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'Forced bonding' has been a rumor in Gotham for years.
Whispered in the back alleys of the East End, joked about in clubs in the Diamond District—the idea that it was possible to form a soul bond without the consent of one of the people involved. A ridiculous idea, a laughable notion. Everyone knows it's impossible, has been since the beginning of time.
The whole point of a soul bond is to allow two people who love each other to connect on a deeper, permanent level. To feel what each other feels, sense when the other is near, be filled with love and loyalty and peace. A soul bond is a special thing, the topic of countless poems and songs through the ages. It's not possible to corrupt it, not something that pure.
But the rumors have been getting louder the last few years, and kids have been going missing from Crime Alley. Rumors of an experiment, of testing, of forcing a soul bond out of nothing. Of these bonds not being equal, one of the people subservient to the other, loyal to an absolute fault and barely more than a slave.
It's just a rumor. Just a ghost story to scare children. It has to be.
But Dick is investigating nonetheless. It's become impossible to ignore lately, the belief that this is something that's actually happening. And with Jason sure that these missing kids are being experimented on, Dick can't turn his back on it, even though the subject makes his skin crawl.
Trying to force a soul bond. Who would do something as horrifying as that?
He's following a lead in the Bowery, a woman whose son went missing a couple weeks ago. She swears she saw someone hold a Bond Scanner up to his chest just two hours before he was grabbed.
Bond Scanners are typically used by law enforcement when a person has been arrested. It's a simple way to tell if an individual has a Soul Bond; it won't tell you who it is, but the information is good to have. If the arrestee is Bonded, then there's someone out there feeling their fear or anger or getting flashes of what's going on, and it would be important to track them down.
It's not hard for regular civilians to get their hands on a Bond Scanner though, not that there's any real need for it; people tend to be pretty open about whether or not they're Bonded in normal society.
But if you are kidnapping people in an attempt to force a bond, Dick supposes the first step would be to make sure that the person you're kidnapping doesn't already have a bond with someone else.
It's illegal for those under eighteen to form a soul bond, considering the fact that it's permanent, and at times overwhelming. But still sometimes—often in the lower income communities—you'll come across a pair of children who just wanted to find a little peace in a very hard world, and became each others' Soul Bond.
It's sad, and dangerous, but true. Dick knows Jason's been working on programs in the East End to help kids in situations like that, situations that would make them desperate enough to risk a soul bond, but it's been slow going. Especially with Jason wanting to take on this case on top of that.
Hence Dick's presence. Some extra eyes on the case, another person to bounce ideas off of and spread the responsibility. While Dick's talking to the mother of his lead, Jason is staking out a warehouse which many of the missing kids had been seen entering just a few days before each of their abductions.
The mother leads him to the location she saw the Bond Scanner, which leads him to hacking the old security camera across the street, which leads to him getting an image of the man with the Bond Scanner, which leads him to the name Derek Jacobson, a career criminal who has worked for Two-Face, Penguin, Maroni, Falcone...
The list goes on and on. A real stand up citizen.
Dick sends Jason an update and then makes his way to Jacobson's apartment to check it out.
He goes in through the window, sliding it open and slipping inside. The apartment is pitch black, so Dick switches on the night vision in his mask and looks around. It's a mess, empty bottles and dirty plates strewn about, clothes in piles on the floor. He doesn't see anyone, though, nor does he hear any signs of life from the rest of the apartment, but he moves cautiously nonetheless.
The small kitchen and closet of a bathroom both prove just as run down and empty as the living room, and Dick doesn't have high hopes for the bedroom. He enters, looking around, and starts opening drawers.
An ambulance's siren fills the air, loud and close, and it's the only reason that Dick doesn't hear the quiet footsteps approaching him. Though he sure as hell feels it when whoever it is slams a bat across the back of his skull.
Dick shouts, head splitting with pain, and stumbles down to his knees. The world sways around him, black threatening the corners of Dick's vision, and he shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. He's still in danger, he has to move, but his limbs are barely responding to him, jerking uselessly. He tries to get his feet underneath him, but his legs shake and the person who hit him doesn't give him the opportunity, a hand clamping in Dick's hair and slamming his head against the wall.
