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Slade buries Grant in a simple coffin, in a suit he should have worn as an adult. Not a lifeless seventeen year old. The ceremony is small. Just himself, Adeline, and his two remaining children. No one speaks, there’s no priest or funeral director to give them empty words of comfort. The family simply stands and watches as dirt settles atop a wooden box.
Slade stays long after his eldest son is buried. Long after Adeline has taken the children home - still without a word and that in itself is word enough. He stays, still as a statue, until a HIVE agent finds him.
“We would like to offer you your son's failed contract. To take out the Titans.” The man states after the empty pleasantries have been spoken. Slade feels fury alight in his chest but he keeps his anger from his tone. It’s a customary offer. As his son and protege, Grant’s failed contract will reflect on Slade’s reputation. In any other situation, this offer would be a kindness.
But they are standing at his son’s grave. Six feet above one of the few people Slade cares for.
HIVE injected his son with an experimental drug. They insulted his son’s ability and in doing so they killed him. All while the Titan’s watched and refused to use the antidote that had already saved Robin’s life.
“Of course.” Slade says, turning away from the grave to follow the HIVE agent.
He’ll destroy HIVE first. Then he’ll turn his attention to the Titans.
It takes Slade almost a year to dismantle HIVE because he does it properly. He destroys every base, every agent, every scrap of information about the organization. What was once a legacy of budding supervillains and child soldiers becomes a warning for anyone and everyone who might think to hurt what is his.
And the Titans know it.
Because Slade does not leave evidence, he leaves a message. He lets a handful of HIVE agents escape. Trainees (children, although he doesn't acknowledge their youth) that run to the Titans for protection. He leaves bodies and scraps in areas the Titans will find. As much as he despises the group, Slade knows they’re smart. They’ll put the pieces together and know he’s coming.
It’s what he wants.
He wants to watch them try, and wants to watch them fail. To hide from him, fight him, beg him. He wants hope to spark in their eyes right before he snuffs them out. To try everything and fail. To suffer in the knowledge that there is nothing they can do. That they can’t stop him.
Fortunately for them, Adeline can.
Slade finds her sitting in his Jump City safehouse, a cup of whiskey poured for each of them. They haven’t spoken since Grant’s death - barely spoke before that either.
“You’re not going after the Titans.” She states, not even turning to look at him as he walks in behind her.
“You can’t stop me.” Slade states right back. Adeline is a capable mercenary in her own right and maybe if Slade were human she could stop him, but he isn’t.
“Joey joined them.” She says, raising her glass to down almost the entire thing.
“ What?! ” Slade growls. “How could you let that happen?! They killed Grant!”
“Face the facts Slade.” Adeline scoffs, turning to finally look at him. Her glare is as cold as ever. “We’re terrible parents. You’re over-bearing, I’m over-protective. We pushed our kids away now Grant is dead, Joey’s playing superhero, and Rose is gone.”
“Gone?!” Slade takes a step forward, hand clenched tight at his side. Anyone else would go running, Adeline doesn’t even flinch. “How could you let this happen ?” He demands, again.
“Maybe it wouldn’t have if you’d been here.” Adeline snaps.
“I was avenging our son!” Slade shouts back.
“You were throwing a temper tantrum!” Adeline claims. “I might not have done a good job but at least I fucking tried to be there for our grieving kids.”
“You did a fucking shit job if you let Joey join the people that killed our son.” Slade growls, taking another step forward.
“I’d sooner blame you for Grant’s death than them.”
Anyone else wouldn’t take another breath after words like those. Hell, anyone else would have been long dead by now. Adeline knows that. Just as she knows that he won’t kill her. The mother of his children, the love of his life at one point. She might be the lowest on the list of living people he cares about, but that still makes her fourth.
Adeline stands, downing the second cup of whiskey on the table. “You aren’t killing those kids.” Slade scoffs at the term. Sure, the group is unofficially called the Teen Titans but they’re old enough to have killed his son (and Slade refuses to acknowledge that some of them are younger than Grant was, even if it’s obvious in their faces). “Joey has a home with them. You aren’t ruining the happiness we couldn’t give him.”
“He had a home with either of us.” Slade argues.
