Archive of Our Own

It was an easy enough lie. At least, at the beginning, that is.

All he had to do was tell Slade he needed to pick up an extra shift every week to cover another EMT that went on maternity leave. Slade hadn’t even blinked, hadn’t even looked up from the television.

“Just make sure everything still gets done around here,” is all he had said. 

Dick had promised and smiled to himself, feeling for the first time in a long time that things were finally going his way.

He was going to be a paramedic and nobody, not even Slade Wilson, would be able to stand in his way.

Dick woke up slowly, his eyes taking what felt like an eternity to focus on his surroundings. It felt like waking up the morning after barhopping, or perhaps coming to after major surgery. But Dick couldn’t remember either of those things happening in the recent past. 

His shoulder was killing him. It was a dull ache, almost like he’d forgoed a few rounds of scheduled pain meds. His face hurt too, but that pain was more sharp, like it’d just happened. He knew why his shoulder was so messed up, but whatever events had led to his nose feeling broken were a bit fuzzy within his memories.

When he finally pried his eyes open, Dick was met with an all too familiar scene, one he never thought he’d have to see again.

The room hadn’t changed much, but then again, had Dick really expected it to? 

Nothing about Slade ever changed, after all.

Dick moved his arms, trying to push himself off of the bed. The last place Dick wanted to be was in Slade’s bed, but the feeling of cold metal cuffs cutting into the skin of his wrists ceased his efforts immediately. Dick turned his head, his hair tangled in the silk sheets. Each of his wrists were attached to the head of the bed frame with a police issued pair of handcuffs. Of course.

“You’re awake.”

Dick turned sharply back towards the open doorway, where Slade stood. Dick hated how different their positions were, how submissive and weak Dick seemed to Slade as he stood tall and proud over his supine body.

“Good. I was beginning to worry.”

“Liar,” Dick spat, his eyes tracking Slade carefully as he rounded the bed to sit next to Dick, close enough to brush back Dick’s hair.

Dick jerked his head away but Slade simply grabbed him under his chin, his grip tight and bruising, making Dick wince in pain.

“Watch your mouth,” Slade leaned in, his hand still keeping Dick’s face in place as he roughly began to kiss him, forcing his tongue into Dick’s unwilling mouth.

Dick kicked and thrashed, but that didn’t seem to matter, not when Dick was so weak and Slade was so much bigger than him. Slade let go after a few moments, but it was a short-lived victory as Slade began to unbutton Dick’s jeans, practically ripping them off Dick’s legs before tossing them carelessly to the floor.

“Stop! Stop it!”

Slade easily caught Dick’s bare legs before he could land a hit on Slade’s torso. One hand held Dick’s ankles together tightly while the other peeled off Dick’s boxers, his hands adjusting accordingly to fully remove the undergarment.

“Fuck you, get off of me!”

Dick yelped as Slade drew his hand back, slapping his sharply against the cheek, so forcefully that Dick’s vision began to blur, his head pounding even more so now.

“Shut your whore mouth,” Slade said coolly, finally letting Dick go long enough to unzip his own pants.

Dick wished more than anything that he had something more to say, that he was able to break free and tackle Slade to the ground. But none of those things happened.

Without any prep, without any lube, Slade forced himself in.

And Dick screamed.

“Richard! Get in here right now.”

Dick froze. He could swear he felt his heart stop at the sound of Slade coming home from work. He was angry, as he had been for the past few nights. While Dick had no idea what was causing the man’s anger at work, it seemed that the only way he dealt with that anger was through Dick.

“Do not make me tell you again!”

Dick dropped the spatula he’d been using to brown some meat on the stove, his entire nervous system working against him as he forced himself to leave the relative safety of the kitchen for the danger zone that was the living room.

Slade’s uniform shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, his hands on his hips as he watched Dick like a hawk. He was standing next to the laundry basket of clean clothes that Dick had yet to get to that evening. He’d worked the day shift that day and had only gotten home a couple of hours before Slade. While he’d had time to run a load of Slade’s clothes and start on dinner, he hadn’t gotten to everything unfortunately. 

“What is this?”

Slade was always a master at keeping his tone level, dangerously so. It was far more terrifying than if he was screaming, in Dick’s opinion.

“I was going to-”

“Did I ask for an excuse?”

Dick forced himself to take a steady breath, though it did nothing to calm his racing heart.

“I-”

Slade broke the few feet of distance between the two of them quickly, grabbing a hold of the collar of Dick’s T-shirt. Dick made a soft choking sound as Slade forced his body closer to his own. Dick could faintly smell alcohol on Slade’s breath, which was becoming a much more common occurrence as of late.

“I thought I was clear when I said that the chores should be done by the time I get home. Now look!”

Slade shook Dick like a rag doll, forcing his head to the side so that he could once again look at the laundry basket.

“Now my uniform shirts are wrinkled!”

Slade tossed Dick carelessly to the hardwood floor, not seeming to care that Dick’s knees hit the floor hard enough to break skin, hard enough to bruise, hard enough for him to cry out in pain. Still wearing his uniform boots, Slade delivered a kick to Dick’s stomach, not seeming to care that tears began to stream down his boyfriend’s face. Dick curled up as small as he possibly could, as if that alone would stop Slade.

But it never did. 

“I don’t like doing this,” Slade said softly. “You know I don’t like it.”

Slade leaned down and grabbed Dick’s arm, hauling him up to his feet. Dick let loose another sob as his nearly broken body was jostled around. He could barely stand; if Slade didn’t have such an excruciatingly tight grip on him he would have gone back down to the floor in seconds.

“Now-”

Slade paused, smelling the air, his eyes narrowing at his findings.

“What is that?”

Oh, God.

Dinner.

“Please-”

Dick was pushed aside, his back slamming against the leather couch. He could hear cursing and the clattering of pans from within the kitchen.

“You dumb fucking slut! You can’t do anything right, can you?”

Slade stormed back in and Dick tried desperately to crawl away, though he had no idea where he’d go. It didn’t matter. It never mattered. Slade grabbed him by the ankle and pulled, nearly destroying his joints in the process.

“I work all day and all I expect is for you to do what I ask. Is that so fucking hard?”

“I’m sorry-”

“No you’re not. You’re never fucking sorry.”

Dick pressed his face into the floor, trying in vain to stop crying. Slade hated it when he cried. He hated it when he tried to make useless excuses. He hated a lot of things, yet Dick couldn’t seem to stop doing them.

The sound of Slade’s belt being unbuckled and pulled free from the belt loops on his pants were so much louder than Dick logically knew they were.

They always were.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Slade, please-”

Slade kicked him once more, so hard that Dick’s body flipped so that he was on his back, looking up at Slade.

Despite everything, despite how much of a mess Dick probably looked, Slade looked as calm as can be.

“Now, Dick.”

Dick pressed his eyelids closed, his hands shaking as he began to lift the hem of his shirt up, unable to even force himself into a position to make removing it easier. Slade was growing impatient, though, as he grabbed Dick’s collar and pulled the shirt over his head, a few strands of Dick’s hair coming out along with it. Dick’s torso, now bare, was on display, a myriad of bruises in various stages of heeling. His back already bore the past marks of Slade’s belt and now more would be added.

“You know I don’t like doing this,” Slade said once more, folding his leather belt in his hands as he had done many times before. “You know I have to, though.”

“I know,” Dick replied, so softly that he wasn’t so sure Slade heard him at all.

Dick was still crying as he forced his body to bend against the couch, the way he knew Slade liked it to be. He didn’t stop crying until long after Slade had ordered takeout only for himself and gone to sleep, leaving Dick on the couch alone to think about what he had done.

Even then, Dick didn’t stop crying until he had finally fallen into a restless sleep.

His bike was in the parking lot. 

He should have been home hours ago.

But the apartment was empty, every light switched off, the smell of Dick’s pasta that should have been nearly done by now absent from the air. Everything was where Wally had left it before leaving for work that morning.

Dick had never come home.

Wally tried his best not to panic. It would do him no good, after all. After flipping a few lights on and tossing his work bag onto the couch, Wally pulled out his phone and called Dick’s phone. 

It didn't even ring, just straight to voicemail. 

“Hey I dunno why your phone is shut off but give me a call back and let me know where you are, okay?”

Wally hung up and sent a text paraphrasing his voice mail. Dick was usually good about responding to Wally's messages in a timely manner, but Wally was impatient and sent a few more after the first. 

After about ten minutes there was still nothing. 

Wally called again, but the phone still went straight to voicemail. 

“Dickie, pick up, you're really worrying me. Please.”

When Wally tried a third time, the robotic voice alerted him that Dick's voice mail inbox was full. 

He was in a full on panic now, but was forcing himself to do some of the breathing exercises he had learned from therapists over the years. 

If he couldn't get a hold of Dick, who was the next best option? Who was with him more than Wally? If anyone knew where Dick would be, it would be him.

“What’s up?” Tim asked as a greeting once he picked up after a few rings. He sounded a bit confused, which was valid. Wally was more the texting type, so Tim definitely had good reason to be thinking the worst.

“Hey, have you seen Dick since he clocked out?”

Wally was still holding on to a sliver of hope that Dick was with Tim, that he’d planned on coming home later and that he was freaking out for nothing. That maybe Dick had just parked his bike and gotten a ride with one of his brothers, that they were all having family bonding time or something equally wholesome.

“Is he not home?”