This time, everything does go black.
When Dick wakes up, his head is throbbing and his wrists are bound. He's lying on the floor of the—he hisses and slams his eyes shut again; apparently the lights have been turned on, and his night vision is still on. His hands jerk up towards his mask and he turns it off, sighing a slightly relieved breath when his vision returns to normal.
"Hey!" a voice barks. "Don't move!"
Dick tilts his head up and sees Derek Jacobson standing above him. The man's face is twisted in an irritated snarl, but the way his eyes are darting around seems far more anxious than angry.
He's holding a phone up to his ear, and after glaring down at Dick for a moment, he turns his attention back to whoever is on the line. "No, I can't just do that—"
He cuts off, listening, and Dick can faintly hear the voice on the other end. Male, a little nasally. But he can't pick up any specifics, especially not with the way his head is throbbing.
Damn. Concussions are not fun.
"Alright!" Jacobson snaps. "Fine, okay, but you better be here fucking soon, okay?" A pause, and then, "Good, see you fucking soon, then."
He hangs up angrily and glares down at Dick again, then turns on his heels and strides away. Dick lifts his hands to his face again to examine what's keeping his wrists bound, and discovers that his ankles are also tied together. Well, zip-tied, apparently. Great. Dick hates zip-ties.
Jacobson is back quickly, and in his hand is a syringe filled with clear liquid.
"Hey now," Dick says, ignoring how his voice slurs slightly, pulling on a charming smile, "I think you're supposed to ask before introducing new things for playtime."
Jacobson, apparently not one for humor, doesn't say anything, just crouches down beside Dick. Dick jerks away from him, swinging his arms to hit, but his movements are shaky and disjointed. It's not hard for Jacobson to pin his head in place and stick the needle in his neck, pushing down on the plunger to inject him with whatever's in the syringe.
Given the way everything gets instantly fuzzy and distant, Dick can only assume he's been given a sedative. Everything fades very quickly, until once again the black takes him under.
Dick can hear Bruce in his head, chastising him for the various mistakes he's made that have led him to this moment.
To being restrained to a chair in a dark basement, head fuzzy as his captors keep him lightly sedated. He can feel people watching him, can hear conversations going on around him, but the effort it takes to focus on them is more effort than he's capable of at the moment. The sedative will fade eventually, but for now he's useless.
Slowly but surely his awareness comes back to him, until he can make out the words people are saying with only minimal effort. Unfortunately, the only conversation going on currently is between two thugs who are discussing the scores of the most recent Gotham Knights game.
He tests his bonds, glancing down to get an eye on them. His head lolls, his control still not completely back, but it's effective enough. He finds that his ankles, knees, waist, wrists, elbows, and shoulders have been tied to the chair he sits on, and there's a gag secured in his mouth.
He's almost flattered by the level of bondage he's currently under, that they think it will take this much to keep him from escaping. Boy, does Dick miss the days criminals underestimated him.
Footsteps walk across the floor above them, and then the basement door opens. A pair of men come walking down the stairs, the man in front in an awful blue suit and a smug grin on his face as his eyes land on Nightwing.
"Well, this is just a delight," the man says. "A real delight."
The gag keeps Dick from responding, but he tries to convey how far from impressed he is through his expression alone. The man simply chuckles.
"We've yet to try this project on someone as...strong-willed as a vigilante, but I suppose the concept is the same. And the money we could get for you..." His grin widens. "Well, we'll be set for life!"
That is quite the concerning statement. It's been a while since a bag guy captured him and attempted to sell him off. And if this is the group of people who are supposedly forcing soul bonds, the fact that the guy just said they're going to try something on him is...not the best.
The man claps his hands together. "Alright! Someone knock him out; we still have a few hours until the guests arrive, and I want to leave nothing to chance."
"Got it, Boss."
One of the thugs approaches Dick, and, despite how Dick tries to jerk away, the man has no trouble injecting him in the neck. Everything fades to black once again.