“If he believed that, he wouldn't have joined the Titans.” Adeline claims. “Grants not coming back Slade. But maybe if you shaped up as a father, Joey and Rose will.” She leaves before Slade can get another word in.
Slade doesn’t kill the Titans. He watches them - closely - and he sees Joey smile for the first time in… longer than Slade would like to admit. He watches his son’s flourish in a way Slade never managed. From his abilities as a fighter, to the powers he’s been so frightened of, to his confidence.
He watches Joey come home.
Joey goes to Adeline first, spurred on after watching Raven face her father. Some months later he knocks on Slade’s door.
‘Most of the Titans have no parents or shit parents.’ He explains, somewhat anxiously, when Slade asks why he’s there. ‘You’re not a great parent but I know you love us and that’s more than most Titans have so… ’ He trains off with a shrug.
“I don’t think your friends would be happy about this.” Slade points out, unable to help the way he spits the word ‘friend’.
‘They know. It was N’s idea.’ Joey signs with an unconfident shrug.
“N?” Slade repeats and his son freezes up.
‘Nightwing.’ He finger spells, hesitantly. It takes all the effort Slade has not to growl at the Titan leader's name, at the person he holds most responsible for Grant’s death. But he manages because Joey looks ready to run at a moment's notice. Grant’s never coming home but Joey is standing right here and Slade doesn’t want to lose him.
So he holds back his anger and he gestures Joey inside.
‘Are you going to hurt the Titans? ’ Joey finds the courage to ask after months of monthly dinners and easing conversation. Slade ponders the question. He knows his answer, he’s just not sure if it’s a lie or not.
“Not for free.” He eventually says, entirely truthfully. Joey’s shoulders relax, taking that for what it is - the best he’s going to get.
Slade keeps his word, even as the fourth anniversary of Grant’s death passes. Over the years he keeps his eyes on the Titan’s and keeps his ears out for a contract, but he doesn’t hurt them. Even when they get in the way of a job, he ensures he’s gentle. Well, gentle for him.
No jobs come up.
More frustratingly, Slade can’t seem to cling to his anger. Even as the Titan’s grow, Joey adores the original team and shares every good story he has. How much help Raven is in training his powers, how thrilled he was when he realized he was older than Beast Boy, how smart Cyborg is, how interesting Starfire’s planet sounds. Mundane stories about training and pranks and birthdays, more stressful stories about the realities of being a teenage hero. Joey shares them all and makes it impossible for Slade to ignore that they really are just teens. Kids. Ones that have grown up much too fast.
Slade hates that he notices. He despises the anger that pools in his stomach everytime the Justice League interacts with these literal children. Pulls them into battles and gives them responsibilities they should be too young to handle. Responsibilities they handle anyway, because they have no choice.
He tells himself the concern is only for Joey. That he could care less about these issues except for how they impact his son - and his daughter, who’s started hanging around the lot.
Wintergreen doesn’t believe him and because he has no self-preservation - because he knows he doesn’t need it - he enjoys pointing out the concern Slade pretends he doesn’t feel. Especially when the mercenary can’t help but rant or get involved when he shouldn’t.
“They’re making children soldiers.” Slade claims, as he often does. Like he’s not well aware the various Titan towers have more civilian residents than heroic ones. Like he doesn’t know the Titans approach every teen with support if they choose to fight and encouragement when they choose not to.
“Young Justice is smaller than ever.” Wintergreen hums, slicing through Slade’s intentional ignorance immediately. Young Justice does produce child soldiers, has since before the Titan’s formed. Slade will never admit to getting John Constantine drunk enough to rant about it once. How the Justice League thought their Young Justice scheme would protect the children while they ‘got it out of their system’, somehow unaware that no child would have the guts to quit when Superman was their boss. If they even managed to get over their hero worship in the first place.
Nightwing had, Constantine and Wintergreen both acknowledged, and he’d managed to do what the League couldn’t.