Wally felt his heart sink into his chest.

Fuck.

“No. His bike is here, but he’s not. He won't answer his phone, it doesn't even ring just goes straight to voicemail.”

Tim took a deep breath and mumbled something Wally didn’t quite catch. It took a few moments for Tim to say anything, really, and Wally was beginning to worry that the connection had been lost before the younger of the two finally spoke up once more.

“He said he was going home,” Tim said softly, as if he was trying to convince himself. “Maybe he took a walk?”

While Dick was certainly the type to go for walks around the city to clear his head, he almost always left Wally a note. To prove what he unfortunately already knew, Wally went into the kitchen to look at the white board on the refrigerator that the two utilized to mark what items were needed from the grocery store or to leave each other messages.

It was blank.

“There’s no note,” Wally replied, his hand holding the phone beginning to become sweaty.

“Maybe he forgot?”

“He always leaves a note.”

Another deep sigh. Tim sounded exhausted. “He’s had a lot on his mind lately.”

“I should call Bruce,” Wally said suddenly. It was usually a last resort, but Bruce wasn’t the best at communicating. Maybe he’d come and picked Dick up after work and convinced him to go get dinner or come to the manor.

“You really think he's with Bruce?” Tim asked. He didn’t sound very sure himself.

“No,” Wally said honestly. “But I really hope he is.”

“Dick?”

Dick blinked, forcing himself to focus on Donna’s face as she leaned in close to his, watching him intently.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for, like, five minutes now. You’re supposed to be helping me intubate.”

“Sorry,” Dick replied, rubbing his eyes.

Donna put aside the laryngoscope she’d been using, her gaze seeming to be drilling right through Dick as she studied him.

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

“Yeah, fine, just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night is all.”

“Work late?” Donna questioned, fiddling with the mannequin in front of them.

“Something like that.”

“Hmm.”

Donna didn’t seem convinced. Hell, it wasn’t like Dick really sold it.

“What’s with the bruise?”

Dick froze, his eyes looking anywhere but at Donna. He knew exactly what she was talking about, of course. While Slade was usually very careful to avoid hitting Dick anywhere his uniform didn’t cover up, he’d gotten especially pissed off a night or two ago and had backhanded Dick hard enough to form a bruise along his jawline. His solution, after a half-hearted apology, had been to buy Dick some concealer. Dick had worked a twelve hour shift the day before and had had so many chores around the house to catch up on that he hadn’t gone to bed until nearly one in the morning. He must have haphazardly applied the make up that morning, too tired to notice the purple peaking through.

“Ran into the ambulance bay doors. Forgot to scan my badge first.”

“Idiot,” Donna said, though she still didn’t sound like she really believed him.

“Happens more often than I’d like. I’m pretty clumsy.”

“Well,” Donna picked up the laryngoscope once more, turning the small light on. “If you end up being clumsy again and need a hand, call me.”

She knew.

She had to.

She wasn’t an idiot. Hell, anyone with eyes should have been able to tell.

But then again, if they could, it wasn’t like they were saying anything.

“Will do,” Dick managed to get out, his words sounding strained and worn, which certainly wasn’t helping his case.

“I mean it, Dick. You can come to me for anything. You know that, right?”

Dick couldn’t seem to formulate words at that exact moment, so he simply nodded instead.

Donna gave him one last wary look before turning her attention back to the mannequin.

The window was cracked, the curtains swaying slightly in the breeze that found its way into the bedroom. Dick couldn’t see much between the fabric, but it didn’t stop him from looking.

It hurt to move. It wasn’t like he could move much, but any slight readjustment on the mattress sent a fiery pain shooting up his entire spine, forcing tears Dick had no interest in sparing to come pouring down his beaten cheeks. 

Slade was so quiet when he walked, but Dick always knew when he was there. 

Slade knew it, too. Seemed to enjoy the fact that Dick could always pick up on his presence without looking over.

A bowl and cup were placed on the end table. Dick could smell the soup, something canned probably. Slade was never much of a cook.

A rough, calloused hand carded its way through Dick’s tangled, greasy locks. Dick didn’t have the energy left in him to try and pull away. All he could do was lay there, his eyes not leaving the window.

“You should eat.”

Dick said nothing in response.

He had nothing to say.

Slade grabbed Dick around the waist, his massive hands almost wrapping around Dick’s hips entirely as he forced him into a sitting position on the bed. The handcuffs clanked softly.

Dick continued to look out the window.

“You know I love you,” Slade took the spoon from the bowl and scooped a hearty spoonful of what seemed to be chicken noodle. “Every day away from you was torture.”

Dick parted his lips obediently when Slade brought the spoon to his mouth. He swallowed the overly salty liquid, barely putting any effort into chewing the processed chunks of chicken and slimy noodles.

“It broke my heart when you left me.”

It had been the best day of Dick’s life when he finally escaped.

Slade returned the spoon to the bowl and picked up the glass of water instead, forcing the rim to Dick’s mouth and tipping it back. Dick made himself swallow.

“When you were taken.”

The cup was taken away, put back to its spot on the end table. Dick finally broke his gaze free of the window and looked at Slade. He seemed so harmless in an undershirt and sweatpants, but Dick knew the truth. He knew the kind of man Slade was, how dangerous he really was despite the facade he put on for everyone else.

God, how could he not have seen it from the beginning? How could he have been so goddamn naive?

“My dad’s gonna kick your ass,” Dick said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Again.”

Dick expected Slade to hit him. He expected the man’s features to contort into rage. Instead he simply chuckled, as if Dick had just told him a joke he’d heard once a long time ago.

“I always liked your spirit, little bird. It makes it all the more fun to break it.”

Dick spat in his face.

Slade barely blinked. 

“Do you know what I think?” he asked, not even bothering to wipe the small amount of spit Dick had managed to land off of his face. “I think you like it. I think you like it when I treat you this way. I think deep down you know just as well as I do that you deserve it.”

“I think you’re a fucking creep,” Dick replied. “I think you’re a monster.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Slade stood, making his way back towards the doorway. He lingered for a moment, looking at Dick as a predator might at a prey they had just caught. “But if I’m such a monster like you claim, why did it take so long to realize?”

Dick blinked, forcing himself to breathe.

“I thought you were supposed to be good at your job.”

Dick didn’t have a response, but that didn’t seem to matter as Slade didn’t give him a chance to say anything before leaving him alone once more.

Slade was a cruel man, but even a cruel man can show kindness at times, Dick supposed. 

Dick, for once, was the one to come home last. There had been a MVA and since Slade had heard it on his scanner he had no reason not to believe Dick when he told him he'd be working the call. 

He hasn't been lying, at least not this time. 

When Dick finally made his way into their apartment, exhausted and worn down to the bone, Slade was there to greet him, a plate of food from Dick's favorite Mexican restaurant in his hands. 

“Knew you'd be working late,” Slade admitted. “Figured you'd be starving.”

At that moment, for the first time in a long time, Dick saw the man he had fallen in love with. 

“There's ice cream in the freezer, too. Mint chocolate chip.”

“My favorite,” Dick said, almost breathlessly, accepting the plate with hands that were on the verge of shaking. 

Slade leaned down and kissed Dick on the forehead, a tender gesture he hadn't experienced for quite some time now. He wrapped his arm around Dick's shoulders and led him to the living room. 

They ended up on the couch, Dick in Slade’s lap as he ate, his head resting against Slade's chest as they watched a movie. Long after the food was gone and the film had ended, they stayed like this, wrapped in each other's arms and company. 

And Dick couldn't help but feel as if perhaps he'd simply been overacting. 

Maybe Slade hadn't intended to be cruel. He had mentioned on quite a few occasions that work had been stressful as of late. Perhaps he was just venting his frustrations onto Dick unintentionally. 

Dick could understand that. Their jobs weren't easy and people often got burnt out in their line of work. Dick had seen people fall into much worse vices, after all. 

“I love you,” Slade whispered into Dick's ear, interrupting his thoughts. He sounded tired, on the verge of falling asleep. 

“I love you too,” Dick replied, burrowing himself deeper and deeper into Slade's hold. 

Bruce Wayne was a complicated man with complicated relationships. 

Jason preferred the term “emotionally constipated.” 

“Have you heard from Dick recently?”

Jason looked up from his phone, a scowl already on his face at just the mere sight of his adoptive father. 

“Saw him the other day at the station around lunch. Why?”

Bruce exhaled through his nostrils, moving aside momentarily so a nurse pushing a bed with a patient could pass down the hall. Jason was still looking at him expectantly from where he sat in one of the chairs meant for people waiting with hallway bed patients. Why Jason was sitting there was lost on Bruce, but if he had to guess it was to use the hospital WiFi.

“He hasn’t been in.”

“Have you asked his keeper?”

Bruce scowled at the nickname. “Tim isn’t speaking to me right now.”

Jason had the nerve to laugh. “Ah, yes, The Great Paramedic Conflict, take two.”

“It’s not a conflict.”

“Do you prefer war instead?”

Bruce had nothing to say in return and Jason accepted the argument as another win for himself.

“Why don’t you just call Dick and talk to him yourself? Why do we always have to be your messengers anyway?”

Jason’s radio made an obnoxious tone that told him it was time to move along onto the next call. He stood, pocketed his cell phone, and gave Bruce one last look before parting ways, not even offering a goodbye as he did so. 

