Chapter Text
Dick groaned, a pitched, keening noise followed by a sharp intake of breath. He curled up tight, biting a pillow as the sharp cramps tore through his lower abdomen. Soft heat settled over his shoulders and he relaxed enough to wrap the electric blanket around himself. A broad, tall body settled behind Dick, and an impossibly big hand pressed the blanket more firmly against Dick's lower abdomen, over his uterus. Or at least, where Dick assumed his uterus was. He never really took the time to parse that out, nor did he want to. With a shudder, Dick considered the fact that Bruce probably maintained copies of all of his medical records and knew more about his body than he himself.
“How are you feeling, little bird?” Slade rumbled, his scent smooth and smoky and utterly soothing. Even more so than the terribly soft bed, or the rustic, unlit fireplace across the room, or the red cedar log walls.
Renting a cabin while Dick recovered from his IUD insertion was Slade’s idea, and Dick conceded because he was desperate for privacy. But Dick wasn’t too prideful to admit that the fragrant woods and Slade’s undivided attention were more than nice. It was nearly enough to make Dick forget about the discomfort of the procedure.
Another vicious cramp wracked Dick in a wave of teeth-grinding, breath shortening pain. Nearly.
“I’m feeling okay,” Dick cheeped.
Slade growled so softly into Dick's hair that Dick huffed out a laugh.
“Feeling helpless?” Dick mused. Before Slade could reply, Dick added with a wiggle, “Don’t humor that with a response, I know better than to sentimentalize this relationship. But, I’m okay, really. I've had stab wounds worse than this.” At least, Dick thought he'd had worse stab wounds. It was hard to tell.
Behind Dick, Slade shifted. He drew his hand from Dick's stomach to his hip, and he tilted his head back so that his face wasn't nestled in Dick's hair anymore. There was a beat, and then Slade pulled away entirely. Dick wasn't sure what happened, but Slade appeared a touch colder than he was before.
“Go to sleep, kid,” Slade murmured, sliding out of the bed and tucking the electric blanket underneath Dick. “I have an errand to run.”
“In the woods?” Dick asked, sitting up and quirking his eyebrows. Slade didn't respond; instead, he grabbed a duffel bag and hunting rifle from the closet at the far end of the room.
“Yes, in the woods,” Slade said, slipping into his boots and walking out the door.
Dick fell back onto the pillow with a huff.
“What could he possibly be doing in the woods?” Tim snorted, face cast in the blue-white glow of the Batcomputer’s expansive monitors from where he lounged in a rolling chair. “He left his Nightwing gear in Bludhaven, and his Spyral getup is in his safe house in Spain, so he’s clearly not working.”
Duke paused in polishing his helmet to cast Tim an incredulous glance. “Have... have you never gone camping?”
“Of course I have!” Tim shot back, turning on his chair to face him. Duke frowned.
“No, I mean, like, for fun. Have you ever gone camping for fun?”
Tim opened his mouth and then closed it. Finally, he said, “Well, no.”
From where he was scaling up a pull-up bar stand, Damian chirped, "Camping for leisure is inane. It's an excellent training exercise and should be treated as such." He reached out, finally having climbed high enough to reach the bar itself, last set by Jason.
“Boys, focus,” Bruce snapped. He glared at the pulsating dot on the monitor’s blue map, showcasing Dick’s location courtesy of the tracker Bruce slid into his skin during their altercation at Dick’s apartment. Dick appeared to be in an isolated area within the Pine Barrens.
“Per Red Robin’s reconnaissance,” Bruce continued, “there was no sign of a struggle in Nightwing's Bludhaven apartment. Nightwing’s suitcase was missing, along with about four sets of clothes and his entire cache of over the counter medication. The medication is likely, but not necessarily, related to his recent IUD insertion.”
Damian fell off the pull up bar.
“Why,” Duke hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “would you know about that? He hasn’t spoken to us in days! Your fault, by the way.”
“Well. His and Jason’s,” Tim helpfully supplied, swiveling in his chair. “Helena and Babs didn’t help either." Tim frowned and stilled in his chair. "Dick probably ran off to the woods to get away from us.” Tim sunk deeper into the chair. “That. That feels pretty bad, actually.”
“Tt,” Damian scoffed, abandoning the pull up bar to skulk over with his arms crossed. “Grayson may leave Todd, you, or even Father, but he wouldn’t leave me.”
"Shut up, short stack," Tim shot back.
"You're one to talk. I'm still growing, you're stuck like that short of a cosmic event," Damian hissed, gesturing to Tim's body.