Slade refused to give the Titan’s leader any credit. His rage at the other Titan’s may have faded, but not for the leader. No one knows how old the vigilante was - the other Titan’s didn’t even know his name - but he has to be an adult. He started earlier than most heroes, back when even Superman was a tabloid story and well before anyone believed Batman was real. There was barely any evidence of his tenure as Robin and none of it was from the early days. Best estimates said he was with Batman for 5-8 years and considering the next two Robins - three, if you include the short stint of the female Robin - were mid-teens. Batgirl and Spoiler - the other young heroes of Gotham - were also clearly teenagers when they started and the new Oracle - who may or may not have been Batgirl, no one’s managed to confirm - is an adult. To Slade it’s clear Nightwing - still Robin then - was, at youngest, 18 when he showed up in Jump City, more likely he was in his 20s.
Grant died a few months after the Titan’s formed. A few months after Nightwing showed up. Nightwing gathered a team of children and watched Slade’s son die when he had access to an antidote.
Nothing Joey says, no story about how Nightwing saved his life or how great a friend and trainer he is, will ease the anger Slade still feels towards him. If anything, they make it worse. As do many other things about the hero that Slade has kept a close eye on.
The man claims himself a hero but Slade’s fairly certain he’s doing it for attention. That he’s truly an angry man just looking for a reason to hurt people. Why do so much work for the League even after striking out? Especially when it’s clear Nightwing has no interest in joining the group and being beholden to their rules. Grant’s not the only death he’s caused either, even if the Joker didn’t stay dead. Nightwing likes to spread the gossip that he was angry over the second - dead - robin and protecting the third. Which held up until he got so buddy-buddy with the new Gotham crime lord Red Hood. The very same one that beat the third Robin to near death a year ago. In the Titan’s tower. The tower where Joey lives, with the team Nightwing is supposedly so proud of.
The blue and black clad vigilante is a con-artist that got his eldest son killed. Could still get his other children killed. Slade would give a discount to anyone offering a contract for his head.
Unfortunately no one’s stupid enough to offer one. Shortly after supers became a normal aspect of the world, people in Slade’s profession made a practical list of the heroes that weren’t worth touching no matter the money. Wonder Woman, anyone in Gotham, most mind-readers. People who were more likely to kill you or get you killed then get you paid.
As the years went on, a smaller list was formed. A list of people no one was dumb enough to get offer a contract for. Superman, for one.
Nightwing, for another.
Anyone worth their salt knows the man’s human, they’re not doubting that. But he’s a well-trained, well-connected human. Slade doubts there’s a human that could take him down but if a meta managed… well, they’d be stuck facing the entire heroing community. Many of which aren’t against killing, some of which might just decide to make an exception. Assuming the handful of powerful villains NIghtwing’s befriended don’t get to you first.
Nightwing might be a con-artist but he’s a damn good one.
Slade keeps his ear out anyway. Just in case someone’s stupid enough to offer him the job.
4 years, 3 months, and 6 days after Grant’s death Slade wakes up to a masked figure in his room. It wasn’t the figure that woke him - no they’ve bypassed everyone one of his defenses including his heightened senses and that makes them terrifying.
“Slade Wilson.” The figure greets, entirely unbothered by the bullet Slade’s just shot into their chest. Golden blood oozes out for a moment before the injury heals and Slade recognizes what the figure is.
There’s a reason Slade didn’t take many contracts in Gotham, even before the bat showed up.
“Didn’t think I’d attracted the attention of any Owls lately.” He says as evenly as he can manage. His gun is useless. It won’t even slow the talon down and they both know it. Slade keeps his finger on the trigger anyway, unable to drop the comfort as fake as it is.
“Don’t worry, it’s good attention. You’d be dead otherwise.” The talon assures. Their face is entirely covered but Slade’s think they must be smirking beneath the mask. “The court has a job for you.”
“A job?” Slade repeats, going over his day and wondering if he could have been drugged. It’s unlikely, especially with his enhancements, but this seems even less likely. “I didn’t think the Court of Owls was big on outsourcing.”
“This is a… unique case.” The talon says. They shrug as they speak but somehow the movement seems inhuman. Slade can’t pinpoint why, there’s just something… wrong about it. “We need you to deliver us someone. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”
“Who?” Slade asks. He’s not dumb enough to refuse, the Court surely knows that, but he’s at least going to pretend this is a normal negotiation.
“You know him as Nightwing.” Slade blinks. He’s not sure what name he was expecting but it wasn’t that one. He sets his gun on the nightstand. This just got much more interesting.
