Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a dreary day for Jump City. Usually the sun was shining, and the sky was clear. But today heavy dark clouds loomed overhead. It had rained earlier in the morning, and it looked like it would rain again soon.

Slade glances up at the sky again, wishing the sky would clear. That would make it more likely for the Titans to be out and about, and Deathstroke had his eye peeled for the Boy Wonder. He hadn’t seen the teen in over three months since Slade had been working for the League of Assassins training some ‘new recruits’.

 Being in such a remote area in the Middle East, it had been difficult to keep up with the news in Gotham and Jump City, but he had heard whispers in the League that Robin had disappeared from Gotham City. Slade hopes that it is only a case of Robin being off on some Titan’s mission, or maybe recovering from an injury, and not something… worse. 

With ease and grace that shouldn’t be attained by a man of Slade’s weight and stature, he effortlessly jumps a 25-foot gap between two buildings as he makes his way towards the Titan’s Tower. Slade slows when he spots a small figure sitting at the edge of a nearby building. A building which Deathstroke and Robin often spared fought on. 

Which super brat is that? 

Carefully Slade gets closer, coming up behind the figure. He doesn’t recognize the person, no, boy, as far as his suite goes. Which appears to be solid black. The kid’s damp black hair looks awfully familiar though, and the closer Slade gets, he recognizes the smell of the kid’s strawberry shampoo and bodywash. The tinge of worry in his chest dissipates. 

“Whatcha doing up here alone, kid?” Slade growls, crossing his arms. 

The boy doesn’t turn around, or even flinch. He also doesn’t answer which isn’t like Robin at all, who is always ready for a quip or snarky comeback. “New suite?” Slade tries a different approach. 

“Yeah.” The Boy Wonder’s voice is so soft Slade barely hears it over the building wind. 

Okay something is definitely wrong. 

I’ve never heard Robin sound so defeated. 

Slowly Slade moves up beside Robin, towering over the little bird. But the boy still doesn’t look up, from where he is sitting on the ledge of the roof, his feet dangling in the air, and his shoulders hunched forward. 

Slade notes that the kid’s suit is wet, probably from sitting in the rain. He catches a glimpse of a bright blue bird-like emblem on Robin’s chest. 

“I see you stuck with the bird theme…. And you have pants now.” Slade makes sure he has a mocking tone in his voice to keep in character.

“Can you just go? I’m not in the mood to fight you today.” Robin’s voice comes out hoarse, and rough. 

“Kid?” Slade furrows his brow. Robin had never, ever, turned down a chance to spar fight. 

“Please. Just go away.” The kid’s voice hardens with frustration but cracks at the end. He angrily scrubs the back of his hand across his cheek. 

“Are you injured?” Slade quickly glances over the boy’s body looking for any signs of   severe injuries, but doesn’t see anything right off, but that doesn’t mean much in the vigilante line of work. 

The kid doesn’t answer. 

Usually if the Boy Wonder was ever injured, he was quick to be like ‘ yeah, I fought killer croc, and he got in a couple good slashes in before I kicked his butt back into Arkham. ’ 

The silence was damning. 

Maybe he is embarrassed that he was injured in training or as a civilian? 

“Robin…” Slade starts but is cut off. 

The boy finally looks up and his face is pale, but red and blotchy. His eyes are hidden behind a familiar black domino mask. “I’m not Robin!” the kid snarls, but it comes out too wet and hurt to have any real heat behind it. 

“What?” Slade’s eyebrows shoot up under his mask. 

“You heard me!... I’m… I’m not Robin anymore.” The kid drops his head again. 

One part of Slade urges him to turn tail and run before he gets caught up in the awful minefield that is emotions , but the other side of him is too worried and intrigued to leave the boy alone. Especially in such a vulnerable state. 

Who knows what kind of ruthless murderer could come along and hurt the kid! 

With a resigned sigh Slade lowers himself down to sit with his own legs dangling off the edge of the building. 

They both sit in silence for a solid five minutes before the kid finally speaks. 

“He fired me.” His voice comes out in a whisper. 

“The Bat?” Slade raises an eyebrow.  

Robin shoots him a scowl. 

“No, Superman. Of course it was Batman! Who else would fire me from being Robin?” The boy snaps. 

Ah there is some of that normal fire. 

“Why? Last I heard you were rising through the ranks, leading your own team. Shaping up to be the next big bad Bat amongst men.” Slade drawls. 

“Because he is stupid, and a coward, and a total jerk!” Robin spits. 

“I knew about Bats being a stupid jerk, but coward huh? That’s a new one.” Slade makes sure to keep his tone casual, boarding on provoking, per usual. 

“The stupid Joker shot me, and Batman got all frantic and fired me. Said it was “ too dangerous for you to be Robin anymore ”.” The kid does ‘air quotes’ with his hands, making Slade snort. But then he turns serious. 

“The Joker shot you?” Slade sharpens his gaze. 

I knew the kid had to be injured otherwise he would have gladly accepted a fight to blow off some steam. 

“Just winged my shoulder. It wasn’t that bad.” The kid shrugs. 

“Huh.” Slade just grunts, keeping himself from asking further detail about the wound. 

“We argued… a lot. He wants me to stop being a vigilante and go to college… I don’t want to go to college and I’m never going to stop being a vigilante. He told me that I was being insolent and foolish…. So, I left.”  

“Left, like, for good?” Slade swings his legs back and forth lightly. 

“Yeah, I guess. I’m not going to go back to be yelled at and controlled. I’m not going to be anyone’s pawn.” Robin shakes his head. 

“Are you going to live at the Tower?” Slade nods towards the large T shaped building. 

“For now. I’m thinking about getting an apartment in Blud’.” The teen states, his hair being ruffled in the gusts of wind.  

“As in Bludhaven?!” Slade snaps his head around so he can see the boy fully.

The only city in the US that rivals or is worse than Gotham?

Seriously? 

“Yes…” Robin’s domino narrows. 

“How old are you, kid?” Slade demands. 

“What’s it to you?” The kid leans away from Slade in suspicion.

“Just answer the dang question.” Slade growls, losing his patience. 

“17.” Robin grumbles. 

“You're 17 and you think living on your own in a city like Bludhaven is a good idea?” Slade lets his disapproval slip into his tone. 

“I’m basically an adult! I can make my own decisions! I don’t need some random mercenary telling me what I can and can’t do! You’re not my dad!” The kid yells, his neck and face turning an angry red. 

Random mercenary?

 Deathstroke the Terminator a random merc? 

Kids these days, honestly. 

“I was 16 when I joined the military, not the smartest choice I have ever made. Grant was 18 when he died because he thought joining HIVE was a good idea. 17 is not a good age to be making life altering decisions.” Slade warns. 

“You joined the military when you were 16? Your file said you were 18.” Robin cocks his head to the side like the bird that he is. 

“That is because that is what the military has on file too. Well guess what? I lied on the documentation. And look where that has got me. Led to me losing my eye, my wife, and both my sons.” The words are out of Slade’s mouth before he realizes he was saying anything. 

“But…. Joey isn’t dead… Right?” The teen takes on a pensive look, 

“No, he’s fine… it’s just… he doesn’t want anything to do with me. Just like Adaline.” Slade admits, for some strange reason. 

“Oh.” Robin deflates. 

“Look kid, what I’m trying to say is, that right now is not the best time to be making any big decisions, okay? Give yourself time to think about and work through stuff.” Slade advises. 

“Okay.” The boy nods. 

Good, my job is done here. Just in time too. 

Slade easily climbs back to his feet, as the first few raindrops splatter against his armor.  

“Since you don’t have the Big Bat watching your back anymore.” He tosses a little earpiece to the hero. “Use this if you ever get in over your head.” 

Robin looks at the communicator warily. 

“It’s not a bomb.” Slade rolls his eye.  

“This has a tracker in it.” The teen accuses. 

“Of course it does. How else am I supposed to find you if you are nabbed or something?” Slade crosses his arms. 

“I thought the Terminator could just, I don’t know, follow my scent like a bloodhound.” The bird challenges tucking into a back-roll and coming up on his feet. 

Bendy little acrobat. 

“I do have a heightened sense of smell, but it isn’t that good… Use the comm or don’t. I don’t care.” Turning on his heels Slade heads back towards the way he’d come. 

“Whatever.” Robin shoves the earpiece into his utility belt.

“What are you calling yourself now, if you aren’t Robin?” The mercenary turns back. 

“Nightwing.” A hint of pride seeps into the vigilante’s tone. 

“Well then, Nightwing, go back to your little hero friends in the tower, and stop sitting out in the rain like a freaking gargoyle.” Slade jumps off the roof before he can hear Nightwing’s retort.

Chapter Text

A few months later Slade is flying a private jet back to Jump City when his phone lights up with an alert. Quickly he pulls one of his comms out of his go-bag, secures it in his ear, and hones in on the correct frequency. 

“Deathstroke, here.” Slade growls. But there is no immediate reply.  “Nightwing?” Slade knows it’s the teen since the boy is one of the only people who has a direct line to Deathstroke’s tech. Wintergreen prefers to call on the phone or video chat, Joey has had a comm for years but has never used it.

There is still no answer, but then the line clicks open, Slade waits a beat, but Nightwing still doesn’t speak. Then the line closes again. 

“Nightwing, can you hear me?” Slade wonders if there is something wrong with the connection but then the frequency makes three short clicks, then three long clicks and three more short clicks. 

S.O.S 

The kid is calling for help. 

In the blink of an eye, Slade starts tracing the vigilante's location. 

It only takes a few seconds for Nightwing’s location to ping at a group of warehouses on the outskirts of Jump City. 

“I’m in the air, 10 minutes from the airport, I should be able to get to you in less than 30 minutes.” Slade barks. 

Every second of the next half hour drags by as Slade lands the jet, gets it in the hanger, grabs his go bag, jumps on his motorcycle and follows the tracer to Nightwing’s location. 

Deathstroke stashes his bike a block away and scopes out the warehouse. He counts and hears at least 20 people moving around the building. They are all on edge. Some angry, some nervous, some frantic. 

They must be looking for Nightwing. 

The goons not having their hands on the hero makes Slade breath more easily. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with torture aftermath. With silent feet, he creeps up behind the man closest to him. Reaching up, he covers the man’s mouth and drags him back behind some crates. A knife to the heart kills the goon instantly. Sticking to the shadows Slade moves through the dilapidated warehouse, taking out all the goons he comes across. 

He has taken out half of the men before they notice anyone is missing. 

“Guys! Johnson’s dead!” 

“What?” 

“Someone slit his throat!” 

“I thought Nightwing didn’t kill!”

Cries ring out, as panic runs through the men. 

“Where is Green, and Otero?”

“Gains, and Michaels are missing too!” 

While the commotion rages on in the background Slade keeps looking for the missing vigilante. He pauses in a dark corner of the building, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

Someone is watching me… 

With an experienced eye Slade scans the dark surroundings, just as he starts to look up (the obvious place to look for any bats or birds) something splatters against his shoulder piece. He swipes his finger through the liquid. 

Blood. 

He looks straight up and catches sight of a shadow that is a little too deep on the metal catwalk overhead. 

There is the little bird. 

It takes a moment for Slade to find the ladder that leads up to the catwalk. Quickly he makes his way over to the hero, who is obviously injured and bleeding. 

Drat. 

Wide white lenses stare up at him in the darkness as he approaches Nightwing, who is lying curled up on his side. 

“Nightwing.” Slade hopes the kid isn’t hopped up on drugs or adrenaline and doesn’t recognize him. He isn’t in the mood to wrangle the kid before he hurts himself. 

“Deathstroke?” Nightwing’s soft voice comes out in a ragged pant.

“Medical report.” Slade instructs, keeping his voice low, as he kneels next to the teen, pulling out gauze and a bandaging.

“Bullet still lodged in left thigh, sprained left ankle, grazed left shoulder, two cracked ribs.” Nightwing grits out. 

The kid lets out a pained hiss as Slade presses gauze to the bullet hole in his leg. 

“Don’t scream.” Slade warns before he pulls the bandaging tight around the wound. Nightwing clenches his teeth and only a small whine escapes his throat, along with his labored breathing. 

“Can you walk?” Slade knows the answer is ‘no’ but he wants to see if the teen is going to be truthful or not. 

“Yes.” Comes the immediate response. 

The kid shrinks back at the ire that Slade exudes behind his mask. 

“I could walk… if absolutely necessary.” Nightwing protests, sitting up. 

“Oh. So, this” Slade spins his index finger around “is not a situation that calls for walking to be absolutely necessary?”

The teen scowls. 

“If you could walk, then why did you call me here?” Slade crosses his arms. 

Nightwing glares at Deathstroke for a long moment before his shoulders slump in defeat. 

“Fine, I can’t walk. Happy now?” The kid hisses. 

“No. I would be happy if I was home in a hot shower and ordering Chinese takeout.” Slade states bluntly. It had been a long contract, he was tired, sore, hungry, and filthy. He had been looking forward to getting home for the last two weeks. Rescuing a fallen bird had not been on his to do list. 

Before the kid figures out a response to that, Slade scoops him up and throws him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. 

The kid lets out a muffled cry. 

Slade doesn’t let himself feel bad for aggravating the kid’s wounds. It was the kids fault he was in this stupid situation in the first place.

A few more dead goons, a motorcycle ride, and lots of complaining later, Slade finally wrangles Nightwing into his safehouse, and plops the kid down on the kitchen table.  

“You can’t just kill people like that!” The kid screeches. 

“Yes, I can.” Slade pulls his mask off and rubs his forehead.

“No, you can’t! You can’t just take the law into your own hands!” Nightwing protests. 

“They were shooting at us. Would you have preferred me to use you as a meat shield? Because I sure as heck ain’t letting myself get shot for no good reason.”  Slade counters. 

“No. You could have subdued them.” Nightwing argues. 

“I did.” Slade starts striping off all his armor and dumping it on the floor by the sink, leaving him in his Kevlar base layer. 

“Nonlethally!” The teen looks exasperated. 

“Look, kid. They already shot you twice. They obviously didn’t have a problem with killing. They had it coming. Plus, I didn’t have time to play pattycake with them. You were and still are bleeding out. So, strip so I can get to that bullet.” Slade turns to start scrubbing down his hands in the sink.

“You are… intolerable. And no, I am not taking off my suit!” The kid announces, crossing his arms. 

“I have to get to your thigh, shoulder, ribs and ankle. So, either you strip or I start cutting up your suit like a kindergarten art project.” Slade rolls his eye, as he dries his hands on a clean towel. 

“I can patch myself up.” The teen states, but his voice has taken on a note of worry. 

Slade pauses, noting how the boy has curled around himself protectively.

 The mercenary sighs. 

“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to get that bullet out, and make sure everything else gets disinfected and checked. If you don’t let me do it, I’m going to have to take you to a hospital.” Slade drops his normal deep threatening voice. 

“I can’t go to the hospital! They will find out my identity and.. and…” The hero starts to panic. 

“Then let me help you. I promise I will keep this all professional. I did lots of medic training in the military. I will be as quick and painless as possible. And if it makes you feel better, I can grab you some clothes that I keep here for Joey.” Slade sees the boy relax as soon as he mentions changing clothes. So, he immediately heads into the bedroom, keeping his ears peeled for the kid trying to escape. Slade pulls out the small duffle bag that he keeps stashed full of stuff just in case Joey ever comes by or needs help.

Slade pulls out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and heads back to the kitchen where Nightwing is still, thankfully, sitting on the table, but has pulled down his suit to his waist, revealing that his ribs have already been bandaged. 

“It just needs to be disinfected and bandaged.” The boy prods at the graze on his right shoulder. 

“Your ribs were already cracked before you decided to go off on a suicide mission by yourself?” Slade fights to keep his voice even, though he can feel his blood pumping faster, and his eye twitching. 

“It wasn’t a suicide mission I was just going to gather some intel… and I was kind of found out.” Nightwing looks pained to admit that he had made a mistake. 

That is when Slade’s eye lands on Nightwing’s boots that the boy had also taken off, revealing an ankle brace. 

“And you already had a sprained ankle too?” Slade clenches his fist.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. 

Nightwing cringes and shrinks down to make himself smaller. “I was really expecting it to be a quiet night?”  He watches Slade like he is waiting to be yelled at. Which he would absolutely deserve for pulling such a stupid stunt.  

Slade tells himself that he can yell at the kid AFTER he gets the bullet out. 

“You are going to take some painkillers.” Slade decides, not giving the boy a choice. 

Stupid kids don’t get to make decisions since they obviously don’t seem to care about their own health. 

He grabs a water bottle and some extra strength Tylenol and hands it to the little vigilante “Take two. I will also be using a local anesthetic when I take out the bullet.” 

Thankfully Nightwing doesn’t argue and obediently takes the medicine.

Though Slade was wanting to get the bullet out first, he accepted that maybe doing something more minor would help build the kid’s trust. So as quick and efficiently as possible, Slade cleans the graze on the hero’s shoulder and gets it patched up. 

Over the next hour Slade treats all Nightwing’s injuries and digs the bullet out of his leg. Slade had been surprised at how calm and steady the boy had remained throughout the procedure.

“What do you want to eat? I’m getting Chinese.” Slade announces after he finishes washing his hands again. 

The bird is now perched on the couch with his injured leg out straight resting on the coffee table. 

“I like Chinese.” The boy sounds confused. 

“Okay.” Slade calls in an order to his favorite Chinese takeout. “Food should be here in about twenty minutes. I’m going to take a shower. Don’t move unless absolutely necessary. Don’t try to make a run for it ‘cause I will be able to hear you, even in the shower. Okay? Okay.” Slade doesn’t wait for Nightwing’s answer because it really doesn’t matter if he agrees either way. 

A minute later Slade is finally, FINALLY in a nice hot shower rising off the sweat, blood, dirt and grime that had accumulated on his skin over the last few weeks. Nothing worked as well as the luxury shampoo and body wash he had discovered while working as a bodyguard for a millionaire businesswoman a couple of years prior. It was honestly the best thing that had come out of that job. 

Once he has scrubbed every inch of his body clean, Slade steps out of the shower and listens closer. He can hear Nightwing’s breathing, good. 

Quickly the mercenary dries off, throwing on his favorite sweatpants and graphic t-shirt, before heading back out into the living room. 

Nightwing’s head whips around, but then the masked teen’s mouth drops open. 

“What?” Slade furrows his brow. 

“You’re wearing a Darth Vader shirt…” The boy gawks. 

“Yeah… Who doesn’t love Star Wars?” Slade shoots the boy a questioning look before he heads into the kitchen to fix himself something to drink. “Want some sweet tea?” Slade pours himself a glass over ice. 

“Sweet tea?” The boy looks even more confused, even though it is slightly hard to tell since his domino covers his eyes and eyebrows. 

“It’s a southern staple.” Slade takes the non-answer as a no and heads over to the couch and collapses onto the soft cushions. The teen pushes further against the armrest of the couch, putting more space between them. 

After taking a swig of the surgery drink, Slade looks over at Nightwing who is still staring.

“What?” Slade sets his drink on the coffee table. 

“You look so…. Normal.” 

Slade barks a laugh at the boy’s uncertainty. 

“You really thought I was Deathstroke the Terminator 24/7? I do have a life outside of the mask, kid.” Slade leans back, stretching his muscles.

