Chapter Text
Leaves in the grass
Their numbers grow
Clinging to the vine
Not knowing what's below
Little soldier boy
Can I come home
Brave soldier boy
Will I come home
--Leaves from the Vine, Verse 3 by Caleb Hyles--
“Terra’s working for Deathstroke?” Vic exclaimed. “And you’re letting her patrol with the team?”
“Donna, Wally, and Kory are aware,” Dick said.
“That doesn’t make it better!”
“She’s a child, Vic! She spends more time at the Titans Tower than wherever she meets up with Deathstroke. I...She needs us,” Dick said. His outburst suddenly left him tired, and he sat at one of the chairs near the console.
He and Vic were meeting in one of the Titans submarines. Vic used the underwater machine to travel back and forth to the HIVE academy. It was the safest place to meet without prying eyes, and for Vic, who didn’t like to return completely to homebase while he was still undercover.
“You’re using her, aren’t you?” Vic huffed. “Typical Batman behavior.”
“I’m not!” You are, just like you’re using Slade. “Think about it, Vic. What happens if we reveal to Terra that we know she’s with Deathstroke? We hold her hostage, torture information out of her? Lock her up so she can’t go reporting to Deathstroke?”
“She chose to work with Deathstroke. She chose to be our enemy.”
“She’s a child,” Dick stressed.
“A dangerous one,” Vic reminded. “One that could destroy the entire team.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Vic’s features fell. “You see her as a member of the team.” He sat next to him. “You don’t see her as Deathstroke’s henchman.”
“We created the Titans to be different from the Justice League. Our loyalty to each other comes first, before the mission, and if I can’t do that for Terra... she’s a Titan.”
“I get it, man. Well, I don’t, but...” Vic exhaled a long breath. “Just...keep a close eye on her.”
“I got eight eyes on her,” Dick reassured with a smile.
Vic shook his head. “Alright. Alright. On my end, I haven’t found anything further on the school myth about the HIVE and the seven cloaked masters. BUT. I managed to hack further into their computer system and uncovered more contracts.”
Dick stood, following Vic who grabbed a tablet from the front console of the submarine. Vic powered it on, and Dick peered at the screen from over Vic’s shoulder, arms crossed.
“It doesn’t say who the hit is on, but two young men signed a contract to become Desecrator and Saboteur.”
“Synonyms of Ravager,” Dick said.
“Ryan Egomon and Kit Pacat. They were classmates from the same military boarding school Grant Wilson attended.” Vic showed Dick a photo of young teenager Grant with a buzz soldier haircut, standing in line at attention in a military dress uniform with twelve other young men. Vic pointed with his pinky to the one to the left of Grant, and one at the far left. “Kit. Ryan.”
“Classmates? They all graduated years ago, why is HIVE choosing them now?”
“I’m getting there,” Vic said. “HIVE had someone undercover at Grant’s school the years he attended, studying and watching students, looking for the best test subject. I think HIVE wanted Grant, Ryan, and Kit for their mindset.”
“Mindset?”
“I found a chemical formula that one of their scientists was working on. The scientist did experiments to see if this certain formula could attach to white brain matter to basically hack into the pathways.”
“White matter is what allows parts of the brain to communicate with each other, it connects the cerebrum to the spinal cord, it...” Dick cut himself off, eyes widening at the realization.
Vic nodded, features grim. “I know. If they hack into the connectivity of the brain, they could basically control and alter a person however they want to. They strengthened the subject with the conjugated super soldier formula and force them to become an obedient soldier by this experimental control formula.”
“How effective is this formula?”
“It’s still in the early stages. At most, what they can do, is imprint a very powerful suggestion in the white matter. It’s like...hypnosis.” Vic set the tablet down and turned toward Dick, lines creased half of his forehead. “These men, Grant, Kit, Ryan...I don’t think they signed the contract of their own free will.”
White edged Dick’s vision, as a wave of heat, of shock, washed throughout his body. No. Not Grant. Grant...
“I think HIVE chose these men because they had an anger disorder, and research said those with anger have a weakened connectivity in the brain, so it would make them more susceptible to...suggestions.”
“They brainwashed Grant?” Dick exclaimed. “They...” The shock transformed into a burning, hot, roaring anger vibrating underneath his skin. “Fourteen... It was a warning. His subconscious was fighting back against the suggestion.”
“Four...oh, the signature? Whatever fourteen meant to Grant, it could’ve been something he was using to fight back against them.”
“He was in love with you.”
“You seemed to have brought out the best version of my son.”
Love.
Fuck.
Grant was trying to use love to fight against the mind-control.
Dick’s stomach rumbled, heat flushing through him once more, and this time, he couldn’t tell if it were shock or anger or both. He stumbled down the hallway from the main room, into the bathroom stall and vomited bile into the toilet. He trembled, shaking, before he wiped the dripping mix of salvia and bile from his mouth and sat against the wall.
Vic approached the doorway. “Dick? Did something happen between you and Grant during the fight? Something you’re not telling the rest of us?”
