "Yeah, that's fair."
"Dick's phrasing aside," Bruce said, "Deathstroke is here because he wants Renegade. We need to stop him as quickly as possible."
"Well, it's not like we haven't been preparing for this for a while," Jason said. "I have spent a lot of time figuring out how to put Deathstroke down."
"Permanently?" Bruce asked warningly.
"Dick said Deathstroke wants him back, right? He can't be creepy about brainwashing him again if he's dead."
"Jason-"
"We just need to deal with him," Dick said, working hard to keep his voice completely level. "We need to get him out of Gotham."
"Don't worry, we'll get him far out of Gotham," Jason promised. "Do you think Uncle Clark would help throw the body into an active volcano, or should I stick with asking Aunt Diana?"
"Definitely Diana," Steph said. "Clark will get weird about the whole dead body thing, and Diana won't snitch to B."
"I'm sitting right here," Bruce said, "and you are not killing anyone, and you're certainly not dropping a body into a volcano."
"I feel like Deathstroke should be the exception to that rule."
"No, Jason."
The banter was familiar, with the slightest hint of playfulness to it, and Dick felt strangely disconnected from it. Normally, he'd join in, but right now… Deathstroke was there. He was in his city. He was looking for Dick again, and Dick knew well the lengths that Deathstroke was willing to go to get the things he wanted. He wanted Dick, and he wanted him badly.
It was very hard to stand between Deathstroke and something he wanted badly.
We don't have time for this, Dick wanted to say as Jason continued to wheedle for permission he'd never get. You don't understand what Deathstroke is like. You don't understand what he'll do.
But the reason they didn't understand was because Dick had never explained. He didn't want to burden his younger siblings with that knowledge, and he was afraid of how it might alter his father's view of him. Even back before Renegade, Dick had been the one to primarily deal with Deathstroke, so he was the family's uncontested authority on the subject.
Right now, he knew it would take a lot of work and planning to make his family capable of taking down Deathstroke.
"Sirs," Alfred said as he brought in a fresh pot of coffee, "perhaps you might cease your arguing and begin to establish a plan for the entire family? Time is rather of the essence, I should think."
Bruce and Jason both looked vaguely shamefaced. "You're right, Alfred," Jason agreed. "We need a plan."
"We need more information," Bruce said, and his apologetic gaze met Dick's. "Is there anything more you can tell us?"
Oh, there was a great deal more Dick could tell, if he thought he could stomach getting the words out. "Probably," he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out raspy. "About Deathstroke in general, or…"
"Anything you think might be relevant," Bruce said. "If you can-"
"I can," Dick confirmed. He could; it would be uncomfortable, but he knew it was important if they were going to go up against Deathstroke and come out alive, and even more important if they wanted any chance of victory. Deathstroke was a good fighter, and that meant he wasn't too predictable, but he had certain styles, certain ways of attacking, that Dick had learned well as Renegade. Sometimes, they'd been the only thing that kept him on his feet when they sparred. Other times, they weren't enough, but they would keep things from being as bad as they could have been. Dick could pass that information on to his family. He could tell them what they needed to know.
He couldn't do it while they all looked at him like this, though.
"I'll put together a file," he said. "And we can discuss it later, if you have questions."
Bruce eyed him, a bit awkwardly. "Time is of the essence."
"Oh my god, Bruce," Tim groaned.
"I'll do it after breakfast," Dick promised. "We can discuss it over lunch."
He didn't want to. God, he didn't want to. But his family needed to know. He had information that could protect them, could help them take down a serious threat, and he had to share it. He'd been putting it off for a year, but he couldn't put it off anymore.
"We will figure out a way to kill that son of a bitch, you know," Jason said. "He won't get near you again."
"If you want us to kill him," Steph added. "Not if it's going to give you another guilt complex."
If it had been a more lighthearted moment, Dick might have responded with "another guilt complex?" and his family would gently have made fun of him for his general disposition towards feeling guilty about everything, whether it was his fault or not. This time, Dick wasn't in the mood for it.
"No one is killing anyone," Bruce said before Dick had to respond, which was a relief. "But we will get Deathstroke out of Gotham, and we will do our best to keep him out."
"I know," Dick murmured, and he didn't mention that he wasn't sure if their best would be enough.
Dick had known the file on Deathstroke would be hard to write. He'd known even as he volunteered to do it, and he'd volunteered anyway because he knew it had to be done. That didn't make it easy, of course, but it meant that the difficulty didn't matter. There wasn't another option.