“Well, no. It’s just… you don’t look…” Nightwing trails off.

“Evil?” Slade raises an eyebrow. 

“No! I wasn’t going to say evil. I know you’re not evil… more like nefarious.” 

“Oh, because that is so much better.” Slade snorts, before pushing himself off the couch and wandering over to the door. 

“What are you doing?” The hero cocks his head. 

“Our food is almost here.” Slade straightens the shoes by the door. 

“How do you know?” 

“I heard the moped.” The mercenary’s mouth starts to water just thinking about the food that will soon grace his taste buds. 

“Oh…. Chinese takeout is delivered by moped?” 

“Yeah. Saves them money I guess.” Slade shrugs. 

A moment later a knock sounds on the door. 

After a brief exchange, Slade returns to the couch. 

“So, we have fried rice, chow mein, dumplings, and spring rolls.” Slade starts putting all the takeout containers on the coffee table. 

“That smells amazing!” Nightwing immediately perks up. 

“Help yourself to anything you want, I bought double of everything.” Slade snags a pair of chopsticks and digs into his piping hot chow mein. 

Besides hums and groans of appreciation and delight the two rivals eat their supper in silence. 

Once he has eaten his fill Slade leans back, enjoying the simple fact of no longer being dirty and hungry. “So should I be expecting your little super friends to come smashing through my window?” 

Nightwing pauses after sticking a whole dumpling in his mouth, giving him chipmunk-cheeks. “No.” 

“Oh, they’re not going to find you missing and then trace you to my safehouse?” Slade crosses his legs. 

“The Titans…. Are off on a mission. And even if they weren’t, they don’t have any way of tracing me, besides scouring through security camera footage.” The kid picks at the last of his fried rice with his chopsticks. 

“Your suit doesn’t have a tracker?” Slade really can’t believe Batman would let his (former) sidekick run around without some way of keeping tabs on him. 

“My Robin suit did, but not my Nightwing one. I haven’t let Bru… Batman get his hands on it yet.” The hero admits. 

“I see. So let me get this straight. You are here ALONE in Jump?” Slade does not like the idea of the bird not having backup, even if Jump isn’t as bad as Gotham. 

“It will only be for two more weeks.” Nightwing shrugs. 

“Two weeks?! How long have the Titan’s been gone already?” Slade sits up. 

“Uhh… 4 days?” The kid scrunches up his face while calculating.

“So, you got hurt before they left?” Slade picks back up his cup of sweet tea that is now mostly just melted ice. 

“Yeah, that is why I didn’t go with them. An injured team member would just be a liability.” Nightwing puts down his empty plate. 

“And one of them didn’t stay behind with you?” Slade swirls around the water in the bottom of his cup. 

“I… told them I was going to go back to Gotham while they were gone.” The teen’s ears flush pink. 

Slade wisely doesn’t say anything and instead takes a deep breath and sets his glass cup back down before he shatters it. Carefully he thinks about his next words.

“Okay, you have two options. One: you go to Gotham and stay with Batman for the next two weeks, and I don’t care how much you hate him. Or Two: you stay with me for the next two weeks… Your choice.” Slade crosses his arms.

“That’s not fair! You can’t make me do either one!” Nightwing snarls. 

“Oh, yes I can. If you don’t make the choice, I will. You can either go along with me or Batman willingly or kicking and screaming…. I’m trying to be nice here.” Slade keeps eye contact with the outraged hero. 

Finally, the teen crumbles. “Fine, I’ll go with you.” 

Slade doesn’t know whether to feel annoyed or pleased. So instead, he settles on smug. 

Ha! He picked me over Batman

That is hilarious! 

“Okay then, let’s go over to your tower so you can pack a bag, we are going on a little trip.” 

Chapter Text

Dick just sits there dumbly on the end of his unmade bed while Deathstroke, in all his black and orange glory, moves around the bedroom and stuffs items in a duffle bag. 

Dick isn’t really paying attention to what the mercenary is packing, he is more stunned at how the man had plopped Dick down on the bed and then, without prompting, started packing Dick’s clothes. 

“This room looks like a tornado went through it, like something out of a disaster area…” Slade mutters under his breath as he pulls a hoodie out from under the desk and adds it to the bag. 

“I cleaned it two weeks ago.” Dick retorts halfheartedly. 

“If by cleaned you mean ‘kicked stuff out of the walkway from your bed to the door’.” Slade shakes his head, which is covered by his Deathstroke mask. 

Slade had insisted on wearing his armor while going to Titan’s tower in case Batman or any other heroes showed up unexpectedly. Which Dick really couldn’t deny being a possibility. 

“Do you have hiking boots?” Slade’s voice is muffled from where he is rummaging around in Dick’s closet. 

“No…” Dick had left his boots at the manor since he never needed them. “Why would I need hiking boots? I can barely walk.” 

“Everyone needs a pair of hiking boots; we will just have to stop somewhere and get you some.” Slade reappears from the closet, seemingly ignoring Dick’s question. 

“You will need to take that off.” Slade points to Dick’s domino. 

“And reveal my identity? No thanks.” Dick huffs crossing his arms. 

“If I wanted to know your identity I already would, truth is, I really don’t care who you are under the mask.” Slade shrugs. 

Dick frowns. “So, you don’t care about who I am as a person, only that I’m a good fighter.” Dick doesn’t mean for his voice to come out sounding so…. hurt. 

“I didn’t say that.” Finding a couple pairs of clean socks on the desk, Slade adds them to the bag. “I just have no interest in causing upheaval in a child’s personal life.” 

“Oh…” Dick hadn’t been expecting that answer. “And I’m not a child!” 

Though it is hard to tell with the full mask, Dick gets the impression that Slade just sent him a highly unimpressed look. 

“The mask, kid.” Slade reminds. 

“Fine, but if you reveal my identity or any other heroes, I will personally hunt you down and make you pay.” Dick hisses, pointing at the mercenary. 

“Okay.” Slade agrees easily….. too easily?

Unhappily Dick grabs some solvent from off his nightstand and removes his mask.

“There. Happy now?” Dick glares pointedly at the assassin. 

“Sure, why not.” Slade spares Dick an uninterested glance.

“You don’t recognize me?” Dick scoffs. 

“Of course I recognize you. Your face has been plastered all over Gotham for the last decade.” Slade keeps moving about the room. 

“And you don’t have anything to say about it?” Dick can’t help but feel slightly offended. He had been hoping for surprise, or maybe disbelief, but instead he gets nothing. 

“Makes sense. Richard Grayson, of the Flying Graysons, is Robin…err Nightwing. Thus making Bruce Wayne, who has enough power and money to fund daily crime fighting, Batman. I kind of figured it was you two.” Slade opens Dick’s underwear drawer. 

“I CAN GET THOSE MYSELF!” Dick jumps up, hobbles over to the dresser and grabs the duffle bag from Slade. 

“Fine. No need to get your shorts in a knot.” 

Dick can feel Deathstroke’s smirk from behind the mask. 

“You’re not funny.” Dick snaps as he uses his body to block Slade’s view as he shoves some boxers into the bag. 

“No, I’m hilarious.” Slade takes the bag back. “Aright, I think that is everything.” The mercenary zips the duffle bag closed. 

“Where are we going?” Dick swallows nervously.

“You do realize you don’t even have a raincoat.” Slade shakes his head and slings the bag over his shoulder. “Let’s hit the road.” 

Without warning Slade hoists Dick back across his shoulders in a fireman's carry. 

“Hey! Stop that! Put me down!” Dick tries to fight out of the mercenary’s iron grip to no avail. 

“Stop wiggling, I’m not staying in your little tower a second longer than I have to. So, I’m not waiting around for you to hobble back down to the garage.” Slade strides down the hall till he gets to the elevator. 

 Thirty seconds later Slade is setting Dick back on the ground next to the car that they had drove over in. Slade pops the trunk and throws the duffle bag into the back with his own bag. 

Suddenly it full hits Dick of what he is agreeing to.

 Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to leave Jump without a trace and go to an unknown location… with his arch nemesis, who just happens to be the most feared assassin on earth. 

“Get in, I want to be out of Jump before sunrise.”  Slade slams the back door and climbs into the driver’s seat. 

A million terrible scenarios run through Dick’s head. 

Yeah, this is probably the most stupid thing I’ve done all year. 

But it was too late now. He couldn’t run from Deathstroke in this condition. 

Resigning himself to his fate, Dick takes a deep breath and gets into the passenger’s seat. 

“Buckle up.” Slade barks. 

“Sheesh, give me like two seconds, okay.” Dick grumbles and clicks the seatbelt in place. 

Twenty minutes later they are on the highway heading out of Jump.

Dick knows he should be paying attention to where he is being taken, but thanks to all his injuries, and it being in the middle of the night he keeps having to force his eyes back open as they drift shut. 

“We have a long way to go kid, you might as well get some sleep.” Slade keeps his eyes on the road. 

“I’m not tired.” Dick sits back up straight, and glares at the mercenary. 

“Suit yourself.” Slade shrugs and turns on the radio. The older man scrolls through the stations till he stops on one that is playing smooth jazz, keeping the volume low. 

Dick snorts. 

Of course, Deathstroke the Terminator listens to old people's music….

 Is kinda nice though…. 

Relaxing. 

Deciding that he might as well get comfortable, Dick kicks off his shoes and curls his legs up under himself. 

The saxophone and percussion blend with the rumble of the tires, and hum of the engine. 

Just going to rest for a bit. 

Dick lays his arm against the door and pillows his head in the crook of his elbow. 

He watches as all the lights they are passing blur, a haze settling in the surprisingly peaceful atmosphere. 

Before he even realizes he is drifting, Dick is out like a light. 

Slade glances over at the sleeping vigilante in the passenger seat, contorted in a position that is painful just to look at. 

Slade can’t even imagine the neck cramp he would wake up with if he tried to sleep with his head at the same angle. 

The car rolls to a stop at a red light. And no Slade didn’t purposefully make the car stop smoothly so Nightwing err…. Richard wouldn’t wake up from the jolt, no Slade is just an excellent driver. 

With his left arm Slade rummages around in the back seat for a moment till his fingers brush soft material. He fishes out the neck pillow and slots it in place around Richard’s neck. 

The hero lolls his head against the pillow, at an angle that looks much healthier. 

Though it’s not like Slade cares whether the kid is comfortable or not. He just doesn’t want to hear hours of complaining when the kid finally wakes up and has the mother of all neck cramps. 

Yep, taking care of the kid definingly doesn’t fill an empty part of Slade’s heart with something warm. Not even a little bit. Slade doesn’t have weaknesses and caring about someone like Nightwing is definitely a weakness. 

“Wake up kid.” 

Dick jerks awake at someone shaking his shoulder. 

“Whatisit?” He slurs blinking against the morning sunlight filtering through the windshield. 

His vision clears to see a white-haired man next to him, who is pulling off orange and black armor and stuffing it in a bag in the back seat. 

Oh yeah… 

Slade. 

“Where are we?” Dick rubs his eyes and looks around. The car is sitting in a large parking lot of a fast-food restaurant. 

“Nowhere particular, figured it was a good time to stop and stretch our legs.” Slade pulls off the last piece of armor and closes the bag. 

“How very specific of you.” Dick mutters as he sits up and notices there is something soft around his neck

Deathstroke gave me a neck pillow???

What???

“Come on, up and at 'em.” Slade slides on a pair of sunglasses before he maneuvers his huge frame out of the car.

Dick shakes himself more awake. His whole body aches. Especially his thigh, ankle and ribs. Sharp pains shoot up his leg as he stretches it out. 

Stiffly he puts his shoes back on, and climbs out of the car, leaving the pillow on the now empty seat. Slade is nowhere to be seen. 

Guess he already went inside…

It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for Dick to hobble across the parking lot into the building. 

As he pulls the glass door open, he spots Slade exiting the restroom.

Dick startles slightly at the sight. The mercenary is again looking like a normal person wearing a gray t- shirt, fitted joggers and tennis shoes. It is honestly kind of mind bending. 

He limps over to the man. 

“What do you want?” Slade crosses his arms. 

“W-what?” Dick’s mind reels with potential reasons for why Slade is suddenly questioning his presence. 

Did I take too long? 

Am I standing too close to him?

Was I supposed to stay outside and watch the car? 

“To eat, kid. What do you want to eat?” Slade motions to the menu above the counter. 

“Oh! …. Umm…” Dick’s mind is still blanking. 

He is going to buy me breakfast? 

“I can… order for myself.” Dick stutters. 

“No, I’ll order while you use the restroom. What do you want? I’m getting a couple sausage biscuits and some coffee.” Slade informs. 

“Okay… uhhhh a fruit smoothie?” Dick glances over the menu and names the first thing that sounds halfway decent for breakfast.

“What flavor? There is blueberry, banana, strawberry, raspberry, any mixture of those?” Slade prompts. 

“Strawberry banana sounds good….” Dick trails off not really comprehending that Deathstroke the Terminator is asking him what kind of fruit he wants in a smoothie. 

“Okay what else?” Slade questions. 

“What else?” Dick blinks

“Surely you aren’t just having a smoothie for breakfast.” The assassin frowns. 

“I… I usually don’t eat a lot for breakfast….” Dick rubs the back of his neck. 

“You should, it’s the most important meal of the day.” Slade raises an eyebrow high enough that Dick can see it above the mercenary’s aviators. 

“I…” Dick’s eyes flutter over the menu trying to pick something, but honestly, he currently isn’t hungry and it is so hard to pick something out when he isn’t hungry. 

“Never mind.” Slade shakes his head slightly and heads over to the counter to order. 

Cringing, Dick limps to the bathroom, hoping that he hadn’t already made the huge assassin mad. 

After reliving himself, Dick washes his hands. While his hands are still wet, he combs his fingers through his hair trying to make it look a little more presentable. 

He can’t help but notice the huge purple bags under his eyes, and the sickly paleness of his skin. 

I really need to get more sleep…

Upon limping back out into the dining area, Dick scans the room and finds no sign of Slade. 

His heart rate spikes. 

I made him mad, and he left me here!

Now I’m going to have to use a civilian’s phone to call Bruce to come and get me…. 

I don’t even know where here is!

Frantically looking out the huge glass windows, Dick fully expects to see the silver car gone from the parking lot. But the car is still there! And then Dick spots Slade, moving his bag of armor from the back seat to the trunk.

Relief washes through him like a wave. 

Quickly Dick pushes open the door and hobbles over to the car as fast as he can, desperate not to be left behind. 

“Slow down kid, you’re going to hurt yourself. It’s not like I’m gonna leave without ya.” Slade finishes arranging the trunk and slams the door shut. 

Dick falters as he goes to open his door, just as Slade looks up and meets his eyes. 

Slade goes still. “...You thought I left you.”

Dick realizes a beat too late that he isn’t controlling his expressions. 

Even with the sunglasses on Dick could clearly see the tension rise in Slade’s face and body. The mercenary mutters something under his breath, Dick doesn’t quite catch it, but it sounded something like: ‘negligent, pompous bat’. 

“Get in the car.” Slade climbs into the driver’s seat.

Once Dick is in the passenger’s side and buckled up, Slade hands him a large cup. “Strawberry-banana.” 

“Thanks.” Dick murmurs and grips the drink with both hands. 

Once they are back on the highway, Slade pulls out four sausage biscuits and starts working through the first one. 

His stomach feeling kind of queasy Dick absently swirls the straw around in his cup.

If I don’t drink the smoothie, Slade will think I’m picky or ungrateful or something… so I’ve got to drink it… 

So, over the next twenty minutes he sips at the smoothie. Which is actually quite good. The more he drinks the better his stomach starts to feel. Before he realizes he has slurped up the whole thing. 

“Want one?” A paper wrapped biscuit suddenly appears under Dick’s nose. 

“I’m fine.” There is no way Dick is going to eat food that Slade bought for himself. 

But it’s that exact moment that Dick’s stomach decides to make it known that he is indeed still hungry. 

Now a normal person wouldn’t have been able to hear the gurgle, but Slade and his super hearing noticed… .of course. 

“Take it, kid. It was four for $8, but I usually only eat two or three.” Slade shakes the biscuit closer to Dick’s nose. 

“Geez I’m not a dog.” Dick gripes but takes the offered food. 

Slade just hums and goes back to eating his third biscuit.

With a full stomach, Dick leans his seat back some, trying to get comfortable. 

“Time for more pain meds.” With his free hand Slade seemingly pulls a pill bottle out of nowhere. 

“I’m-“ 

Before Dick can finish his sentence, Slade cuts him off. 

“Don’t say ‘I’m fine’ cause I know you’re not. You keep moving around trying to get in a position that takes the pressure off your leg and ribs.” Slade glances away from the road and gives Dick a stern look. 

With a huff, Dick grabs the pills and swallows two dry. Slade makes a disgusted face. “Bats…” 

The car slowing down wakes Dick up from his light napping. Rubbing his eyes Dick glances around to see they are pulling into a parking lot full of conversion vans, motorhomes and travel trailers. 

Slade parks the car near a building. 

“We are here to pick up our ride for the next two weeks.” Slade so graciously informs, as he gets out of the car. 

Thanks to the painkillers Dick’s body feels a lot better as he pushes himself to his feet. He stretches and closes his door.  

“Here.” 

Dick has a split second to catch the duffle bag that comes flying at his head. “Thanks for the warning.” He grumbles before a yawn wrenches its way out of his mouth. 

Slade hefts two large bags out of the trunk before closing the door. “This way.” Slade leads the way over to a small office building that says “McQuilkin’s RV Rentals”. 

A short wiry man comes bursting out of the door of the office, his name tag reads: Ron McQuilkin. 

“Mr. Winchester! You're right on time!” The little man comes scurrying over. 

Winchester? 

That’s Slade’s alias? 

Seriously?

Dick rolls his eyes. 

“Were you able to get the model I wanted?” Slade questions. 

“Absolutely! And we just had it deep cleaned! Let me show it to you! You are going to love it! It has all the amenities!” Ron enthusiastically leads them into a large metal building. 

Inside sits half a dozen gleaming motor coaches. 

“This is the one you requested! And might I say you made an excellent choice!” Ron gushes as he opens the door to a white and gray coach. 

Slade disappears inside with the rental agent. Dick ascends the couple of stairs slower, as dull zaps of pain shoot up his leg. 

Dick’s mouth falls as soon as he sees the spacious interior, plush leather furniture, shining tile floors, dark glossy built-ins, there is even a full-sized fridge right behind the driver’s seat. Dick sets his duffle bag on top of Slade’s which are sitting on the breakfast-nook table. 

“Yes, this will work nicely.” Slade and Ron come out of the bedroom area. 

“Let me get the paperwork for you really quick!” Ron whizzes past Dick in a ball of eagerness. 

“That folds out into a queen-sized bed, think that will work for the next two weeks?” Slade motions to the dark leather couch. 

“Yes….” Dick moves over to a little door that opens to a tiny half bath. 

“There is a good-sized shower in the bathroom at the back.” Slade adds. 

Dick wanders through the bedroom area that houses a king-sized bed and then into the full bath. 

Each and every corner of the coach is shining and luxurious.

“Mr. Winchester?” 

Slade turns on his heels and heads out of the motor home as he hears his ‘name’ being called. 

Dick follows at a more sedate pace. 