“Just have a stomach bug,” Dick lied. “Nothing happened.”
“Dick...”’
“NOTHING HAPPENED!”
Vic inhaled sharply and threw his hands up. “Alright, man. Geez.” He rested a hand on the doorframe. “Look, I don’t want to bail, but I’ve got four minutes left. I’ve got to get back.”
Dick nodded. He couldn’t ruin Vic’s cover. Vic finished his update and handed Dick the tablet with his findings. Before Dick left the submarine to take the elevator back up into the Titans Tower, Vic stopped him.
“Dick. It doesn’t have to be me, but talk to somebody. Whatever this is, it’s eating you up.”
Nightwing crept along the edge of the roof, scouting the rows of townhomes. The homes on the entire block were under heavy renovations, and about a week ago, the contractors in charge of the project decided to take a month off. A paid incentive with the aid of Kit Pacat’s trust fund money.
A old blue van sat outside the third building’s entrance, and hadn’t moved since yesterday evening according to traffic cams in their vicinity. Something didn’t sit right in Dick’s stomach.
He should radio Donna for backup, but she took most of the team to Staten Island to take down Dr. Light. He didn’t need to disrupt them. Besides, he was on the opposite side of Manhattan, near the Bronx’s border. He could call Wally, but his friend just retired last week. He couldn’t do that to him.
This is my fight. Grant was my responsibility. My friend. I have to follow through this lead Vic brought me. For him.
“He loved you.”
Dick clenched his jaw, focusing back on the renovated building. The last time that van moved, Dick found it pulling out of an alleyway near the Broadway center. There had been many events occurring that night, and too crime reports for Dick to comb through. Nothing stood out. Most of it were petty thefts.
They probably attended a show and Dick’s gut feeling was irrational.
Kit and Ryan stepped out of the fourth building’s entrance, arguing, and Dick perked up. They headed up the street, continuing the fight. Dick could follow, eavesdrop.
He took out his grapple gun.
No.
Instincts told him he needed to go into the house. He quickly scooped the area, mind calculating escape routes, easy way in, broken window on the third floor of the fourth building with no jagged edges of glass.
He stole one more glance toward the departing duo before he shot his grapple hook to the roof entrance on top of the fourth building. He grappled across, slipped through the open window, and made his way into the house.
Most of the walls were torn down, and many of the floors were non-existent. Inside, the townhouse seemed like one giant warehouse with warped obstacles of beams, torn insulation, and wooden boards.
He picked up on a brief noise, and followed it.
Nightwing tightroped across several wires stretched across an open floor toward a kitchen in the back on the lower level.
The noise came from a person, hands and legs bounded to a wooden chair. The person rubbed the ropes binding his hands against the back beam of the chair, trying to loosen it enough to get free. They had a potato sack bag over their head.
They kidnapped someone?
A teen by the looks of it.
Who and for what?
Nightwing hopped down, landing gracefully, with a soft sound. He cautiously approached the chair, not wanting to overly startle the hostage.
“Hey there,” he whispered, gently, like to a spooked animal.
The teen froze, muscles tensing.
“Easy. I’m not with them. I’m Nightwing. I’m with the Teen Titans. Have you heard of me?” He laid a hand on the teen’s back.
A couple uneasy breaths were followed by a solid nod.
“Okay. I’m coming in front of you and I’m going to take the bag off your head, then I’m going to cut your binds. Okay? Nod if you understand.”
The teen’s shoulders lowered, slightly relaxing. He nodded again.
Nightwing circled the chair and tugged the sack slowly from the teen’s head. Blonde curls fell against the teen’s forehead and Nightwing gapped. He’d seen the kid’s face before, in pictures.
“Joey?!”
Joey blinked his icy-blue eyes, the same eyes as his father, as Grant. He tilted his head, an asking gesture.
Nightwing caught the faint white scar across the kid’s throat. Joey could hear, but couldn’t talk. Got it. Nightwing raised his brows in response to Joey’s head tilt. “I know your father.” Though, he knew Joey through Grant first.
Joey rolled his eyes. Of course you do was the spoken gesture.
Nightwing pulled a flip-knife from his utility belt. “I’m going to free your leg binds first then your arms.”
Another nod.
Nightwing cut through the binds, keeping his ears peeled for noise, and keeping watch in case Ryan and Kit returned.
He helped Joey to his feet, and the teen gasped and stumbled to his right. Nightwing steadied him with hands.
“What’s wrong with your left leg?”
Joey signed to him: “Twisted my ankle trying to get away.”
It’d been a while since Nightwing seen his second learned language. He and Batman used to use it all the time when they were first partners, and he taught some of the Titans, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to sign lately.
“Gave them quite the fight, didn’t you?” Nightwing teasingly praised.
Joey huffed, a half-smile forming.
Noise sounded near the entrance.
“Oh, parents are home!” Nightwing exclaimed. He basically dragged Joey to the back door, threw it open, and groaned when he noticed it was a two-foot drop.