“Got a robin sticking his beak where it doesn’t belong?” He presumes and the talon chuckles.
“It’s hardly your business, you’re just the middleman.” If they didn’t sound so amused, Slade would take that as a threat. It’s unnerving anyway.
“You can’t fault a man his curiosity.” Slade says.
“No, but it is one of men’s many faults.” The talon hums. This one has a lot of personality, Slade realizes. The few whispers of the court he’s heard call the talon’s robotic at best. Which means this is either an imposter or someone important.
No one suicidal enough to impersonate a talon is aware the Court of Owls even exists.
“Nightwing is ours by right.” The talon says, deciding to feed Slade’s curiosity. “Unfortunately one of our talons made quite the mess and the bat has been watching Nightwing too closely since. Among other issues.”
“So why go after him now?” Slade asks.
“I have my reasons.” They don’t answer, but they do slip up. This definitely isn’t just a faceless drone. “I’m not here to appease your curiosity Slade. What I’ve shared so far is a warning. Nightwing is family and I won’t take lightly to complications. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” Slade’s not suicidal enough to push his luck. Even a meaningless talon could kill him easily. “Timeline?”
“In two weeks you’ll bring Nightwing to a warehouse in Gotham. You’ve already been sent the address.” Slade dares to check and sure enough an encrypted number has sent him an address.
“Payment?” He asks because he’s at least pretending this is normal.
“Rest assured you’ll be well compensated. And of course we’ve supplied an upfront payment as well.” So he’s getting paid. That’s nice, Slade was half expecting not dying as payment. “I look forward to seeing you in two weeks. Do let me know if you need more time.”
“I won’t.” Slade assures. The talon - the court head, Slade suspects - hums and within a blink of the eyes he’s gone.
Well.
That was an interesting wake-up call.
Slade gives it another fifteen minutes before getting out of bed. Just in case there are talon’s left. For similar paranoia, he doesn’t say a word as he makes his morning coffee. But he does do a lot of thinking.
The Court of Owls run Gotham. They’re a cartel - an army - that even the Bat can't touch. Until tonight, Slade wasn’t sure the Bat even knew they existed. Most don’t. The best mercenaries, old enough crime families, the politically important of Gotham. If you make enough of a splash in their world, a talon will leave you a calling card. If you keep splashing, a talon gets rid of you. There’s a reason Gotham stays corrupt.
But there is one exception.
About thirty years ago, a talon got out. Talons are unstoppable but mindless extensions of the Court. And one managed to escape. He didn’t make much of a stir but he made enough. Calling cards were left, anyone suspected of helping or harbouring the run away vanished. Rumour is they never caught the them.
Apparently Nightwing is older than Slade thought. And less human.
The thought makes familiar rage boil. With this knowledge, every failure becomes intentional. Grant’s death is intentional.
It takes Slade three days to plan the contract. Normally he’s practical in every task. Sure, he enjoys his work well enough to do it but he’s professional. This time Slade let’s himself revel in each step, knowing he is sending his son’s murderer to a fate worse than death.
‘Hey dad!’ Joey greets when he stops by for dinner a few days earlier than usual. Slade rescheduled out of the blue, not too uncommon given his lifestyle.
“Hey kid.” Slade smiles. “What’ve you been up to?” Joey launches into a tale and Slade plates dinner. As he’s walking the plates over, Joey’s hands stop suddenly.
‘Is everything okay? ’ He asks after a moment. ‘You’re walking weird.’ Slade winces like he didn’t want Joey noticing.
“It’s fine, just an injury.” He assures, taking a seat. Joey doesn’t follow suit.
‘An injury? From when?’ He asks, concern clearly growing.
“The other day.” Slade says and then winces again like he didn’t mean to say that. “Really Joey, it’s nothing.”
‘The other day?! ’ Joey repeats, expression and signs loud despite their literal silence. ‘What’s happening? Why aren’t you healing?!’
“I am healing , it was originally a severed ligament. I’m just healing slowly.” That’s clearly not the answer Joey wanted. “The older I’m getting, the slower my enhancements are getting. But I’ll be fine in a week or two.” Slade claims. Joey starts several signs over the next minute but doesn’t complete them. Eventually he takes a deep breath and starts again.