Bruce hated to say it (so he wouldn’t, at least out loud) but Jason was right. He did often use his children as middlemen when it came to talking with them, especially when they weren’t on the best terms. He had a hard time finding the right words to say to them that wouldn’t just upset them or make whatever situation worse.

But Bruce hadn’t seen Dick in the emergency room in about a day now. And he was definitely supposed to be working. Granted, he could have finally come to his senses and agreed to taking the appropriate amount of time off to recover, but Bruce knew his son better than that. The minute he could get a doctor to clear him fit for duty with restrictions he was back.

Ducking into the staff break room, Bruce pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over Dick’s contact for a moment. There was no reason he couldn’t call his son. If anything it showed he cared. And sure, Dick could just ignore his call, but Bruce would just try again. Dick was usually very good about picking up at least the second time around, just in case there was an emergency.

So Bruce swallowed his pride and hit the call button.

The phone didn’t even ring before going straight to voicemail.

Odd. That would mean Dick’s phone was off, or dead. Dick never turned his phone off and he was usually very good about keeping it charged. It seemed to be the one thing he actually kept track of.

Bruce called again but was met with the same results.

Perhaps he’d have to opt for plan B, though he hadn’t intended on needing one so it was never actually formulated. However, if he couldn’t get ahold of Dick there was always one person who could, though Bruce wanted to do anything but call him.

He was beginning to worry, though. There was a feeling deep within him that told him something was terribly wrong, and Bruce had learned not to ignore that feeling. He wasn't sure if it came from his years as a medical professional or as a father. Perhaps a bit of both. 

He switched contacts to Wally West and dialed his number.

Wally picked up remarkably fast, probably because his future father-in-law so rarely called him, so it was bound to be important. 

“Mr. Wayne?”

He was still terribly formal, despite everyone, including Bruce, telling him that first names were fine. Bruce assumed it came from a place of fear rather than total respect.

“Dick isn’t answering his phone.”

Wally was scarily silent on the other line for a few moments too many for Bruce’s liking. 

“He's not answering me either. He… he didn't come home last night.”

That feeling that told Bruce something terrible had happened became much more pronounced in that moment. 

“What? And you didn't think to tell me?”

“I… well, I called Tim-”

“And Tim is not his father. I am. When was the last time you saw him?”

Wally took a nervous breath, his words becoming more and more panicked as the call continued. 

“At work yesterday. He left early and told me he was going to go home and make dinner. When I got home his bike was here but he wasn't. I tried his phone but-”

“Damn it, you have to tell me things like this, especially after-”

Bruce cut himself off, but Wally knew exactly what he was talking about. 

“Do… do you think it was him? Do you think he took him?”

It was a likely suspect. If anyone was to make Dick disappear off the face of the planet with no trace, it'd be Slade Wilson. 

“He… God, tell me it's not what I think it is. He still… he still wakes up from nightmares about Slade. Tell me he doesn't have him.”

“We can't jump to conclusions,” Bruce replied, though his tone was lacking in sincerity. “It didn't end well the last time.”

“The way I've heard it, the last time was anything but fair.”

“Then I really don't see how it differs. Wilson has always had the advantage. It's hard to convict any cop these days, let alone a Gotham one.”

There was a stifled sob from Wally, who had obviously pressed his hand against his face to try and cover it up. 

“What do we do?”

Bruce closed his eyes tightly for a moment, the room suddenly feeling as if it were closing in on him. 

“I'll make a call.”

Dick worked forty-two hours a week; sometimes more depending on if he got a late call at the end of his shift or not. He had an eight hour medic class every week and on top of that his internship had just started.

He was quickly running out of time in a day to get everything accomplished.

His supervisor had understood when he decided part time was probably for the best, at least until he graduated paramedic school. A lot of EMTs going through the program did that, she had said, to have a better “work-life balance”. Dick wasn’t so sure he’d ever had a work-life balance, if he was being honest.

He hadn’t told Slade, of course. He couldn’t. Then Slade would expect him home more and that would mean he would expect more done. Dick could barely keep up as it was, the last thing he needed was more on his plate. 

He could handle it, though. 

He had to.

He kept telling himself that once he was a medic, everything would be different. But would it? Slade would eventually find out once he was promoted, and he would inevitably have questions as to how and when he completed his schooling. Dick knew he was playing with fire, he knew what he was doing was risky, but he couldn’t help himself. As long as he could remember he’d wanted to help people. This job wasn’t just a job to him, it was a calling. He had to keep going, he had to learn more, so that one day he could help even more people. It’s what he was born to do.

Everyone else seemed to get it.

Everyone but Slade.

Slade never asked him how work was. He never seemed to want to talk about work at all unless it was his own. He would go on and on about the people he arrested and cases he solved, not looking for any intelligent response from Dick, as he grew angry when Dick interrupted his stories, but he always had to check to make sure he was still listening, as he got even more mad if Dick seemed to not be as engaged as Slade would like him to be.

Breaking up had crossed his mind more than a few times, of course. Dick couldn’t honestly say he was just as happy in the relationship as he had been at the start. But where would he go? Back to the manor, where Bruce would take every opportunity to say “I told you so?” He couldn’t afford his own place and getting a roommate was nearly impossible since everyone he knew either already had one or had no need or use for one.

And that was all depending on if Slade let him leave at all.

Dick knew what was happening. He’d had enough work trainings, yet none of them seemed to matter in the end. It was so much different when it was happening to you. It was so much harder to see the signs that should have been blindingly obvious.

God, how could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed himself to fall so hopeless head over heels for the first person to pay him even a scrap of attention.

It was pathetic.

Maybe, in some cruel and twisted way, Dick deserved it. Maybe this was some divine punishment for some wrongdoing from his past, one he couldn’t seem to come up with or remember. 

He was trapped and he was drowning and there was no way out.

He would die here, he was certain of it.

It wasn’t what he wanted, God it was the last thing he wanted, but he was powerless. He was in a nightmare of his own making, it was his fault, this was all his fault-

The front door unlocked. The hinges creaked, in desperate need of oiling. Dick mentally added it to the neverending list within his mind. 

“Hi honey, how was work?”

The door slammed behind Slade and Dick jumped, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. Slade was silent as he crossed to the small bar tray set up against the wall, grabbing a mostly full whiskey bottle but no glass. He uncrewed the top and tossed it aside, taking a large gulp before finally allowing the hand holding the bottle to dangle at his side, his one good eye laser-focused on where Dick sat on the couch.

“Heard a funny story today at work.”

Dick stood, the towel he’d been folding falling from his lap to the floor. All Dick could hear was his own heart beating as he backed up slowly, his eyes never leaving Slade. The older man took another drink from his whiskey, drawing closer and closer to Dick despite each step Dick took away from his inevitable rage.

“W-what… what was it?” Dick forced his vocal chords to work, his fingers going straight to his radial pulse point on his opposite wrist. It was something that usually grounded him, but it wasn’t seeming to work. All it was doing was bringing attention to just how much his heart was racing.

“Heard from Cobblepot that he saw something interesting on a call the other night. Said he saw you on a scene.”

“I was working, of course-”

“Funny,” Slade interrupted, the sound of his footsteps seemingly echoing off the nearly bare walls of the apartment. “Said you were with a medic crew. Said there were three of you.”

Dick's eyes immediately scanned the room for possible exits. He was quickly being backed into a wall, though, which always seemed to be the case with Slade. 

“I'm usually on a medic crew, I'm ALS now-”

“But there's never three of you. Unless, of course, someone's training or a student.”

Dick could practically smell the whiskey on Slade's breath now. He was drawing closer and closer and Dick's back was about to hit the wall. 

“Could've seen a new hire or student, it was dark, you know his eyes are shot-”

“Said he saw you, Rayner, and Palmer.”

“Well, maybe Kyle-”

Slade punched the wall directly next to Dick's head, causing him to flinch violently, his body curling up, his eyes squeezed closed. If he were to open them and look, he'd see the hole Slade had left in the plaster. 

“Stop lying to me.”

Tears were beginning to prickle at the corners of Dick’s eyes and he scrunched his face up, forcing them to pool in place and not fall. 

“Slade-”

“You know how I hate it when you lie. You know what I think? I think you went behind my back and enrolled in medic school. I think you've been lying for almost a year now.”

“I'm sorry-”

Dick's eyes only opened at the feeling of Slade's hand around his neck. Dick gasped for air, his breaths coming out tight and wheezing. 

“I think you're a selfish, ungrateful bitch. I give you everything and this is what I get in return?”

As easily as one might a rag doll, Slade tossed Dick a few feet across the room, not even reacting when Dick's forehead hit the corner of the coffee table. He cried out miserably, blood already beginning to run down his face, mixing with the tears that had finally broken free. 

The room was spinning for Dick. He couldn't seem to force his eyes to focus. Everything around him felt like television static as Slade grabbed him once more, holding him up with one hand just to punch him down with the other. Dick landed on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. 

Slade grabbed Dick by his arm, pulling him up and bending it the wrong way in the process. 

There was an audible snap. 

Dick howled in pain. 

“I give you everything and this is what I get in return?”

Slade was still holding Dick by his now broken arm, dangling him, which only made Dick cry harder in pain, his breaths coming out rapidly as he began to hyperventilate. 

When he finally dropped him, there was little mercy in the act. Dick curled up as best as he could, his good arm wrapping around to protect the bad. 