“What the fuck?” one of the men exclaimed behind them.
Nightwing grabbed Joey, hefted him over his shoulder, and leapt out of the doorway. He reached out with his left hand to grab one of the manila ropes that were part of a pulley, using it to slow his descent to the ground. He tightened his grip with his right to hold Joey in place. His thighs absorbed most of the impact, and he took a small jump forward to shake it off.
He set Joey down and pulled out his escrima sticks.
Ryan and Kit landed on the ground behind them with heavy thuds. Guess that meant they had superhuman speed and strength like Ravager had. He and the Titans barely took down Ravager. Hell, Ravager ended up being defeated by the very serum HIVE injected him with. And now Nightwing faced two foes with similar abilities to Ravager’s, perhaps even stronger.
Nightwing lit up his escrima sticks with blue electricity. “Step back,” he told Joey.
“Who the fuck are you?” Ryan yelled, jabbing a finger toward Nightwing.
“Did Deathstroke send you?” Kit tugged frantically at his hair. “Shit. We fucked up, we fucked up!”
“Shut up!”
Angry. Panicking. Scared. Wouldn’t be easily talked down, but they may be easily susceptible to trick attacks. Those emotions also rise blood pressure, and the higher the blood pressure, the more the serum pumps through their system, working into overdrive.
No armor. No masks.
Nightwing’s heart twisted. Damn it. HIVE sent these men to die. They weren’t future investments, or future supervillains. They were disposable. Nightwing shoved that thought away. Right now, they were a threat. Joey’s in danger. Move.
Nightwing stormed for Kit.
“This wasn’t part of th--”
He threw his escrima stick at Kit, who dodged it with a scream. Wasn’t aiming for you, he thought.
Ryan grunted at the impact and slammed to the ground.
Nightwing and Kit fought it out, and Nightwing easily knocked Kit out by slamming the edge of his palm against his carotid artery of his neck.
Nightwing scooped up his escrima stick and ran for Joey, who watched the fight scene with wide eyes.
“Come on!” He threw Joey over his shoulder and stormed down the open shared backyards of the townhomes.
Joey rapidly pounded on his back.
Nightwing stopped, turning around, trying to see what Joey warned him of.
Ryan stumbled up, swaying, and had an automatic Glock in his hands.
Nightwing’s mind rushed through several scenarios, and the one that bulldozed to the forefront of his mind was: protect Joey, protect Joey, protect Joey.
Nightwing threw Joey to the ground and covered him with his body, shielding him from the onslaught of bullets. They rained on Nightwing’s back and down his thighs, and he prayed that the special Kelvar in his suit would hold.
His ears ran, loudly, and it took a moment for him to realize that the bullets had stopped firing. He peeked over his shoulder.
Ryan had discarded the gun, and ran for them. Kit regained consciousness and stumbled like a drunk man back onto his feet.
Nightwing gritted his teeth. Time to improvise.
He ignored the agonizing flare of pain lighting up his back as he twisted onto his feet, and fired a grappling hook toward Ryan. The cables wrapped around his legs before the hook dug into the man’s left thigh, and Nightwing pulled, hard, tightening the cables. Ryan’s legs squeezed together, and slipped toward the ground, feet first, colliding into Kit.
Kit rolled to the ground, and Nightwing pulled an escrima stick, turning on the electricity features. He slammed the butt of it into the ground, the blue electricity traveled up the cables wrapped around Ryan’s legs, and the man screamed.
Kit groaned, and sat up, his leg jousting against Ryan’s, and blue lightning traveled up his skin. He jerked erratically.
Nightwing tossed a smoke grenade and grabbed Joey for a quick escape before the smoke cleared. He didn’t look back.
Nightwing escorted Joey to the front door, grunting softly at the pinching pain in his left lower back. He lost his Titans communicator and he already dreaded the trek back to the Titans Tower to retrieve medical aid. Donna would not be pleased with him.
Not wanting for Joey to hear the pain in his voice, Nightwing signed: “Are you sure you don’t want to go to one of my safe houses? You can bring your mother if you want. I’ll protect both of you.”
Joey smiled softly and it reminded Nightwing so much of Grant. The pang in his heart overwhelmed the physical pain in his back. “Thank you, Nightwing. It won’t be necessary. My mother has plenty of...”
The door suddenly opened, and instead of Adeline which Nightwing expected, Slade stood in the doorway, in the midst of yelling at someone behind him. He snapped his head toward them, singular eye growing wide. “Joseph!”
He pulled his son into a quick embrace before he checked over him. “You’re a bit roughed up. Anything else hurt?”
Joey started to respond, but a brunette pulled Slade back, throwing her arms around the teen. “You’re alive! Oh goodness. You’re okay,” she cried out in sobbing relief.
Nightwing took a step back. This was his cue to leave. Joey was in good hands. He grunted as his back spasmed. It was more painful going down the stairs then up.
The grunt caught Slade’s attention.