Things come to Dick in flashes after that.
He's aware of coming into awareness, aware of people grabbing him by the upper arms and pulling him along, feet dragging across the floor. He's aware of fluorescent lights up above him, and then the steady hum of an elevator. He's aware of laughter, and the distant cheer of a crowd. He's aware of his wrists being bound in front of him, and aware of someone grabbing his chin and lifting it, the snap of a camera in front of his face.
By the time Dick is starting to have some control over his feet, managing to at least stumble along between the two men holding him instead of completely being dragged, he's pulled onto a wood floor and the crowd from before becomes deafening and then someone near him is announcing—
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the grand prize of this evening's event; Nightwing!"
Someone's hand grabs a handful of his hair and pulls his head up, and the crowd gets even louder. Dick's vision is a little blurry, but he can make out that he's currently on a stage, and there are rows of shadowed people in front of the stage, their attention held captive by—apparently—him.
What the fuck did I get myself into?
"Imagine it," the announcer says, the same man who came to visit Dick before, "the famed hero Nightwing, as whatever you want him to be. Maybe your own personal bodyguard! Completely loyal, willing to do absolutely anything for you, including fight against the other Bats. And, if you swing that way, he certainly brings some other...assets to the table, doesn't he?"
Dick feels a hand stroke suggestively down his chest and he jolts, trying to twist away. He gets absolutely nowhere, the men holding him in place keeping him still easily.
"Shall we start the bidding at two hundred and fifty thousand?"
The numbers move quickly up from there. Dick tries to keep track of it, but the bright lights up above are making his head spin, and he already feels exhausted and nauseous from the amount of drugs they've been pumping him with.
Frankly, he absolutely doesn't stand a chance.
What could be a minute or an hour later, Dick is dragged back off the stage, faintly hearing the announcer say, "Excellent, Sir! Come back stage and claim your prize!"
The men drag Dick into a dark room with a metal table in the center of it, putting him on top of it. There are restraints attached to the table that the men quickly use to bind Dick, his wrists, ankles, and neck all held firmly in place by smooth leather straps.
Someone grabs his arm and Dick feels sharp metal, then the sound of fabric cutting. It takes his mind a long time to realize that they're cutting away the sleeve of his suit, and it isn't until a needle slides into the crook of his arm and gets taped in place that he understands that an IV has been attached.
"Wha's it?" Dick slurs, trying to look at the man doing it.
The man chuckles and smirks down at Dick. "Don't worry your pretty little head," he says. "Just ride the happiness out, kid. Everything will be so much more peaceful on the other side."
Dick furrows his brow. He has a million more questions, but then there's a cold sensation rushing into his veins and it makes him gasp.
Distantly, he's aware of someone patting him on the head, and then people leaving, but it's hard to concentrate on because a different kind of fuzziness is kicking in. Floaty, as opposed to the cloudiness of the drugs. This is...pleasant. The longer it lasts the more loopy Dick feels, and he finds himself giggling.
He's struck by the desperate urge to move, to jump around, to do a few flips, but when he tries he finds himself unable to move, and moans in distress, wiggling against his bonds.
It's so dark and cold here, and he doesn't like it. He's craving warmth and light, more than he feels like he ever has. He feels like he has his face turned up towards the sun but a cloud is blocking the sun, he can't get what he needs, what he's longing for—
Wait, stop, breathe. Breathe. You're in control. Breathe.
Dick draws in a breath, counting to ten, and releases the breath for the same count. He focuses on that, trying to clear his head. He needs to take stock of the situation, figure out what's going on. It's...hard to think. His head is a mess. But he knows that this situation isn't okay. He needs to start at the now and work his way back.
He's currently bound to a table, injected with an unknown substance. Someone just bought him. He was drugged, and tied up in a basement. He was at a guy's apartment. He found the guy because of a case, a case about missing kids and the possibility of forcing soul bonds.
Oh. Oh fuck.