When he sat down to actually write it, though, he realized he'd vastly underestimated how hard it would be.
He knew what had to be in the file. He could form the phrases in his mind easily. But actually writing them down, actually putting them on paper… His hands shook as he put them to the keyboard. It felt like writing the words would make them somehow more real, and it was a textbook trauma response, he knew it was a textbook trauma response, but knowing didn't stop his hands from shaking.
He had to write it down. He had to share it. That wouldn't make it any more real than it already was. It had already happened, it was already real, and putting it on paper wouldn't change anything. He knew that, he knew it, but he couldn't quite make himself believe it.
He wondered if it would be easier to tell someone and have them write it down, but immediately dismissed the thought. That would be worse. He didn't want to do this alone, he hated being alone, but he didn't want anyone to be here and watching him either. He especially didn't want anyone to be here and aware of what he was writing.
That would be a problem when he had to discuss the file with the others. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it.
For now, he needed to be both alone and not alone, and after a few moments, he picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Hey Babs, do you have a few minutes?"
"I've got some time," Babs replied. "And I'll be over for lunch. I couldn't make it over for breakfast, but Bruce told me what's going on."
"I said I'd make a file about Deathstroke for the family," Dick said. "And I'm doing it, I'm going to do it, but I can't just sit in here alone and write it all down. I'll go insane."
"Do you want me to come over, or do you want me to just stay on the line?" Babs asked immediately. "Or you can come over here, but your dad will flip if you're more than ten feet away from him."
"Just stay on the line. And talk, maybe? But not a conversation, I don't think I'll be able to respond. Just… can you keep taking so I know you're there?"
"Of course," Babs said, her voice gentle in a way that grated at Dick slightly. Babs was always forthright and straightforward, and when she wasn't, it was normally because something was seriously wrong. Right now, something was seriously wrong, so it made sense that Babs was using her gentle voice, but Dick always felt vaguely patronized when she turned it on him.
He took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm going to start writing the file."
"Let me tell you about this update I'm running for our systems," Babs said, and as Dick began to type, Babs began to explain the update and the challenges it had presented. The sound of her voice helped keep Dick grounded, even as his hands still shook badly enough that he fumbled the keys occasionally. It didn't make it easy, but he hadn't expected that anything would be able to do that. It did make it possible, and that was what he'd needed.
"I need to leave now if I'm going to make it to the Manor in time for lunch," Babs said after she finished going through the minutiae of the new systems and how they compared to the old ones. "I can stay on the line, but I might need to take a few breaks from talking."
"No need," Dick said, saving the file and closing it. "I'm done."
On Babs's side, he could hear the ding that indicated that a new report had been filed. There was the click of a mouse, a few moments of silence, and then a poorly muffled hiss.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay on the line? I can."
"I'm okay," Dick said, closing his computer and pushing it away from him. "I'll see you soon anyway."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, Babs. See you soon."
Dick hung up before Babs could say another word. He waited to see if Babs would call back, but she didn't. He would have ignored her even if she had. He'd needed the company before, but now he desperately needed to be alone.
He got up and went into the bathroom, feeling somewhat disconnected from his body. Dissociation, he knew, and it made sense, but that did nothing to make him feel it any less. He washed his hands, scrubbing and scrubbing with too-hot water, and he didn't realize he was repeatedly breaking his rapidly-healing skin until a voice from behind him said, "Whoa, Lady Macbeth, maybe slow it down a little."
Dick turned around to see Steph behind him, watching him with poorly-veiled concern in her eyes. She was keeping a careful distance away, exuding reassurance and clearly trying to make it obvious she wasn't a threat.
"Only reason your hands aren't clean is cause you're mangling them," she said. "Give them a second to heal, then rinse them off, and they'll be good."
Dick did as Steph said, taking his hands out from under the water and letting the skin heal again. He put them back under the water and rinsed them, then he picked up his towel and wiped them dry. Only then did he turn fully around to Steph.
"Babs sent you, didn't she?"
"We're all worried about you," Steph replied honestly. That was something Dick appreciated about her; she was always honest, and even though Dick knew she was more gentle in situations that called for it, she wasn't obvious about it. He knew Babs meant well by her obvious gentleness, but he preferred Steph's honesty.
"I'm not going to say you don't have anything to worry about, but I'll be okay," Dick said. "And I don't need to be watched."
"I just came in here to see you mangling your hands."