“Nightwing,” he snarled. He plowed between Adeline and Joey, and grabbed Nightwing by his shoulders before he slammed him against the bricked wall. “What are you doing here? Is being responsible for the death of one of my sons not enough? You had to bring my other in danger?”
Nightwing gasped, pain flaring, vision flashing white. He blinked, noticing Joey signing frantically to his father.
“Stop! He saved me. Let him—”
Dizziness swept through Nightwing, the world seemed to tip at its side, warmth spread across his back, and he tipped forward into Slade’s arms before he lost consciousness.
Warm sunlight caressed Dick awake, summoning him to consciousness. He fought to stay under as he sensed grogginess around him. He wanted to sleep a few more min..
The memories of last night shot him up in bed.
He cried out at the pain that smacked his lower back before numbness took it away. He blinked, trying to wake up and analyzed the situation. He sat up in a medical bed tucked in the corner of a den, bookshelves lined three of the four walls of the room, the wide window taking up the majority of the fourth, where sunlight poured through. Sandalwood and leather filled his nostrils, and he remembered that scent on Slade.
Slade!
He could see he still wore his mask, but he felt the edges just in case. The man hadn’t pried it off. Even so, Slade had other means to discover his identity. Bandages wrapped around his left hip and stomach.
The door opened, and a tall man dressed in a casual suit walked in, holding a tray. A crisp white mustache covered his upper lip, with stubbles of white covering his jaw. He smiled gently at Dick.
“I over-guessed your awaking by five seconds it seems. I’ve brought in an herbal tincture for you to drink. Do not worry. I’ve ensured the taste is pleasant.” He brought the tray of a steaming teacup over and set it on Dick’s lap.
“Um...who are you? Where am I?”
“I am Wintergreen, friend and nursemaid to the Wilsons, and to you as well it seems, Mr. Nightwing, for I have nursed you back to health after you took that nasty bullet at your side, and anyone who saves the life of someone dear to me is a friend of mine.”
Dick couldn’t help but smile in return. This man reminded him of Alfred in a way. “Thank you for patching me up. How bad was it?”
“Your Kevlar suit prevented the bullet from fulling penetrating your body. Thankfully, it only nicked five inches of muscle and skin, but it grazed an artery, and you collapsed from blood loss.”
“I can’t thank you enough.”
“And I you.” Wintergreen gestured to the teacup.
Dick took a cautious sip, before he downed the warm tincture. He licked his lips. It didn’t taste so...the wickedly awful aftertaste coated his mouth, and he glared at Wintergreen. “Pleasant taste,” he quipped sarcastically.
“I’m glad you agree,” Wintergreen teased. “Now, allow me to check your bandages and vitals.”
Dick knew the drill. He sat patiently, checking his morphine drip, and played with the tape that held his IV in place while Wintergreen checked on him. He hoped the casual act hid his thorough scanning of the room, and of Wintergreen.
“All set.” Wintergreen took the tray and straightened back up. “I worked hard to patch him up. I would like there not to be a speck of blood when I return to check upon him.”
Dick tensed. The man had to have been talking to...
Slade entered the room, dressed in a cozy sweater and jeans. He inclined his head respectfully to Wintergreen. “You know I don’t like to make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
Well, fuck me.
Dick braced himself, ready to fight.
Wintergreen offered him a tight, reassuring smile before he left, shutting the door behind Slade.
“The men who took Joey are dead,” Slade announced, walking toward the foot of Dick’s bed, hands clasped behind his back, bright blue eye sharply inspecting him.
“I thought you only killed those with a contract on them,” Dick darkly quipped.
“Unfortunately, they were dead when I found them. The serum burned them from the inside out.”
Dick’s breath hitched in his throat. “Shit.”
“Don’t act so surprised. You ran because you knew the serum would act quickly the harder they fought. You allowed them to die, like you did Grant.”
Dick grabbed a leather book from the shelf next to him and whipped it at Slade, who merely tilted his head to avoid impact. “Fuck you!” he snarled. “I bolted to get your son out of danger.”
Slade’s jaw flexed. “You knew those men had my son. You saved him to hold leverage over me.”
A bitter laugh escaped Dick’s lips. “Wow. Does having a morally questionable honor code immediately makes you discount everyone else’s?”
“I only question yours.”
“Is that so?” Dick scoffed. “Why don’t you redirect that wonderful anger toward the HIVE. They kidnapped Joey. I was tracking Kit and Ryan down when I happened upon him, and I saved him, because I wanted to. Not for you. So you can go fuck yourself.”
“I’ll deal the HIVE. Right now, I’m dealing with you.”
“You’re the first I know to patch up their hit before the kill. Why don’t you get it over with?” Dick challenged.
“I confess I’m conflicted. Because on one hand, Grant desperately wanted to kill you, and on the other...” Slade pulled out a handgun from his back, finger on the trigger, pointer aimed at Dick’s forehead. “You were the love of his life.”
Fuck. He knows.
“If you weren’t so focused on fulfilling the Ravager’s contract, you would know that Grant didn’t want to kill the Titans. He fought against it.”