Slade delivered another kick to his abdomen, swift and sharp. 

Dick coughed, a bit of blood spraying out onto the floor as he did. 

“Please…”

Dick's eyes were fluttering, struggling to stay open. 

“Dick?”

Everything hurt. It hurt to breathe, to just exist. 

“Little bird?”

A rough hand was against his forehead. 

Dick flinched so hard it jostled his broken arm, which just made fresh tears appear. 

“Oh, God. Hold on.”

Footsteps retreated. Dick couldn't care enough to focus on them, though. His brain was foggy from the first fall. He couldn't seem to focus. 

“Fuck, I can't call… we can't… stay awake…”

Dick felt himself be lifted up and he sobbed louder as his injured body was moved. 

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Oh, God…”

Dick blinked weakly before he finally lost the battle to unconscious. 

Tim had a habit of making everything feel like his fault. 

It'd always been that way and even if he knew that it made no sense to blame himself for something, his brain would always find some inane way to rationalize his thinking. 

If he had just told Dick to stay and finish his shift. If he had gotten Dick to hang out afterwards. 

If, if if…

The whole situation was one full of ifs. It didn't matter that Dick probably wouldn't have listened to him anyway. His brain didn't care about logistics. 

“Is there a reason you're hovering?”

Tim had somehow forgotten, had gotten so deep into his own thoughts, he'd let his body control itself on autopilot all the way to the dispatch center. 

“No.”

Barbara didn't look like she believed him. She could always smell bullshit from a mile away. It came with the job, after all. 

“I'm in-between calls. Do you need to talk?”

“Are you busy?”

Barbara snorted. “Of course I'm busy, doesn't mean I don't have time for you. Sit down, you can take that chair, Felicity is gone for the day.”

Tim obeyed, pulling out the computer chair from the desk next to Barbara’s and rolling it closer to her before sitting. 

“You know, you boys are always coming in here to talk about the others. At least Cass has the decency to do it over text.”

“I can leave-”

“Is that what I said?”

Tim closed his mouth, not quite knowing what to say in response. Barbara often had that effect on people. 

“You're probably blaming yourself. You and Dick both do that, you know?”

“We do?” Tim had never considered that perhaps this particular trait was one shared within his family, though it made sense. 

“Oh, yeah. Dick is the king of blaming himself for things that don't even logically make sense to be his fault. He'd blame himself for an avalanche on Mount Everest, I bet.”

Tim looked down at his hands, which were nervously intertwined, his knee bouncing up and down rapidly as it did when he was restless or nervous or both. 

“You two are a lot alike. He sees himself in you, especially since you decided to continue in his EMS footsteps. He requested you be assigned to him specifically, did you know that?”

“No,” Tim admitted. “Just thought I got lucky.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. That was 100% Dick Grayson.”

Tim had been so happy to learn that his trainer and eventual future partner was to be his brother. He was lucky, he thought, that he got to work with one of the best medics at the station. He supposed he should have assumed a bit of nepotism was at play, but he's been too excited to care. 

Dick was a great teacher, just as Tim knew he'd be. Tim struggled with building up his confidence while training. It took him longer than he would have liked to feel comfortable enough to talk to patients on his own and lead his own calls, but Dick never made him feel stupid for forgetting certain questions or for being a bit awkward. He would just give him tips on how to improve and let him practice on him when they had down time. 

“And Dick… Well, he'd hesitated at first. His last partner, you remember him, right?”

Tim did indeed. Tad Ryerstad had been Dick's partner while Tim was training. He was bold, brash, and seemed to think he knew everything. He'd tried being buddies with Tim, but his personality had been so obnoxious Tim couldn't bring himself to provide anything more than polite small talk. 

Dick had always seemed annoyed slightly with Tad. While Tim had seen Dick annoyed plenty of times (he was the eldest sibling, after all) Tim could tell Tad put him on edge, like he was waiting for the man to explode. 

“Tad was pissed when Dick ‘replaced’ him. ‘Course, once you were out of training you were the far better option. Tad had a tendency to fly off the handle and not listen very well during calls. Dick complained a lot about him to me.”

Tim remembered overhearing phone conversations with Barbara about Tad. He remembered hearing Dick say vague things to Donna whenever they met up in the ambulance bay or back at the station.

“He was pretty bad.”

Barbara sighed. “Yeah. He'd asked Dick for a letter of recommendation to medic school and Dick had told him no. Finally got everything off his chest that he'd been holding in, told him he wasn't mature enough, that his skills needed refining. That's why they'd put him with Dick in the first place, in hopes Dick could help him out, but it became apparent that perhaps Tad was just in the wrong line of work.”

“He just disappeared one day. I always wondered why.”

“He got fired.”

Tim's eyes widened at the admission. “Really? For what?”

“Threatened a cop on scene. I dunno the logistics, just remembered it was a nightmare for the director to figure out. Tad refused to apologize, which just made matters worse. Last I heard he'd ended up in and out of jail over the years.”

“Wow.”

“Dick blamed himself for that too. Wasn't his fault Tad was as unhinged as he was. Didn't matter, though. Dick always blames himself. Sound familiar?”

Tim’s face became flushed, though if Barbara noticed she didn't comment. 

“Yeah. I guess.”

Barbara took Tim's hand in hers and squeezed. Tim finally met her eyes. 

“We'll find him.”

“What if it's Slade again?” Tim asked. “Last time-”

“Dick is strong. He survived that man before, he can do it again.”

Tim knew she was right. She always was, it seemed. 

Before Tim could formulate a response, Barbara’s phone went off. She pressed a finger to her headpiece. 

“911, what's your emergency?”

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, prepared to type. 

“Dad?”

Slade couldn't call an ambulance. They'd know Dick. 

Slade couldn't take him to Gotham General. They would know him there too. 

Blüdhaven’s hospital was a joke, and still too close. 

So Metropolis would have to do. 

Slade kept looking in the rearview mirror as he sped down the highway, making sure Dick was still breathing in the backseat. He was wrapped in a blanket, his eyes squeezed closed. Every time Slade went over a pothole he whimpered in pain. 

“Almost there, little bird. Few more miles.”

Dick never responded and Slade never really expected him too. 

He hadn't meant to go that far. 

He hadn't meant for things to get out of hand. 

He hadn't meant for this to happen. 

“Fuck,” Slade said to himself. 

Nobody stopped him on the way, and even if he did get pulled over he was more than prepared to pull out his badge and claim he was working or some other excuse that would surely work on the average cop on patrol. 

The emergency room parking lot was miraculously empty, which was rather surprising. Slade would have assumed it'd be packed, especially at night, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He parked and quickly shut the car off, moving towards the back seat to pick Dick up. The younger man cried out softly as he was readjusted. 

“Almost there.”

Slade burst through the automatic doors towards registration, the woman at the desk looking up in surprise at his entrance. 

“Please, my boyfriend… he was mugged. I need help.”

“Someone get me some nurses! What's his name, sir?”

“Richard Grayson. He's twenty one, he's hurt real bad.”

Two nurses appeared from behind the emergency room doors, one male and the other female. They ushered Slade to follow them back through the doors they'd come through. 

“Take him to Trauma A, I'll be there soon!” Someone called from the nurse's station. 

“This way,” the male nurse said, leading Slade into a room bigger than a standard ER room. There was much more equipment as well, Slade noted as he placed Dick gently on the waiting bed. 

“My name is Conner, I'm a nursing intern. This is Lucy, she's an RN. The doctor will be here soon, can you tell us what happened?”

“I… I found him outside our apartment when I came home from work. I dunno, someone must've mugged him, his wallet was gone.”

Conner and Lucy didn't reply as they attached monitors to Dick, quickly setting up a blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter. Conner pressed some gauze against Dick's forehead. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but there was still some fresh blood amidst the dried. He frowned at the handprint-shaped bruises around Dick's neck as he secured the gauze with some tape. 

“Hello?”

A new man appeared in the doorway, followed closely by a blonde woman in a white coat. 

“I'm Dr. Kent, this is Dr. Danvers.”

The doctor who spoke was tall, with jet black hair and glasses that perfectly fit his face. He was putting on a pair of gloves as he crossed the room to Dick's bedside, concern taking over his features. 

“Richard? Can you hear me?”

Dr. Kent pulled back the blanket to get a better look at Dick. 

“I think his arm might've been broken,” Slade interjected as Dr. Kent and Danvers began their examination. 

“I'd say so,” Dr. Danvers said, her eyes meeting Dr. Kent’s for a moment. 

“Do you mind waiting outside while we better examine him?” Dr. Kent asked, Conner and Lucy already beginning to try and usher Slade out. 

“No, I won't leave him-”

“We are going to do everything we can for him, but we need space for specialists and for us to work. Conner and Lucy will show you to the room we'll put him in once he's stable.”

“But-”

“Please, Mister…”

“Wilson. Lieutenant Wilson.”

“We will keep you updated. You have my word.”

Slade wasn't happy with the arrangement, but arguing could create more red flags so he simply nodded, allowing the two nurses to show him out. 

“Clark, he's waking up.”

Dr. Kent turned back to his patient, watching as Dick's eyes struggled to open, wincing against the bright lights in the room. 

“Richard, can you hear me?”

“Hmm?”

“You're at Metropolis Memorial Hospital. You were hurt so your boyfriend brought you here.”

