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When Slade opens the window and slides inside, Dick doesn’t seem surprised. He just looks up from where he’s stood behind the kitchen island and tilts his head, curious.
“Hot chocolate?” Dick asks mildly, as though many people ask Deathstroke the Terminator if he wants hot chocolate, “I was just making some.”
Slade can’t help the way his lips curve up across his face. His meetings with Dick are an absolute pleasure and Slade has never managed to meet anyone else quite like him.
“Yes please,” Slade replies, moving to the table to take off some of his more cumbersome gear. Because he may be a mercenary, but he doesn’t forget his manners when it counts.
And it does count with Dick, because the vigilante recognises it as the sign of respect that it is. Dick knows Slade, and Slade knows Dick. It is how it works between them. An implicit trust that can’t be replicated. A hard-earned understanding of each other, of things that can’t be explained with words.
They are quiet as Slade continues taking off some of his weapons and Dick makes hot chocolate.
Barely any noise is made as Dick quietly pads over to him, holding a steaming mug in each hand.
Slade accepts the one offered to him. The mug that -- in the privacy of his own mind -- he thinks of as his, because it is the one Dick always gives to him when he visits.
It’s orange, with little black cats curled up in different positions all along the side. It was probably some novelty Halloween item that Dick picked up, but with the fitting colour scheme Slade likes to think it was purchased with him in mind.
Dick’s own mug is Nightwing blue, and in bold text is written World’s Most Annoying Brother.
Once, Dick had told him that his younger brother Jason got it for him. Slade is reluctantly interested by the glimpse into his life.
“You weren’t surprised I came,” Slade says after a few minutes of quietly drinking their hot chocolate, both of them having moved to sit down in an armchair each. The apartment is sparsely lit, only the faint glow from the kitchen and from the moon streaming in from the window illuminate the space.
“Heard you had a contract,” Dick doesn’t look at him, instead focused on his cup as he takes another sip.
Slade hums, curious as to how Dick’s information network is extensive enough that the vigilante knows the movements of Deathstroke the mercenary. If the other bats knew they’d probably be here already trying to pry him out of Bludhaven and from their brother’s side -- even if Dick has never needed any help in fighting Slade before. He’s asked before, but Dick never gives him any answer beyond a faint smile.
A surprisingly peaceful silence – considering how violent the two of them can be – settles comfortably in the apartment. The only noise is the quiet sipping of their respective drinks and the faint sounds of life outside in the street below.
“You seem to have a nice set up in Bludhaven now,” Slade comments eventually, “Last I was here everything was…”
“Going to shit?” Dick smiles easily, no hint of the stress and overwhelming pressure he was being faced with at that point in time, “Yeah, well, it’s not perfect but it’s… better.”
Humming quietly, Slade offers no praise. Dick has never particularly needed external validation when it comes to Bludhaven. He made it his own personal crusade and was just as dogged in his determination as Batman, “Do you have any future plans here?”
Dick shot him a glance, "Is this a segway to asking me if I want to be your apprentice again?" the words were wry, with only a hint of mocking as Dick stretched back in his chair.
Slade only laughed, the old wounds between them stitched together through a handful of mutually beneficial meetings over the years until they'd settled at a surprisingly comfortable companionship. "Nah little bird, you seem to do fine without my training."
The vigilante gasped in mock-surprise, "Slade! That almost sounded like a compliment!"
"Yeah, yeah, it was but don't get full of yourself," Slade chuckles good-naturedly, "You know damn well that you're as competent as anyone in this business can get, but cockiness only gets you killed."
"Yes Slade," Dick recited cheekily, dragging the words out like a kid suffering a parent's overbearing concern.
The mercenary snorted but waved Dick away, "Come on now, why aren’t you out yet tonight? Surely you've got better things to be doing."
"Always," Dick replies with a too-bright grin, "But I wouldn't want to get you to come all this way to town just for you to leave without spending any time with you."
Slade's smile becomes slightly softer, a hint of genuine affection bleeding through, "Don't worry about me, you already know I have a contract."
"No killing right?" Dick asks idly, but Slade sees the way his eyes sharpen.
"None," he replies indulgently, "Not on your territory, I know that."
It's a testament to the trust Dick places in him that he accepts this with an easy nod. Once, Slade had been dumbfounded by the trust in his acceptance. Such an intelligent person couldn’t possibly place any weight on Slade’s word.
That was a long time ago though, and by now he knew better. Dick inspires loyalty and while Slade has long forgotten how to dedicate himself fully to anything that isn't his work, he won't deny that he has been pulled in by the other man's charms. He’d become increasingly reluctant to go against Dick, but even that wouldn’t have stopped him from taking the occasional assassination contract in Bludhaven.