“Bold lies from a man on death row.”
“It’s the fucking truth.” Dick fisted the bedsheets. “HIVE brainwashed him! He kept trying to fight against HIVE’s hold on him, and he...” His voice cracked, bile climbing up the back of his throat. He lowered his chin.
“He loved you.”
Fuck.
I loved him.
“I know you’re a performer. Spare me the act. You never cared for Grant. You used a fake name with him, Dick Grayson. You lied to him about who you were. You used him to get to me.”
Dick glowered up at Slade. “I lied about my name, but I never lied about who I was. Everything I told him about me and my past was true. And I never knew he was your son until I watched him die in your arms.”
Slade clicked the hammer back.
Dick straightened his spine, readying himself. He would die with honor.
“You failed my son,” Slade uttered.
“I know,” Dick responded, voice heavy.
“Why do you still get to be alive?”
“I ask myself that all the time.”
“Did you even care about Grant?”
“More than you know.”
“Why aren’t you begging for your life?”
“I don’t know.”
Slade released a shuddering breath and lowered his gun. He turned toward the window and laid a palm against the glass.
Dick waited, unwilling to relax fully until he knew for certain he was out of danger. He gently peeled the domino mask off, hissing at the stinky substance that clung desperately to his skin before he pried it off.
“I miss him,” he found himself saying to Slade’s back. He surprised even himself of his forward honesty. Perhaps Dick was tired of lying to himself. “More than I thought. I...didn’t realize how much I cared about him until after he was gone. I miss his cockiness. His stubbornness. The way he talked. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he cared about. His curious nature. His questions. He pissed me off more than most but...I wish I got to know more about him. I wish I had more time with him. I wish I could’ve saved him. Why couldn’t I have saved him? Why can’t I ever save the people I love?”
He wiped at his nose and stared at his hands, unable to look at Slade after that heavy confession, chest aching.
“The Titans believe we’re infiltrating and investigating HIVE so we can take them down and prevent what happened to Grant happening to anyone else, but the truth is...” A hot twisting anger boiled in his stomach, the same anger that simmered when he hunted Tony Zucco down. “I want to slaughter everyone involved for what they did to Grant.”
He did. He wanted to get revenge on them all for what they did to Grant, even more after Vic’s revelation. He didn’t kill Tony Zucco when he tracked the mobster down because all that anger dissipated when he saw what a weak, trembling coward the man was, and despite the man’s greed, he knew the mobster was haunted by his past actions. He managed to hold himself back from killing Zucco then, telling Batman and himself it was because he didn’t want the same evil in Zucco to awaken in himself.
He didn’t know if it was different now because he was older, or because he was more experienced, or if his morality shifted after Grant’s death, but he wanted to wake that darkness in him, just this once, to avenge Grant.
“I found surveillance tapes of your fight against Ryan and Kit,” Slade said after a long moment of silence. He turned to Dick, features impassive. “I find it hard to believe your instincts are to seek revenge, when all the instincts I saw on that tape were the desperate need to protect. You threw everything you had at them and used your body as a shield to protect Joey.” He stepped toward Dick. “Even now, when I threaten your life, you protect Grant’s honor.” He laid the gun on top of Dick’s hands.
The weight...there were no bullets in the magazine, nor in the chamber. Dick sought Slade’s eye for answers.
“I had to see if Nightwing and John Lambagiu were the same, and not two different personas. You are not your mentor, Dick Grayson.”
Why did those words have a soothing effect on him? Dick relaxed, smiling softly. For so long, he’d been afraid his undying loyalty to Batman, to Bruce, blinded him to who he was, that he’d become his mentor’s shadow. “Thank you, for that.”
Slade pulled the chair from the desk and sat next to Dick’s bed. “In the fairness of honesty, I revoked my honor contract on the Teen Titans when we cut your suit opened and you spilt blood over my ex-wife’s rug. You owe her a new one, by the way.”
Dick chuckled.
“I know the complexities and hypocrisies of heroes, Grayson. I had to test the merit of your character. You are indeed complex, but your heart is true. I can see now, why you’ve won the loyalties of many...and Grant’s.”
Dick’s heart panged and he lowered his chin. He couldn’t catch his parents, and he failed to catch Grant, he wished...
“You loved him,” Slade confirmed.
Dick closed his eyes and gently nodded.
“I need your help.”
Dick slowly opened his eyes, locking his gaze onto Slade’s.
“We must eliminate HIVE’s operations, every trace of them, dismantle them, and destroy them so there’s nobody and nothing left alive to rebuild them.”
“I doubt you need my help. You’re technically immortal.”
“Even those with immortality need a safety net.”
Dick blinked. Slade Wilson was asking him to be his safety net when he failed his son? He tried to swallow past a lump in his throat, his mouth worked, uncertain of how to answer. “I don’t know if the Titans would agree working with you.”
“I’m not asking them. I want you.”
Dick rubbed the back of his neck. Work together with Deathstroke to take down HIVE? Without the Titans? He didn’t know how to feel, he didn’t...