Meanwhile, Bruce cleared his throat. “Robin’s right.” Three heads swiveled to blink at Bruce. “Nightwing may fight or flee if I approach him, but Damian is his Robin, almost as much as Damian is mine. He would listen to you,” Bruce finished, turning to face Damian.
Damian beamed, but Duke made a face. “Dick mentored all of us. Is this because Robin’s a kid and Dick’s an omega? That’s kind of bigoted, Bruce.”
“I’m not a child!” Damian shrilled, his pubescent voice cracking into a sharp pitch. Tim snorted.
“You haven’t even presented yet. To Dick, you probably still have that new baby smell,” Tim snarled.
Bruce returned to the monitors, never mind that Duke was forced to place himself between Tim and Damian to avoid a brawl. “You have your directive, Robin. You will secure Nightwing,” Bruce asserted.
“So, you’re going to send a 13-year-old kid into the woods to confront an angry Nightwing and, very likely, Deathstroke alone? ” Duke accused. "Even if this wasn't manipulative, which it is, sending Robin on his own is dramatically underselling what could happen."
"I can handle Grayson just fine on my own! And Deathstroke doesn't scare me," Damian growled, with a stomp of his foot.
“Enough,” Bruce said, still facing away from the boys. “Robin, you will not be going alone. I will be contracting someone to accompany you. Someone Dick trusts, someone he won't affiliate with us.”
Bruce selected a computer file, and one of the screens lit up with a high resolution photo, clearly taken without the subject's knowledge.
"Please tell me you told Todd about this," Damian snorted.
"Way to go nuclear, Bruce," Duke muttered.
"Wait, Bruce," Tim said, sitting up straight. "How did you pull this off? How did you get her to agree?"
"I assure you," Bruce sbegan, glaring up at the massive, if outdated, photo of Ravager. In it, she sported a smile and a Nightwing hoodie, and she was trying to climb Dick's back while he shouted. "She didn't need much persuasion."
When Dick woke, it was to the smell of onions and garlic and bay leaf. The room was hot, very nearly too hot when paired with the electric blanket. He stretched and sat up, letting the blanket slide from his bare shoulders. Across the room, the fireplace was lit, flames licking what appeared to be a hanging cauldron. Slade prodded the fire with an iron poker and the logs spit embers.
“Are you cooking? In the fireplace? That's a thing?” Dick blurted. Slade glanced up from where he crouched to smirk at Dick.
“What did you think the crane was for?” Slade asked, gesturing to the apparatus from which the pot was hanging. Dick shrugged.
“Eclectic decor?” He offered. "A rustic vibe? The product of enthusiasm for colonial America?"
Slade stood up and brushed off his hands. He stalked over and straddled Dick on the bed, pushing Dick’s shoulders down. Dick sucked in a breath and glanced up at Slade through his eyelashes. His skin grew too flushed to keep the blanket around, so he tried to kick it off as best he could with 200 lbs of mercenary looming over him.
“You’re cute,” Slade murmured before leaning down and kissing a line from Dick’s collarbone to the scent gland behind his ear. Blissfully without any cramps for the first time in hours, Dick arched his neck and delighted in the touch. Slade’s hand drifted to the waistband of Dick’s briefs.
And then the door burst open. Splintered wood and a new, but familiar, scent filled the room. Dick scrambled out from underneath Slade and threw himself from the bed in time to miss the whistle of a knife as it flew past Dick's ear and embedded in Slade's upper arm.
"What the fuck, Dick!" Rose shouted, sauntering in with the blunt end of her sword propped against her shoulder. "I expect this shit from Slade, but you? Really? Shack up with someone else's father, you asshole."
"And I expect you to know how to carry your katana into a fight," Slade said dryly. "We all face disappointment from those we invest in, Rose."
In one fluid movement, Rose lifted her knee, unsheathed her gun from a calf holster, and trained the barrel at Slade. "I wasn't speaking to you, Slade," Rose hissed. "Does Wintergreen know what you've done?"
Slade tilted his head. "I'm sorry, were you speaking to me now?"
Dick growled. Aggression was rolling off both Rose and Slade in palpable waves, it was too much when paired with his IUD-induced hormonal shift.
"Will you cut it out?" Dick snapped. "I don't have the physical capacity to deal with either of you right now, so disarm and we can talk over whatever Slade killed in the woods for food. Not everything has to be solved with a fucking sword fight."
"Damian's on his way," Rose offered, sheathing her sword.
"It's possible the stew's scorched," Slade added, ripping the knife from his arm. Blood gushed from the wound and dripped onto the woven rug.
"For fuck's sake," Dick groaned.