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It was cold. Sure, Dick’s suit was insulated for weather with a bit of a chill, but that didn’t stop the cold from seeping through the icy concrete floor into his bones. He shivered, and the chains keeping him there rattled. “It’s freezing,” Dick grumbled, glaring at Deathstroke, who sat a few feet to his left. Also chained up, which was way more embarrassing for him than for Dick.
“Should’ve brought a scarf,” Deathstroke said flatly. Asshole. The manacles were cold too, fastened around his wrists and ankles. Was this a basement or a walk in freezer?
“This is your fault, Deathstroke, so I wouldn’t get cute.” Red Robin was on the other side of the room, rooting through his utility belt. Dick’s tools had been taken, but Red Robin’s were more hidden, which meant he was their best chance at getting out before something undesirable happened.
“You two decided to follow me to a drop. Luckily, they have chains made just for me.” Deathstroke pulled hard at the chains, which didn’t give, sounding sarcastic enough to peel paint off the wall. Dick knew exactly how strong he was, so the chains had to be made for metas–maybe specifically for Deathstroke, though that seemed like a lot of work for someone who had hired Deathstroke in the first place.
Dick shrugged. “You were being suspicious. That’s not the point, anyway. Red, how’s it going?”
“Could be better,” Tim said, making a face. His cowl had been pushed back, but he wore a domino mask under it, of course, so they didn’t have an identity crisis on top of all their other crises. “I think this thing’s got a magnetic lock. Pricey, but unfortunately effective. I’ll figure something out.”
Dick sighed. Out of all of them, Tim was the best with his hands, so Dick doubted he could do better than him if all of his tools hadn’t been taken. Still, that didn’t stop him from itching for them. Slade, of course, was not being helpful. Instead, he’d chosen to sulk, and rattle his chains with every shift of his weight, every hard flex of his muscles.
“Quit it, Deathstroke. They were clearly prepared for you–you’re not gonna break through.”
“Quiet, kid,” Deathstroke said with a hint of a growl. “I’m busy.”
Dick winked at him. He couldn’t see Slade twitch under the mask, but he knew he did. Benefits of excessive sex. You learned to read a man. Unfortunately, those benefits were not saving them from being locked in a fucking basement. “We’re all busy. Why would your clients have chains specifically made to keep you tied up? Sounds like you’re not making too many friends, Deathstroke.”
“You’re one to talk, Nightwing. I’ve lost count of how many contracts I get for you a week. Maybe I should start taking them.” Deathstroke’s voice dropped, and the shift in his posture radiated threat.
Dick laughed. “You’d be sad if I died. I know how you love chasing me over rooftops.”
“I can always chase someone else. You’re not the only one who can play cat and mouse.”
Dick wished, rather abruptly, that he could see Slade’s face. He was used to not being able to, because Deathstroke’s mask was more concealing than Batman’s, but it made all of this worse, somehow. They were trapped as enemies–Tim and Dick had followed him in here, intending to drag information from whatever meeting he was having. Instead, they’d tipped off an alarm, and all three of them had been incapacitated. It was embarrassing, honestly, and Slade had to be feeling that indignity even more severely.
He’d survive. “You’re gonna make me jealous,” Dick said, grinning with an edge of teeth. Tim was working to get out, and Dick had already tried dislocating his thumb to slip the cuffs, so he would entertain himself in other ways.
“It’s not hard, kid,” Slade said. Dick thought that was unfair; between the two of them, Slade was definitely the jealous, possessive one. Dick was more of a free spirit, as it were. “Easy to rile you up.”
Dick scoffed. “I seem to remember me looking in someone else’s direction giving you a fit.” Dick had been limping the next day, and the look Tim had given him was only a little humiliating. “Maybe try some introspection before you look to others. You know, Harley’s really good at that stuff–”
“You can be jealous,” Slade said, and Dick didn’t even know why their conversation had turned to this, but arguing with Slade was better than thinking about the chains keeping him sitting on the ground. He could hear faint clinking sounds from Tim’s side, but he was more focused on Slade. Ha–if he could piss him off enough, maybe he’d manage to break the chains. Really, Dick was doing this out of the good of his heart.