“I’m planning to take a leave of absence,” he blurted out instead. “I...taking down HIVE is my last mission.”
Idiot! Why are you telling Slade this?
Slade leaned back, studying him. “You were planning to quit before Grant died, weren’t you? That’s why you took those violin classes. Taught acrobatics. You were trying to transition back into the civilian life.”
Dick licked his lips and nodded.
“I tried the civilian life. Perhaps if I tried harder to adapt to it, Grant...” He cleared his throat. “Join me, Grayson. Let’s take down HIVE together, like you want. If you do it with the Titans, they’ll only hold you back.”
“I’m not a killer, Slade. I don’t know if I can murder them as much as I want to.”
“You worry about destroying their operations. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Slade...”
“Don’t think like a soldier, Grayson. You’ve been on the front lines since you were nine. Think like a civilian. How would you take down HIVE?”
Dick scoffed. “As a civilian?” He scoffed. Then he thought about it. If he had no training. If he only had the knowledge he gained growing up in the circus, how would he take down HIVE?
“The best thing about being small is that the bigger guys tend to underestimate you,” John Grayson told him once. “Let them. Always use surprise to your advantage in any fight you’re ever in, Dick.”
“Bait them,” Dick answered, “And when they gear up to attack you, knock them out with an arsenal of a roundhouse kick.”
Slade’s brows furrowed, not expecting that answer, before they softened, and he laughed. “I forgot you grew up in the circus. The tarot cards make a lot more sense now.” He folded his arms. “HIVE sent Grant’s friends to kidnap Joey to force me to kill the Titans. They want you all dead, especially you.”
Dick scoffed. “As flattering as that is, I find that hard to believe they especially want me dead.”
“The members of HIVE are all scientists who had experiments that were dismantled or destroyed by the vigilante community. They, as I do, view the Titans as a bigger threat than the Justice League. You’re the bigger threat because you’re the veteran who turns young heroes into competent fighters. I’ve seen how Terra improved drastically with you and the Titans than under my guidance. She respects me, but she sees you as her equal.”
“Of course you knew I knew about her,” Dick grumbled. “I won’t fight with you if you continue to train Terra.”
“I fired her when Wintergreen performed surgery on you.”
“You...what?” Dick shook his head, not believing this. “I don’t understand. Why the sudden change of heart?”
“I thought you have more gratitude. Did you not try to use your John Lambagiu alias to manipulate me to drop my contract against the Titans. Congratulations. You succeeded.”
Dick narrowed his gaze. He didn’t exactly trust Deathstroke, but...he trusted Slade, the father.
Slade picked up his gun from Dick’s lap and spun it in his palm. “Where is the man who caught me on the trapeze? Where is the confidence?”
“I...” Dick spluttered, but couldn’t summon an answer. Why did he hesitate? He knew Slade wouldn’t work with the Titans to dismantle HIVE. He would either work alone, or with Dick, and possibly Adeline from what Dick knew about her.
“You flew in the air with no constraints. What constrains you now, Grayson? The rules of the vigilante life? The restricted teachings of Batman’s? What is your moral code?”
Dick groaned and buried his face into his hands.
Do it by the book. Do it with the Titans. Obey Bruce’s no-kill rule. Protect those any way he can.
I didn’t protect Grant.
When his parents died, Dick had been confused, angry, in mourning, and lonely. Bruce and Alfred guided him. Bruce helped shape his anger into righteous fury against villains and foes, and Alfred helped shift his mourning and loneliness into compassion and connections.
He joined Batman to be a light, to prevent the world from creating another kid like him.
At the end of the day, his moral code is to protect.
He wanted to avenge Grant, and at the same time, prevent what happened to Grant from happening to anybody else.
How can one avenge and protect at the same time?
How did he avenge his parents?
How can he avenge Grant?
Who is Dick Grayson?
He imagined what his life would’ve been like if his parents hadn’t died. He imagined traveling across the world, performing, becoming more of a daredevil, taking more risks, doing insane things that would give his parents’ heart attacks. He thought about meeting Grant as an acrobat, thought about Grant teaching him the violin, and their annoyance of one another, and how Grant would challenge him and Dick him. He thought that he would have a little bit longer with Grant in that world. Wondered if their budding love would blossom into something complex and beautiful. He imagined how he would feel if Grant had died in that world, how would acrobat Dick Grayson avenge him?
He slowly raised his gaze toward Slade who waited patiently for his answer, determination settling the swirling hot anger in his belly.
“I’ll join you. On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I’m the ringleader. I’m not going to join you as Nightwing or Dick Grayson.” He smirked, an insane idea forming in his head. Crazy, idiotic. Grant would hate it and love it at the same time. “I’ll join you as John Lambagiu and I’ll wear Ravager’s uniform.”
Slade raised half a brow. “Deathstroke and Ravager?”
“We’ll ravaged HIVE, Slade. They’ll be nothing left of them, and we’ll destroy them from the inside out.”
“Tell me, ringleader, how do you propose that?”