I’ve lived with Brucie Wayne, but this is ridiculous!

Dick snorts as he notes that there are three flat screen TVs in the coach. Three!

Slowly he descends the stairs, and spots Slade signing off on papers with Ron and two bottle-blond women who are nodding and agreeing with whatever Ron is saying to Slade. 

Hmm they sure want Slade’s money…. Guess most people can't afford to rent a million-dollar motor home… 

Then the thought strikes him. 

Slade mentioned hiking boots…. And a raincoat…. Are we… going camping… in this monstrosity? 

  Deathstroke the Terminator ‘camps’ on a king-sized bed with air conditioning and a flat screen tv ha! The titans would never believe this! 

Dick glances from Slade to the luxury RV. “You… You are a glamper.” He gasps in disbelief. 

Slade’s head shoots up, and behind the sunglasses Dick can feel the glare. 

“No, I’m not.” Slade denies defensively. 

“Yes, you are! You are a glamper.” Glee fills Dick’s heart. 

“And you’re a snot nosed, trust fund brat!” Slade snaps. 

Dick reels back, frowning. “Well, that was uncalled for.” 

Ron and the two blonds wear matching purposely blank expressions. 

“I’m not the one going around insulting people.” Slade counters.

“I didn’t…. it's… the RV… it’s like MADE for glamping.” Dick points to the coach. 

Slade takes on an offended, slightly embarrassed, exasperated look. 

“I don’t know what your… stepfather…. let’s you do in your free time but there will be none of that going on when I’m around.” Slade scowls as he finishes signing the papers. 

“What?” Dick furrows his brow. 

Stepfather? 

“I don’t want to hear another word, Richard . Get in the RV.” Slade hisses. 

Bewildered Dick makes his way back up into the RV and plops down in the passenger’s seat. 

Why is he getting so mad at me? 

I’m just stating the obvious. 

Does he not know what glamping means?

Oh…. 

Slade eventually comes in and presses a button that retracts the huge slide outs, making the RV look almost twice as small. 

The man still looks mad, so Dick keeps his mouth shut, as Slade moves about making sure everything is secure before he finally settles down in the driver’s seat. 

The engine roars to life, and the huge garage doors roll open. 

Five minutes later they are out on the highway again. 

The tension in the air slowly dissipates. Dick must admit he is slightly impressed at how easily Slade handles the monster of a RV. 

He must drive RVs or semis a lot… 

Building up some courage Dick finally turns to Slade. 

“About what I said- “ Dick starts to speak but is cut off. 

“I meant what I said, kid. I know Bruce Wayne has a reputation, and I don’t know what the heck you have seen or been allowed to do.  But I tell you, kid, don’t follow in his footsteps. It just leads to a world of pain and heartache. And at 17 you’re not going to get into stuff like that, at least not on my watch.” Slade doesn’t move his gaze from off the road. 

“But glamping- “ Dick tries. 

“I don’t want to hear it! Go sit in the back…” Slade glances at the clock on the console. “For at least an hour.”  

Noting how stormy Slade’s face is, and how tight his grip on the steering wheel is, Dick relents. “Okay.” 

As he stands up and moves out of the cockpit area he can hear Slade sigh. 

Lowering himself down on the couch, Dick groans. 

This is sooo stupid. 

What does that idiot think glamping means? 

Ugh…

I should have just kept my big mouth shut. 

After 30 minutes of silence, Dick can’t take it anymore, he limps back to the cockpit.  

“It just means camping! Glamorous camping! Glamping. You can look it up!” Dick yells, a little too loudly for such close proximity. 

Slade stiffens, and then glances over with a wide eye. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, but no sound comes out. With a long exhale, Slade scrubs at his face with one hand, looking suddenly exhausted.

 “Why are you up here, your hour isn’t up yet.”

Chapter Text

Dick wakes up with a jolt, as the camper slows and makes a sharp turn. Yawning, he stretches his limbs out. His leg aches at the movement, after being still for hours. He notes that the windows are now completely dark.

I wonder what time it is?

“Hey, kid.” Slade calls from the cockpit. 

Of course the super-hearing weirdo noticed that I woke up.

Dick rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet with another stretch. He limps to the passenger’s seat and drops into it.

“We are here.” Slade motions out the front window. 

“Pine Mountain State Park?” Dick reads of the sign ahead of them that is being illuminated by the headlights. 

“I’ve already rented a spot for the next two weeks.” Slade adds. 

It doesn’t take long to follow the signs to the RV camping area and find the right space. 

Dick can’t help but again be amazed how spacious the RV becomes when the slide-outs activate. 

“Do you need some help?” Dick offers poking his head out the open window as Slade works on getting the RV hooked up to power and sewage. 

“Nope, I’m just going to get everything situated and then hit the sack.” Slade stands up dusting his knees off. 

“Okay.” Dick shrugs and limps over to the table nook where his bag is still sitting. He grabs his duffle bag then moves to the ensuite bathroom at the rear of the RV. 

Deciding to just take a shower the next day, Dick changes into a thin, faded Superman shirt and loose shorts, before brushing his teeth and doing his business. He can hear Slade moving around in the main area of the RV. After washing his hands Dick heads back out of the bathroom with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. 

“You’re welcome.” Slade motions to the couch that has now been folded out into a bed and is made up with sheets, blankets and pillows. 

“Uh.. thanks.” Dick fumbles, he had been expecting to have to figure out the couch-bed himself. He drops the duffle bag and the floor and climbs onto the bed. It is surprisingly very comfortable. 

“Okay, so a few ground rules.” Slade crosses his arms. “One: you are not to leave the RV unless you inform me first or in the case of an emergency. If you try to run away, I will have to handcuff you to the bed. But otherwise, you are free to do whatever you like in the RV. 

Two: If for some reason there is danger, be it wildlife, nature, human or otherwise I want you to find me immediately, if you don’t know where I am, get somewhere safe and I will find you. 

Three: do not use our real names around other people. My alias for this trip is Warren Winchester, and our cover story is that you are my son.

Four: if I say get down or give any other direct instructions do so immediately.

Five: If you need something, or feel sick or anything like that tell me immediately….. Any questions?” Slade claps his hands together and seems to be waiting for Dick to respond. 

“Yeah no …” Dick rolls his eyes. 

Slade is as paranoid as B. 

“Good.” Slade turns on his heels and disappears into the bedroom. 

Sliding under the blanket, Dick wiggles around till he gets comfortable. “Well, this is how I was expecting my week to go…” he mumbles under his breath as he drifts off to sleep. 

“Wake up, kid.” 

A hand shakes Dick’s shoulder. 

A yawn punches its way out of his mouth as he blinks awake. “Huh?” 

“It’s time to get up.” Slade barks as he maneuvers his huge frame into the dining table nook. 

“Uhg” Dick groans, untangling himself from the sheet and blanket and drags himself off the bed.  He winces as soon as he puts weight on his feet as pain shoots out from his sprained ankle and gunshot wound. 

“Come over here and eat so you can take more pain meds.” Slade instructs, pouring hot water out of a kettle into bowls of instant oatmeal. 

Under different circumstances Dick would have gone basilic of someone trying to order him around. But being barely awake, and being in a good deal of pain, Dick shuffles over to the empty bench seat across from Slade and all but collapses on to it. 

“Since you’re not fit for any strenuous activities, I figure you can go fishing with me this afternoon once I get back from my hike.” Slade states between mouthfuls of oatmeal.

“You’re going on a hike?” Dick stirs his oatmeal around with his spoon. 

“What did you think I was going to do while going camping? Paint my nails?” Slade scoffs. 

“No…. I just meant…. Well… how far are you going to hike?” Dick hesitates to take a bite of his breakfast as he does not want burnt lips or tongue to go along with all his other injuries. 

“I’m hiking this trail.” Slade pulls out a map of Pine Mountain State Park, and points to one of the many hiking trails. 

“Broke neck trail?” Dick reads off the trail name. 

“Yep, it's supposed to be the most challenging one. Says here that it should take 8 hours, I’m thinking it will probably take me 3. It says there is a great overlook, Fools Fall, at the top of this mountain.” Slade motions to one of the mountains in the area. 

Dick decides that whoever did the naming of the places had a dark sense of humor… or they decided that honesty was the best policy. 

“Guess I’ll just hang out here.” Dick is actually slightly grateful that he is badly injured enough that Slade is not insistent on coming with him.

“You should be able to get a couple of local channels on the tv, you can use my e-reader if you want. It’s on the bed. The refrigerator is stocked, so help yourself to whatever you want. I should be back by lunch though….. If you leave the RV for some reason, lock the doors.” Slade digs the key out of his pocket and sets it on the table. “But don’t go too far, you need to keep your leg elevated as much as possible.”

“Right.” Dick is slightly dumbfounded that Deathstroke is leaving him the key for the RV. 

Does he actually trust me?

 Or does he just trust himself to deal with whatever would happen if I tried to drive away in this monstrosity? 

Slade has already finished his oatmeal before Dick even takes his first bite. “Stay out of trouble, kid.” 

And with that the mercenary grabs a hiking pack and disappears out the door. 

“Rude….. Guess I’ll just watch some tv for a while then.” Dick turns on the tv to a random channel, grabs his oatmeal and returns to bed.

The view from Fools Fall was quite nice. The world seemed to stretch out far below like a patchwork blanket of yards, woods and fields. Pulling out his phone, Slade snaps a few pictures. 

He had picked up a habit of photography as it was a hobby he could engage in regularly no matter where or what he was doing. Slade wasn’t much interested in anything material, like souvenirs or keepsakes, but he did enjoy keeping a digital scrapbook of sorts. He would photograph places he has been or things he enjoyed doing. All his photos automatically uploaded to encrypted cloud storage so that if Slade broke or lost his phone he wouldn’t lose all his photographic work. 

He sends Billy one of the landscape photos he just took along with the picture he had got of Dick last night sticking his head out of the window of the RV looking half asleep.

There are no other hikers around. There had been plenty of people taking the trail, but Slade had easily outpaced even the most avid hikers. Closing his eyes, Slade basks in the moment of pure silence, the only sound is the wind whistling past his ears and the rustle of leaves. He breathes in the clean crisp air. It reminds him of his childhood roaming free in the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky. 

With one last look around Slade heads back down the mountain. 

Dick towel dries his hair as he sits on the couch watching the tv, it is showing a few judges tasting dozens of homemade preserves. 

The only channel that came in was from what Dick assumed to be the state’s local channel, which was covering their state fair. 

So far Dick had watched a tractor pull, pig racing, a cow show, a pie tasting competition, (he missed the pickle competition while in the shower) and now it was time for jellies and jams. 

Dick jolts when the RV door suddenly swings open, he tenses, preparing to fight whoever the person was when Slade appears. 

“Oh, it's you.” Dick breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Who were you expecting? Santa Claus?” Slade snorts, prying off his muddy boots. 

“No, the grinch.” Dick counters. 

Slade just shoots him an unamused look. 

“How was your hike?” Dick questions, desperate for some human interaction to chase off the lonely boredom.  

“Fine. ‘Strenuous’ wouldn’t have been the word I would use to describe the trail though. More like moderately taxing.” Slade pulls a water bottle out of the refrigerator and downs all of it in one go. “What are you watching?”

“The only channel that will come in clear.  Currently Mrs. Spunkmire’s apple jelly is losing even though she won last year, and Mrs. Forebush’s strawberry jam is winning, her first time running.” Dick leans back. 

“How exhilarating.” Slade deadpans. 

“I know I’m on the edge of my seat.” Dick shoots back. 

“Did you eat something yet?” Slade asks. 

“No, wasn't really hungry yet.” Dick shrugs. 

A look of disapproval flashes through Slade’s face before he turns back to the fridge. “Okay, guess I’ll make lunch then.” 

I’m going to die. 

This is it. 

This is how Dick Grayson and Nightwing come to an end: slow, excruciating, silent… 

Death by boredom. 

Laying on his back on a grass bank, Dick stares up at the sky, as fluffy white clouds slowly drift by. It should be peaceful, relaxing, tranquil…. But Dick can’t stand it! 

“Can’t you just give up? You are never going to catch anything.” The acrobat whines, turning over on his side. 

“It has only been thirty minutes, kid.” Slade huffs as he reels his fishing line back in, checks that the bait is still on the end and then with practiced ease whips the line back out into the lake. The hook makes a soft ‘plop’ sound as it hits the still waters and then sinks. 

“There probably aren’t any fish even out there!” Dick grumps. 

“There are, I’ve seen quite a few.” Slade keeps his attention on the water. 

“Ughhh..” Dick flops back down dramatically. 

Why did I have to get kidnaped by the most boring old man on the face of the Earth!?

“Here.” 

Dick has a split second to catch the phone that is flying straight for his face. 

“What is this for?” Dick scrunches up his nose as he looks at the older smartphone model. 

“There are some preloaded games and movies… the code to unlock the screen is 1980.” Slade adds. 

Dick’s head spins a little bit. 

Deathstroke just told me the passcode to his personal phone????

With quick fingers Dick unlocks the phone and it comes up to a very average looking home screen. 

For half a second Dick considers snooping through Slade contacts and personal files but his stomach churns at the idea. Instead, he quickly finds the preloaded games and happily starts playing sudoku. 

The next few days are relatively the same. Slade goes hiking every morning and sometimes into the afternoons. Dick hangs around the RV watching TV playing games on Slade’s phone and even gets into reading a mystery novel. 

Having time to truly decompress from all the stress of vigilantism Dick finally starts to feel truly relaxed. Listening to the birds singing and stuff was kind of nice. Though he wouldn’t admit it to Slade, the mercenary might have had a good idea with the whole “glamping” deal. 

On the fifth day, which has been the hottest so far, Slade suggests they go back to the lake and swim. 

“I don’t know how much swimming I can do with a sprained ankle…” Dick gripes even though he is actively packing a cooler full of snacks. 

“That is why I bought this.” Slade holds up a huge blob of colorful plastic. 

“What is that supposed to be?” Dick quirks an eyebrow. 

“A lounging float, I just need to fill it with air.” Slade disappears out the door. 

Using the RV’s built in air pump, the pool float quickly fills up into a large comfortable looking lounge chair type thing. 

The walk to the lake is a lot easier this time since Dick’s ankle is feeling a lot better, along with his thigh and ribs. 

There are about two dozen people at the lake’s beach. 

Slade sets down their cooler near a large flat rock. “I’m going to swim a couple laps.” The merc pulls his t-shirt off, revealing perfectly unblemished skin and burly muscles, leaving him in only his black compression shorts. 

“You’re going to swing around the whole lake?” Dick frowns. 

The lake is huge. 

“No, just swim to the opposite side and back.” Slade tosses his phone to Dick, who catches it automatically. 

Wasting no time Slade wades out into the water and then starts swimming in a straight line towards the distant shore. 

Deciding that he wasn’t ready to get wet yet, Dick plops down by the cooler and starts playing Pacman on Slade’s phone. 

“Excuse me, hon.” 

A woman’s voice makes Dick’s head snaps up and he suppresses a cringe as Pacman is promptly caught by a ghost. “Yes?” 

“Is that man your father?” The woman, who looks to be in her forties or fifties, points out to Slade’s receding figure, his white hair stands out as a stark contrast to the dark waters. 

Does she think that Slade kidnapped me because we look nothing alike? 

What did we do that made people suspicious of us? 

Was it because I was limping, and Slade is such a big guy? 

Hopefully someone hasn’t already called the cops or something...

“Yes, that’s my dad.” Dick lets his confusion show in his expression. 

“I was right!  You are so handsome just like him! … I was just wondering…” The lady hesitates. “Is he married?” 

Dick’s mind blanks. 

What?

Is this lady…. interested in Slade…. romantically????? 

Ew.

“Um…. He is divorced.” Dick blinks, hardly believing that he is answering that question.  

“I see. Is he seeing someone?” The woman probes. 

“Uhhh no?” Dick frowns. 

“He is single? Looking like that!?” The woman’s eyes track Slade’s swimming progress across the lake. 

Dick’s stomach turns when it hits him that the woman is only interested in Slade because of his body. 

“He doesn’t date.” Dick’s voice comes out much firmer. 

“What?” The lade frowns. 

“Since the divorce he hasn’t gone out with anyone. I don’t think he is interested in having any kind of relationship.” Dick hopes the lady will take a hint and leave. 

“That poor man…. I’ve been divorced three times and the thing I’ve learned is to just move past failed relationships as fast as possible. I bet your father would be a lot happier if he would just move on. Don’t you agree?” The woman smiles. 

“No.” Dick crosses his arms.

Now it’s the woman’s turn to be surprised. 

“Don’t you want your dad to be happy?” The lady tries again.

“He is happy. He has me, and we get along fine with just us.” With that Dick stands and grabs his float. “Now if you will excuse me.” He marches down into the water and crawls onto the lounging float. 

Out of the corner of his eye Dick watches the woman pout and stomp her way back over to her chair and umbrella a little way further down the shoreline.

 Good riddens

Chapter Text

The sound of crickets and frogs chirping mixes with the happy chatter of campers. The area is illuminated by multiple campfires and a couple flood lights. The shadows are long and inky as clouds obscure the moon and stars. 

The whole campsite was having a communal hot dog and s’mores night. It had been fun playing cornhole and horseshoes with the other campers. 

“What another marshmallow?” Slade questions as he squishes his roasted marshmallow in between two Graham crackers and a chocolate bar. 

“Nope, if I ate any more, I think I would be sick.” Dick leans back with a groan.

“You did eat like a dozen.” Slade snorts and takes a bite of his s’more. 

“Don’t remind me…. I’m going to go wash my hands off.” Dick hates how sticky his fingers are from the melted marshmallows and chocolate. 

Dick pushes himself to his feet and limps around to the back of the nearby shelter where the restrooms are. 

After washing up, Dick shuffles back out of the bathroom. His eyes follow a couple kids run by playing tag. Distracted Dick rounds the corner of the shelter and runs straight into someone’s back. 

Normally Dick would have easily regained his balance but thanks to his bad leg and aching ribs he stumbles back and lands on his tailbone. Dick can’t stop the sharp cry that escapes out of his throat as all his injuries spasm from the fall. 

“Hey! Watch where you are going!” A voice snaps. 

Dick doesn’t know whether his leg or ribs feel worse as he curls forward trying to ride out the wave of pain. 

“Oh, so now you’re going to be all whiney and pretend like you got hurt? You’re the one that ran into me, stupid.” The same voice sneers. 

Dick glances up with a glare, a group of four rough looking men stand in front of him holding bottles of beer. 

“I didn’t see you.” Dick grits out. 

“Oh, so sissy boy here not only breaks if he falls on his butt, but he also needs glasses.” One of the other men mocks. 

“Maybe we should go throw him in the lake? I think that will help this poor eyesight!” another man laughs. 

“Good idea Marv!” 

Hands are suddenly yanking Dick up to his feet, sending another wave of pain crashing through him. He gasps trying to catch his breath. The men just laugh at him. 

“Let me go.” Dick tries to maneuver his arms out of the men’s grip, but he can’t get any strength behind it thanks to his ribs screaming in protest. 

“Aww, pretty boy is as helpless as a little girl.” The voice next to Dick’s ear sneers. 

“I think I’m gonna teach-“ the guy is abruptly cut off by an angry voice from the nearby shadows. 