“I mean, yeah, I have the capacity to be jealous. I’m just not usually.” Dick raised a brow at Slade, tsking. Really, his temper was out of control.
“Not usually.” Slade laughed, short and harsh, and foreboding crawled up Dick’s spine. “I know just how to get you there.”
“Mhm,” Dick said, tugging at the chain on his wrist. Maybe he should try dislocating his thumb again. “Go on, then.”
“Little Red Robin knows how to play too.”
Tim? Play what? Did Slade mean–oh. Oh. Oh. Fucking–”Deathstroke,” Dick snarled, glancing over at Tim. He seemed to be tuning them out, focused on the chains, but if Slade meant what Dick thought he meant–Dick was going to kill him.
Deathstroke laughed, like this was exactly the response he wanted–it probably was, since he was that kind of asshole–and looked him up and down. “Jealous,” he said, sounding smug.
“Furious,” Dick snapped, jerking at the manacles. When he strained, he could nearly reach Deathstroke. “He’s–”
“Not a kid, legally,” Slade said, like he hadn’t been eyeing Dick in Robin’s shorts a decade earlier. “Fully consenting, in case you were wondering.”
“I don’t care,” Dick hissed, eyes flashing. “Stop fucking my brother!”
“No,” Slade said, sounding rather bored. “It’s a good time. He has some tricks up his sleeve, you know. Just last month, he–”
“Don’t tell me that.” The last thing Dick wanted to know about was his little brother’s sex life–with Slade. “Just–stop! Why would you even want to–why?”
“You’ve seen him,” Slade said with a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m a man of good taste. And your brother is–”
“No,” Dick said, letting his head hit the wall behind him. “No. Just–Jesus Christ, shut up. You can’t fuck both of us.”
“Been working fine so far,” Slade drawled, and Dick knew he had a shit-eating look on his face, the kind he only made when he knew no one could see it.
“He’s my brother.”
“He’s not mine,” Slade said, leaning back against the wall. Dick hoped those chains never came off. Tim wasn’t even nineteen yet! Dick wasn’t one to talk about age difference, but there was a difference between that and barely legal. Not that Slade was one to bother with laws. Dick was going to get free and leave Slade to freeze his balls off down here. It would be justice.
“That’s not the point,” Dick hissed. “The point is we’ve got whatever it is we have going on going on, and you turn around and start fucking my brother! That’s not–that’s not something you tell me about, let alone brag about. I can’t fucking believe you.”
Every day, Dick thought he’d adjusted to how plain awful Slade could be. Every day, he was fucking proven wrong.
“Just because you don’t have any appreciation for your little brother doesn’t mean I can’t. He’s no you, but he’s nothing to scoff at,” Slade said, and Dick still couldn’t see his face, but he knew Slade was leering in Tim’s direction.
“He’s right here,” Dick said. Sure, Tim seemed to be paying them no mind at all even as their voices–mostly Dick’s voice, granted–rose, but the fact of the matter was still that he was there, sitting a few feet across from them.
Slade shrugged with one shoulder. Dick’s eye twitched. “He’s aware of how I feel.”
“God, I thought he was smarter than this,” Dick said, almost to himself. Dick had to be smarter than this, but here he was. Arguing with Slade over the ethics of fucking Dick and Tim–who had a boyfriend, now that Dick thought about it.
Actually, no. This was exactly the kind of thing Kon would encourage. One of his favorite activities was giving Dick gray hair.
“Both of you, shut up,” Tim said sharply, looking up from…whatever he was doing. “Slade, come here.”
Slade obligingly shifted forward, and Dick could feel him smirked as he went. Tim merely held the chain out, taut between his hands. “Yes, littlest bird?”
That bitch.
“Break this. Apparently, they only splurged for one set of meta-proof chains.”
Dick had never been so furious in his life. He was going to kill Slade and make Tim regret ever turning eighteen. If there was a curse that could keep Tim safely seventeen forever, Dick would use it.
Ten minutes later, and that basement was merely a memory. Dick dragged Tim away with one last vicious glare at Slade. Asshole.