"Mangling is an exaggeration."
"Only because of your healing factor. If you didn't have that, your hands would be a total mess right now."
Dick walked past Steph into his room, then almost turned right back around when he saw his computer. He avoided it instead, sitting down on his bed. Steph pulled his desk chair over and straddled it to sit backwards.
"Look, I'm not going to push, cause I know the others will do enough of that at lunch, but I will say that you can let us in more. I know you don't want to talk about Deathstroke, and I don't blame you, but you need to know that we're not going to break if you tell us what happened."
"I'm not worried about that," Dick said. It was true; he knew that his family could stand hearing about it. His real concern was twofold; first, he didn't want to think about it himself, and second, he didn't want it to change the way his family looked at him. He knew what he'd done, and he knew what Deathstroke had done to him (or, as a small voice in the back of his head worded it, what he'd let Deathstroke do to him). And his family knew some of it, and they'd deduced some more, but if they knew it all…
"Are you in a hugging mood, or a personal space mood?" Steph asked. When Dick looked at her with some surprise, she added, "We've all got complicated relationships with touch. Sometimes it helps, and sometimes it doesn't, and it's not always clear to someone on the outside. Do you want a hug, or do you want me to give you some space? Or I can leave altogether, if you want, as long as you promise not to start mangling your hands again."
"Don't leave," Dick said quickly. He'd wanted to be alone before, but now that he had Steph in front of him, he couldn't bear the thought. "And…" He thought for a moment about whether physical touch would help or hurt. Occasionally, a completely innocuous touch would remind him of Deathstroke (or sometimes of things even before, of Tarantula or Mirage-), but right now, he needed something to ground him, to remind him he was here. He thought touch could help with that.
"I'd like a hug."
"One hug, coming right up," Steph said easily, telegraphing her movements as she stepped forward. She held her arms out, and Dick stepped into them, letting her embrace him tightly. He hugged her back, but carefully; Dick had to hug his family so carefully now to be sure he wouldn't hurt them. And as tightly as they hugged back, it never felt tight, not in the way it had before. He'd hugged Clark a few times in the past year, and he relished it each time, the tight embrace and the ability to hug back as tightly as he liked. Clark could still crush him into paste if he wanted to, but Dick knew he wouldn't, and sometimes, he liked the weight.
He'd never tell his family, though, and Steph's hug was still helpful and grounding. Dick clung to her for a few moments, then he loosened his grip and moved back when she did the same.
"Feeling better?" Steph asked with a small smile.
"Yeah, I am," Dick agreed. "Thanks."
"Any time." Steph sat back down in the chair and studied Dick for a moment. "Want me to rant about something unimportant?"
Sometimes, it was very obvious that Steph and Babs spent a lot of time together. "Could you?"
"Oh, I absolutely can." Steph grinned, and Dick couldn't help but grin back. "Get ready for a crash course in classical Arabic poetry, because I've been taking a course in it to fill a gen-ed requirement and it's actually really cool."
"I only know what Damian's told me," Dick said, trying to settle on the bed in a way that felt comfortable. Most of his discomfort was mental, he knew that, but it made him fidgety all the same.
"Same, actually, until I took this course. That's part of why I took it, actually. I thought Damian might find it interesting. Of course, he's got lots of opinions, but they've actually helped me in writing some of my essays…"
Steph rambled on about the poetry she'd studied and how she'd used some of Damian's opinions in her essays with varying results. Dick tried to follow her as much as he could, but he lost track of the conversation a few times when memories reared their heads. He managed to shove them down each time, though, and they were coming much more infrequently when Tim poked his head into the room and said, "Dick- Oh, Steph, you're here too, good. Alfred says lunch is ready, if you guys are."
Tim had read the file; Dick could tell from the look on his face. He was trying too hard to keep it steady, trying to appear like nothing was wrong. It would have freaked Dick out if he hadn't known exactly what it was from.
He wasn't sure if Steph had already read the file. He was guessing she hadn't, simply because he didn't think she would have had enough time to read through the whole thing between him putting it up on the server and her coming to find him in his bathroom. She might have read the highlights, but not the full thing.
He was about to go down for lunch, where everyone else would have read the whole report. The thought made his stomach lurch. He's barely been able to stomach a piece of toast at breakfast; he was sure he wouldn't be able to eat a single bite at lunch.
He did have to go down there, though, so he stood. "Thanks for letting us know. Steph, you ready?"