“Let go of my kid, now.”

The four men all jerk around as Slade’s mammoth 6 '5 frame steps into the light. 

Dick feels like he could collapse in relief. 

“This twerp is… you’re kid?” One of the men, the smallest one, gulps. 

“Yeah, and if you don’t get your hands off of him right now, I’m gonna make you regret the day you were born.” Slade grits and steps closer.

The four men jump back like they were burnt. 

Dick wobbles slightly on, pain still making it hard to stand straight. Slade’s arms are immediately there, steading him. 

“We were just having a little fun with him. No harm done.” Another man, the skinniest one, placates. 

“Yeah, and your boy started it anyway. He ran into me and made me spill my beer.”  The man, who Dick had run into, motions to the front of his shirt. 

Dick makes a sound in protest since words were still not really working out at the moment. 

“I don’t care if he ran into you and made you eat gravel, if I see you putting your hands on my kid again, I’ll rip them off… Now get outta here.” Slade’s glare sends the men scurrying away like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. 

Heaving a breath Dick lets Slade take more of his weight as the burst of adrenaline starts to wear off. 

“Are you okay, kid?” Slade turns Dick so they are facing each other. 

“Yeah… I wasn’t watching where I was going, ran into that guy. He got all mad…” Dick trails off. 

“Did they hurt you?” Slade’s voice is laced with concern. 

“No, I just got off balance and fell.” Dick cringes. 

“I heard what they were saying to you…. Did they touch you?” Slade’s voice is so calm and deadly Dick shudders. 

Vigorously Dick shakes his head. “No… no. I’m fine.”

“Did you think you ripped any stitches or reinjured anything?” Slade questions. 

“I.. I don’t know… everything kinda just hurts.” Dick admits hanging his head. 

“Okay, let’s go back to the RV so I can check you over.” Slade starts to bend down to scoop Dick up, but he stops him. 

“I can walk! I’m fine.” Dick steps back slightly. 

Slade is obviously debating whether or not to carry Dick anyway. 

To prove his point Dick turns and starts limping his way towards the path that leads to the RV camping area. 

“Stubborn little bird.” 

As Dick had watched Slade unhook the RV from the parking spot and retract the slide outs Dick felt something unpleasant squeeze in his chest.

Slade was out on one last hike before they got back on the road to return to Jump City. 

Feeling too restless to just sit around for an hour or two Dick shoves his feet into his hiking boots (that Slade had bought him) and limps out of the RV, making sure to lock the door behind him. 

Dick’s feet wander down a trial as a million thoughts swirl through his mind. 

He hated to admit it even to himself, but the last two weeks had been a wonderful reprieve from the everyday grind of vigilante life. For the first time in years Dick felt like a (almost) normal person doing (almost) normal things… like camping with his (fake) dad.

That was the kicker, wasn’t it? 

Slade was the person that made the whole situation seem so… normal. 

Though it had only been two weeks ago, Slade showing up at the warehouse and basically kidnapping him felt like an eternity ago. 

It is also bizarre that Dick is now more used to seeing Slade in jeans and a t-shirt than Slade in his Deathstroke armor. 

Dick cringes, a sliver of dread curling in his stomach at the thought of having to face Deathstroke again.

 It just wouldn’t be the same fighting Deathstroke, now that Dick knows the man behind the mask. A man that reads action thriller novels, watches cooking shows, and pretends to like his coffee black when he actually prefers his coffee with cream and sugar, with a drizzle of chocolate. 

Dick is pulled out of his head when something small moves in his peripheral vision. He freezes automatically. 

A sigh of relief rolls through him when a rabbit comes hopping out from behind a branch. 

“It’s just you…. You’re really cute…” Dick crouches down and watches the rabbit nibble at scrubby bush leaves. 

Dick’s whole body jerks when a gunshot shatters the silence.

The ground next to the rabbit explodes in a spray of dirt and pine straw. The ribbit takes off into the underbrush and is go in less than a second. 

Dick scrambles to his feet, his ears ringing from how close the gunshot was. 

“You missed you idiot!” a voice barks. 

A couple seconds later figures come stomping out of the thicket. 

Dick’s heart plummets when he immediately recognizes that it is the four men that had bothered him before. 

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.” One of the men mocks.

Dick stands up straighter at the condescending tone. 

“Ain’t so brave now that daddy ain’t here to save ya.” Another man leers. 

“Pine Mountain State Park is an animal sanctuary; they don’t allow any hunting.” Dick crosses his arms. 

“Is that so?” the ringleader steps forward. 

“Yes.” Dick would know, he had read the camping pamphlet 6 times out of sheer boredom the first couple of days. 

“Well, I guess if we can’t hunt animals, we can hunt the next best thing…” The man pulls out a flask of whisky and throws back a gulp. “Humans.”

A shotgun levels at Dick’s chest, making icy fear pool in his gut. 

If Dick was injury free this wouldn’t be a problem, or even if he just had a weapon or his Kevlar, he could take the guys out. 

But with no weapons, no protection, and an injury handicap taking out four drunk men with shotguns would prove to be a… challenge. 

“How about we make this real sportsmen-like… We give you five minutes to run and then we hunt you down. Sound fair? Oh, and don’t try to get help. Cause I will just shoot them too.” The man slides his flask back into his jacket pocket. 

“Look I-“ Dick tries to talk but then the shotgun is pressing into Dick’s gut. 

“You have five minutes to start running.” 

Dick recognizes the manic look in the men’s eyes. They are out for blood. Every part of Dick screams to not turn his back on the men but he can’t waste any time. He takes off into the woods. 

“Marv you head back towards the campsite and make sure he doesn’t try to circle back. If you see him. Shoot him.” 

Counting down the five minutes in his head Dick pushes his legs faster. Thanks to the adrenalin he really doesn’t feel as much of the pain in his leg or his ribs. 

Gotta get to somewhere with more cover.

Dick veers off the trail to start heading up the side of the mountain, there would be more rocks to provide defense against bullets. 

It’s been seven minutes.

Dick knows the men are after him; he can hear their shouting and laughing. 

Please let someone hear the shot and call the park rangers! 

Dick hiking boots grip the slick rocks as he climbs up a large rock outcropping. 

Another shot rings out echoing through the woods. 

Dick didn’t hear the whizz of the bullet so they either were just randomly shooting or their aim was way off. 

Coming to a stream Dick jumps into the water. The cold water suddenly soaks his boots and sends a shock through his system. He turns and fights against the current moving upstream. 

Don’t leave tracks. 

If they can’t track you, they can’t find you. 

Dick comes to a dense area with lots of boulders and trees. 

There will be plenty of places to hide. 

Dick starts to climb up the side of the stream bank. But he doesn’t notice the wet moss on one of the rocks as he steps on it. 

Immediately his foot goes flying out from under him. He lands on his hands and knees on the rocky ground. 

“Ow.” He hisses quietly to himself as pain pulses through him, but he doesn’t let himself stop. Staying low he scrambles out of the stream. 

“Gotta hide. Gotta hide.” Dick chants to himself under his breath. He jobs past some boulders but then backtracks. His eyes narrow in on a small place between two huge stones fifteen feet in the air. 

Not wasting any time, he cambers up the rocks and slips into the two-foot gap between the boulders and presses back, until he is out of sight from the ground below. Crouching down Dick holds his breath. Waiting. 

Slade is taking a picture of a brightly colored wildflower that is growing out of a crevice in a rock when the first shot rings out. 

Alarms ring in his head as he snaps up looking around. It sounded like it had come down from the campsite area. A sick feeling creeps up his spine into his chest. 

Something is wrong. 

His heart rate speeds up. 

Dick. 

Shoving his phone in his pocket he takes off back down the trail, pushing his body to inhuman speeds. Other hikers jump out of the way as Slade goes barreling past. The hikers gasp and complain. 

“What is going on?
 

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” 

“You almost ran me over!” 

“Was that bigfoot?”

Seeing a large group of hikers on the trail up ahead Slade veers off the path and plows through the underbrush, jumping fallen trees and branches. 

Slade soon reaches the camp site and skids to a halt at the RV’s door. The door doesn’t open when he tries the handle. 

Its locked. 

“Kid? Hey kid? Are you in there?” Slade yells beating on the door. 

No answer. 

Another shot rings out in the woods to the north. 

Slade wrenches the door open and rushes into the RV. 

It's empty. 

Slade curses under his breath. 

For a split-second Slade considers donning his Deathstroke armor, but he brushes that thought aside. There is no time. The kid needs him now .

Grabbing the closet weapon, a bowie knife, Slade races out of the RV and into the woods in the direction that he heard the shot. 

He pauses when he comes to a little clearing when he spots a bit of torn up earth. 

A bullet hit the ground here… 

Slade scans the nearby ground till he finds a footprint. He skims over them till he lands on the one he is looking for. 

Dick’s footprint. He knew it was him because he had memorized the tread pattern when he had bought the boots for the kid. The tracks lead off into the woods away from the campsite… at a run. The other footsteps seem to follow.

Slade sets a fast pace but keeps a close eye on the trail. He slows when he catches sight of movement up ahead.

It’s a tall skinny man wearing a yellow flannel shirt and has a shotgun slung over his shoulder. The man who seems to be looking for something turns around and freezes when he spots Slade.

Anger flares through Slade’s bones. 

It’s one of the men who was bothering Dick before!

The man’s face goes ashen, obviously recognizing Slade. Horror fills his eyes when his eyes drop down to the huge gleaming knife in Slade’s hand. 

The man tries to raise his shotgun, but Slade is already on top of him, driving a knife in his gut. Slade face wrinkles in disgust when he is hit with the smell of days old sweat, weed, and alcohol. 

“Where is my kid?” Slade yanks the knife out and then presses it to the man’s throat. 

“I don’t know!” The man shrikes, writhing in pain. 

“I won’t ask again. Where. Is. My. Son?” The knife’s razor-sharp edge sends a stream of blood down the man’s neck. 

“I don’t know! Gabe is hunting him! I was just supposed to keep him from circling back! That is all I know!” The man sobs clutching his stomach. 

Hunting him?

 Fury licks deep within Slade’s gut.

“Buncha sick –“ Slade cuts himself off as he slashes through the man’s neck, blood splattering everywhere. 

“We know you're around here somewhere pretty boy…. Come out, come out wherever you are…” Gabe sings songs as he stalks around, shotgun at the ready. 

“Why don’t we just leave it. We ain’t ever gonna find that boy. He could be anywhere by now.” Joshua whines. 

“Oh, he couldn’t have gotten far, his tracks stopped back there.” Gabe lowers his gun to take another swig of whisky. 

A crackle in the woods has the two men spinning around. 

“Jessie is that you?” Joshua calls. 

No answer. 

“Jes-“ Joshua’s words die in his throat when a knife sinks into his chest. 

Gabe spins around to see a blur surging straight towards him. He fires off his two shots but the huge figure tucks into a roll and comes up on his feet without breaking stride. 

Gabe wildly swings his shotgun; it connects with what feels like a brick wall. But half a second later the brick wall slams into him. 

With limbs flailing, Gabe hits the ground, pain pulses through his body. 

“What the-” Gabe’s chokes on air when his vision clears enough to see the figure looming above him. His heart plummets into his stomach from the pure rage that is radiating from the form in front of him. 

The boy’s blood splattered father crouches down, his huge hand curls around Gabe’s throat, cutting off his air. Icy horror fills his body. 

“I told you to stay away from my son. And now you’re going to pay.”

Dick’s body trembles as he hears the garbled cry suddenly cut off. 

He knows exactly what was happening even though he can’t see anything from his hiding place. 

Slade had found the four men. 

It would be a miracle if any of them were still alive. 

If there was one thing Dick had learned over the last two weeks it was that Slade was an extremely protective person, and could be a helicopter parent at times. Dick assumes it was always in Slade’s nature but what happened to Joey and Grant just made man borderline obsessive. 

“Dick?!” 

Hearing his name Dick jumps slightly, knocking his head against the boulder. 

“DICK!?” 

Slade’s voice is urgent. 

Slade has never called me Dick, he always calls me kid, Richard or little bird…. 

“Slade?” Dick calls as he pushes himself back up straight, nerves clenching in his stomach. 

“Dick!” 

Coming to the edge of the boulder Dick’s eyes land on Slade who is right below him. Dick is not surprised to see the mercenary is covered head to toe in blood. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Slade’s eye frantically scans Dick’s body, and his hand reaches up then back in an aborted movement. 

“I think I’m alright…” Dick crouches down and carefully starts to climb down backwards off the boulder, trying not to put too much pressure on his ribs or leg. 

“I’ve got you.” 

Steady hands help Dick climb down the rest of the way. 

“Did you get shot?” Slade’s hands quickly start running across Dick’s body searching for injuries. “Do you have any pain?” 

“No… just skinned up my hands and knees.” Dick winces when he realizes his skin stings, but he doesn’t miss Slade’s sigh of relief. 

Before he can process what is happening Dick is swept up into a princess-carry. 

“I can walk!” Dick squawks, limbs flailing.  

“Your leg still isn’t fully healed, and you already overused it. I’m carrying you.” Slade’s tone is final. 

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.” Dick scowls, crossing his arms. 

“It’s my specialty.” Slade smirks. 

“I hate you.” Dick grunts but lets himself relax, all the stress and tension draining out of his body.  

“Sure, kid. Sure.” 

The Titans come pouring into the commons area of the tower where Dick is laying on the couch finishing the crime thriller books series that Slade had gotten him hooked on. (Curse that man) 

“Hey Rob!” Wally comes speeding over and flops down on the other end of the couch. 

The other Titans all come in chattering excitedly telling Dick all about their successful mission. 

After an hour the blow-by-blow recap of everything that happened finally comes to a end. 

“So, what did you do while we were gone?” Garfield questions. 

“Yeah! How was your visit with your dad?” Roy grins, knowing that referring to Batman as Nightwing’s dad annoys the snot out of Dick. 

The whole rescue, kidnaping, camping fiasco on the tip of his tongue, but Dick hesitates. He glances down at the book in his hand. 

In his mind’s eye he can see Slade, not Deathstroke, kicked back in a worn-out Star Wars t-shirt reading, absorbed in the plot, sipping a cup of sugary coffee. 

The urge to tell his friends all about his bizarre two weeks with Slade disappears.  

Instead, Dick shrugs. “Oh, you know… same old, same old. Just hung around. Watched boring tv, played a ridiculous amount of Sudoku. Nothing too exciting.” 

“Sounds thrilling.” Roy makes a face. “But since when are you a book nerd? I thought you hated reading.” 

Dick smiles wryly. “You learn new things about people every day.” 

Chapter Text

Crouching next to a gargoyle, Slade scans the Gotham skyline. Personally, Slade has always avoided the cursed city with its abhorrent crime rate and its paranoid Bat guardian; but he had to stop by to see for himself. Whispers say there is a new Robin hopping around in Batman’s shadow. 

In the distance a bright flash of yellow catches Slade's eye. 

Well, well, well, the rumors are true….

Deathstroke leaps off the building and follows the colorful figure into the East End. 

Keeping at a safe distance, Slade waits to approach till Batman disappears into a warehouse leaving his sidekick alone on a nearby rooftop. 

On silent feet Deathstroke comes up behind the little, no, tiny bird. 

Jeez, Bats starts them off young, this one is only knee high to a grasshopper!

To the new Robin’s credit, the boy whips around faster than a bolt of lightning and is crouched in a fighting stance with his itty-bitty gloved hands balled into fists.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Robin demands. The lenses of his domino mask narrow. “I know you! You’re that assassin that keeps bothering Nightwing and the Titans!” 

“That is correct. Deathstroke the Terminator at your service.” Slade does a mocking bow. 

“Whatever you’re doing here you might as well give it up. When Batman finds you, he’ll kick your big, fat butt into Blackgate!” Robin growls furiously. 

For a split-second Slade wonders if the new update on his armor makes him look fat, before refocusing on the task at hand.

“Is that so?” Slade raises an eyebrow under his mask. “Why don’t you throw me in Blackgate yourself?” Deathstroke steps back into a fighting stance to give the boy a moment to prepare for the attack. 

“You asked for it.” Robin throws down smoke pellets and the whole section of the roof quickly becomes shrouded in dark blue-gray smoke. 

A kick suddenly lands on the side of Slade’s knee, making his leg buckle. 

Okay the kid is fast! 

Deathstroke grins and starts throwing (pulled) punches at the kid, who is darting in and out of the thick smoke.  

The ‘fight’ (more like chase) only lasts a few seconds since the Robin obviously just hatched and still has a lot of training to do.

Slade holds the thrashing bird by the cape at arm’s length. 

Sure is a feisty little creature. 

“Let me go you, big ugly pumpkin!” Robin twists and squirms trying to kick Slade in the ribs. “I hope a truck hits you and you get crushed into a powder the crackheads can snort.” Robin snaps. 

Not expecting such a colorful insult, Slade almost chokes a little on his saliva. 

Feeling small hands wrap around his wrist, Slade has about half a second to watch in curiosity as Robin heaves himself up in one fluid motion-

Teeth suddenly dig into the meat of his thumb; Slade drops Robin’s cape more out of surprise than pain. 

“You little brat!” Slade growls as Robin hits the ground and scrambles to his feet. 

Should have expected it to be bendy and feral just like Dick… 

“Batman is coming, and he’ll beat you so bad they will have to pry your dentures out of the cement.” Robin hisses half veiled in smoke. 

Again, with the creative insults! 

Where is the kid pulling them from? 

“I don’t have dentures.” Slade gripes. 

“Oh yeah? Your file says that you are a creepy old man, like 80 or something!” Robin counters. 

“I am not 80, I’m in my prime!” Slade sputters. “And I’m not creepy.”

“Uh huh. In your prime for stalking kids?” Robin challenges.

Before Slade can even try to figure out a response, a flash of black catches his eye. 

Time to go!

“See ya around kid!” Slade lunges forward, grabs Robin and unceremoniously lobs him at the incoming furious winged rodent. 

A shriek pierces the night as Robin flails through the air. 

“ROBIN!” Batman’s yell echoes. 

Knowing that Batman would catch the freefalling bird, Slade doesn’t look back as he tears off across the city, setting a breakneck pace.

 After being busy with back-to-back overseas contracts, Slade is not in the mood to fight an enraged daddy bat. Nope that is not on the agenda. Avoiding that for sure. 

Once he makes it halfway across the city. Slade ducks behind an AC unit and scans the cityscape. 

No sign of Batman. 

Good. 

Slade drums his fingers, deciding what to do next since he currently doesn’t have any contracts to fulfill. 

Might as well go check on Dick since I’m so close to Bludhaven anyway… would be a waste not too. 

After hotwiring a car, Slade makes the 45-minute drive to Gotham’s sister city in about 20 minutes. 

He leaves the car in a back alley a few blocks away from Dick’s apartment and climbs up onto the nearest roof, quickly making his way over to the apartment complex. 

Slade easily lets himself into Dick’s two-bedroom apartment through one of the windows. 

The kid is out on patrol, of course. So, Slade wanders into the second bedroom, grabs sweatpants and a t- shirt and helps himself to a nice long shower. 

All Dick wants to do is to take a scalding hot shower, drink some Gatorade and then sleep for 12 hours. 

Yep, that sounds like a plan.

