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Slade stirred, the dream he had been enveloped in fading as consciousness chased away sleep. He didn’t open his eye, it wasn’t often he could sleep through the night and he took advantage of it where he could. There was no safer rest than rest in a Bat’s Gotham safe house.
But, as he sunk back towards sleep and even as he began to regain wisps of his prior dream he was forced awake again. The blankets were sliding from his body and limbs kept thumping against his back and legs.
Slade opened his eye and rolled over, nearly catching an elbow with his face. Dick was thrashing, and now that Slade was full awake he could hear Dick’s whimpering too. Slade sighed and sat up in the bed. He would not be able to fall back asleep with Dick in a state of distress.
“Kid,” Slade murmured, voice gruff from sleep. “Kid, wake up.”
Grayson did not wake up. The whimpering grew wet, and even in the dim light Slade could see the tears gathering along Dick’s eyelashes. Dick did not cry. He grew angry. He fought. He became catatonic. He didn’t cry. With some exception, and knowledge of those few instances reddened Slade’s vision.
Slade would cull every still living being foolish enough to have made the pretty bird cry, if only Dick would let him.
Unfortunately here, where they laid in the quiet black of night, there was no one perpetrator. Only years of trauma laid over a reckless sense of responsibility.
And so Slade tried to wait it out. He watched Dick thrash and whimper and mumble gibberish for several, long minutes. Slade left and returned with a glass of water, for when Dick woke. Still restless, Slade left again. This time he warmed milk with honey and spices. For when Dick woke.
When Slade returned with the steaming mug, Dick managed to knock his head against the bedside table, still without waking. Slade set the mug down on the nearest flat service and rushed over to slide his hands on either side of Dick’s face and check on the blossoming bruise. Dick’s eyes were open wide, almost black for how blown out his pupils were, and he gulped air as if drowning.
“Not acceptable, kid,” Slade growled before crawling back into bed. Unable to idly watch Dick flail, Slade roughly took the boy in his hands and dragged him, literally kicking and screaming, into his lap. Then he wrapped his arms around Dick, securing Dick’s torso and arms, before entangling his legs with Dick’s to minimize the kicking.
Slade remained that way, while Dick sobbed and screamed and writhed in his arms. Eventually, the break of dawn cast the room in pink and Dick slumped in Slade’s arms, face bruised and streaked with tears. Slade adjusted Dick into a cradle and rocked him, humming some tune he’d heard the kid sing to himself before.
It could have been several minutes or it could have been upwards of an hour, but Dick finally, blearily pried open his sticky eyes. He first wrinkled his brow but then he caught Slade’s gaze and he grinned.
“Hi,” Dick said, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up in Slade’s hold to muzzle against his shoulder.
“Hi,” Slade said back.
“Watcha doing?” Dick asked. “Not that I don’t like it. Just wonderin’.”
“I woke up early. Thought you might enjoy the touch. Do you want some water?” Slade would have offered the milk, but it was all the way across the room and had likely cooled.
Dick frowned. “Sure.”
Without disturbing Dick’s position, Slade reached to the bedside table and grabbed the glass of water waiting there. He offered it to Dick, who downed it with a fervor. When the glass was empty, Slade returned it to the table.
“Thirstier than I thought,” Dick admitted sheepishly. “Thanks.” Slade hummed. Slade also began rubbing circles into Dick’s back. Dick frowned again.
“You alright?” Dick asked. “You were humming a lullaby when you woke up. It’s Hungarian.”
“Oh?” Slade said, uninterested. “How did you sleep, little bird?”
Dick shifted. “Well, I think. You?”
“I slept,” Slade said. “Did you dream?”
“Only a little bit, I don’t remember—“ Dick froze and his eyes widened in such a way that Slade had grown to hate. “I... I did the thing, didn’t I? That’s why you’re acting weird?”
“You do lots of thing.”
“... is that why my head hurts? Did I hurt you or—“
“Not possible,” Slade cut him off. “You bumped your head, that was the only casualty. Is there anything you need now that it’s passed?”
Dick burrowed closer to Slade. “No. It’s not like I remember episodes. I just know because other people tell me. And because the first time it happen, I ended up falling down stairs in the Manor. I’m sorry, I woke you up and ruined your night, didn’t I?”
Slade gripped Dick tighter. “No. I was already awake. Little bird, I have business in Gotham. Received the call last night. Do you mind if stay a few more nights?”
Dick hummed and settled in close, resting his head against Slade’s shoulder and burying his face in Slade’s neck. “Is it nonlethal?”
“It is.”
“Okay. Go for it.”
Slade hummed and slipped back into the Hungarian tune. He would stay in Gotham, ensure that Dick slept through the night. And then he’d compile a list of all that had hurt Dick and engage in a passion project.
But for now, he’d cradle the little bird and doze.