In all the stories about Bonding, people always talk about the beginning of the process as something so light and floaty, like floating on a cloud. Their soul opening up to their partner, greeting their partner's in turn, reaching out for the bond waiting to happen. A longing, a need to connect.
They're initiating the Bonding process in him. How the hell are they initiating the Bonding process?
Dick's heart begins to pound in his chest, and he twists his head to try to get a look at what he's been injected with. The IV stand is next to the table he's trapped to, and there are two different bags hooked up to the needle in his arm. One bag is filled with pale blue liquid, the other a dark green. Are these how they're initiating the process in him? Did they actually manage to find a real formula to do that?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—
Okay, okay he can do this. He just needs to keep his mind about him. He just needs to ignore the longing that is filling him, the way he feels something deep inside of him calling out. He has to resist the floatiness, the loopiness, the joy that makes him want to laugh and dance. He needs to...not let it take over. He needs...he needs...
Something brushes against his mind, something Not Him. Dick's familiar with working with telepaths, he knows what it's like to have someone enter his mind, but this is different. He has mental shields for telepaths, this feels like he's already welcoming whoever it is in.
"No," Dick groans, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, no, no."
There's another rush inside his veins, and Dick gasps, head tipping back. It's so...nice. There's a sun waiting for him, it's waiting for him, he just has to turn towards it, he needs it he needs it he needs it—
A door opens, and if what happened before was a brush against his mind, this is like getting slammed against a wall, his senses flooded, and he gasps again, surging up against his bonds.
It's overwhelming, it's beautiful, it's—it's—it's—
Sandalwood, Macallan Scotch, slow breaths, steady thump, thump, thump of a heart, calling out to Dick, and without conscious thought Dick finds his breathing slowing to match the other's pace, his heartbeat calming to pulse in time with the other. He can feel them, their satisfaction, the pleasure, the confidence, the steady calm of their mind, and Dick lets it surround him, thrilled by how powerful the person is, how strong their will is, how easy it is to let them take over—
No, fuck no, stop stop stop—
This is what the rumors were saying, that the forced bond would be unequal, that they'd found a way to make it subservience. And the announcer said something about having Nightwing completely loyal...
The other person's heartbeat gets louder in Dick's ears as they approach, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. He turns his head towards the person, desperate for them to be close, needing them like he needs air. He feels empty and what will make him whole is so close—
A hand settles on the top of his head, and Dick whimpers, pressing up into the touch as much as he can. It's like his nerves are on fire, and the satisfactionpleasurewinningwinningwinning feeling gets bigger. The person is so happy, happy with him, and Dick grins, a breathless laugh making its way out of him.
This is glorious, no wonder people write ballads about Bonding; Dick's never felt anything as spectacular as this. He wants to give this person everything, wants to offer them the world and make sure he's able to hand it to them on a silver platter. He wants them to be happy, to succeed, to get everything they want.
And they want so much, Dick can feel it. He can feel the ambition, the determination, the thoughts that scream of plotting and planning and always remaining a few steps ahead of his opponents, always working to remain in the lead. All the desires they have for the world, and they want Dick, they want Dick right there with them, they want him at their side more than anything, and Dick can feel tears leaking from his eyes with joy at how much he's wanted.
Dick, over the years, has never been truly sure of whether or not he was good enough for anyone around him. Bruce always had complaints, his bosses didn't like him and always found faults, his family could certainly poke fun at quite a few of his attributes, relationships always ended because he wasn't giving his partner what they needed—
But now, but now, Dick feels wholly and truly desired and accepted. God, he can't believe he's only just now choosing to Bond with someone—
No, he didn't choose this. He's been kidnapped, drugged. Someone is trying to force a soul bond on him, trying to own him. This isn't good, he can't let...he can't let...he can't...
It feels so amazing. He—he wants it so badly, fuck does he want it. They need to touch him more, they need to hold him, he needs more of their sunshine, he'll do anything, anything for them, absolutely anything—
"Oh, Richard," the person—the man, it's a man—next to him murmurs. "What a gift you are for me."