"Ready if you are," Steph said, the response a bit heavier than the lighthearted quip would normally have been. If Dick said he wasn't ready, he was pretty sure Steph would stay back with him.
He wasn't ready. It didn't matter. They didn't have the luxury of waiting until he was. Deathstroke was in the city, planning to kill the Joker and do god knows what else. Dick had to do his part to stop him.
"Let's go, then," he said, and he started for the door. He was almost positive Tim and Steph were furiously signing about him behind his back, but he didn't turn to check. If he turned around, he might stop moving forward, and he had to keep moving forward.
He'd get through it somehow. He had to.
The second Dick walked through the dining room doors, he wanted to leave.
No one did anything so obvious as to turn towards him as he entered, but he knew that everyone was watching. He could feel their eyes, and he could feel their pity, and he wanted to claw off his skin with it.
He had to get through it. He just had to get through it.
"Alright," Bruce said awkwardly from the head of the table. "We're all here. Let's get started."
Dick slipped into a chair between Babs and Steph, with Cass on Steph's other side and Bruce on Babs's. He didn't want to be easily in Bruce's direct line of sight, and considering Babs and Steph had already helped keep him calm, he figured they could do it again. It did put him directly across from Jason, who was practically radiating murderous rage, but Dick could bear it. Duke, Tim, and Damian sat on the other side with Jason, and in a rare event, Alfred sat down at the other end of the table after he finished laying out the lunch spread.
"Have we all read the file?" Bruce asked, not looking over at Dick.
It was clear that everyone had; at least the highlights, if not all of it. Dick could tell from the way the tension ramped up and no one would look him in the eye.
"I believe we have, Master Bruce," Alfred replied crisply. "Does anyone have any insights that they believe would be useful?"
Dick had been prepared to answer questions, or at least as prepared as he could be, and he had the feeling that Bruce had been planning to ask them, but Alfred's words had taken the wind out of their sails. Maybe they could just talk about the report without anyone directly asking Dick about it. Maybe they could just talk about Deathstroke while avoiding the elephant in the room.
"Well," Tim said after a moment, "Dick, you moved more slowly when you were healing back when you had the shrapnel in your head, right?"
Dick nodded slowly. He'd done experiments with Tim and some of the others about that early on, after Damian caught him trying to do an experiment on his own. "I did, but I don't now, and Deathstroke doesn't."
"But it does exhaust you sometimes when you need to heal from something big," Jason said. "Like that time you got impaled and stayed at my place afterwards. You were tired from healing."
"Are you two suggesting that we can slow Deathstroke down if we injure him enough?" Bruce asked.
"It might work," Tim said. "We'd have to get close enough to him to do damage, of course, which won't be easy, but we can try for death by a thousand cuts."
"We will not kill him," Bruce said firmly. "We will keep him from Gotham, but we will not kill him."
"Speak for yourself," Jason muttered.
"Jason-"
"We know how Deathstroke operates," Babs cut in before an argument could start. "We know his standard procedure when he's got a new mark. The Joker might be different, given that he's in Arkham, but the basics should still be the same. We can use that as a starting place to anticipate his moves."
The thought of speaking up was painful, and the words seemed to stick in Dick's throat, but he forced them out anyway. "Deathstroke can be flexible when he has to be. We- He had a strict schedule that he liked to follow, but when we came to Gotham before, we didn't follow it, and he was fine."
"Yeah, but he didn't manage to kill his target and he also lost you," Steph countered. "So maybe he wasn't fine."
It was a fair point. Dick hadn't really thought about it like that before.
"Do you think we can assume that he'll stick to his usual schedule, then?" Bruce asked him.
Dick hated, hated, to think about Deathstroke like that, to put himself back into Renegade's psyche and remember how Deathstroke had been. He hated it even more now, when Renegade felt perilously close to the surface. He'd definitely surfaced the night before, on the rooftop, and Dick had had no choice but to tap into him while writing the file. He felt close, and Dick hated it.
He knew, of course, that Renegade wasn't really a separate entity, and he could face that head-on sometimes, but he didn't think today was one of those days.
"I don't know," he admitted. "He'll probably go for a variation of it. Deathstroke knows his trade. He's a master of it. He was distracted last time, and it was the reason why Lucius survived and I escaped. This time, he'll be better prepared." Dick looked down at his fork, turning it in his hand. "He underestimated us all last time. He didn't think that I'd leave him, and he didn't think we'd manage to find each other. I don't think he'll do that again."