He is definitely not going to think about the hot mess that is Bruce and his new “son”. 

The mere idea of that little mouthy gremlin living at the manor and wearing HIS Robin uniform makes Dick’s blood boil. 

If he wasn’t already exhausted Dick would just love to drive over to Gotham and scream at Bruce for an hour straight. Maybe yell at the little imposter too while he was at it, see those blue eyes fill with fear, watch in satisfaction as the little monster runs out of the room again. 

I’ll teach him that he can’t just come strolling in and take what is mine!

Angrily Dick disarms the security system and shoves the window open, as he mutters to himself. 

When his feet hit the carpeted floor, he pauses, as light spills out from the living area. 

I’m sure I turned off all the lights before I left….. 

Pulling his escrima sticks out, he silently creeps down the short hall. 

From the shadows, Dick scans the living room and kitchen, his eye movement freezing on the huge figure sitting on the couch, drinking coffee and scrolling on Dick’s tablet. 

“What are you doing here?” Dick sighs, straightening up, knowing the mercenary heard him come in the window. 

“I was in the area and figured I would stop by, check on my apartment.” The smirk is evident in Slade’s voice even though Dick can’t see his face. 

“You just have to keep rubbing that in, don’t you?” Dick snaps, stomping over to the refrigerator. 

“The apartment is under my name; I pay over half the rent. It IS my apartment.” Slade takes a sip of his coffee. 

“If I had known you were going to be a tyrant about this, I wouldn’t have asked you to sign the lease for me.” Dick gripes, snatching up a Gatorade and downing half of the blue liquid in one go. 

“Who else would you have gone to? Dear old dad?” Slade’s words are too pointed to not be loaded. 

“Okay, what do you want?” Dick rubs his forehead. 

“I heard the big news. I had to come by to congratulate you on your new brother.” The mercenary grins, setting down the tablet. 

“That little rat is not my brother!” Dick slams his drink down on the counter. 

“Don’t call your brother names.” Slade’s voice is mocking, but there is a slight hard edge to it. 

“I will call that conniving whelp whatever I please!” Dick bites out, he doesn’t look at Slade, but he can feel the weight of the man’s gaze. 

“I take it you don’t like Jason Todd.” Slade pushes himself to his feet. 

“That is the understatement of the year” Dick scoffs. “……How do you know his name?” 

“Oh, the media is going bananas over Bruce Wayne adopting another child.” Slade motions to the tablet. 

“You mean, adopting his first child. He never adopted ME.” Dick spits, feeling the rage bubbling up in his gut again. 

“Did you want to be adopted?” Slade raises an eyebrow. 

“No.” Dick snaps, staring down at the countertop. 

Slade just hums non-committedly. 

“So, if you didn’t care that you weren’t adopted, why are you so mad at an ex-homeless thirteen-year-old?” Slade leans against the table opposite of Dick. 

Dick kind of hates himself when he remembers that Jason had lost both his parents and had lived on the streets of Crime Alley for years. But he resolutely shoves that thought out of his mind. 

“He stole Robin! Robin belongs to me!” Dick seethes. 

“Did the kid ask to become Robin? Or did Batman just decide to make the kid your replacement and stick him in your old colors?” Slade questions.

“I don’t know!” Dick crosses his arms with a huff.  

“Well, if it is all Batman’s doing, get mad at him, not the child …... Do not punish the son for the sins of the father.” Slade’s voice takes on a weariness that Dick had never heard before. 

The images of Grant and Joey both suffering because of Slade’s decisions fills Dick’s mind and makes the rage in his chest fizzle out. Comparing himself to the men who hurt Slade’s sons makes Dick’s stomach turn. 

“But Robin… my mom called me Robin…” Dick whispers. 

“Tell the kid that. You say Robin is yours, well, explain to the boy what Robin means. Either he will step away from Robin because he can’t fill your pixie boots, or he will emulate you and try to live up to everything that you created Robin to be.” Slade states. 

“Why would he do either of those? I scared him the first time we met… Heck I yelled at him, and he ran out of the room…. I think he was crying.” Dick runs his hands down his face. 

“The boy is just a little shaver, he probably grew up watching you as Robin. I’m sure he will forgive you…. Younger brothers are usually quite tolerant of their older brother’s bullying.” Slade snorts lightly, with a wistful look in his eye. 

“I’ll think about it.” Dick sighs.

Chapter Text

“Dick… um… can I ask you a question?” 

Glancing up from his phone, Dick eyes Jason, who is nervously clenching his hands in his oversized red hoodie that he always seems to be wearing. 

“Sure.” Dick sets his phone down, making sure to give the boy his full attention. 

He has been trying for weeks to win Jason’s trust and be ‘brotherly’. He finally convinced Bruce to let Jason have a sleepover and so far, things have been going okay. 

“I- I…. um… Your apartment is really nice…. But I thought you said you lived alone?” Jason shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Not that it matters! You can do whatever you want! I- I was just curious….” 

Dick’s heart rate spikes and he sits forward, all his senses pinging ‘ danger, danger, danger’.

I moved all of Slade’s clothes, and weapons into my closet before Jason came over…. 

Did I forget something???

“What makes you think that someone lives here with me?” Dick forces his tone to be light, and his face open. 

“Well, in the spare bathroom all the shampoo and stuff are different from what is in your bathroom… and there is a straight razor, and you don’t use a straight razor.” Jason keeps his eyes locked on his feet. 

Curse you Slade and your ridiculously fancy soaps!

“It's just different stuff people have left behind when they have come for a visit.” Dick waves it off in nonchalance, even though his blood pressure is still rising.  

“Oh…... I just figured whoever it was is also the person who cooked the pre-made meals in your freezer, since you don’t know how to cook.” Jason fiddles with the strings on his hoodie. 

Suppressing a cringe, Dick shifts in his seat. “Thanks for the vote of confidence in my cooking abilities……Alfred sent the meals.” 

“Alfred uses glass containers to store food, not plastic.” Jason’s voice goes soft, like he is ashamed that he is pointing out Dick’s lie.

Drat, drat, drat! 

No wonder Bruce picked up this kid, it’s like having a little Sherlock Holmes snooping around!

Dick studies Jason, who looks slightly sick, and extremely uncomfortable…. And very distrusting. 

With a sigh Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Okay, Jay. Come here.” Dick pats the couch cushion beside him. 

Jason inches a bit closer but doesn’t come anywhere near the couch. 

“Fine. Alfred didn’t make the meals. I have a friend who has been helping me out with rent and food and stuff…. But you can’t tell Bruce, okay? He would get just get mad and try to make me move back to the manor, and yell about that I should have just used his money to pay for everything. And it would be a mess. So, promise me that you won’t say anything about this!” Dick pleads, giving his best puppy-eyes that he can muster. 

“I won’t tell ….. but only under one condition.” Jason clenches his fists. 

“Yeah?” Dick’s heart pounds. 

Anything would be better than Bruce finding out that the freaking Terminator is paying for half my rent and crashes here whenever he wants!

“You have to promise me that this person isn’t hurting you.” Jason’s voice quivers. 

“Hurting me?” Dick furrows his brows. 

“They aren’t making you pay them back with… favors… are they?” Jason’s whole body is trembling now.  

Dick’s stomach feels like it turns inside out, and nausea rolls through him at the implication. 

I’m so stupid! 

Of course, Jason, who lived on the streets for years would jump to a scenario like that!  

Being all vague and cagy is freaking him out! 

“No! No of course not! I would never let that happen! I would move back to the manor if I had to. Sla- … My friend would never take advantage of me. They are the type of person that would rather cut off their hand then hurt a kid…. Come here, Jay.” Dick grabs Jason and pulls him into a hug. 

Usually, the boy would elbow Dick in the ribs or bite his arm or shove him away to stop hugs, but this time Jason just shakes in Dick’s embrace. 

“It’s okay. I’m safe. I’m happy. I have lots of friends that love and care about me and watch out for me.” Dick assures the boy.

“Okay.” Jason mumbles, still sounding shaken and disbelieving. 

Closing his eyes, Dick promises himself that he will do better at being Jason’s big brother. 

“I’ve got you, Little Wing. I’m not going to let anything bad happen.” 

Dick looks up from his mission report as the security system alerts him of someone entering Titan’s Tower

 “Access granted. Welcome, Jericho 1-9-8-4.” The monotone computer voice echoes through the empty halls. 

Joey? 

I wonder what he is doing here? 

He hasn’t come by in months…

Pushing himself up from his desk, Dick heads out into the living area. 

“Hey, man! Long time no see!” Dick grins, holding his hand out for a fist bump. But Joey just crosses his arms and gives him a judgmental glare. 

“Oookay… So how have you been?” Dick awkwardly claps his hands together. 

/Could be worse, could be better. / Joey signs looking annoyed. 

“Is something wrong?” Dick licks at his lips, his skin prickling under Joey’s scrutiny. 

/I decided to visit my dad yesterday. / Joey’s hands are tense as he signs.  

“Yeah? How did that go?” Dick hopes it went well, as he knows Slade has been silently wishing to see his son for months, and Joey has always loved his dad even when Slade was being a coldhearted idiot. 

Joey’s face twists in a disgusted, sickly-sweet smile. / We had a wonderful time… talking about YOU, his new favorite child. Honestly, he wouldn’t shut up about you. At the rate he is going he won’t even remember I exist in a few months. / 

Dick’s mouth drops open in mortification. 

“I didn’t… I’m not…. Look… Joey. Your dad has just been helping me out-“ Dick sputters desperate to get Joey to understand that he isn’t trying to steal his position as Slade’s son. 

Joey’s condemnatory expression cracks and his features twist, his hands balling into fists. Dick takes a step back, readying for a fight, cringing.  

Oh this is about to go so, so bad! 

If I hurt him, Slade will filet me alive ! 

Why is that happening to me? I just wanted to finish that report and go to bed! 

Suddenly short bursts of air break out of Joey’s mouth as he doubles over, his shoulders shaking. 

“Joey!” Dick jolts forward, fear twisting around his heart. 

Is he hurt? Sick? Crying? 

Did Joey and Slade get in a fight over me? Did Slade hurt him? 

 Dick grabs the older teen’s shoulders and ducks to see his face. He is not expecting to see Joey’s lips pull into a devilish grin and his blue eyes dancing with glee. 

He is laughing. 

The realization hits Dick in the gut like a ton of bricks. He stumbles back, as Joey levers himself back up straight. 

/The look on your face was hilarious! / Joey is still laughing, each breath a crackling wheeze. 

“You… You… jerk!” Dick spins around and stomps over to the wall, to avoid punching Jericho in his annoying face. 

A tap on his shoulder has Dick tensing. 

“What?!” Dick snaps, rounding on Joey. 

/Don’t be mad./ Joey holds up his hands in surrender, and gives him sad eyes. 

“You just scared the living daylights out of me Joseph !” Dick so badly wants to slap the smug look of the blonde’s face. 

/I’m sorry. But I just had to prank you when I found out you were hanging out with Dad. / Joey grins. 

Running his hands down his face Dick sighs. “So, you’re not mad at me for spending time with Slade?” 

Joey’s nose scrunches up. /No. Why would I care? Dad is a lonely old man. He needs all the enrichment he can get. /

Dick barks out a laugh in surprise. “Don’t let him find out you said that. He is quite touchy about his age.” 

/I know, he is such a snowflake sometimes. / Joey shakes his head and plops down on the nearest couch. /So, you got the Wilson family camping experience? /

“I guess…. Did your dad take you camping in a million-dollar RV?” Dick collapses onto the couch opposite of Joey. 

Jericho’s eyes go round. /NO! He conveniently left out that part! That old skunk face! / Joey looks downright offended. / He made us do primitive camping and build our own shelters out of tree limbs and a tarp. /

“So, I take it you didn’t have a queen-sized bed and flat screen tv?”  Dick smirks. 

/No./ Joey deadpans, then his eyes turn mischievous. / He must be turning soft in his old age….. Or you really are his favorite child. / 

“For the last time I am not Slade’s child!” Dick hits Joey with one of the many throw pillows piled on the couch. 

Slowly, Joey turns towards Dick with a widening smirk. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Dick suddenly feels like a rabbit being cornered by a wolf. 

/Oh there is no escaping us now, Richard Wilson. / Joey’s grin turns feral as he picks up a pillow with his left hand. 

It unnerves Dick how much the teen looks like his father. 

“Joey NO!” Dick scrambles off the couch. 

/Joey, yes. / Jericho signs before leaping after Dick pillow aiming for his head. 

Dick ducks and darts to the other side of the room. “HA! You missed!” 

Snapping around, Joey’s face dances with amusement and determination. /Bring it. /

~

When Roy, Kori and Garfield come by the Tower an hour later they find Nightwing and Jericho laying on the floor surrounded by mounds of white fluff and busted pillowcases. 

“What happened?” Garfield gapes at the trashed room. 

“I won.” Dick pants. 

/Did not. / Joey retorts.

 “Did to.” Dick argues.

/Did not/

“Did to!”

The Titans just roll their eyes and leave the room, so they don’t get roped into helping clean up the giant mess. 

Chapter Text

*2-Years later*

Clouds slowly drift across the night sky, blocking out the moonlight out every few minutes. Due to the lights of the city, the stars overhead are barely visible.

 Crouched low behind a low wall, on top of a building, Slade tenses as his target comes stumbling out of the bar he has been watching for the last four hours. 

Finally.  

 Dropping his head down to see through his sniper scope, Slade lines up his shot. 

Inhale, exhale. 

The phone hooked to his belt vibrates. Slade doesn’t so much as twitch. Taking a deep breath in, keeping steady pressure on the trigger, he pulls his finger back as he exhales. 

The man drops to the cement like a bag of rocks. 

Too easy. 

That takes care of the last part of this contract.  

Quickly he disassembles his rifle and packs it into its case. Slinking off into the shadows, Slade pulls out his phone and notes that the missed call is from Joey. 

Ah, he and Dick must be back from their space mission. 

A wave of relief sweeps through Slade, the Titans have been gone for six months. He considers calling Joey back immediately, but decides against it, as he wants to be able to talk to Joey uninterrupted. 

He punches in the number for the man that had hired Deathstroke for a month-long job that had involved training a small army for the up-and-coming drug lord in Dallas. The final part of the job entailed taking out a few rival gang leaders. 

“Hello?” 

“Hernandez is dead.” Slade cuts to the chase. 

“Are you sure?” 

“His head exploded like a tomato; he is dead.” Slade snaps. 

“Fine. I will send you the rest of your money now.” 

Tapping a few buttons on his phone, Slade pulls up the online banking account he is using, waiting to see the payment to go through. 

The amount jumps up, but Slade frowns. 

“That was only 300,000, where is the rest?” Slade growls. 

“I believe you are remembering incorrectly; it was 500 up front. 300 when you completed the job.” 

“I think you have been snorting too much of your own product and it’s addled your brain. The contract was for one million. Send me over the missing 200,000, and I won’t slice you open and let you bleed out like a pig.” Slade’s phone beeps and he glances at the screen to see that Joey is calling him again. A tinge of worry starts to creep into the back of Slade’s mind. 

“You can’t kill me, I’m your employer, it’s in the contract!”

“Not anymore. You just breached the contract, and I HATE people that break my contracts.” Slade snarls getting fed up with the idiocy of the man. 

“… Fine. I’ll wire you the money when I have it.” 

“Do it now, or your family is gonna be picking you out a tombstone.” Slade is two seconds away from driving down to the compound and killing the guy out of sheer annoyance. 

“7 days! Give me 7 days! I’ll get you the 200,000.” 

Slade is about to refuse the delay when his phone beeps again. 

Every muscle in his body tenses. 

Okay, this is definitely an emergency. 

Without hesitation, Slade hangs up on drug-lord wannabe and accepts Joey’s call, while jogging towards his car a few blocks away.

 The phone’s screen blurs for a moment before clearing to show Joey’s face. His blond curls are greasy and wild, dirt and blood stain his pale skin. Thankfully he doesn’t look critically injured, but the expression on his face had Slade’ heart rate spiking. 

“Joey, what is it? What happened?” 

/ You haven’t heard? / Joey signs. 

“Heard what? I’ve been busy in Texas and Mexico the last few weeks.” Slade’s mind races with what might have happened that caused Joey to look so shaken. 

/ Robin…died. / Joey’s fingers falter. 

Pace faltering, Slade pulls in a sharp breath. “How?”

/I don’t know. Dick is heading back to Gotham to find out. / 

“There is no way that is going to end well.” Slade winces. He pulls out his car key and climbs into the rental. 

/He was really upset when he left. There was a voicemail on Dick’s phone. I think it was from Jason before he died. / Joey adds, 

Slade’s heart sinks. “Suicide message?” 

Vigilantism was a hard life, especially for a kid. The violence and stress breaks people, Slade knows that better than anyone

/I don’t know. You need to find Dick. / Joey urges. 

“I’m heading to the airport now; I should be able to get to Gotham in about four hours. What are you going to do?” Slade pointedly looks Joey right in the eyes. 

/ I don’t know…/ Joey shrugs, looking a little lost. 

“Do you want to go see your mom for a while?” Slade prods. 

Joey shakes his head. 

“Why don’t you go to Dick’s apartment in Blud? You can stay in my room, I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

/Ok. / Joey agrees too easily.  

“Alright. I’ll see you later. Be safe.” Slade gives his son an encouraging smile before hanging up the phone. 

He closes his eye, pulling in a deep breath. The all too familiar feeling of emptiness swells up into his chest. Grant’s death always haunts Slade. Greif right there under the surface, ready to dig its cold tendrils into his heart and pull him into a bottomless pit of despair.  Gripping the steering wheel harder, Slade grits his teeth. 

No.

I can’t let myself spiral…

 I have to be there for Dick. 

Blocking out the images of Grant’s lifeless body in his arms, Slade focuses on the road in front of him as lights and signs rush by in a blur. 

Spotting Dick’s motorcycle, Slade pulls into the parking space next to it. Stepping out of his rental truck, Slade flips his trench coat collar to ward off the drizzling rain. He scans the shadowed Gotham Cemetery. Of course, no one else is out at 4:45 in the morning. 

Shoving his hands in his coat pockets Slade makes his way through the weathered cast iron archway. Following the narrow gravel path, he heads towards the center of the graveyard where the Wayne Family burial plots lie.

The crunch of the gravel under his feet and the patter of rain is the only sound Slade can hear, until he picks the slightest hint of a voice drifting on the thick air. 

Dick. 

Veering off the path, Slade’s boots sink into the wet ground. Not wanting to startle the kid, Slade scuffs his feet with each step. 

Sure enough, Slade catches a subtle movement up ahead. 

As he gets closer, he can make out Dick’s seated silhouette among the thousands of headstones and monuments. 

Not uttering a word, Slade slowly walks up to the muddy ground of the freshly turned dirt laid out in front of a simple marble headstone.

Here lies Jason Todd

19XX – 20XX 

Reading the date makes Slade’s throat close up unexpectedly.

He was only 15. 

Just a kid. 

A child. 

Tensing his jaw, Slade lowers himself to one knee and reaches into his pocket. Gently he places down the few wildflowers he had seen growing on the side of the road just outside of Gotham. Dick had often talked about how Jason would get upset when someone bought him something expensive or new. That Jason preferred simple things. Wildflowers seemed fitting, something Jason would have liked. 