“Whr’s my dad?” Dick slurred, his head moving against the pillow. “I w’nt my dad.”

“If you know his name and number, we can call him.”

“He’s… at w’rk.”

Conner had returned, his eyes immediately looking towards the screen that showed Dick's vitals. 

“Not bad, all things considered. Think we caught him before shock could set in.”

“Richard, where does your dad work?” Clark ignored Conner, still trying his best to get an answer out of Dick. 

“Trying to get a hold of family?” Conner asked. 

“I don't like the vibes of his boyfriend,” Dr. Danvers admitted. “His story seems…”

“Shady as all hell?” Conner offered. “Yeah, he seems a little calm, all things considered.”

“H’rts,” Dick mumbled. “Pl’se…”

“Get an IV in and push 10 mg of morphine for pain,” Clark said, Conner immediately moving to work on the request. “Richard, can you tell me your dad's name?”

“John…”

“John Grayson? Is that your dad?”

Dick closed his eyes once more, falling back into a restless, painful sleep. 

“Um… Dad?”

Clark looked over towards Conner, who had Dick's good arm in his grasp, ready to put an IV in. It was obvious what had caused him to pause. Bruises, both old and new, in various shades of development colored his entire arm. 

This was not the first time Dick had been hurt. 

“Do an IV in the hand,” Clark said, his stomach tying into knots. 

“Got it.”

“We're gonna have to get that shirt off too, I want him on a cardiac monitor just in case.”

Conner took a pair of trauma sheers to Dick's T-shirt to reveal even more bruising. As with the marks on his arms, some were older than others. The most recent had the distinct pattern of work boots. 

“Fuck, this kid's a mess,” Dr. Danvers said breathlessly. 

“Palpitate for me, make sure we don't have any internal bleeding in his abdomen. It's looking pretty rigid.”

“I'll see if Mom can pull up anything on a John Grayson,” Conner said, finishing the IV. 

“Thanks. Kara, we're gonna need an orthopedic consult for this arm. It's so swollen I'm not confident in setting it myself.”

“Me either. Should we consult neuro too? It's a nasty head injury,” Kara asked as she pressed gently on Dick's stomach. It was almost as swollen as his arm. “Gonna order a CT and CBC, I think we have a bleeder.”

“Sounds good. Hold off on neuro, though, let's see if he's a bit more lucid the next time he wakes up. Get Lucy back in here to assist you with sutures. He's breathing on his own and has a steady pulse. He could've been a lot more unlucky tonight, all things considered.”

“Agreed. I hope our luck doesn't run out.”

“You could say that again.”

“Let's check kidneys, roll him towards me.”

Conner and Kara assisted with rolling Dick so that they could make sure his back didn't have any concerning bruising. While they luckily found none, they did find something unexpected and just as bad. 

“Are those…?” Conner trailed off, his face growing pale. 

“Looks like whip marks from a belt.”

“You don't get those in a mugging,” Kara said, helping Clark lower Dick back down into a supine position.

“Fuck,” Conner cursed. “I'm gonna go find Mom.”

Once Lucy had come back, Conner went to go find his mother and Clark left Lucy and Kara alone to care for Dick. He removed his gloves, tossing them in the garbage just before running into the emergency room’s social worker, Lois Lane-Kent. 

“Doctor,” she said, smiling up at Clark, a clipboard in her hands. 

“What'd you find?”

“Rough case?”

“I'm thinking domestic abuse,” Clark admitted, leading Lois towards the nurse's station, which was abandoned for the moment. “Something doesn't seem right with the boyfriend and he's got old injuries, ones that don't match up with the mugging narrative.”

“Your hunches are usually correct,” Lois admitted. “I'd go with your gut.”

“Did you find his father?”

“I found his obituary.”

“Damn,” Clark cursed, a rare occurrence. 

“Not all hope is lost, Smallville,” Lois continued. “Found an article about his death. Poor kid's parents died the same night, right in front of him. He was taken in by Dr. Bruce Wayne.”

“Isn't he over at Gotham General 's ED?” Clark questioned. “The name sounds familiar, must've run into him at conferences.”

“You'd be correct. Now the question is, why was he taken here instead of to the ER his father works at?”

“Maybe he and Wilson live in Metropolis.”

“Maybe,” Lois replied, though she sounded doubtful. “No ID, so until he wakes up we don't have an address. This is his first time here, so nothing's on record.”

“Should I contact Gotham General?”

“I think you should speak to Richard about it first. Legally speaking.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Lois smiled. “It's what I'm here for.”

“Clark, orthopedic is here and Richard is waking up a bit!”

Clark looked up to see Lucy in the doorway of Dick's room. 

“I'll be right there.”

Clark gave Lois a peck on the cheek before making his way back to his patient. Dr. Lang was already setting up, though Clark was more focused on Dick, who seemed to be looking at him rather than through him this time. 

“Richard? Do you know where you are?”

“Ho’pital,” Dick slurred, taking a deep breath. “What hap’ened?”

“Your boyfriend brought you in, said you'd been mugged. Do you remember that?”

Dick closed his eyes as he tried to bring up the memory, his brows furrowing slightly as he thought. 

“Guess so.”

“Hmm,” Clark wasn't impressed. “Your arm is broken and really swollen. Dr. Lang is going to take a look at it, okay?”

“‘kay,” Dick breathed, forcing his eyes to look at Dr. Lang instead. 

“Hello, Richard, I'm Dr. Lana Lang. Your arm is very swollen, too swollen for me to apply a hard cast to it at this time without risking nerve damage. I'm going to put on what's called a gutter splint, which will keep the arm immobilized while the swelling goes down. We can put a hard cast on in about two to three days depending on how fast the swelling resides. First we're going to do an X-ray to see if both your radius and ulna are broken or if just one of them is, though with this amount of swelling I'm afraid they both were fractured. Does that make sense?”

Dick nodded. “Makes sense. I'ma… EMT… so I get it…”

“Oh, you're an EMT?” Lana asked, surprised. “Where at?”

“Gotham City EMS.”

“What brings you all the way out to Metropolis, then, if you work in Gotham?”

Dick blinked, looking a bit confused. “I dunno.”

“Alright,” Lana gave Clark a look of concern. “I'll send someone down shortly to get you that X-ray. How's the pain right now, scale of one to ten?”

“Hmm… like a… I dunno… six or seven?”

“We gave him some morphine so hopefully he'll start feeling better soon,” Clark said. “We also ordered a CT and CBC for possible internal bleeding in the abdomen.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. I'll be back after his X-ray, page me if you need me before then.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lang.”

“Thank you,” Dick tried his best to smile but it came off as more of a grimace. 

“You're welcome, Richard.”

“Dick.”

“Hmm?” Lana cocked her head to the side. 

“Just call me Dick. Less formal.”

She smiled. “Of course. See you soon, Dick.”

Lana left, as did Lucy, leaving Dick and Clark alone together. 

“Dick, my name is Dr. Kent, but you can call me Clark if you'd like. Is it okay if I ask you some questions?”

“Sure.”

Clark took a seat on the rolling stool set aside for physicians. He rolled a bit closer to Dick. 

“Do you remember what happened? How you got hurt?”

Dick hesitated for a moment before speaking, his eyes looking past Clark's. “No. Not really.”

“Your boyfriend says you were mugged and he found you. Were you mugged here in Metropolis?”

“Must've been. Ended up here, right?”

Clark sighed. “You live here in Metropolis?”

“No. Gotham.”

“Mr. Wilson said he found you when he got home from work. How could he have found you here in Metropolis if you two live in Gotham?”

Dick's eyes shot down to his lap, his respiratory rate increasing. Clark kept a steady gaze on him.

“Dick, do you feel safe at home?”

“I'm okay,” Dick said, his voice wavering as he spoke. He still avoided Clark's eyes. 

“There are signs of old injuries along with your recent ones. You're an EMT, so I know I don't have to explain to you what they look to be, nor the fact that I'm a mandated reporter.”

“Please… I'm…”

“Dick. Look at me, please.”

Dick forced his gaze to rise to Clark's kind eyes. The doctor took Dick's non-injured hand, being careful not to jostle the IV. 

“You're safe here. You can tell me the truth. Is Mr. Wilson hurting you?”

There was a single, solitary tear making its way down Dick's cheek. His breath was shaky as he inhaled. 

“He doesn't mean it… he just gets so mad sometimes…”

“Is he hurting you?”

A sob, raw and mangled, escaped Dick's lips. 

“Yes.”

“You're very brave,” Clark said, rubbing Dick's hand lightly. “It takes a lot to ask for help, and you're so brave for doing it.”

“I'm not brave, I'm just scared,” Dick said quickly, looking away. “It's not the same thing.”

“One could argue it makes you ever braver, to do it while scared.”

Dick shrugged, still not meeting Clark's eyes. 

“Is there anyone I can call? Your dad? I'm sure he's worried.”

“He'll be mad,” Dick was trying his best to blink tears away to no avail. “He told me before to be careful with Slade. I should have listened.”

“I have two sons myself, you know. You've met one: Conner. And if he or his little brother were in the situation you're in, I'd want nothing more than to be there for them. And I can guarantee Dr. Wayne feels the same way.”

Dick finally looked up. He looked exhausted, Clark noted, his blue eyes watery and red, bags under his eyes suggesting that he hadn't gotten much sleep as of late. His cheeks looked a bit hollow too, as if he wasn't eating enough. 