Dick’s smirk grew. “By the power of suggestion.”
EPILOGUE
A YEAR AND A HALF LATER
May 23rd, 2019
Dick Grayson adjusted the ratty stripped-silver tie as he waited for the door to be answered. It’d been a while since he’d tied a knot and he wasn’t sure he did it right. He loosened it slightly, so it didn’t press underneath the bob of his apple’s apple.
The door opened, and instead of Wintergreen as Dick expected, Joey appeared. The kid’s blonde curls were shorter since he’d joined the Teen Titans. Dick took his leave of absence a month after Joey got settled in.
“The infamous Dick Grayson,” Joey signed. “You’re late.”
“I come bearing gifts,” Dick said, raising the bottle of St Brendan’s Irish Cream.
Joey grimaced. “Grant tainted your taste buds. There are better cream liquors on the market.”
“What can I say? I’m a big fan of nostalgia.”
“Get in here. Mom and Wintergreen are making Grant’s favorite.”
Dick’s heart panged. He didn’t know Grant’s favorite. “Oh? What’s that?”
“Canned Heinz beans with cut-up hot dogs, and mac and cheese.”
Dick couldn’t hide the look of disgust on his face.
Joey chuckled. “I know. To be honest, Grant hated them, but it was the easiest and cheapest meal my mom could make after my parents divorced. He asked for it so much, Mom assumed they were his favorite.”
Dick signed with his free hand: “It’ll be our little secret.”
He stepped into the foyer and Joey closed the door behind them.
“How’s it going with the Titans?”
“Good. I’ve got a better hand on my powers now, and I’m training new recruits. How’s the civilian life treating you?”
Before Dick could answer, Adeline strutted into the foyer. “Come in, boys, dinner’s getting cold.” She placed a hand on her hip as she glanced Dick up and down. “Where’s my new rug?”
“Erm, some criminals stole it so they could use it to dispose a body. Nobody has any original ideas these days.”
Adeline rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway. She beckoned them to follow.
They entered the dining room where a rectangular table waited. An empty seat graced the head of the table with a framed picture of Grant displayed behind a plate of a steaming pile of cut-up hotdog and beans, and mac and cheese.
Adeline took a seat across from Slade, who folded a newspaper and set it next to his plate.
“Grayson,” he greeted.
“Wilson,” Dick tossed back.
Slade patted the cushion of the seat next to him.
Joey settled in the other end of the table, and Wintergreen had his place next to Adeline.
Dick took his seat to the right of Slade, twisting open the cap of the cream liquor. Slade took the shot glass from Grant’s dining settings, and Dick poured the liquor in.
He poured a glass for him and Slade, but the rest of the group declined.
Easy-going conversations filled the room. They talked about Grant, shared stories of him, and laughed, and cried, for a moment, Dick could picture Grant sitting at the head of the table, watching his family fondly.
He pictured Grant turning his gaze onto Dick’s with a secret joke passing between them, a silent laugh about the food Adeline made and Grant creating a performance of how much he loved the food he despised as a running joke.
How can someone who graced Dick’s life for a brief moment in time leave such an impacting impression? He’d known Grant for eight months, and grieved him for longer than he knew him. Perhaps the what-would-have-been cut a little too deep, and time couldn’t mend the depths of that hurt.
At the end of dinner, Slade raised his shot glass and Dick took his. He softly clanged the glass against Slade’s before they both tapped it against Grant’s.
Before Dick “retired”, he joined Deathstroke as Ravager.
Slade baited the seven cloaked masters of HIVE with the supposed captured members of the Teen Titans, and Ravager struck them with a concoction of his own serum, an adopted formula of the one the HIVE injected into Grant to brainwash him and a formula he teamed up with Poison Ivy (by means of community service and early release) to create that lowered one’s susceptibilities.
Deathstroke and Ravager presented them with a strong vivid scenario of the accomplished deaths of the Teen Titans and that with the succession of their main goal, the two of them strongly encouraged the members of HIVE to end their operations and maintain a civilian life and lie low to avoid suspicions from the Justice League. Deathstroke even implied nanobots being injected into them and that if they didn’t comply would activate, destroying them from the inside out.
He and Slade then sat back and watched as HIVE destroyed their labs, closed down their academy, and skittered against the wind.
Vic had been confused when he returned to the Titans Tower. “I don’t get it, man! Something’s got them spooked. They shut down. They’re gone, almost like they’ve never existed in the first place.”
Adeline injected them with trackers they shouldn’t be able to find to keep an eye on them. She, along with Slade and Dick, destroyed every trace of the HIVE left behind no matter how miniscule.
Slade hadn’t liked allowing them to live, but he had complied at the use of using their own formula against them.
A part of Dick felt guilty for warping their sense of free will and having them live the rest of their lives in paranoia that the Justice League would descend upon them in revenge, but the part of him that felt a satisfaction in avenging Grant soothed the guilt.