 “He’s dead.” Dick whispers.  

Slade lifts his head watching as the 20-year-old traces the letters etched into the marble.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier.” Slade knows it is useless to tell people that you are sorry for their loss. It doesn’t help ease the pain or the emptiness.  

“J-Jason… Joker killed him.” Dick’s voice cracks, as he presses his palm flat again the headstone. 

A flare of anger flickers through Slade. 

Why hasn’t someone taken care of that demonic clown before now?! 

But the flame turns icy with guilt. 

 Why didn’t I get rid of the clown before now? 

“Do you know what happened?” Slade questions. 

“Jason…” Dick’s voice catches, he rubs at his face, and his hand comes back with a bit of blood, but the splattering rain drops quickly washes it away. “… Jason was looking for his birth mother in Ethiopia…. Joker somehow got both of them… Beat Jason half to death, then blew up the warehouse they were in....” 

Slade doesn’t let himself react, it wouldn’t do anyone any good. 

“Do you wanna know how he died? Do you wanna know what the autopsy report said?” Dick laughs in a subdued hysteria. “Did he die from blunt force trauma? Oh no. Did he die from a freaking bomb going off and making a building collapse on top of him? No! ….... No. It was smoke inhalation. He fought through all that just to die choking on stupid smoke. Smoke!” Dick presses his free hand against his eyes as he laughs. 

“And Bruce didn’t even ever call me. They already had the funeral! No one told me!” Dick’s pained laughs morph into desperate sobs, as he lurches forward pressing his forehead against Jason’s tombstone.  

Closing his eyes Slade processes the information. Slowly he rises to his feet and circles around the grave. Pulling off his overcoat he drapes it across Dick’s shaking form. 

The words ‘I’m sorry’ sit at the tip of his tongue. But what good are words when it feel like the fabric of your world is being ripped into shreds? 

Instead Slade kneels next to Dick, and carefully lays on hand on his shoulder, a silent reminder that he isn’t alone. 

“He wanted to talk to me!” Dick suddenly cries, turning and throwing himself against Slade’s chest, and fisting Slade’s shirt. “He left a message, he wanted to talk to me! He sounded so scared and lost! And I wasn’t there!” Dick’s voice crescendos into a throat grating shriek. 

Slade tightly wraps his arms around Dick and lets the young hero sob against his shoulder, as the rain soaks them both to the bone. 

Eventually a colorless sunrise slowly begins to lighten the darkness to a dreary gray sky. 

“Joey is waiting for us at the apartment. He is worried about you.” Slade murmurs resting his chin on top of Dick’s head. 

“Okay…” Dick’s voice sounds like sandpaper. 

Slowly they both make their way to the rental. Finally, Slade gets a good look at Dick’s face to see that the side of his mouth and his cheek is ‘freshly’ busted. He recognizes the injury as one caused by a wild haymaker punch. Slade can guess who hit Dick. But he keeps his thoughts to himself. 

“I guess I’ll meet you there.” Dick turns to his motorcycle.

“You are in no condition to be driving. Get in the truck.” Slade pushes Dick towards the vehicle.  

“But my bike…” Dick weakly motions to it. 

“We will bring it.” Slade assures. 

“How? It’s too heavy to….” Dick trails off as Slade grabs the motorcycle and lifts it with a grunt. “Oh.” 

Cautiously, as to not damage it, Slade sets the bike on its side in the back of the truck.   

“Let’s get on the road.”

Joey throws open the apartment door before Slade can pull his key out of his pocket. The blonde’s eyes zero in on Dick’s face. 

/You didn’t have those before. Who hit you? / 

Dick presses his fingers against the side of his mouth and grimaces. “Oh… uh Bruce.”

Just as I figured. 

/Why? / Joey frowns. 

“I… made him mad.” Dick peels off his blue sweatshirt and drops it on the floor. 

/Worthless piece of…. / 

Slade cuts Joey off with a hand on his shoulder. “Grief can make people lash out at everyone, but especially those closest to them.” 

/But it’s not right! / Joey’s lips pull into a snarl. 

“No, it’s not…. but who am I to judge.” Slade sighs, pausing for a moment before kicking off his muddy shoes. “Why don’t you go take a shower, kid.” 

Dick just nods dejectedly and shuffles to the bathroom. 

A light hand on his arm has Slade glancing over at his son. “You okay?” 

/Yeah. / Joey shrugs. / Are you? /

“Yes… it just…. Makes me think of your brother.” Slade admits.

/ Me too. / Joey’s shoulders slump. 

Slade pulls Joey into a side hug and is once again caught off guard that his son is now a 6-foot-tall man instead of the small boy he remembers. “Let’s focus on helping Dick through this…. You know what it is like to lose a brother. You might be able to help Dick more than I can.” 

Joey nods solemnly in agreement.

Chapter Text

In a daze Dick trails behind Joey as they make their way down the stairs to the dimly lit parking lot behind his apartment building. Even in the fading light of the late evening Slade’s huge frame is easy to spot where he is leaning against a Jeep as he talks on the phone. 

/Do you want to ride in the front or the back? / 

Joey signs as they walk up to the Jeep. 

“I don’t care.” Dick can’t even muster the energy to shrug. 

“….. Yeah…. Cancel it. I won’t be available for any more contracts for at least a week. Maybe more……... Okay. I’ll call you later.” Slade slides his phone into his pocket, his piercing eye flickers from Dick to Joey. “Let’s hit the road.” 

Joey climbs into the back seat, leaving Dick to get into the passenger’s seat. For half a second a wave of nostalgia washes over him, as he remembers the first time he got in a car with Slade driving. But the empty, numb feeling in his soul quickly swallows up the spark of comfort. Leaning his head against the window, he watches the lights from buildings, cars and signs pass by in a blur as they leave Bludhaven. 

Absently he can hear Slade talking but Dick can’t get his brain to register anything that is being said. Everything seems to just fade out of focus except for the marble tombstone and fresh dirt that won’t leave his mind. 

“Dick” 

A hand lands on his shoulder making Dick jerk up. “What?” He looks up to see Slade watching him carefully. 

Was I asleep? 

It doesn’t feel like I fell asleep… I must have just zoned out

“We are at a gas station in Maryland, figured it would be a good chance to get out and stretch our legs.” Slade’s grip on his shoulder tightens for a moment before letting go. 

“Maryland?” Dick frowns fumbling with the handle, as he pushes open the door. He squints at the bright lights shining down from the gas station canopy above his head. 

/Do you want something to eat? / Joey signs moving into Dick’s line of sight. 

The mere mention of food has Dick’s stomach churning again. Closing his eyes and swallowing against the rising bile, he shakes his head. 

“You need to eat something, kid. You haven’t kept anything down all day.” Slade’s tone is firm, but tinged with unease. “Pay for our gas and get yourself something to eat.” He hands Joey a stack of dollar bills. 

/Okay. / Joey nods and heads into the gas station. 

Opening the back of the Jeep, Slade leans into the car and rummages around in a bag. “Here, take this, it will help with the nausea.” He drops a small container into Dick’s hand. 

Not having the wherewithal to argue, Dick obediently pops one of the tablets into his mouth. The taste is sharp and bitter against his tongue, almost making him gag. He forces the medicine down, shuddering at the sensation. 

Slade moves around to the other side of the car to start pumping the gas. 

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Dick’s feet move him across the pavement and into the building. The first thing he notices is Joey perusing the snack section.  

/The restrooms are over there. / Joey points to the back corner of the building. 

Dick nods, or he thinks he nods…. He didn’t really feel in control of his body as he pushed open the restroom door. After relieving himself, Dick washes his hand with icy cold water, hoping to get some kind of feeling besides the numbness that seems to permeate every fiber of his being. 

He looks up to see a shell of a person staring back at him in the mirror. He feels like he is looking at himself from outside of his body.

He doesn’t know long he was standing there when a knock sounds on the door. 

“Dick? Are you okay?” Slade’s tone is sharp, laced with concern. 

Instead of answering, Dick just steps over to the door and pulls it open. 

Slade’s huge frame towers over him, making Dick look up to see the tight stress lines tugging at his brows and mouth. 

“Are you vomiting again?” Slade demands, his hand coming up to press against Dick’s forehead. 

Dick shakes his head, the movement making his vision turn blurry, and his head spins. 

“Okay.” Slade doesn’t necessarily sound like he believes him, as his arm loops around Dick’s back to steady him. 

“Joey.” Slade leads Dick back into the main part of the station. “I’m taking Dick back out to the car. Grab some Gatorade, ginger ale, and plain crackers…… and a large coffee with extra cream and sugar, I’m gonna need it.” 

Joey gives a thumbs up, since his arms are already filled with snacks. 

Dick barely notices he is walking when the next moment he is leaning against the Jeep as Slade opens the passenger door for him. 

I’m losing time… that isn’t good. 

All but collapsing into the seat, Dick lets his head fall back, as it feels too heavy for his shoulders to be carrying. 

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Slade cracks open a water bottle and holds it up. “You are dehydrated.” 

Turning his head away, Dick closes his eyes. 

I don’t deserve to feel better…. 

Not when Jason is… Jason is… 

“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself. It won’t change anything.” Slade growls, shoving the bottle into Dick’s hand. 

Forcing a few mouthfuls down, Dick closes his eyes and lets himself just drift for a second. He kind of hates that he feels a little bit clearer. With a sigh he opens his eyes, taking in the dark sky beyond the lighted gas station. “What time is it?” 

“11:20” The mercenary checks the time on his phone. 

“We have been on the road for 4 hours?” Dick frowns, it didn’t seem like that much time had passed. 

“Yes.” 

“Where are we going?” Dick fiddles with the water bottle. 

“My cabin…” It is Slade’s turn to frown, his eye trained on Dick’s smallest expressions. 

“Cabin?” 

“Yeah, in Kentucky. You agreed that you wanted to come with me and Joey.” Slade narrows his eye.  

“I did?” Dick rubs his aching head. 

“Yes. It was after Barbara tried to call you, and you threw your phone out the window.” 

Dick cringes; he does remember that, but everything after that is kind of fuzzy. “My phone is…” 

“Broken.” Slade confirms. “I’ll get you a new one when we get back.”

A tense silence stretches for a few seconds, and Dick twitches under Slade’s scrutinizing gaze. “Kentucky, huh?” 

Slade shrugs. “I spent most of my childhood there, I used to hate it…. But as I got older…. Nowhere quiet felt like home. Guess familiarity is stronger than bad memories.” 

Dick opens his mouth to ask about Slade’s childhood, a topic which the assassin rarely brings up, but at that moment Joey comes out of the station with an armload of bags. 

Slade climbs back out of the car, grumbling. “I didn’t tell you to buy out the whole store.” He opens the back door for his son. 

 Joey just rolls his eyes and plops stuff down on the bench seat beside him. /I like to be through. / 

“I can see that.” Slade shuts the door and gets back into the driver’s seat. “Buckle up.” 

/ You are such a dad sometimes. / Joey grins ferally, before popping a handful of jelly beans into his mouth.

“And who’s fault is that?” Slade raises an eyebrow looking at his son in the rearview mirror as he starts up the car and pulls out onto the dark road. 

“Yours.” Dick grouses. 

“I don’t think I had anything to do with it.” Slade accelerates up the on ramp back onto the highway. 

Dick twists around to see what Joey signs. “Joseph wants to know how he was born if you had nothing to do with it.” Dick relays. He can’t help the tiny bit the sides of his lips twitch up when Slade scowls. 

“I am not discussing that with you two punks.” 

Joey just laughs, as he breaks into more of his snacks. 

The clock on the Jeep’s dashboard glows announcing that it is 2:30 am, but no one is asleep. Joey had appointed himself as DJ, picking music from his phone. He had started with pop music, which Slade had complained about extensively. Eventually Joey had switched to country and bluegrass much to Slade’s approval. 

 The mercenary’s quiet humming along with the music drifting from the sound system kept Dick’s mind from spiraling too far away from the present. 

Peering out at the dark wooded mountain roads, Dick must admit he is feeling a lot better than he was a few hours before. A few crackers and some liquids had chased away the dizziness and worst of the nausea. Not to mention the farther away he got from Gotham, the less his chest felt like it was in a vice, it was like he could actually breathe again.  

“Where are we now?” Dick shifts in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. 

Before Slade can answer, the music suddenly cuts and a vaguely familiar guitar melody starts playing, making the mercenary snort.  

Slade’s mouth twitches upward. “~ Almost heaven West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River….” Slade’s deep voice rumbles along with the opening of the song. It could almost be considered melodic. Dick figures it will be the closest he will ever get to hear Deathstroke the Terminator singing.

 “We are still in West Virginia, about 3 hours from Butters.” Slade taps his fingers on the top of the steering wheel as the song continues. 

“Butters?” Dick frowns. 

“It’s a little town about ten minutes from my house.” Slade explains. 

“Oh.” Dick tucks his leg up under him, as the song gets to the chorus. 

~Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong~ 

“I’ve heard this song before.” Dick comments, more to himself than anything else.  

“You better have heard it. It’s one of the most famous country songs of all time.” Slade glances over, raising an eyebrow. 

A tap on his shoulder has Dick turning around to see what Joey has to say. 

/ That is one of Dad’s favorite songs! /

“I said that I’ve heard it before.” Dick grumbles. 

/Do you know the lyrics? / Joey signs, chomping on potato chips.

“No…” 

“Do you know who sang it? Or the year it came out?” Slade questions.  

“No….” 

“Unexpectable. Joey, pull up a John Denver greatest hits.” Slade instructs. 

Joey salutes and starts typing on his phone. 

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” Dick huffs, falling back against his seat. He doesn’t even realize he is no longer thinking about everything that has happened in the last 30 or so hours. 

Dick didn’t know he had fallen asleep till he drifted awake to the sensation of the car slowing down. The sharp turn and full stop has him blinking his eyes open.  

“Can you open the gate, Joey?” Slade asks, his voice sounds tired. 

The car beeps and the interior lights come on as Joey hops out of the car. In the illumination of the headlights, Joey opens the gate and Slade pulls through, the car dinging sharply for moving with a door open. Jericho closes the gate behind them and slips back into the Jeep. 

The crunch of gravel under the tires is the only thing that breaks the silence. 

It is dark so Dick can’t make out much of his surroundings, besides some big trees, as they ascend up a sloping hill.  Exterior lights illuminate a wraparound porch of a one-story cabin.

Slade parks the car beside the house and shuts off the engine. “Let’s get everything inside.” He leads the way out of the car and up the stone steps onto the wooden veranda.  

The mercenary digs in his jeans pocket for a moment, before pulling out the keys. As he goes about unlocking the multiple locks, Dick hikes a duffle bag higher on his shoulder and glances around. To his right he sees that the covered porch actually ends and has steps that lead toward the back yard, to the left there is a porch swing and the porch turns a corner to go around to the front of the house. 

The last lock finally clicks open, and Slade pushes open the door, and flicks on the lights. Dick steps inside, finding himself in the middle of a kitchen/dining room. 

The dining area flows right into the living room. There is a stone fireplace, a couch, a recliner and a secretary desk. The walls are wood paneled, and the floor is hardwood as well. Wandering forward down the short hallway, Dick pauses looking at the dozens of photographs framed on the walls. 

“Bathroom, my bedroom, Joey’s room, guest room.” Slade points out the four different doors in the hall, as he comes up behind him. 

Dick doesn’t really pay attention to what the man is saying as he studies a group of photos, his eyes catching on one particular photo of a black-haired teen sticking their head out a RV window. “That’s…. me.” 

 “Yeah, that is you.” Slade rolls his eye, like it is an obvious fact. 

Turning around Dick eye’s flicker over the collages, and realizes he is in quite a few photographs that only Slade could have taken. A realization suddenly hits Dick. “This is where you live.” 

 Slade pauses looking back from his bedroom doorway, his gaze softening. “Yes, this is home.”

Chapter Text

The call comes in three days later while Slade is working on his old pickup truck. He wipes the worst of the oil off his hands before snatching up his phone. 

“Billy.” 

“I found him. He is still in Ethiopia. I’ll send you over the exact location now. But my informant thinks he will be on the move soon.” 

“You have a jet ready?” Slade growls, jogging from the barn to the house. 

“Of course .” Billy snaps. 

“Usual place?” Slade makes sure the door doesn’t slam behind him as he comes into the kitchen. 

“Yes.” 

“I will be on the road in five. Will call you back when I’m at the airfield.” Slade hangs up before he gets confirmation. 

He moves through the living room over to the sunroom where Joey and Dick were watching a movie. Glancing through the glass doors he sees Joey sprawled on one couch watching the movie, while Dick is on the other couch dead asleep. 

Joey glances over when Slade opens the door. 

“Billy called. I’ll be gone for at least 36 hours. Might take longer if that piece of scum tries to make a run for it.” 

Joey’s slight confusion morphs into understanding then something cold and calculating as he signs: /Get rid of him. /

Slade meets his son’s eyes. “He is a dead man walking…… Keep an eye on Dick while I’m gone.” 

Slade drags one of the metal chairs to the center of the “abandoned building” and straddles the seat so that he is facing the door that he knows Joker will come strolling through in… his eye flick to his HUD… 30 seconds. 

He crosses his arms over the back of the chair, his left hand gripping his favorite pistol, his finger already on the trigger. 

The tang of fresh blood is strong in the stagnant air, as bodies are strewn around the large room. The Joker’s reign of terror was ending today. There would be no remaining followers or copycats. Deathstroke would make sure of that. 

Forcing his body to stay loose, Slade adjusts his grip on his gun as the door locks click. The door swings open to reveal Joker flanked by two goons and two guns-for-hire. The five men freeze when they immediately spot Deathstroke straight in front of them. The two mercenaries jump into action, but Slade drops them like flies before they can even pull their guns out of the holsters. 

The goons charge Slade. With his free hand, Deathstroke grabs his katana, and surges to his feet.  With two sweeping strokes the goons’ heads go tumbling to the floor, their bodies collapsing a moment later. Without missing a beat, Slade shoots right past Joker’s face when the psycho whirls towards the door, making the rogue freeze. 

“Leaving so soon? The party just started.” Slade sheaths his katana. 

“Strokey baby, long time no see.” Joker turns back around with a flourish, his red mouth pulling into a hair-raising smile. “What brings you to my humble abode?” 

“There is a bounty on your head.” Slade states. 

“Someone put a hit on little old me? Tsk, that is just no fun…… Whatever they are paying you. I will pay double.” Joker offers confidently. 

“I don’t think you understand.” Slade starts to circle the clown. “I’m the one that put a price on your head.” 

Joker freezes again. “What?” He snaps in disgust. 

“You took something that belonged to me.” Slade responds. 

“Lier! I did no such thing!” Joker yells defensively. 

“Robin wasn’t yours to kill.” 

“You are mistaken; the little birdy belonged to Batsy. See it’s a game we play-“

“And your game is over.”  Slade levels his pistol at the clown’s head.

 “You can’t kill me! You will ruin everything, you old poop!” Joker screeches.

Slade’s circling footsteps grind to a halt. His head twisting to fully face Joker as the nerve above his eye starts twitching. “Change of plans.” He mutters to himself as he holsters his pistol. 

The ever-present smile on Joker’s face drops as Slade deftly swipes a crowbar off the floor.  