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, kiddo, I do.”

Dick took a deep breath and then nodded. 

“Okay. You can call him.”

“I'll have to call the police, too,” Clark warned. “They'll want to talk to you and Mr. Wilson.”

Dick looked tense. “I know. I wish you didn't.”

“Me either.”

There was a soft knock at the door and Lucy peeked her head in, looking concerned. 

“Um… Dr. Kent? Mr. Wilson is becoming… agitated. We've called security but I think you should come as well.”

“I don't want to see him,” Dick declared. “He's going to be mad-”

“I won't let him anywhere near you, Dick. Lucy, call Dr. Wayne over at Gotham General and let him know Dick is here. Then call the police, if you would be so kind.”

“Oh! Of course, right away!” Lucy ran off to the nurse's station and Clark stood from the stool, looking back at Dick as he made his way to the doorway. 

“I'll be back. Just press your call button if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Dick nodded, watching with uncertainty as Clark exited the room and made his way towards where a few security guards had begun to gather. 

“Let me see him right now!” Clark heard Slade scream. 

“Sir, if you would please-”

“I'm not talking to you, asshole!”

“Mr. Wilson? I'm Dr. Kent, one of the physicians taking care of Dick.”

Clark pushed past the security guards to face Slade, the older man's face beet red from yelling. 

“Let me see him. Now.”

“I'm sorry but I can't do that.”

Slade scowled. “And why the hell not?”

“When I spoke to Dick, he told me that there was no mugging, that it had been you who-”

“That's bullshit!” Slade interjected. “He's lying!”

“We take accusations of abuse very seriously here. So, I have contacted the police and you will not be having any more contact with my patient.”

“This has to be a joke! I didn't hurt him!”

“Mr. Wilson-”

Slade ignored Clark and pulled out his phone, his eyes narrowed at the doctor. “I'm calling my lawyer.”

“That's your choice. When the police get here I suggest you cooperate.”

“Fuck you,” Slade responded, scrolling through his contacts and not even bothering to look up. 

“Police will be here shortly,” Lucy said, her eyes quickly looking away from Slade. “Dr. Wayne is leaving work now, should be here as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Lucy. We'll have security stay here with you, Mr. Wilson.”

“You people don't even know who the hell you're messing with, do you? You're gonna regret this!” Slade sneered. Whoever Slade had called must have picked up as he turned his attention to the phone. “Dent? It's Wilson. I got a situation.”

“Page me when police get here. I'm going to check on Dick,” Clark said. 

“Sure, doc,” one of the security guards nodded. 

Clark exited the room, passing Kara as he made his way back to Dick's room. 

“They just took him to X-ray,” she said. “Everything okay?”

“As okay as it can be. Police should be here soon.”

“Damn, poor kid.”

“Dr. Wayne should be here as well. Hopefully that helps a little, having his dad here.”

Clark and Kara paused as they watched a few uniformed officers file into the emergency room, security leading them towards where Slade was. 

“Fuck,” Kara cursed. 

“What? What's wrong?”

“Fucking Luthor. I would've taken any cop but him.”

The bald cop in question looked over at where Clark and Kara were watching and had the audacity to wink. 

“Clark…”

“It'll be fine. If I'm not back before Dick is, can you page Lana and check up on him?”

“Of course.”

Clark tried to calm himself down before he re-entered the room, but upon entering and seeing Luthor and Slade laughing about something said before his arrival was nearly enough to make him lose it. 

“Sergeant Luthor,” Clark greeted stiffly. 

“Ah, Doctor… Kent, is it?”

“Yes,” Clark hated how Slade seemed more relaxed now that the police had arrived. 

“I was just catching up with Lieutenant Wilson here,” Luthor slapped Slade on the back as if they were old buddies. “Haven't seen him in quite some time now.”

“Not since our rookie days,” Slade agreed. 

“Seems you're accusing this good man here of something pretty terrible,” Luthor drawled. “Sounds to me like he was just trying to help his partner out, and you all turned on him.”

“That's not at all how-”

“Well, I'm happy to say that they'll be out of your hair soon.”

Clark furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as the ‘mugging’ technically happened in Gotham, GCPD is taking over the case. I already spoke to their commissioner and their DA is drafting legal documents as we speak. We'll have Mr. Grayson transferred to Gotham North  Community Hospital for further care. Unfortunately it seems Gotham General is on diversion at this time.”

“Wait, you can't transfer him, especially to North! It's not even a trauma center!”

“Doesn't seem like he needs a trauma center at this moment, does he?” Luthor asked. “And besides, North has an ER, does it not?”

Clark was furious. “You can't do this!”

“You'll find that we can, doctor. We have an ambulance coming and Mr. Grayson will have a police escort back to Gotham.”

“He's the victim here!” Clark argued. “It should be Wilson who goes into police custody!”

“That's for a court of law to determine. Not you.”

Luthor was smiling, though it was with far too many teeth. Slade looked pleased, and why wouldn't he be, Clark thought bitterly. Everything was going his way. 

“Get him ready for transport,” Luthor commanded, hardly sparing Clark a fleeting glance. “I'll be riding into Gotham with him. Lieutenant Wilson will follow in one of our cruisers.”

Luthor walked past Clark and out of the room, his fellow officers following shortly behind. Slade paused for a moment, a sickening smile on his face. 

“I told you you'd regret this.”

Clark said nothing as Slade exited. 

He wasn't sure what he could say. 

Bruce didn’t often call Jim Gordon. Only when shit seemed to hit the fan, which felt a little selfish, but Jim never minded. He was one of the only cops left at GCPD that wasn’t corrupt, which was a feat in itself. Somehow he’d made his way up to commissioner, despite resistance from nearly the entire department.

So when Bruce called him? Well, Jim couldn’t help but assume shit had once again hit the fan.

“Bruce? It’s been a while, how are you?”

“I’ve been better, Jim,” Bruce sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Dick. He…”

Bruce was trying desperately not to break and Jim could tell. Bruce was usually a rather reserved man, hardly ever seeming to let things shake him. So when they did, it put Jim on edge. He’d seen that man show up to crime scenes to pronounce the most torn up and unrecognizable DOAs without so much as blinking. Whatever had him worked up had to be bad.

“What about Dick? Bruce, what happened?”

Bruce sighed on the other end of the line. Jim would be a lot of money that he was running a hand through his hair the way he so often did when faced with stressful situations.

“I think Wilson’s back. I think he’s taken him.”

Slade Wilson. One of the many thorns in Jim’s side. Out of all the corrupt cops that worked at GCPD, Wilson was one of the worst. He’d been promoted to sergeant just after Jim had become commissioner and the man was legendary at covering his tracks. Any time Jim thought he might have gotten the upper hand and collected enough evidence to get rid of him, he had half a dozen excuses and alibis waiting in the wings. It didn’t help that he was rather close with the District Attorney, Harvey Dent, who was annoyingly good at his job. 

“I need your help. Jim, please… I can’t let him get away with this again.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be? There’s a few of my officers I’d trust with my life, we’ll go in together.”

Another sigh. Jim had a feeling Bruce was pacing across the room, same as him.

“You don’t think he’d be stupid enough to bring him back to his apartment? Do you?”

“Stupid… maybe not. But cocky? Definitely.”

Jim was already in motion, finding his keys in the mess that was his kitchen counter.

“I could be overreacting-”

“No such thing for a father,” Jim replied. “Let me check with the station, see if Wilson showed for his last shifts or not. I could make an excuse for a wellness check if not. I’ll call Barbara, get her looped in. We’ll find him, Bruce.”

“I hope you’re right, Jim. Keep me updated, please.”

“Of course. You’ll be the first to know any new information.”

Jim was already out the front door before the call had even ended.

North Gotham Community Hospital was much smaller than Gotham General, and less funded at that. It was positioned in the poorer community of Gotham, in Park Row, and Crime Alley passed right through it. It was run down, beat up, and saw its fair share of overdoses, gang violence, and death.

On top of all that, it was woefully understaffed, and many of the staff it did have was burnt out and making far less than their counterparts at Gotham General. Hence why they could be a bit rough around the edges.

“I don’t understand,” Dick said for what must have been the millionth time. “Why can’t I go to Gotham General?”

“Too many of the staff there have personal and familiar relationships with you. It hinders our investigation,” the officer standing watch over Dick at that particular time stated. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong. Why can’t I see my dad?”

“You’re in police custody. You’re lucky I don’t handcuff you to that damn bed.”

“I want to go home.”

The police officer sneered. “I don’t give a damn what you want, gypsy.”

Dick looked down at his injured arm, now secured in a hard cast and sling. He asked to see his family nearly every time there was a change in what cop was ordered to watch him. He wasn’t sure why, it never ended well for him.

A nurse entered the room, not bothering to knock. She deposited a tray of lukewarm food on his table. He looked at the unappetizing meal with hesitance and disgust.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Either you eat that or I tell the doctor you need a tube down your throat. Your choice.”

The nurse didn’t wait for Dick to respond or even begin eating; she obviously had many other patients to deal with. Dick picked up the plastic spoon on the tray and poked at the mashed potatoes, which were harder than they should have been.

“Better get used to it,” the cop chuckled cruelly. “It’s about what they serve in prison.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dick reminded the cop. “It was Slade who-”

“Who you falsely accused of a very serious crime,” the officer finished. “Can’t wait until the judge gives you what you deserve.”