The man leans down and kisses him, and Dick surges up towards him, allowing the man to take control of the kiss with ease, and he feels something deep inside of him click, something slide into place, something that had been missing since this all began, but everything's going to be alright, because the man's here with him and wants him.
Dick can see it all now, how long the man's wanted him. The man...grieved, he...had a Richard. Yes, he had a Richard, and he lost him, but he always wanted him back. He...he came here, seeking what he lost, and he found Dick, and he wants Dick, has always wanted Dick. Has tried for so long to make Dick see how much better they would be together, if Dick just let himself go, how spectacular he could be.
The man thinks he could take on the world, and Dick wants to for him, he wants to give him everything, wants to give him the world he desires, the one he wants to build. Dick can do that, he can offer himself for this brilliant cause. He'd give his life for this man. For...
"Thomas," Dick gasps into the man's mouth, and the man makes a low, pleased sound that shakes right down to Dick's core.
It's Thomas. ThomasThomasThomasThomasThomasThomas. He's everything, he's the sun and Dick is just his shadow. He's the whole world and Dick is just the moon lucky enough to orbit him.
"I almost missed this opportunity," Thomas tells him, breaking the kiss and pulling back slightly. Dick makes a wounded noise, wanting to follow him, but his neck is still bound to the table beneath him, keeping him still. "I almost didn't catch the message this little operation sent out, that they were selling off Nightwing's soul bond. I was all the way in Chicago, my informant barely got the message to me—"
Dick can feel the man's irritation, the distaste towards the informant, and Dick swears to himself that he'll get rid of whoever it is if Thomas wants him to, so they can never bother Thomas ever again.
"But no matter," Thomas says, calm and in control. Dick admires that control, how easily Thomas boxes away his darker emotions to instead focus on the task at hand. Focus on Dick. "I ended up getting the information, didn't I? And that's what matters in the end. That I have you."
"You have me," Dick agrees, grinning.
He looks up at Thomas, trying to focus on his features, blinking the blurriness away. He looks exactly the same as the last time Dick saw him, those sharp Wayne features, that intense, calculating look in his eyes. He's dressed in a gorgeous suit, he looks so handsome, so perfect, and he came here for Dick. He was all the way in Chicago, and he came for Dick.
Thomas smiles back down at him. It's a tiny little thing, but Dick can feel the fact that Thomas doesn't offer people smiles often, and Dick basks in the knowledge that he's special, that Thomas offers him something so precious.
"Do you feel it, too?" Dick whispers.
He knows Thomas knows what he means. This joy, this elation. The overwhelming belonging, the rightness, the need to do everything he can for his—his Soul Bond.
"To a much lesser degree," Thomas tells him, because Thomas has never lied to him and never will. "As it should be. But yes, Richard, I feel it. But I've felt that long before today, my boy. I've always known you belong to me."
Dick's nodding along before he's even finished talking. Of course he belongs to Thomas.
"Very good," Thomas says, hand brushing over Dick's hair, and Dick glows with the man's praise.
"I wonder how long it will stay like this," Thomas says, and Dick knows he's simply thinking aloud, so Dick remains silent. "I know this stage is supposed to fade, to calm, after a little while. You'll be easier to converse with then, of course. But how docile will you be, I wonder? How much effort will I have to exert to keep you controlled until you accept your place?"
"I know my place," Dick says immediately, because maybe Thomas is doubting his loyalty but he'd do anything for him—
Dick feels a wave of Calm come through the bond, and Dick settles immediately, practically melting against the table beneath him, boneless.
"It's alright, my boy. We have the rest of our lives to make sure, don't we? This...loopiness of yours will fade once the initial stage of the Bonding has passed, and then we'll see where we have to go from there. I'm sure you'll be a challenge, but it's worth it, at the end of the day."
Dick just nods drowsily, still riding the wave of Thomas' Calm.
Thomas kisses him again, and Dick opens his mouth pliantly to allow the man to do whatever he wants. One of Thomas' hands lifts to Dick's chest, settling over his heart, and only stays there for a few moments before it begins to drift down until it settles over his crotch.