‘I’m staying until it’s healed, you shouldn’t be walking on that.’ He decides.
“There’s no need Joey, I’m sure you want to get back to your friends.” Slade brushes the concern off but Joey’s having none of it.
‘No way, I’m staying. I’ll message them so they don’t worry, they can survive without me for a fortnight.’
“And I can’t?” Slade asks with a teasing smile.
‘Apparently not.’ Joey signs with a silent huff and a glare.
“Okay, okay.” Slade makes a show of surrendering. “I’m glad you’re staying. Now what’s this prank you’re so proud of?” Slade redirects and, back to grinning, his son relaunches into the tale.
That night, when Joey messages the Titan’s he’ll get an assuring response not to worry and to keep them updated.
That night, the Titan’s will grow concerned when Joey doesn’t come back and doesn’t message them. They’ll brush it off, convincing themselves he’s fine.
The next day, when none of their messages go through, they won’t be so sure.
For three days, Slade limps around his house and lets his son look after him. He keeps an eye on Titan’s, watches as they panic over Joey’s disappearance and as every lead goes cold.
On the fourth day, he gets the call he was expecting.
“You better have a good reason for this or a lot of cash to splash.” He grumbles into the phone, sounding unamused as a robin falls into his trap.
“Joey’s missing.” Nightwing wastes no time cutting to the chase. “It’s been a few days.”
“Getting another one of my sons killed?” Slade growls, smirking as he imagines the way Nightwing flinches at the comment.
“We don’t have any leads.” Nightwing doesn’t rise to the bait but that’s fine. Slade doesn’t need him to react. “I was hoping you could help find him.”
“Oh I can find him.” Slade hopes Nightwing can’t hear his smirk. “What makes you think I need your help looking after my son?”
“I can give you the information we already have. And I can help. An extra set of hands and a second target.” Nightwing tries to convince him. Slade always hoped that fake heroic attitude would lead to his downfall. He pretends to consider it.
“Fine, meet me in thirty minutes. I’ll send you the address. Alone . I’m not playing babysitter.” With that gruff demand, Slade hangs up. He chooses a rooftop relatively close to the safehouse he set up for this exact moment. There’s no way to tell how far it is from Nightwing, but Slade doubts the man will call for back-up even if he has the time. They both know how trigger happy Slade gets when his kids are involved, he doubts Nightwing will test him. Especially not after what he’s found out. If Slade does shoot him, Nightwing won’t want witness’ for his lack of death.
He makes it to the roof before Nightwing and keeps his ear on every footstep and heartbeat. He only hears one new set when Nightwing arrives. The blue and black clad super didn’t even stop to case the scene.
“Deathstroke.” He greets, tense.
“I’m not in the mood for small talk.” Slade scowls. He gestures his head to the left. “We’ll talk somewhere private.”
“Right.” Nightwing nods. He doesn't question walking in front, even as Slade directs. Doesn’t even react when Slade directs him into a quiet warehouse. It’s not until Slade’s already pushed the needle into his neck that Nightwing realizes somethings wrong.
“What?” He tries to ask, voice already weak. Slade was expecting more from the ex-talon but he’s not complaining about an easy job.
“It’s entirely personal, kid.” Slade can’t help but gloat as Nightwing gets heavier and heavier against his chest. Within thirty seconds he’s holding an unconscious body.
It’s easy enough to get Nightwing to his safehouse undetected, Slade had chosen it for that reason. He’s already set up the cellar with the best meta-resistant cuffs and chains on the market and Slade wastes no time setting the supposed hero up in them. With all his preparation, Nightwing should be stuck in the centre of the room for the week until their rendezvous with the Owls. There’s no food in the room and barely enough water to keep him alive, which should have the man weak enough he won’t put up a fight. Assuming the talon serum doesn’t positively impact the metabolism, which few serums do. He’d prefer not to knock the man out for the pick-up, it’s a hassle to bring an unconscious body in on a specifically living contract, but Slade has a second dosage if he needs.
As he’s leaving, Slade sets up his monitoring system and defences just in case something goes wrong. He doesn’t look back as he shuts and locks the cellar door.
One more week and he’ll finally have avenaged his son. He’ll send Nightwing to a fate worse than death.