Dick Grayson, ringleader of the circus, strongly encouraged the seven HIVE masters to put on a performance of being tamed lions. Slade had joked that Dick had tamed a seven-headed serpent. “Perhaps your new vigilante name should be Hercules.”
Dick took a shot of the cream liquor and set it on the table. Afterwards, Slade suggested a visit to Grant’s grave.
Only Dick joined him there.
They brought the St Brendan’s Irish Cream with them, sitting silently at Grant’s grave, with the nearby lamp flickering on and off.
“I heard you graduated Bloomingdale’s School of Music. Joey mentioned a graduation concert next week,” Slade said.
“Yeah.”
“Bachelor’s in Business, I heard. Associate in Mathematics. Even Social and Criminal Justice.”
Dick looked over at Slade whose features were unreadable and dark. He imagined Grant leaning against his gravestone with the same perplex look: “Usually you’re the chatterbox.”
“Teaching acrobatics full-time. Even keeping up your physical and mental training. You’ve been busier as a civilian.”
Imaginary Grant cackled: “Oh my fucking god, does my dad miss you?”
Dick grinned. “Is this your way of asking me if I’m planning to take up the Nightwing mantle again?”
Slade took a sip of his cream liquor, his silence the answer.
“I’m thinking of branching out solo. I’ve been a sidekick and part of a team for so long that I want to see what I’m capable as a solo act.”
“A performer who does a solo act never trains alone.”
Dick’s grin widened. “Are you offering to train me? Brush me up on my rusty skills? I never thought I would see the day.”
“Neither did I, and I’m dead.”
“I’m not offering. Only a fool would reject being chosen to learn all of my knowledge, all of my powers, and adapt them into their own.”
Dick turned toward the Imaginary Grant, who smiled softly at him, and it saddened Dick a little that he got the offer that Grant always wanted, a chance to know his father and learn from him. Perhaps in a way, this was Slade’s way of making amends where he failed his son.
“What should I do?” Dick asked Grant.
"You dumb little brat, I thought you claimed you were the wise one of the two of us. You already know what to do.”
“I’m planning to set up in Bludhaven,” Dick said.
It pleased him to see Slade’s one eye widened. “Even the vilest of scumbags wouldn’t dare venture into Bludhaven. Chaos thrives there. The mobster, Blockbuster, has control of every government organization in the city. Justice is a pipe’s dream there. You, alone, will pose no threat to the city.”
“There’s one thing you don’t know about me, Slade.” Dick winked at him. “I’m the best that’s ever been.”
Imaginary Grant cheered. “Fire on the mountain, run, Blockbuster, run. Dick’s in the house of the rising sun!” He started dancing around, pretending to play an invisible fiddle.
Slade downed the rest of his shot and set the glass on top of Grant’s gravestone. He rose and cracked his back, fists on his lower spine. “Give me five months.”
Dick got onto his feet, steadying his drink. “To do what?”
“Train you. You’re the best, Dick, I’ll grant you that, but not the best that’s ever been. If you train with me, I guarantee, you’ll get there, and Bludhaven won’t know what hit them.”
Excitement bubbled within Dick. He learned from Batman, from the Justice League, and from the members of the Teen Titans. He learned from the trainers at the circus and his parents. He studied different martial moves on his own, strengthen his mental skills, and studied as much as he could so that he could be a well-rounded fighter.
To learn from Slade. From Deathstroke, the world’s greatest mercenary. To learn how the other side fought.
Dick tossed the liquor of his shot to the back of his throat and swallowed hard. He set the glass next to Slade’s and looked at Imaginary Grant’s encouraging smile.
Dick didn’t know if he’d moved on from Grant’s death. He spent the last year and a half keeping himself busy, but on the days he wasn’t busy, he grieved. He grieved hard. Cried more than he ever cried. Wandered around New York, fantasizing his life if Grant had lived.
He spent enough time in the nest, mending the hole in his heart that will never fully heal. He faced his heartache, he avenged Grant, and found himself again in the process.
He wanted to leap into the unknown and fall again.
He wanted to see if he could soar.
He wanted to move forward.
He knew, and he knew Slade knew, that Dick would never be a replacement for Grant. In grieving Grant, Dick found himself reaching out toward Slade, believing he was the one who had to catch him, to swing them toward avenging Grant. He hadn’t realized that Slade had been the one to catch him, offering to bind their grieving hearts together as a weapon against those who took Grant away from them.
“I’ll train with you,” Dick agreed. “On one condition.”
Slade cocked a brow.
“You won’t go easy on me.”
Slade smirked. “There’ll be no safety net when you train with me. I expect you to fall or fly.”
Dick took one last look back at the gravestone, the Imaginary Grant had vanished, gone, but still near, in his heart. He promised himself he would only fall fourteen times, no more.
“So, do we have a deal?” Slade drawled.
Dick smiled at Slade and stuck out a hand. “Deal.”
“Never forget the golden rule, Dick,” Grant had said when he caught Dick Grayson on the fourteenth try. “The show always goes on, and I’m the best performer that’s even been.”
~FIN~