Dick's knee-jerk reaction is to protest. He doesn't want this, it isn't right—
But Thomas' desire comes through the bond so clearly, so powerfully, that Dick moans, thrusting up into the man's hand.
"Fastest way to solidify the bond," Thomas whispers against his lips. "You're alright, Richard. You will always be alright, as long as you do what I say."
Dick nods and lifts his hips up and arches his back to allow Thomas to get his hands underneath him, fingers working nimbly over the zipper and pulling it down, opening Dick's suit. He cuts the rest of the torn sleeve, careful of the IV, and then cuts the other one, peeling Dick's suit down past his hips.
Immediately, Thomas wraps a hand around Dick's cock, and Dick moans, feeling Thomas' own satisfactionpleasurewinniningwinningwinning pass into him through the bond and bring him close to the edge despite the fact that they've only just begun.
He comes quickly, mewling with pleasure, and feels his breath catch when Thomas lifts his hand to his mouth, licking off some of Dick's cum. He wipes the rest off on Dick's suit and leans back down to kiss Dick.
After a few moments he groans and draws back, and when he lifts his other hand Dick sees it covered in cum, too; he'd been stroking himself as well, and Dick moans again at the fact that he made Thomas come, Thomas came because he wants him—
Thomas lifts his hand to Dick's mouth, and Dick knows what he wants without having to be asked. He drags his tongue across Thomas' palm, sucks his fingers into his mouth, cleans him off to the best of his ability and then swallows it down.
Thomas watches him with hooded eyes, lips tilted in a small, pleased smirk, and runs his fingers through Dick's hair again once Dick is done.
"We're going to do great things together, my boy," Thomas assures, and Dick grins brightly, filled with excitement. "Sleep for now, let the process finish. Then we'll see what comes next."
Dick wants to protest, wants to stay awake and enjoy this joy, but Thomas' wish for him to rest comes through the bond, powerful and real, and Dick finds himself closing his eyes and settling in to sleep before he's even aware of it.
"Good boy," Dick hears faintly, and then he drifts away.
The next time Dick wakes up, it takes him a long moment to get his bearings.
The softness of the blanket on top of him is the first thing to hit him, and then the silky sheets beneath him. The pillow under his head feels like memory foam. This bed is one of the most comfortable things he's ever slept on, especially after going from the almost-lumpy mattress in his own apartment.
Wait. Why isn't he in his apartment? Why is he...
There's a faint humming, at the back of his mind. The feeling of Something being there. He tries to focus on it, tries to examine the feeling, and it welcomes him happily. He smells coffee grounds, and frying bacon. He feels a spatula in his hand, and a cool breeze from an open window on the back of his neck.
Dick jerks upright in bed, breathing heavily. His eyes dart around, trying to understand. He's here, in this bed, in a rather lavish bedroom. So why can he feel those things? Why, when he concentrates, can he almost picture himself there, standing in a nice kitchen in front of a stove, cooking breakfast?
He can't remember what's going on. He can't—he can't—
A wave of calm hits him from whatever that Something is, and his head lolls down against his chest under the force of it, his entire body relaxing. His breathing evens out again, his heartbeat steadying.
"Think, Grayson," Dick murmurs to himself once he's able to form a coherent thought. "Just think."
He closes his eyes and tries to remember. There was a case. He was working on something with...with Jason. About...about soul bonds. Yes! Soul bonds! There was a rumor about someone being able to force a soul bond, but a twisted version of it. Dick was tracking a lead, and then...
Flashes of the basement, the stage, the roaring crowd. And then that dark, cold room. The IV of unknown drugs. The man who came in. The man...
"Hello, Richard."
Dick's head jerks over to the door, eyes going wide. Standing in the doorway is Thomas Wayne Jr., Owlman. It's been at least a year since Dick last saw him, the last occasion he clashed against them in Gotham. The last time he extended an offer to Dick that Dick would always turn down. He got away of course; they've been keeping an eye out, running programs to track him down, but he's a ghost. Only found when he wanted to be.