“Hold on, let’s talk about this. It was just a slip of the tongue. Just a brief moment of insanity.” Joker laughs hysterically. “Don’t do something you will regret-“ Joker’s words are cut off as Slade surges forward and grabs the clown’s jaw in his hand. 

“I’ve heard enough. The only person laughing here will be me.” Slade growls as he crushes the Joker’s jaw like an aluminum can. 

The garbled scream echoes in the mostly empty room. 

Shoving the rogue to the ground, Slade stomps the clown’s ribs as the villain tries to scramble away, enjoying the sickening crack of bones. He raises the crowbar. “Now you will get to know what it feels like.”

Unlocking the door, Slade lets himself into the kitchen, dropping his tactical bag on one of the chairs. Most of the lights are off, but it is late, well past 1 a.m. Kicking off his boots, he strides past the living room and down the hall. He stops at Joey’s room first and lightly knocks on the door, an answering knock invites him in, so Slade opens the door to see Joey sprawled on his bed looking slightly haggard. 

“Anything happen while I was gone?” Slade questions. 

/Dick is mad at me and locked himself in his room. He thinks I knew where you went but wouldn’t tell him. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell him about the Joker. / Joey signs with a sigh. 

“I’ll talk to him.” Slade turns to head out of the bedroom but a throw pillow hitting his back has him swinging back around. “What?” 

/That clown is gone? / 

“Very much so.” Slade nods curtly. 

/Good…... Be careful with Dick. He hasn’t really slept or ate since you left. Sorry. / Joey looks guilty. 

“It’s not your fault…. Get some sleep.” Slade pulls the door shut behind him and takes the few strides over to Dick’s bedroom door. 

He knocks but doesn’t get an answer. “Dick if you don’t open this door in ten seconds… I will just unlock it with the key.” Slade warns. 

“Go away.” Dick’s voice sounds muffled like he is lying face down on the bed. 

“Joey told me that you are mad at him. He didn’t know where I was. I didn’t tell him.” 

“He knew something. I know he was lying to me. And you lied to. You said you weren’t going to take any jobs and were going to stay here all week. But you couldn’t even last three days.” Dick’s voice fills with venom. 

“I killed the Joker.” Slade cuts straight to the chase. 

Two seconds later the bedroom door flies open. “What?!” Dick’s eyes are as big as saucers.

“I left because we located the Joker. I killed him. Now I’m back.” Slade towers over the acrobat. 

“He’s dead?” Dick’s mouth drops open. 

“I burned the body.” Slade confirms. 

The mercenary had expected a lot of potential reactions but is caught off guard when Dick throws himself into Slade and starts sobbing. Hesitantly Slade wraps his arms around the young man, holding him steady as sobs wrack his body. After a couple minutes, the sobs tapper off and Dick looks up, face blotchy with watery eyes. 

“Thank you. He deserved to die after what he did to Jason… and….. I… I keep having nightmares that Joker would keep hurting everyone, my friends and family… and no one could ever stop him. Now… now maybe those dreams will stop.” Dick sniffs wetly and rubs the back of his hand across his eyes. 

“Your welcome….. My only regret is that I didn’t get rid of him sooner.” Slade admits. 

“Same …..” Dick croaks. 

“I’m never going to let that happen again. I promise.” Slade pulls his kid back into a hug.  

Chapter Text

~Approximately 2 years later ~

Slade sticks his head out the door and yells “Lunch!”

“YAY!” A voice cheers from somewhere in the backyard. 

Setting out the dishes of pulled-pork, collards and sweet rolls, Slade watches in vague amusement as three “kids” and a dog come stampeding through the sunroom into the kitchen, their faces flushed from the cool air that is just starting to warm with the blooming spring.  

“I’m starving!” Rose plops down in the nearest chair, out of breath. 

“Who lost?” Slade pours himself sweet tea and sits at the head of the table, Roscoe immediately comes and lays down at his feet, watching Slade with unerring focus. 

“Joey!” Rose gloats, her blue eyes dancing with mirth.  

/Only because you tripped me. / Joey accuses with a scowl, before dusting bits of grass and dirt off his shirt and jeans. 

“Did not.” Rose denies taking a bite of a roll. 

Dick scoffs from where he is filling up Roscoe’s water bowl at the sink. 

“You stay out of this.” Rose snaps. 

“Who won?” Slade prods, knowing it will most likely only make the argument worse. 

/Dick. As usual. / Joey rolls his eyes as he sits down. 

“Actually, it was Roscoe. He grabbed the ball first and then ran off with it.” Dick grins, setting the water bowl down and patting the Belgian Malinois. 

Slade is glad that his decision to get his kids a puppy had worked out so well, they all adored the dog. And no, it is NOT Slade’s dog no matter what his kids claim. The dog is just annoying and likes following him around the most. Probably has something to do with the fact that Slade did all his training, and takes him out for runs in the morning. But Roscoe isn't SLADE’S dog. Really! 

“ He thought it was funny.” Rose complains, pointing at the Malinois, who looks quite pleased with himself, his long pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

“What were you playing this time?” Slade questions in between bites. “Better not be extreme-monkey-in-the-middle. I don’t feel like taking any of you idiots to the hospital again.”

/No, it was extreme dodgeball. / Joey signs with a snicker. 

“Oh, because that is so much less dangerous.” Slade deadpans. 

“Because Deathstroke the Terminator would never allow us to do anything dangerous.” Dick fights to keep a straight face, while Joey and Rose descend into a fit of cackling. 

“Punks. At least there aren't enough of you to play Red-Rover.” Slade shakes his head in mock annoyance, before letting himself turn serious. “I got a call from Talia this morning.” 

“What did that witch want?” Dick spits, his mood going from playful to angry in about 2 milliseconds. 

Even now at 22 Dick’s temper and mood swings were not much better then when he was a teen. 

“She had a job offer.” Slade leans back in his chair till the wooden spindles creak under his weight. 

/Did you accept? / Joey questions. 

“Yeah, the Al Ghul’s always pay well and provide a stimulating work environment.” Slade had worked for Talia or Ra’s many times and each time proved to be novel in one or another. Slade liked the challenge. 

“What will you be doing? Training assassins?” Rose swipes Dick’s untouched roll off his plate. 

“Get your own.” Dick snaps, snatching it right out of her mouth. 

“Hey.” Rose squawks trying to grab the roll back. 

“Talia didn’t say who I would be training but I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t her little demon brat.” Slade resolutely ignores his kids’ squabble.

“She has a kid?” Rose perks up in interest, finally leaving Dick’s food alone.

 Rose’s knowledge in the capes and villains’ world was severely lacking compared to the boys, but she was trying to make up for that as fast as she could to be on the same level as her brothers. 

“Yeah. I’m not supposed to know about him. But… I know a lot of things I’m not supposed to.” Slade lets a lazy grin pull at his lips.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to be around those crazy kooks for any length of time. And especially not if I’m having to train some entitled demon’s spawn.” Dick growls poking at his food. 

“Good thing I’m not bringing you along then.” Slade downs the last of his tea. “And no Rose, you aren’t coming either. Talia specially told me to come alone, and it is supposed to last at least a month, so y’all need to make plans.” 

/Mom has been wanting me to come stay with her for a while so I will probably go see her. / Joey states. 

“I’ll go with you!” Rose smiles, making Joey’s freeze, his expression falling into discomfort. 

/Not that I don’t want you to go but…./ He hesitates.

“I’m just kidding. I know Adaline hates my guts. I will probably go to the Tower and hang out with the girls.” Rose shrugs.

 Slade is glad that she has made friends with members of the Titans and Young Justice.  

“What about you?’ Slade prompts his adopted son. 

“Probably go to the manor. See Alfred. Hang out with Tim. He has been begging for me to come visit basically every day.” Dick sighs, flicking his collard greens with his fork.  

“Don’t let Bats bother you again. If he bugs you, just go to the apartment. Don’t make yourself suffer because of your guilt or stupid savior complex.” Slade states bluntly. 

Two years ago, Dick would have lashed out over a critique like that, but now he just scowls, but in the end nods in agreement. 

“You can always come to the Tower. Kory will probably be there.” Rose wiggles one of her eye brows to go along with her feral grin. 

“Shut up.” Dick blusters, shoving a roll into her mouth as he gets up from the table, the tips of his ears going red.

“Who is keeping Roscoe this time?” Slade questions before Dick can run away and hide in his room. 

/Mom would have a cow if I brought him with me. / Joey rolls his eyes. 

“I could bring him to the Tower, even though I don’t think he likes being there very much.” Rose quirks her face thoughtfully. 

“I can bring him with me. He’ll love running around the manor grounds.” Dick states, his voice decided. 

“Perfect. I’m leaving in about….” Slade glances down at his watch. “Two hours. I want y’all on the road before then. 

“Fine.” All the kids grumble as they go trotting off to pack while Slade clears the table. He notices Roscoe watching him intently. He kneels down and runs his claused fingers through the dog’s short brown and black coat, and makes sure his collar and tags are attached securely. 

“You're supposed to be with Dick, you have a job to do. Go guard Dick.” Slade gives the command that he had trained the dog to respond to. Rescoe immediately whips around to go find the acrobat, and Slade starts packing up the leftovers into a cooler for Rose to take with her to the Tower.

Chapter Text

The manor door swings open before Dick can even reach for the knob. 

“Master Dick! What a pleasant surprise I wasn’t expecting you…” Alfred smile drops slightly when he notices the dog at his side. “I see you brought a guest.” 

“Oh, yeah. This is Roscoe. I’m taking care of him for some friends while they are on vacation. Don’t worry he is really well trained.” Dick assures the older man, patting the dog’s head.  

“As long as you are taking full responsibility for him.” Alfred steps aside and ushers Dick in. 

“Of course.” Dick nods, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulder. “Is Tim here?” 

“No, I am not actually sure where the lad is. I rarely do.” Alfred admits, as they make their way to the kitchen. 

“Gotcha. Guess I’ll just text him that I’m here.” Dick plops down on a stool at the huge kitchen island, dropping his back beside him. Roscoe immediately sits down beside the bag, watching Dick. 

“I have not heard from you lately, what have you been up to?” Alfred pulls out a fruit salad and a pitcher of lemonade from the mammoth double fridge. 

Dick chatters on about things he has been doing while he enjoys Alfred’s refreshments. And as always, the acrobat is careful not to say WHERE he has been or anything about his adoptive father or siblings. 

Roscoe at his heels, Dick heads upstairs to drop his bag off at his room; he pauses as he passes Bruce’s bedroom door, which is standing open. From his line of sight, he can see the king-sized bed and part of the wall. 

I wonder if Bruce keeps his favorite family pictures in his bedroom like Slade does? 

Wandering into the room, Dick glances around and is vaguely surprised to not see a single photo anywhere. Looking closer he checks the dresser top and bedside tables but still no photos. 

A flicker of disappointment licks at the depths of Dick’s gut. 

Slade had admitted on one particularly bad night that he liked having pictures of his kids in his bedroom so that it would be the last thing he saw before going to sleep and the first thing he saw when he woke up. 

A sick mixture of anger, and sadness swirls in Dicks stomach as he quickly heads into his room and unpacks the few things he had brought. Roscoe plops himself down on the rug beside the bed as Dick paces the room muttering to himself. 

Then a realization dawns on him. Bruce barely spent any time in his bedroom, maybe he kept his family pictures in his study where he spent most of his time at the manor. 

Wanting to investigate before Bruce got back from W.E. Dick makes his way back downstairs with Roscoe. His feet carrying him right up to the heavy oak door, he pushes it open and immediately clocks at half a dozen photos in small frames scattered about the room. 

Bingo!

A tendril of hope wraps it way around Dick’s heart as he moves forward around the room. But the spark of hope wavers as he inspects the different photos. All the pictures are formal portraits. One of young Bruce and his parents, one of Alfred. One of Dick from 8 th grade, one of Jason from school, same as Tim’s. The only picture that isn't professionally posed is a selfie that Dick had taken with Jason on their ski trip. 

Bruce doesn’t have any pictures of his kids because he didn’t take any pictures of us himself. 

Dick knows that somewhere Alfred has an album full of pictures from his Polariod camera that he has used for over forty years. He can distinctly remember Alfie pulling out the chunky camera every holiday and birthday to take a commemorative picture. 

I wonder if he still does that?

Dick frowns. 

He can’t remember the last time he had been at the manor during a holiday or event. Ever since Slade took him camping, Dick had spent every birthday and holiday with the Wilson’s. 

Does Alfred take photos of Tim like he did with me? 

Or that another thing that died with Jason? 

Light rain splatters against Dick’s rain jacket as he walks across the manor’s huge backyard. The sun has already set, and the clouded sky is quickly darkening, the world is cast in a dark blue-grey hue typical of Gotham. “I’ll just throw the ball a few more times, then we have to go in.” He reaches down and Roscoe immediately places the slobbery tennis ball in his hand. 

“Ready?... GO!” Dick throws the ball as far as he can, and the Malinois takes off across the slippery grass. It only takes Roscoe about ten seconds to grab the ball and come racing back. 

“Good boy.” Dick rubs his hand across the dog’s damp fur. He notices that Roscoe’s ears perk forward and he glances back at the manor. 

“DICK?” a voice calls through the rain. 

“Over here!” Dick calls back as Roscoe gets between him and Tim’s approaching figure. “Easy, Tim is a friend.” He drops his voice low as he lets the dog know to stand down. 

“You’re really here!” Tim grins as he jogs up. 

“Yep, told you I was gonna come.” Dick smiles back. 

“And I told you that I would believe it when I saw it.” Tim shoots back, before his eyes drop down. “You got a dog?” 

“It’s my friends’ dog; they were going on vacation so I’m taking care of Roscoe till they get back.” Dick explains. 

“I thought most people took their pets with them on vacation?” Tim eyes the dog curiously. 

“Where they were going wasn’t pet friendly.” Dick shrugs. 

“Oh…. So, like the Maldives. I saw an article that said dogs weren’t allowed there.” 

“Yeah, basically.” Dick nods, finding it slightly hilarious insinuating that Slade training assassins in Nanda Parbat is similar to someone vacationing in the Maldives. But deciding to steer the conversation away from his adopted family Dick throws his arm around Tim’s shoulder and starts heading back up to the manor. “So what have you been up to today? Alfie said he had no idea where you’ve been all day?”……. 

“- then I said, ‘if you don’t stop arguing I’ll revoke your videogame privileges for a month!’ and I’ve never seen Wally stop arguing so fast! It was hilarious.” Dick chatters between bites of food. 

“Yeah, if Bart is bored can literally argue for hours, which is why I try to come up with stuff from him to do.” Tim chimes in. 

“So, you’ve been spending most of your time at Titans Tower? I’ve noticed you don’t stay much in Bludhaven anymore.” Bruce’s tone is casual, but Dick has been around long enough to know when the man is fishing for information.

“Yeah, been busy. Couple of the Titans have had me help them with stuff lately. Had to put Blud on the backburner. But I figure I’ll go stay there for a bit when I leave.” Dick stuffs a fork-full of pasta into his mouth.

“Master Dick, manners please.” Alfred huffs refilling everyone's glasses. 

“Sorry.” Dick mumbles with his mouth full, earning an exasperated sigh from the butler. 

“When are you leaving?” Tim fiddles with his food. ‘ You just got here’ goes unsaid but is obviously on the tip of the teen’s tongue. 

“I’m not sure. Depends on how things go.” Dick can’t stop his eyes from cutting over to Bruce, and of course everyone notices. 

“I’m sure everything is going to go swimmingly.” Alfred shoots a stern look at Bruce who just gives a ‘ I haven’t done anything ?’ look. 

The rest of dinner goes as usual. A little too tense to be truly enjoyable, but not stressful enough to make Dick lose his appetite. 

“Are you going to patrol with us tonight?” Tim questions as they walk out of the dining room. 

Dick hesitates. “No, I don’t think so. I’m exhausted. Plus, I think leaving Roscoe alone in a strange place wouldn’t be good for him. Maybe tomorrow night.”  

“Yeah… okay. See you in the morning then I guess.” Tim slinks away, shoulders drooping in disappointment. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to patrol? Tim was really looking forward to going out with you.” Bruce comes walking up beside him. 

“No, I’m too tired. My reaction time wouldn’t be good enough. I would put him in danger.” Dick sighs. 

“Did you just get back from a mission? Are you hurt?” Bruce questions, his eyes narrowing in concern. 

“Nah. I just drove for hours to get here. Driving always makes me sleepy.” Dick yawns. Truthfully, Dick is really just used to having a semi-normal sleep schedule, but he didn’t feel like revealing that to Bruce. 

Bruce’s eyes flicker across Dick’s face like he knows his former ward is keeping something from him, but as usual he doesn’t push. “Okay. Go get some sleep then.” With that the man disappears down the hall towards his office. 

“Be safe.” Dick calls after him, before heading in the opposite direction towards the stairs.

Lying in bed, Dick pulls out his phone, and taps open the family group chat. 

Richie Rich 

So far so good…..

 I’m not going out tonight. 

Jonny Quest: 

Same!

Me and mom are having a Star Trek marathon. 

Bamm-Bamm: 

Me and Kory are gossiping about Dick. 

And boy does she have some juicy stories! 0.0

Richie Rich: 

Please stop 

Bamm-Bamm: 

No <3 

Richie Rich: 

I hate you -_-

Fred Flintstone: 

Dick, don’t talk to your sister like that. 

Rose, quit being a rat faced skunk. 

Bamm-Bamm:

Just… wow. 

Think I liked ‘I hate you’ better 

Jonny Quest: 

What does ‘rat faced skunk’ even mean???

Fred Flintstone: 

You will understand when you are older. 

Jonny Quest: 

I am older 

Bamm-Bamm

How is dad texting if he is flying a plane?

Fred Flintstone: 

I’m a criminal I text and drive 

Richie Rich:

I cannot deal with you people. I’m going to sleep. 

Bamm-Bamm:

Sleep is for the weak!

Richie Rich:

Guess I’m weak then. 

Bamm-Bamm:

Kory said “Yes Dick is very weak”

Richie Rich:

No, she did not!

*Typing* 

*Typing* 

*Typing* 

Fred Flintstone:

Rose

 Stop causing trouble in the group chat

 Go to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Your reaction times are getting faster.” Slade adds a sliver of approval into his tone, and predictable the little prince’s face lights up. 

Damian schools his features and nods solemnly, which is hilarious when the kid can’t be older than 7 or 8. “Of course. I strive for perfection in every area of my life.” 

“I think that is enough sparring for today. Probably would be best to do some stretches to avoid injury.” Slade recommends, even though the “sparing” barely had him breaking a sweat. 

“An excellent idea.” Damian agrees moving over to the shade of the small courtyard they have been training in all morning. 

As they move through different stretches, Slade lets the silence stretch between them for a few minutes before his eye catches on the cat that he had been seen around the last few days. Having prepared for this exact scenario, he pulls a piece of jerky out of his pocket and makes some clicking noises with his mouth, catching the feline’s attention. He dares to glance over at the tiny Al Ghul heir. The boy is staring wide eyed, his green eyes bouncing from Slade to the cat. 

It only takes a moment for the cat to come trotting over, and Slade tosses it some bits of jerky. The cat happily licks up the dried meat. 