Slade leaves the safehouse with a grin.
“Slade, what the hell are you doing?” Nightwing demands when Slade returns a week later. Well, he tries to demand but his voice is hoarse and he barely has the strength to sit up. “If you think I had something to do with Joey’s-” Slade cuts him off with a laugh.
“Joey’s fine.” He says, smirking wider when Nightwing realizes what he means.
“Why?” Is all he can manage to ask. The adrenaline from Slade’s arrival is already wearing off, Nightwing too weak to sustain it.
“Someone’s paid very well to get a hold of you little bird.” Slade explains, kneeling down to meet Nightwing’s eye. “And I’m more than happy to deliver.” He yanks the chain keeping Nightwing attached to the ground, causing the man to startle with pain. The chains haven’t worn through his suit, but they’ve clearly chaffed the skin under it. Good.
“Why?” Nightwing repeats, more breathless and broken. There’s no fight left in those blue eyes, it’s all been used up. Slade knows because he watched. Watched as Nightwing pulled at the chains, as he failed to find a lock pick. Watched as he realized his coms and tech had been fried. Watched as he gave in to screaming for help only for the walls to absorb the sound.
It was everything Slade wanted.
“I’m sure you can figure that out.” Slade hums. Nightwing doesn’t but Slade doesn’t doubt he will. For now, Slade takes the gag off his belt. The hero attempts to shuffle back and, when that fails, keeps his mouth firmly shut. At least until Slade grips his neck tight enough that the other man tries to gasp in a breath. The gag is locked tight around his mouth a moment later, and a blindfold covers his eyes just as quickly. Slade unlocks the chain from the floor - using the keycode on the wall that was out of reach for his captive. It’s silent but even if Nightwing could tell, Slade doubts he has the strength to run.
It barely has the strength to walk as Slade forces him to his feet and towards the cellar stairs. It makes for a slow journey but Slade enjoys the way Nightwing stumbles enough he doesn’t care.
There’s no real need to shove the hero into the boot of his car. Slade’s car is designed to make it impossible to notice a trafficked human - alive or dead. Still, just for the fun of it, Slade pushes Nightwing into the boot. He’s not foolish enough to throw anything else back there, even if it would make the journey all the worse for Nightwing. It’s not worth the risk.
Besides, the boot ride to a warehouse on Gotham’s edge is rough even when the boot is otherwise empty.
When they arrive, Nightwing tries to say something. Plead with him, probably. The muffled words continue as Slade marches him into the warehouse. The talon is already wanting for them with two others flanking them.
“I see you were deserving of our expectations.” The talon greets and Nightwing goes still. Slade can only assume he recognizes the voice and has finally figured out what's happening. Just in case the weakness was an act, Slade tightens his grip on Nightwing’s chains.
“I didn’t get my reputation for nothing.” Slade returns. He wants to throw Nightwing to the talon’s feet but he remembers their words. If Nightwing is family to the Owls, Slade isn’t risking his life for a moment’s satisfaction. Instead he holds out the chain attached to Nightwing’s cuffs. The talon’s hands twitch but don’t move.
“First,” they say, “I need you to inject him with this. Directly into a vein.” The talon holds out a vial. Slade’s got no idea what’s in it but he also doesn’t really care. Nightwing struggles as best as he can but he can’t do anything to stop Slade from feeding the liquid into a vein on his arm. The gag barely muffles the scream Nightwing lets out as his body spasms. For a moment, heat radiates off of him and his veins almost seem to glow. Then he starts falling as consciousness leaves him. Slade doesn’t move but the talon does, catching Nightwing before he can hit the ground.
“Finally. Welcome home grandson.” They whisper, brushing hair from the hero’s mask. If Slade didn’t know possessiveness so well, he’d almost call it affectionate. The talon looks back to Slade. “If you’ll remove the cuffs.”
Slade does as he’s told and the talon lifts Nightwing’s limp body, cradling him in a way that - again - isn’t affectionate.
“You've done well, you’ll find the rest of your payment has already been sent.” They inform me.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Slade nods once. He spends a moment wishing the worst possible things upon Nightwing, then he turns to leave. As he’s opening the door, he hears the talon once more.