"So he'll be more prepared," Bruce said. "And we need to prepare for that. Dick, you've fought him more than any of us. How have you gotten him to give up on a target before?"
The good thing about that question was that it referenced times before Renegade, times that were easier to think about. The bad thing about that question was that Dick didn't have a good answer. He'd never beaten Deathstroke definitively enough that he stayed away for long.
He knew that, across the table, Jason had plans to keep Deathstroke away permanently. Dick didn't let himself look his brother in the eye.
"Not easily. I paid him off one time, for more than the original contract. But this time… He's not just here for his target. He told me that he accepted the contract to kill the Joker specifically because he wanted me back. I don't think he's leaving Gotham until he gets at least one of the things he wants."
"Either you or the Joker's head," Jason said. "I don't see why we can't just let him have the second one."
"Jason-"
"I don't know if it would stop him anyway," Dick interrupted, cutting through whatever Bruce was going to say and hopefully heading off any argument before it could happen. "His main objective here is me."
"Do you think he'll choose you over his contract?" Tim asked. "Deathstroke is known for always making good on his contracts."
"Mostly," Dick agreed, "but he's missed them before without too many consequences. I stopped him a few times, and then he didn't kill Lucius and it didn't seem to have much of an effect on his reputation."
"From what we know so far, Deathstroke doesn't particularly care about killing the Joker," Babs said. "Dick, you said that he told you he only took the contract because he thought he could get you back with it. If it comes down to a choice between getting Dick on his side and killing the Joker, I think I know which one Deathstroke will choose."
"He's not getting Richard back," Damian snapped.
"Of course he isn't," Alfred agreed. "We will not allow it."
"Deathstroke is here for his contract, though," Duke said slowly. "What if we did something to the contract? Or made sure he had another one somewhere else?"
"If we managed to go through Wintergreen, we might be able to manage something," Dick replied. "The problem is getting to Wintergreen, which won't be easy."
"It's an idea, though," Bruce said, favoring Duke with a proud look. "We can keep that on the back burner. Primarily, though, we need to focus on figuring out how to defend ourselves against Deathstroke."
"And how to keep him away from Dick," Jason added.
"Look, I don't mean to be flippant or anything, but…" Steph looked over at Dick. "Couldn't you just… not be in Gotham? You could stay with the Kents for a while, or hell, you could even go to the Watchtower. Anywhere that's not Gotham and not somewhere where Deathstroke can get to you. Wouldn't that sort of solve the problem?"
Dick shook his head. "If he can't get to me physically, he'll get to me mentally."
"Through Renegade?" Tim asked.
"Through you," Dick corrected. "Deathstroke knows how people tick, and he knows how I tick specifically. If he can't get me, he'll take you instead, and he'll make me trade myself for you. And he knows I'll do it."
"You will not," Damian declared. "Richard, I forbid you to surrender yourself to him."
"I don't want to, but he wants me alive. If he grabs one of you, the only thing that'll stop him from killing you is the fact that you're worth more to him alive. If I refuse to go with him and he decides to prove he's not bluffing, he won't hesitate to kill you."
"And we can't just tell him no?" Steph asked. "I mean, that's kind of what you did last time, right? You got your memories back, you told Deathstroke to get lost, and he got lost. That wouldn't work again?"
"I'm honestly surprised it worked then," Dick replied. He hadn't really expected it to, even when he'd done it. He'd been prepared for a fight, and he'd stayed prepared until he'd been able to prove that Deathstroke had indeed left the city. "If he's decided to come back, it's because he's determined. And when Deathstroke is determined, he gets what he wants, no matter what he has to do to make that happen."
"Do you think he's been planning this since last year, then?" Babs asked.
"He might have been. I wouldn't be surprised."
"Why would he wait so long?" Tim asked. "I mean, it's been a whole year. Wouldn't it have been easier if he'd come back before? Not that you'd have gone with Deathstroke before either, I'm not saying you would have, but-"
"It's possible that the elements of his plan wouldn't have lined up before," Dick said, cutting Tim off before he could spiral further. "Deathstroke doesn't tend to do things until he knows he can do them right."
"So something about the situation now has made him confident that he'll get what he wants?"
Dick nodded. "For whatever reason, he must think now is the best moment for this."