There was no use in arguing. All the cops wholeheartedly believed it was Dick who was the perpetrator, despite the fact he was the one injured and in the hospital. They’d painted Slade as this noble, loving hero who had been wronged by his ungrateful, bitchy boyfriend and no amount of convincing would ever change their minds. 

There was a soft knock at the door and both Dick and the cop turned to see Dick’s doctor, Leslie Thompkins, standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Dick,” she smiled as she entered. “How’re we feeling today?”

“Still sore,” Dick admitted.

Dr. Thompkins gave a wary glance over towards the cop.

“If you don’t mind waiting outside while I examine my patient.”

“I have orders to-”

“I don’t give a damn what your orders are, you will wait outside. Got it?”

Compared to the cops that filed in and out of his room, there was no one scarier than Dr. Thompkins. Though, unlike them, her anger was never directed at Dick. She was probably the only kind human being he’d interacted with since leaving Metropolis.

“Fine,” the cop said gruffly. “Ten minutes.”

“I’ll take as long as I need,” Leslie responded, closing the door sharply behind him.

Leslie turned her attention back to Dick, all the rage and authority melting from her features, replaced instead by kindness and sympathy.

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with all this, Dick,” she sighed, her eyes wincing slightly at the sight of his dinner tray. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“I just wish I could at least see my family. They must be worried.”

“It’s unacceptable,” Leslie agreed, removing a manual blood pressure cuff from her coat pocket and securing it around Dick’s arm. “Everything about all this is unacceptable.”

She removed the stethoscope from around her neck and pressed the chest piece to Dick’s arm, pumping the cuff up as she listened. After less than a minute she loosened it completely, removing the cuff and returning the stethoscope to her neck.

“BP is good, 132/98.”

“Not too shabby,” Dick agreed.

“How’s the pain?”

“Manageable.”

“Dick…”

“Like a five, maybe,” Dick admitted. “Only hurts if I move too much.”

“I can get you some more Tramadol in your IV if you’d like.”

“Sounds great, doc, thanks.”

Leslie sighed. “Wish I could do more for you.”

“You’re doing more than anyone else, and that’s enough.”

“I’ve been keeping Gotham General updated. I know, I know, I’m not supposed to, but what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em. And besides, I’d just tell them I was asking for a patient consultation.”

Dick smiled for the first time in a while. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Call me if you need anything, alright? Even if it’s just something better than whatever this is,” she joked, pointing towards the dinner tray.

“I’m… I’m not even sure what it is,” Dick admitted.

“Me either. Probably food, though even that’s questionable.”

Dick giggled softly.

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up in the staff lounge. Hope you like Diet Pepsi and nicotine patches.”

“It’ll have to do,” Dick sighed. “Thanks again.”

“Stay strong, Dick,” Leslie patted his shoulder gently. “You’ll get through this.”

Dick wished he believed her, but as the days passed on and the court date grew closer and closer, Dick had to admit that he was feeling less than hopeful.

He wasn’t sure what the outcome would be, but a deep, dreadful thought within him told him it would be anything but good.

Dick woke up to the sound of a door being broken down.

His eyes blinked open, his head pounding. He was still cuffed to the bed, still sore from the last time Slade had decided that he wanted sex. Hell, he wasn’t even wearing pants anymore, just a loose T-shirt that belonged to Slade and a duvet thrown over his lower half, as if that made up for the rape.

It didn’t.

It never would. Not ever again.

There was shouting coming from the living room, though it all overlapped, which made it impossible for Dick to piece together words. One of the voices was definitely Slade, though. Dick would always know what the man sounded like when he was pissed off. He’d never forget it. 

The sound of something breaking made Dick jump, the cuffs cutting into his wrists. 

There was even more yelling, more things breaking and Dick found himself flinching at every loud noise. He was so distracted by whatever was going on in the next room he hadn’t even heard the footsteps of someone approaching the bedroom until the door was being pushed open, the hinges creaking being the only warning Dick received.

He expected to look up and see Slade.

Instead he saw Commissioner Gordon.

Jim froze, taking in the sight in front of him. Dick couldn’t help but imagine how terrible he looked, half dressed, greasy hair, wrists rubbed raw and red from the cuffs. He curled up as best as he could, watching as Jim picked up his portable radio and began to speak into it.

“Unit 32.”

“Unit 32, go ahead,” said the voice of Barbara Gordan.

“Scene is clear for EMS and fire to enter, suspect in custody, one on scene needing medical attention.”

“Oh thank God, copy 32, sending in EMS and fire.”

Jim replaced his radio to his belt and walked closer, his hands raised so that Dick could clearly see that he was empty handed.

“Dick? You remember me, son?”

Dick nodded, his words suddenly lost. He could feel tears beginning to pool in the corners of his eyes and he couldn’t even be bothered to try and blink them away.

“Is it over?”

Jim exhaled, though it sounded both strained and relieved at the same time. Dick could swear the commissioner was trying to keep his own tears at bay.

“Yeah, son. He’s gone.”

Dick watched quietly as Jim took out his handcuff key and unlocked each cuff around Dick’s wrists, frowning at the sight of Dick’s abused wrists.

“EMS and fire will be here soon. Your family’s coming.”

“Commissioner…” Dick couldn’t quite meet his eyes as he said his next words, too embarrassed to fully admit to the horrors Slade had put him through.

“What is it?”

“I… um… I’m not wearing… pants.”

If it was possible for Jim to look more heartbroken at that moment, he succeeded.

“Did he…”

Dick could only nod.

“I’ll find you some, son. Before everyone gets here.”

“Thank you,” Dick replied, tucking his legs tightly against his chest as he watched Jim search through the drawers, finally emerging with a pair of plain black sweatpants that would probably be too big on Dick even with the drawstring tightened, but they were better than nothing.

“Do you… do you need help?”

“I’m okay,” Dick accepted the pants, grateful that Jim turned away to allow him some privacy. It was slow going and difficult, but someone Dick managed, using the bed to help stabilize himself. His legs were shaky from lying down for so long.

“Squad 51 on scene,” came Roy’s voice from Jim’s radio.

“Medic 358 on scene,” added Donna’s.

“Are you ready?” Jim asked.

Dick nodded, even though it felt like lying. He wanted nothing more than to see his family, but he couldn’t help but feel scared. What if they looked at him differently? What if they thought he was weak, that he should have tried harder to get away? It wasn’t a logical thought, but it didn’t make it any less loud within his mind.

Within a few minutes the bedroom was filled with familiar faces. Kory hugged Dick tightly (after asking first), Roy smiled and gave him a pat on the back, and Jason punched him lightly in the shoulder (after making sure it wasn’t injured) and expressed his gratitude that he no longer had to be acting eldest sibling.

All in all, exactly how they each showed affection.

Donna was attentive, checking him thoroughly despite Dick insisting he felt okay. She gingerly wrapped his wrists in gauze and made note of all his injuries, trying her best to school her features to no avail.

Tim never left his side.

“I’m sorry,” he said as they led the stretcher towards the elevator.

“For what?” Dick asked.

“I should have-”

“No,” Dick interrupted. “Whatever you’re about to say… it wasn’t your fault, Timmy.”

“But I’m your partner. We’re supposed to look out for each other and I failed.”

Dick took Tim’s hand in his own and squeezed. 

“You found me. You didn’t fail.”

“I could have been-”

“You found me,” Dick repeated. “You saved me, Timmy. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

Tim burst into tears and suddenly wrapped his arms around Dick, burrowing his head into the crook of his neck. Dick returned the hug, squeezing him tight.

“I thought I lost you again,” Tim sobbed into Dick’s shoulder.

“I’ll never leave you, partner,” Dick replied. “I’ll always be here.”

They didn’t let go until it was time to load Dick up into the ambulance and take him to Gotham General.

The court case was a joke.

Dick should have assumed it would be, despite the best efforts of the Metropolis Memorial staff, Jim Gordon, and Dr. Thompkins. 

In the end, Dick didn’t face jail time like the cop had threatened. But neither did Slade, for that matter.

Bruce’s lawyer was good, the best money could buy, but he wasn’t Harvey Dent and he wasn’t on the mob’s payroll, unlike the police and the judge. It hadn’t mattered when the game was rigged from the start. 

“Another one for the books!” Dent had announced to the crowd that had gathered around him afterwards.

Bruce wrapped a protective arm around Dick as they exited the courthouse, trying his best to shield Dick from the flashes of paparazzi cameras and loud, invasive questions being yelled.

Jason led the way, using the muscles he’d recently gained through fire academy to form a path through the crowd for his family. Alfred quietly ushered Tim, Damian, and Cass, instructing them to keep their heads held high.

Bruce had thought they had gotten through the worst of it but that didn’t seem to be the case as a hand shot out from amongst the crowd and grabbed onto Dick’s arm, pulling him roughly.

“Hey!” Bruce exclaimed, his eyes darting to the source only to come face to face with Slade, whose grip on Dick was tight enough to bruise.

“Let him go, Wilson,” Jason growled, his hands already clenched into fists. 

“This isn’t the end, little bird,” Slade said, his eyes on Dick alone. “Far from it.”

“Let me go,” Dick tried to push away, but Slade was holding his good arm and it was nearly impossible for Dick to move the broken one.

“You’re mine, always will be. Today only proved that.”

“Hands off!” Damian shouted, Alfred shushing him almost immediately. 