And now he's...
Dick doesn't understand the mixed emotions within him. Anger, of course, at the presence of a man who has brought nothing but trouble and pain to his family, to him. Anxiety, at being in this situation. Righteousness, in facing down a villain.
But also...affection. Caring. He—he feels it, he feels a deep caring for this man, but he doesn't understand why. Thomas has only ever hurt him and the ones he loves. On another Earth, Thomas even killed his parents! He got the other Dick Grayson killed! So why does he feel this—this need to hug him, to be wrapped up in his arms and held safely from the world?
Thomas isn't safe, never has been. He's the viper in the sand, waiting to strike.
So why does Dick want to let everything else slide away, and to just be happy here with Thomas? It would be easy, after all. None of them have to matter, not now that he's here. Now that he's with Thomas.
Dick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. No. He doesn't know why that's in his head, why he's feeling those things, but...no. No, he can't give into it. There's something wrong, and he needs to escape.
Opening his eyes again, Dick finds Thomas still just watching him. Allowing him time to process, Dick knows. He doesn't know why he knows, but he knows.
"There's breakfast downstairs," Thomas tells him, even expression not shifting, "now that you're awake."
Freshly ground coffee beans, bacon, a spatula for flipping pancakes. What the hell.
Dick shifts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He's shirtless but in sweatpants, so at least there's that. There's a dark bruise in the crook of his left arm, cotton swab held down by medical tape right in the center of it. The IV. The thing they were using to...
No.
Dick moves forward, lightning fast, already planning his moves. He has no idea where he is but he just needs to get past Thomas, then he can find a way out.
He only makes it two steps before an ocean of Calm hits him. The feeling slams into him, and for a moment he feels like he's drowning before it takes him, pulling him to simply ride the current.
Dick slides slowly down to his knees, head dipping forward, breath going out of him. He sways on his knees, head muddled but perfectly calm. Fuck he's never felt peace like this before. He's never felt so unbelievably tranquil.
Thomas walks towards him until Dick can see his shiny shoes in front of him. Thomas takes a light grip in his hair, using it to tilt his head up, and Dick's vision swims for a moment before settling on Thomas, the man coming into sharp focus. There's something so...right about being like this, on his knees before Thomas. A worshipper at the altar of their God.
"You'll learn," Thomas promises. He strokes Dick's cheek with his thumb and examines him the way one might a new, prized pet. "I know it'll be a bumpy road, but that's alright. You wouldn't be worth it if you were easy. You'll learn the way of things soon enough."
"What's happening?" Dick asks hoarsely. Thomas' attention is doing something to him. He feels...fuck, he can feel like nothing before. Like he's unlocked an entirely new piece of himself, like Thomas has unlocked him, freed him, allowed him to become something more—
"You belong to me," Thomas tells him, and it rings true in Dick's head. "As you always should have, and as you always will."
Thomas takes a step back and Dick sways involuntarily towards him, missing his closeness despite himself. This is wrong, it's all wrong...
"Come on," Thomas instructs. "Breakfast is waiting. It's time to begin the day."
Dick can see it, then. Thomas' plan for them. The missions, the deaths, the sex, the blood, the ruin, the glory. He can see how little of it are things Dick actually wants or would ever be okay with. He can see how little Thomas actually cares about that fact. He sees Thomas' confidence, his determination, his arrogance. His plan to destroy Bruce, and use Dick to do it. Destroy everyone, and use him to do it.
Dick gets to his feet. He wants to run, he wants to find Bruce and warn him. His family needs to know about the soul bond trafficking, and the threat Owlman's presence is once again.
He wants to follow Thomas, to listen to the man tell him all the great things they're going to do. He wants to sit at the breakfast table with him and receive one of those special, rare smiles. He wants to give Thomas all the care and affection the man is sorely lacking in. He wants to offer his loyalty, and everything else he can give.
It's so wrong. There's something so wrong here. Dick knows it. He knows. But there's a feeling, something calling him. He has no choice but to follow it.
So he ignores the clear path to the door and follows Thomas.