“Here. You feed it.” Slade tosses the jerky to Damian, who looks like he could burst with excitement. 

Again, Slade watches the boy interact with the cat for a few minutes before speaking. “If I had known animals were allowed in Nanda Parbat I would have brought my dog with me.” 

“You have a dog?” Damian’s eyes immediately snap up to Slade’s face, from where he had coaxed the cat close enough to pet its head. 

Bingo. 

“Yep, got him almost two years ago as a puppy.” Slade states casually, pretending to work on a side stretch. 

“Oh… what breed is he?” Damian can’t keep the curiosity out of his voice. 

“Belgian Malinois. Highly intelligent. Working drive is out of this world. Makes a great guardian.” The mercenary sits on the ground and folds forward, stretching his legs and back. 

“I have read a great deal about that breed, they do make excellent working dogs…. What is your dog’s name?” Damian feeds the cat the last bit of jerky.

“Roscoe…… I think I have a picture of him somewhere on my phone.” Slade pulls his phone out of his pocket and pretends to search through his photos, even though he had a whole folder dedicated to the dog. “Ah, I knew I had some.” Slade turns the phone around and Damian scoots closer to get a better look.

The boy’s eyes are sparkling with interest as he studies the photo. “He looks to be in top condition.” 

“Yeah, I take him out for a couple mile run most every morning and with all my kids playing with him, Roscoe stays busy.” Slade nods, pulling up a different photo of the dog. 

“I wish I could meet Roscoe one day.” Damian states wistfully…. Or as wistful as a tiny assassin is allowed to be. 

“I’ll see if I can bring him next time your mom hires me…. or maybe you can do some training with me in the States some day when you’re a bit older.” Slade shrugs. 

“Why when I am older? I am not some plebeian child. I can handle any situation better then someone double or even triple my age!” The little prince huffs indignantly. 

“That is true. You are more mature than most grown men that I work for.” Slade snorts, and Damian puffs up with pride like a peacock. 

The first day when Slade arrived Talia had brought him to watch Damian train with an instructor. It had been so painfully obvious how much Daiman was starving for approval, how he would look up at his trainer with veiled hope after every new maneuver, only for his face to twist in hurt when the instructor always just barked for him to do the action or movement again. Never any praise or encouragement, only reprimand. 

So as he trained the little assassin, Slade had made a point to lightly praise (he didn’t want to come off as fake or patronizing) the kid whenever he did something well. The little prince ate up the compliments like a starving man. Damian has only known Slade for two weeks and already the kid hangs on every word that comes out of Slade’s mouth. It makes something in his stomach churn.

Earning the kid’s trust pays off when the screaming starts up again. 

“What the heck is that?” Slade scowls, lifting up from a deep stretch. 

Damian hesitantly looks around the small courtyard, making sure it is empty. “It is the American.” 

“Who?” Slade raises an eyebrow. 

“Mother’s pet project… Grandfather has taken to calling him Mother’s abomination since she put him in the Pit.” Damian’s voice is barely above a whisper. 

“The Lazarus Pit?”

“Yes, mother put him in against Grandfather’s wishes. But she was just trying to heal his mind. He had been catatonic for well over a year and was not recovering.” Damian’s façade cracks for a moment before he soothes out his expression again. 

“Is that why is screaming? From Pit Rage?” Slade struggles to keep the interest out of his tone. 

“Partially…. But he screamed a lot before the Pit too…. He has always nightmares, even at the very beginning.” Damian’s voice goes quiet, taking on a sad note. 

“But this is the middle of the day?” Slade frowns. 

“Yes, he is…… mostly nocturnal. He trains at night, sleeps during the day. But he always has night terrors that wake him after only a few hours.”

It is blatantly obvious from Damian’s tone and facial expressions that the boy is or was quite close with the mysterious American. 

“I wonder what he dreams about that would cause him to scream like that?” Slade is genuinely curious about the answer, because the screams are bone chilling, and frankly alarming. It is almost like clockwork. The screaming starts around lunch. It lasts anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes. Everyone seems to completely ignore the hair-raising screams, except for Damian who flinches anytime he hears it. 

“When he died.” The words are out of Damian’s mouth before the boy even thinks about it. 

“He died?” Slade can help the way his eyes flair a wider, as his heart rate suddenly kicks into a higher gear. 

Damian’s hand slaps against his mouth, as horror fills his little face. “I should not have told you that. I swore not to tell you anything about him. Mother is going to be so cross with me.” The kid starts to look panicked. 

“Hey, calm down. You haven’t told me anything.” Slade holds his hands up. 

“What?” Daiman hesitates, in confusion. 

“What were we just talking about? Because I honestly don’t remember.” Slade stares up at the sky then shrugs. “Guess it wasn’t important.” 

Damian heaves a sigh, when he catches on. “Thank you.”  

“Not a problem, kid.” 

The next day when the screaming starts, Damian is eating lunch, so Slade finally is able to investigate on his own. Following the throat shredding sound, he finds himself heading towards the royal quarters. He isn’t stopped by any guards till he enters the bedchamber hall. Multiple ninjas come surging forward with swords drawn, while a few others disappear inside the room the screaming is coming from. 

“What is going on? Why is someone screaming?” Slade plays dumb. 

“It is none of your concern.” One of the guards’ snaps, pointing his sword at Slade’s chest. 

Slade snarls and slaps the sword tip away. “Watch it, or I’ll shove your sword up your-“ 

“What is going on here?” A familiar voice has Slade spinning around, to face the Demon’s Head. 

“I want to know why someone starts screaming like they’ve been stabbed every day when I’m wanting to eat lunch, makes me lose my appetite.” Slade crosses his arms, staring at Ra’s. 

“How could you even…?…. Ah yes, enhanced hearing. Of course. It is unfortunate that it bothers you. I shall see to it that my servants put a stop to it.” Ra’s clasps his hands behind his back looking annoyed. 

“Good.” Slade nods. He stalls for a little bit longer, asking questions about Damian’s training and giving a report of how things are progressing with Damian’s dual-wielding sword and gun practice. 

Finally, he catches a glance of what he has been waiting for. A flash of red emerges from the room with the other assassins all clad in black. 

Slade can tell the red ninja is the one who has been screaming by how the others shy away from him, and the fact that the man, or boy, who knows who old he is, rubs his throat. The masked assassin freezes when he spots Slade. They lock eyes, even though the ninjas are hidden behind a strange pair of goggles, Slade can feel the weight of his gaze. 

But in a split second the ninja darts away down the closest hall out of sight. 

Slade frowns. 

Ra’s glances from the mercenary to the hall, with a calculating gaze…. 

Chapter Text

Arms crossed impassively, Slade watches as one ninja runs a spear through his opponent’s gut. The warrior screams in agony and collapses. Servants scurry from the sidelines and drag the injured man away. The victor returns to the starting point on the other side of the fighting pit. 

Slade spares a glance at the little boy standing beside him. Though Damian’s face is completely blank, the mercenary doesn’t miss the way the child’s heartbeat and breathing stutters whenever a warrior is injured or killed. 

Many people would call Deathstroke a cold-hearted killer, but Slade would never purposely make a child watch this meaningless gory violence.

Ra’s wouldn’t have called us away from training for no reason…

 I wonder what that wrinkly old walnut is up to? 

Slade’s eye cuts over to the old man, who claps his hands together sharply. 

“Next.” 

The next opponent appears out of the small crowd that is gathered around the pit. Slade purposely slows his quicker inhale as the mysterious ninja in red jumps down into the fighting ring, boots sinking in the mud created by blood and rain. 

Red moves to the opposite starting point, pushing off his hood to reveal wavy black hair with a tuft of pure white at the top of the forehead. Goggles and a red muzzle mask cover most of his face. 

Slade keeps himself completely still to not reveal his interest in the red ninja as the opponents bow, and the fight begins. 

The first ten seconds are like the previous dozen fights, flashy flips, kicks, and katana techniques. But as the battle continues things escalate. Each strike getting more precise and deadly.  

Red is a sight to behold, a blur of glowing green eyes and fury. Every strike and parry are sharp and powerful. He moves like a man possessed. But after being killed and thrown into the Lazarous…. Maybe he is. 

Time drags on. Both warriors start to flag, moves getting slower, both of them now covered head to toe in the mire. Most fights last a matter of seconds, but this one is already ticking past two minutes. Red grows more vicious; his opponent has no choice but to retreat under the powerful blows. 

Thanks to his Deathstroke mask, Slade can smirk freely when Red quickly gets the upper hand, driving his opponent to the ground. But instead of executing the finish strike, Red just returns to his starting point, and turns to the Demon’s Head with a bow. 

“Finish him.” Ra’s commands with a flick of his wrist. 

Red looks up sharply. “Grandf-“ 

“Finish. Him.” Ra’s cuts Red off, leaning forward. 

Red slowly makes his way back over to the opponent who is now kneeling with his head bowed, resigned to his fate. Lifting his word, Red hesitates, obviously not wanting to kill the other man. 

“Do it.” Ra’s hisses. 

With shaking hands, Red lifts his sword and with a shout of rage he plunges it down. But it impales the ground instead of the warrior. 

“You refuse to follow my command?” Ra’s is frowning but his eyes dance with mischief. 

“It’s not right.” The masked ninja’s voice is young but full of steel as he stares down at the kneeling warrior before him. 

“Akhi, no.” Damian’s whisper is so soft Slade wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been listening to the boy’s sharp breaths. 

“Very well.” Ra’s flicks his hand and the four guards that had been standing around the Demon’s Head leap down into the pit, katanas drawn.

Slade grabs Damian’s shoulder as the child lurches forward. 

Quick as a blink, Red yanks his katana back out of the mud and blocks the first sword that would have taken off his head. He spins, blocking the other strikes and does a series of backflips to get out of range of the next volley of slices. But the fighting pit is only so big, and the red ninja hits the steep embankment, throwing him off balance, as the four guards rush forward. The first guard throws a right hook that catches Red on the jaw, making him stagger. Another guard then slams the hilt of his sword down on the back of Red’s head, sending the smaller ninja to the ground. 

Red lifts his head, and the guard rips off Red’s mask and goggles. Slade’s heart jolts, his eye narrowing as he finally sees Red’s full face. Even under the coating of sweat and mud, Slade recognizes the scowling mouth, clenched jaw, and furrowed brow.  

Jason????

But how? 

Jason is dead.

Damian’s words come rushing back. 

Died

Thrown in the Lazarous pit. 

Mind swirling in surprise, Slade watches as one of the guards grabs Red by the back of the neck and shoves his face back down into the four inches of mud.  

“Akhi!” Damian cries out as Jason drops his sword, wildly thrashing against the hand that is trying to suffocate him. 

“Go to your quarters, now.” Slade shoves the child away as he whips out his katana. 

“But-“ Damian looks up desperately. 

“Go.” Slade orders 

Thankfully the little prince listens and goes running away from the fighting pits. Not wasting another second Slade launches himself into the air, causing a shout to go up from the crowd. 

He can’t let Jason die again. Dick would never forgive him. 

Mud splatters everywhere as Slade lands in the pit, rushing forward, slicing through the royal guards like they were made of butter. 

The man holding Jason whips around aiming for Slade’s throat. The mercenary doges the blow, fakes a strike, ducks below the parry, then guts the guard like a fish. He leaps forward to help Jason, who is coated in sludge, coughing and gagging up mire, trying to push himself up on shaking arms. 

Hefting Jason up with one arm, Slade whips out his Glock and shoots the five ninjas that are leaping into the pit. They are all dead before they reach the ground

 “Take them!” Ra’s voice rings out over the chaos. 

 Slade grabs Jason and unceremoniously tosses him up out of the pit, making the teen yelp as he flies through the air. Slade leaps up beside him, throws Jason over his shoulder, and sprints towards the small airfield a few hundred yards away. 

Hearing dozens of running feet behind him, Slade wildly shoots into the pursuing assassins, barely glancing over his shoulder. Strangely there is no return fire, which is worrying. Jason tries to fight against Slade’s hold, but he is still gagging, struggling to clear his lungs. The mercenary just holds the teen tighter, as he runs. 

Slade zeros in on a small plane that is closest to them, which isn’t covered with camouflage netting like all the other planes and helicopters. Skidding to a halt, Slade yanks the door open and shoves Jason inside, before climbing in behind him. 

“Buckle up, kid.” Slade orders, thrusting Jason into the copilot seat before maneuvering himself into the pilot’s seat. 

“Wha-?” Jason tries to speak but descends into a coughing fit. 

“Put on your freaking seat belt, we are taking off.”  Slade grabs the straps and starts pulling them in place for Jason. The teen snarls wetly, slapping his hand away, leaving a muddy handprint on Slade’s arm. But Jason does fasten the seat belt begrudgingly.  

Slade quickly buckles himself in, while flicking on the right switches to make the engines roar to life. A few seconds later the plane is taxiing down the dirt runway. Furrowing his brow, he glances to the side to see the group of ninjas just standing off to the side. And he could swear he could see Ra’s in the mix, waving at them. 

What is going on? 

But it is too late for second guessing, Slade guides the plane into the air. A knot sits in his gut. 

Something is wrong. 

Escaping was too easy. 

This has to be a setup. 

Worried, Slade’s eyes flicker to all the gauges and dials. 

Everything looks fine though….. 

I need to put this plane down and find a different means of transportation as soon as possible… 

“What are you doing?!” Jason sputters angrily, as he watches the ground get farther and farther away. 

“Saving your life?” Slade raises an eyebrow behind his mask. 

“I don’t need anyone to save my life! I had it handled!” The teen nearly screams. 

“Oh really? ‘Cause to me it looked like you were being drowned in the mud.” Slade counters, noting that the kid’s eyes are now al Ghul green instead of aqua blue. 

“I could’ve gotten away on my own!” Jason sneers. 

“Oh, and prey tell how?” Slade scoffs. 

“I would have stabbed the guy with my dagger.” Jason retorts, again trying to rub the mud off his face but failing.  

“And the next guy would’ve just killed you then.” Slade rolls his eye. 

“No!... But if worst came to worst, Talia would just throw me in the Pit again. It would have been fine.” Jason clenches his fists, hissing.

“Yeah, no. Dick would have killed me if I let something happen to you.” Slade shakes his head, watching the instruments and the sky around him. 

“What has he got to do with anything?” Jason scowls harder, looking like a drowned rat.

 “Kid… there is a lot that you don’t understand.” Slade sighs. 

“Well, I could say the same thing about you.” Jason spits. “Like the fact that you are ruining everything! All my plans! I was supposed to leave for Dubai yesterday, but Ra’s wouldn’t let me go because of you!” 

“What’s in Dubai?” Slade frowns. 

“An urban tracking and special weapons expert.” Jason huffs, crossing his arms. 

“Why go all the way to Dubai? Surely the al Ghul’s had people that could teach that.” Slade keeps his eye scanning all the instruments warily. 

“I’ve been training all over the world so that I can go back to Gotham and get my revenge.” Jason’s glowing green eyes become even more eerily and haunted with his words. 

“Revenge? Against who?” Slade glances at the scanner and strangely there are no planes taking off, following them. 

“Batman! Who do you think!!? I died and he didn’t avenge me! He replaced me!” Jason is getting so worked up he is gasping for air. “If he had cared about me at all he wouldn’t have let Joker live!” 

Ah, so that is what this is all about. 

 “Jason. Joker is dead.” 

“What?” Jason’s eyes widen before his expression shutters. “No, no. He’s alive. Talia showed me proof. Batman didn’t avenge me. He didn’t kill him!” 

“No, Batman didn’t kill him.” Slade pulls off his mask so he can look the teen in the eye. “I did.” 

The teen’s mouth moves but no sound comes out. “Wha- No, you’re lying.” Jason accuses finally finding his voice. 

“I’m not. He was still in Ethiopia when I tracked him down.”

Jason inhales sharply, green eyes as big as saucers. 

“Then I burned his body. Stank to high heaven but it was worth it.” Slade wrinkles his nose, recalling the stench.  

Jason’s arms wrap around himself in the imitation of a hug. “Why?”

“Because he killed you.” The mercenary states plainly. 

“You killed Joker… for me?” Jason looks bewildered. 

“Mostly did it for Dick. He was crushed when he found out you were dead. Was having nightmares about the clown. Decided to do something about it.” Slade shrugs. 

“Oh.” Jason’s voice is suddenly very quiet. Hurt. 

“But I should apologize to you.” Slade adds. 

“What for?” Jason’s eyes cut over to Slade suspiciously.  

“I should have ended Joker a long time ago. I assumed Bats would keep you away from him. But I was wrong, and you ended up dead …. I promised myself I would never make that mistake again….. I also beat Joker to death with a crowbar so he would know what it felt like.” Slade explains soberly. 

“Oh.” Jason sucks in a deep breath, eyes filling with tears.

“Dick is probably gonna faint when he sees you though. So just a warning.” Slade smirks, trying to lighten the mood. Dealing with a weepy ex child vigilante, turned zombie assassin while 10,000 feet in the air in a potentially rigged plane did not sound fun. 

“Yeah? I guess he wouldn’t expect for the dead kid to show up on his doorstep.” Jason gives a crooked, albeit slightly watery, smile. 

“Probably not… It will be a good surprise though. Just as long as someone catches Dick before he hits the floor.” Slade huffs. 

Shifting uncomfortably, Jason looks like he wants to ask a question.

“What is it?” Slade prods. 

“What is your relationship to Dick? You are talking about him like you are really close.” Jason looks nervous. 

“I adopted him when he turned 21. But he has been living with me since he was seventeen.” Slade reveals. 

Jason’s mouth drops open, but then he freezes. “Was it you? With the fancy soap?!” He gasps. 

“Fancy soap?” Slade frowns. 

“Yes! At Dick’s apartment. It was you, wasn’t it? With the expensive shampoo and stuff! And the food! Heck, I was so worried about Dick. And it was just your ugly old mug all along!” Jason laughs in relief. 

“Excuse you. I look amazing for my age.” Slade feigns offence, making Jason laugh again. 

Slade likes the sound. He could get used to that. 

“How could you let Deathstroke take Jason!!??” Talia rages. 

“I told you, there was no stopping him. He killed a dozen warriors and injured a dozen more.” Ra’s reiterates. 

“You couldn’t stop ONE man!” Talia hisses, outraged. 

“Slade Wilson is not just a man. You know that.” Ra’s counters. 

“I should have never had Slade come to train Damian.” Talia clenches her fists. “Where is Damian? I haven’t seen him yet.” 

“I believe he is in his room, Wilson sent him away from the fighting pits. I imagine he is upset that your abomination is gone.” Ra’s tries his best to keep his glee out of his expression, but must fail if the glare Talia gives him is any indication. 

“You are happy Jason is gone.” Talia accuses.

“What?? Me? Why would I be happy that my warriors were slaughtered and someone under my protection was kidnapped? It is a great humiliation for such a thing to happen right under my nose.” Ra’s solemnly shakes his head, pressing a hand to his chest. 

“You are impossible.” Talia snaps, before marching off towards the sleeping quarters. 

Not being able to keep the smile off his face, Ra’s saunters back to his study. 

I have finally rid myself of that menace. 

I shall have peace and quiet once again!

But the peace is short lived; only a few minutes later Talia comes bursting into the room. 

“Damian is gone!”