The thing that had long given him pause is that he didn’t want to go up against Nightwing. Dick in these quiet moments was deceptive for how harmless he appeared, but Slade had caught on quickly that he never quite stopped being a vigilante. There was no such thing as complete relaxation, evident in how every so often Dick’s eyes would dart to all the exits.
If Slade ever really pushed Dick to his limit it’s as good as dooming them both -- or at least the environment around them during that fight. Nightwing wasn’t enhanced, but his sheer skill and drive made him effectively superhuman regardless. Years of going against gods, aliens, and the like have warped Dick’s sense of what is reasonable for baseline humans. Slade knows it well, because he knows that the force Nightwing uses against him is enough to kill a regular person. He isn’t sure how conscious of it Dick is, if he calibrates exactly how lethal to be or if he simply fights however hard is needed to take down his opponent.
It doesn’t really matter in this moment though because Dick, having relaxed again, sends him a brief, content glance even as he quips, "So you didn’t come just to spend some time with me?"
"Now when did I say that?" Slade answers with just as much commitment to their banter, "You know I'd drop just about anything for my favourite bird."
This earns him a beaming smile that almost hurts to look at, "Aw you're so sweet to me."
The words are joking but there is an undercurrent of truth that they both silently acknowledge. A twisted loyalty sits between them. Slade wouldn't let anyone else get away with even half the shit Dick says to him, and he refrains from taking any contracts involving murder in either Bludhaven or Gotham to keep on his bird's good side. Dick, for his part, would absolutely try to force Slade out of either city and likely succeed (because at this point, the results of any fight between them just depends on who's having a better day), but instead he accepts the merc's presence with a happy smile that makes Slade feel almost welcome in the vigilante's apartment. Dick is good company and makes him feel content whenever they catch each other. The history between them is violent and often they’ve been enemies but the consistency is a comfort in a world of ever-changing opponents and allies as people die and evolve.
"How could I not be?" Slade carefully doesn't break the illusion of the conversation being a joke, “When you bring me so many presents, even if I have to wait to unwrap some of them."
Dick gives him a quick, assessing look, but his eyes give him away as they shift into a distant cold as he says, "As long as you're only taking out the people that step out of line."
It's a harsh and more callous sentiment than most would likely expect of Nightwing, but Slade can only appreciate the brutal efficiency.
Dick is only ever willing to give people like those that he brings to Slade one chance to prove themselves as more than criminals. He'll order the worst of them out of his territory and let them try to be better, but if they ever come near Gotham or Bludhaven again, or if any of Nightwing's intelligence (Slade's people included) hear about them picking up the criminal trade again, then Slade has free reign to do whatever he likes to them. That's their arrangement.
Nightwing gets to clean up his cities (because the Bat is a fool if he doesn’t recognise that Nightwing has laid a claim over Gotham even if it isn’t as strong as his one over Bludhaven). He gets to give his criminals a second chance while Slade helps keep an eye on them and then when some of them squander it, he has some fun in the form of target practice. He doesn’t need it really, but this arrangement keeps him in good standing with his bird and that’s all he really wanted out of it.
Dick never sends anyone under his supervision that he wouldn’t be okay with getting murdered should they end up back where they started. Indiscriminate murderers, traffickers, a handful of genuinely despicable public figures that Slade almost hopes slip up because he doesn’t give a shit the same way his bird does but he can’t deny the thought that the world would be better with them gone.
Slade gets the people who will be given second chances, but do not deserve a third.
"Of course little bird."
"Good," Dick settles back into the careful relaxation of a predator. God Slade can't help the slight pride he feels at the self-assured confidence the other man carries himself with.
The vigilante opens his mouth as if to say something else but then there's a quiet buzz and Dick's eyes dart to it with faint annoyance. The expression fades immediately though as Dick looks at his phone and gets up with a stretch that subtly impresses upon Slade how fit Dick is.
"Unfortunately, I've got to go. Duty calls, you know how it is," Dick sounds genuinely apologetic and it makes Slade smile to think that the man enjoys their conversations as much as he does.
"Of course, go help whoever needs you," Slade replies easily. They'll have more time in the future, especially since he's been getting a few requests for contracts in Blud recently. "And always remember that you can send anyone my way to do some spring cleaning."
Dick smiles at him warmly, too bright for what they're discussing, "Of course, I couldn't let my favourite mercenary get bored between contracts."
"Much appreciated," Slade laughs, "This is why you're my favourite bat."
He receives a sharp grin, "I thought that was because none of the others can tolerate you?"
That brings an automatic, brutal grin to Slade's face because he loves it when Dick gets a bit mean.
"Bye little bird," he calls as Dick starts to open a window, "Be safe, don't get into any fights you can't win."
The words are mocking and a little mean in their own right because of it, but Dick just beams back at him, wide and feral.
"But where would be the fun in that?" and then Nightwing is diving out into the sky and on the wind a final farewell is carried inside, "Bye Slade!”