Slade wasn’t letting go, though.

So Bruce did the only thing he could think of.

He punched Slade Wilson right in the jaw.

It had obviously taken Slade by surprise, perhaps because he hadn’t been expecting it, or maybe he just never thought Bruce could pack a punch, but he stumbled back, his grip loosening on Dick’s arm enough for him to rush away and towards Alfred, who used his body to shield Dick’s.

“Stay the fuck away from my family, Wilson, or next time I’ll do worse.”

Bruce didn’t wait for a response. He simply kept moving, directing Jason away from Slade before he got a hit in himself.

Nobody said anything, but Bruce could imagine what they were thinking.

“That was… something,” Dick finally said once they made it back to the car.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce replied. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t be. It was… thank you.”

Bruce hadn’t seen Dick smile in a while, but when he finally did, it was enough to give the sun a run for its money.

“Always. For you, always.”

Dick leaned his head against Bruce’s shoulder.

It wasn’t how they wanted it to end, but it had ended nevertheless.

It seemed everyone in Gotham General had gathered in Dick’s room to see him. Selina had assigned herself to his care personally, despite having an army of nurses and interns at her beck and call. Bruce had done the same thing, of course, which Dick really should have expected.

“It was not the same without you,” Damian said. “I had no one to talk about my classes with.”

“How’s the dual enrollment going?” Dick asked, looking up from what seemed to be his fifth Jell-O cup of the hour.

“Excellent. I’ve been enjoying the introductory veterinarian courses. I look forward to college in the fall.”

“Good, I’m glad you found something you like, kiddo.”

Damian flashed Dick a rare smile before going back to his sketchbook.

“Missed you,” Cass said, her eyes not leaving the monitor as she spoke. She’d been staring at it constantly. They all had. The perk of having a family full of people who could actually read it, Dick supposed.

“I missed you guys too.”

“I’m glad you’re back. I dunno how you do it, the whole eldest son thing. These kids are exhausting,” Jason smirked from the recliner, flipping through the channels on the hospital television.

“It is you who is exhausting,” Damian retorted.

“See, it’s like you never left,” Tim smirked.

“Hey Waynes,” Wally poked his head in, his bright red hair out of place amongst the raven-haired siblings. “Mind if I have a moment alone.”

“Only cause you’re gonna put a ring on it,” Jason grumbled, standing from the chair and stretching. “Let’s go raid Bruce’s locker for snacks. I know he’s gotta have some.”

One by one they each filed out until it was just Dick and Wally. 

“You okay?” Wally started, sitting on the edge of Dick’s bed, close enough to reach out and touch Dick.

“I’ve been better. I’ve been worse.”

“Stupid question,” Wally scolded himself.

“Hey,” Dick reached out and took Wally’s hand in his. “You and Tim could start a club for self-pitying. None of this is any of your faults. I left early, I made that choice. You both know I would have done it even if you’d told me not to.”

“Yeah, cause you’re a stubborn pain in the ass,” Wally squeezed Dick’s hand.

“I’m your stubborn pain in the ass,” Dick reminded him.

“Let’s get married,” Wally blurted out.

Dick couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness. “Yeah, that was the plan, was it not?”

“No more waiting. No more putting it off for the right time. Let’s do it, Dickie. We can have a small service, we can budget, let’s just do it.”

“You’re serious? I thought you wanted the whole white wedding shebang,” Dick questioned.

“I don’t care as long as you’re there.”

“Well, I think I can fit you into my schedule.” 

Wally smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Dick finished paramedic school. It took him a bit longer as he had to put his internship on hold while he recovered, but he completed it.

Donna had waited to graduate with him, despite him telling her that there was no need for her to. She hadn’t listened or cared, though, which was very much like her.

“Now comes more training,” Donna joked as they walked through the garage a few days after graduation, their uniform shirts sporting a red and gold patch instead of their former blue and silver.

“Oh, so the fun is only beginning!” Dick declared.

“How optimistic of you,” Donna chuckled.

“What can I say, I’m an optimist.”

“Sure.”

Dick was too busy joking around with Donna that he nearly ran into a coworker, one he’d yet to meet before.

“Sorry!” Dick exclaimed, jumping out of the way just in time.

“No sweat,” the man replied, a toothy grin encompassing his face.

He was a bit taller than Dick, with fiery red hair, emerald green eyes, and freckles on nearly every inch of skin.

Dick fell hard.

And he fell fast.

“Dick Grayson,” Dick extended his hand. Donna watched, amused by the interaction.

“Wally West,” the man responded, accepting Dick’s handshake. “Pleased to meet you. It’s my first day. I’m one of the new mechanics.”

“Well, I appreciate your work! I’m hopeless with machines.”

“Don’t you fix up your own bike-”

Donna was cut off by an elbow to the ribs from Dick.

“Well, I could never do what you guys do. Saving lives and all? That’s huge.”

“You hungry, Wally? I know a great sandwich shop not far from here. They have a first responder discount.”

Donna could take a hint. She smiled and backed away, leaving the two to their own devices.

“Boys,” she chuckled, shaking her head slightly as she made her way back into the lobby.

Dick looked up as Bruce entered the cafe, his eyes falling to Dick almost immediately. He quickly made his way through the tables full of people to sit across from him. He was in his scrubs still, on a rare break from the hospital.

“Busy,” Bruce commented.

“It usually is,” Dick replied, taking a sip of his tea.

“You still off?”

“Yeah. Director wanted me to heal fully this time. Guess she saw right through me.”

“It’s for the best,” Bruce smiled. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Sure.”

They were silent for a moment, allowing the sounds of the cafe to envelope them. It was usually like this when it was just Bruce and Dick. Never an awkward silence, but a silence nonetheless.

“How’re you?” Bruce finally managed.

“Everyone keeps asking me that, you know?” Dick’s fingers traced the rim of his mug. “And I keep saying ‘fine’ or ‘alright’ or ‘I’ve been worse’ but I’m starting to think I’ve just been lying to everyone.”

Dick locked eyes with Bruce, forcing himself to keep a steady gaze.

“Maybe I’m not as okay as I’d like to believe. As I’d like others to believe.”

“Have you talked to anyone else about this? Wally?”

Dick shook his head. “I don’t want him to worry.”

“It’s his job to worry, he’s your fiancé.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s fair to him.”

“Love isn’t fair. I tell Selina things I wouldn’t tell anyone, and in return she does the same. That’s what partners are for, Dick. It’s a two way street.”

Dick inhaled shakily. “Maybe I’m just not used to that yet, then.”

“Have you looked into a therapist?”

Dick subconsciously rubbed at his bandaged wrists. “I dunno how well that’d work for me.”

“It works for me. Works for Jason, too. Hell, I’m pretty sure the whole family has a therapist, chum. It comes with the job. We work in some of the most stressful situations known to man. It’s only inevitable we’d need someone to vent to, someone to listen and provide care so that we don’t get burnt out. It doesn’t make you weak, asking for help. It makes you strong.”

“I know,” Dick replied.

“Do you? Or do you only think that for others, yourself unincluded?”

Dick chuckled. “Guess those sessions are paying off for you, huh?”

“When you disappeared, I was terrified,” Bruce admitted. “I felt like history was repeating itself in the worst of ways and I felt powerless. I could have flown off the rails, but that wouldn’t have done you, or anyone else for that matter, any good. It’s not weak to ask for help.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Hmm,” Bruce grumbled in the fatherly way he did when he wasn’t impressed with one of his children’s answers.

“I’m working on it.”

“I know,” Bruce smiled gently. “And I’m proud of you.”

“When I was back there… back with him,” Dick forced himself to breathe to prevent any potential spiraling. “I thought… that maybe this was it. That I was destined to be forced back, that maybe on some cosmic level that I deserved it. That this was divine punishment for some wrongdoing. I was scared it would end the same way it did before, with him walking free, allowed to continue the cycle indefinitely.”

“But it didn’t go that way.”

“It didn’t,” Dick confirmed. 

They allowed the silence to return for some time. There was comfort in the silence, afterall. It gave them each time to think carefully about what their next topic would be. If they were truly willing to say the things they really wanted to say out loud.

“Jim said the kit Selina did was more evidence than they’ve ever had against him,” Bruce approached the topic delicately, not wanting to upset Dick further. “He’s hoping Wilson takes a plea bargain so that it doesn’t even go to court.”

“I’ll go, if they want me too.”

“Dick-”

“It’ll be different this time. I’ll be ready.”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” Bruce immediately regretted bringing up the topic. “If it happens, it happens.

“It’s not fair.”

Bruce looked a bit confused. “What isn’t?”

“Everything,” Dick admitted. “The whole thing isn’t fair. How Slade can just come back in and fuck up my perfectly fine life again. It’s not fair that he has such a hold on me. I wish that I could just force him out of my mind forever, that I could forget he ever existed.”

“I wish that for you too,” Bruce sighed. “You’re right. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.”

“Will it ever be?”

Dick looked at Bruce and for the first time in many years, Bruce did not see a man looking at him, but a scared and lonely eight year old, hoping to cling onto anything that may give him enough comfort to get through the night.

“I’m not sure,” Bruce admitted. “I’m not sure I can ever answer that.”

Despite it not being the answer either of them truly wanted, it was the one they ended up with in the end.

And perhaps, for the time being, that would simply have to be enough,