He wondered if Deathstroke had waited because he'd hoped that time would show Dick that he no longer fit in with the rest of his family. He did feel that way sometimes, like there was a divider between them that hadn't been there before Renegade but couldn't be removed now. He wasn't going to return to Deathstroke over it, but he had to admit, some things had been… easier, as Renegade. It felt like a betrayal to even think it, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.
If Deathstroke thought that was enough to make him go back, maybe he'd never known Dick at all. Dick never did things the easy way.
"For now," Bruce stated, "our main goals are to keep an eye on Deathstroke and figure out what he's up to. We're not looking to confront him yet." He looked over at Jason. "Does everyone understand me?"
"I understand," Jason replied. "Doesn't mean I agree."
"Please, Jay," Dick half-begged. The thought of Jason going up against Deathstroke alone made him feel physically sick. "Be careful."
Jason's expression softened as he turned to Dick. "I'll be careful, Dickiebird. I'm not gonna do anything reckless."
Jason's definition of reckless didn't always match Dick's, but Dick knew it was the best he would get.
"To be safe, no one should go out alone at night," Bruce added. "And… Dick…"
"Don't worry, I'll stick with you." Normally, the thought of those sorts of restrictions chafed at Dick, especially in a situation like this, but if Renegade was still there, lurking somewhere in his mind, he couldn't be sure that he wouldn't be a liability, and he couldn't go out alone like that.
"Alright," Bruce said, visibly more relaxed after Dick agreed without a fight. "Does anyone else have anything else they want to add?"
"Richard," Damian said, "do you want us to kill Deathstroke?"
Dick could practically see Bruce swallowing back his protest that no one was going to kill Deathstroke. That wasn't what Damian's question was about, and they all knew it. Bruce could say that they weren't going to kill Deathstroke until he was blue in the face, and it would do little to stop the others if they were determined. If Dick said he didn't want them to kill him, though, that would probably be enough to make them stop.
Dick knew what Bruce wanted him to say. He knew what Jason wanted him to say. And yet, as he tried to say either thing, the words stuck in his throat. He didn't know the answer. He didn't know what he wanted. He wanted Deathstroke gone, he knew that much, but he didn't want more blood on his hands, and he didn't know if Deathstroke would be the exception to that or not.
"I don't want any of you to go anywhere near Deathstroke," he said, because he knew that much was true. "I- I don't want him to even touch you."
"Dick," Bruce said gently, "we have to stop him."
Dick knew that. Dick knew Deathstroke better than any of the rest of them; he knew best how important it was to stop him. He just wished there was a way to stop him without getting near him. If Deathstroke hurt his family, if he killed them…
He still remembered the way he'd reacted when he'd thought Damian had been shot a few months back. His mind had gone blank, and he'd just moved. He hadn't killed anyone, but if Damian hadn't stopped him, he might have. If Deathstroke killed his family, Dick would kill him. He didn't think he'd be able to stop himself. He didn't know what he would do after that, but he knew it would be bad.
It had been a mistake, he suddenly realized, to bring his family in on this at all. He shouldn't have told them what happened. He certainly shouldn't have told them details. He should have powered through his dissociation on the rooftop, the way he had a million times before, and gone home before Bruce could find him. He shouldn't have put his family between him and Deathstroke, because he knew what Deathstroke would do to people who stood in his way.
He'd messed up. He had to fix it. He had to deal with Deathstroke before he touched anyone else. He had to keep him away from his family, whatever it took. And if it took something permanent…
Well, Deathstroke had already made Dick a killer. The very idea twisted his stomach, but if he had to, he could do it again. He'd already killed, hadn't he? He'd killed with Deathstroke, and even before that, he'd killed the Joker. He'd proven himself capable of it multiple times. If he could kill people for money with Deathstroke, surely he could kill Deathstroke to save his family. If Deathstroke won, if he got to Dick's family first, then Dick would probably kill him anyway, it would just be too late for it to help.
There was still something of Renegade in him. His encounter with Deathstroke had proved that. Dick would have to dig out the part that was a killer.
If it destroyed him, then at least it was just him.
"Dick?" Bruce asked gently, and Dick realized he'd been quiet for too long. He looked up at his family, all looking at him, and ignored the guilt that was twisting in his gut.
"We need to stop Deathstroke." I need to stop him. "But we need to be careful." You need to be careful. "And whatever we do, we need to stop him from hurting someone else." I need to stop him from hurting you, whatever it takes.
"We'll stop him," Bruce said. "I promise."
Dick nodded, but silently, he made his own vow.
I'll keep you safe from him. I promise.