“Perhaps it was a blessing.” They murmur. “You’ll be much better than your father ever was.” The words aren’t directed at Slade and if not for his enhancements he’d never have heard them.
The statement tethers too closely to making Slade pay attention to all the cracks in the things he’s told himself.
He pretends he didn’t hear anything.
‘ Jesus Dad, when did you get so clingy? ’ Joey complains, as if he’s not smiling while he and Slade cuddle on the couch.
“Can’t I thank my son for taking such good care of me?” Slade asks, ruffling the boy's hair as he silently laughs. They banter some more as Slade throws Joey’s favourite movie on. The mercenary barely watches the movie, too focused on soaking up every detail of his son’s face as possible.
He’s pushed this ruse as long as he can and while Slade wants to pretend it was just to cover his alibi, he knows better. Joey’s not stupid. A few hours from now, he’ll step out of this house and head back to the tower. He’ll greet the Titan’s like nothing happened and they’ll crowd around him in relief. They’ll ask where he's been and Joey will get confused because he messaged them. But they’ll compare phones and Joey will realise Slade did something .
Then he’ll find out that Nightwing is missing and he’ll know exactly what Slade did.
Slade is well aware that these are the last few hours he’ll ever have with his son. As soon as Joey leaves the house, Slade is as good as dead to him. Rose too, once she hears that Joey was safe with their father this whole time. That Slade lied to her when he pretended to be covering the ground she wasn’t.
It was worth it, Slade tells himself. He avenged Grant.
That’s a bit harder to believe, without a contract to distract him.
‘Tell me it wasn’t you.’ Joey texts him that night but Slade doesn’t reply. He could, he could form some lie and get a few more moments. But it wouldn’t last.
He doesn’t reply to Rose’s texts either. They’re longer, full of curses and swear words and after the first two Slade stops reading them.
It was worth it.
Adeline shows up at his door two days later. She greets him with a punch to the face that stings enough to mean she broke her hand.
“Adeline, a pleasure as always.” Slade returns, rolling his eyes.
“I hope burying your guilt was worth losing your children over.” She spits.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Slade claims, barely keeping his shoulders still.
“I know you’re fragile Slade, I know that rotten husk of a heart you have can't handle admitting you pushed Grant to an experiment that killed him.” This time Slade can’t help the way he bristles at the words but Adeline continues before he can say anything. “I’d have hated you for going after Nightwing but what would be new? I already hate you.”
“Then why are you here?” Slade growls trying to keep himself from doing something stupid like punching her back.
“You brought Joey into this.” She snaps, glare harsh enough he always takes a step back. “Whatever you did to that kid, Joey’s going to blame himself for it.”
“Nightwing was hardly a kid.” Slade huffs, if only she can ignore what else she said.
“God you’re got yourself fooled well.” She scoffs. Adeline takes a step closer, entirely mortal finger pressing harsh against his armour. “If Joey gets killed over your inability to handle reality, just like Grant did, I’ll kill you myself.” She threatens before storming off without so much as looking back.
Nightwing was a murderer, Slade tells himself. Murders don’t normally phase him - he is one, after all - but Nightwing was the worst kind. He was a con artist, convincing everyone he was just a lowly human. When really he was a runaway talon. He let Grant die, either to keep up his con or just because he didn’t care.
Slade refuses to believe otherwise.
Over the next two months, Slade doesn’t let himself think. He takes more contracts than usual, keeps his mind busy with each job even when they’re easy. Slade doesn’t stop long enough to think about his kids who don’t talk to him and Wintergreen who barely does. He doesn’t think about the times his mind wanders to the Titans, the way he wants to check up on them. Job after job, Slade convinces himself he’s not running away from anything. Least of all his guilt.
It’s not particularly convincing, considering he doesn’t stay in any one place long.
There’s no evidence that Deathstroke was involved in Nightwing’s disappearance. There are some whispers and Slade knows people are looking into it. They won’t find anything, the Court took care of that. If anyone gets too close, the Court will likely take care of them too.
Still, it doesn’t hurt to be proactive.
Which makes it impressive when the kid finds him.
“Think you’ve got the wrong house.” Slade says, raising an eyebrow at the black-haired teenager who’s knocked on his South Korean safehouse.
“I don’t.” The kid replies. He’s tense but he’s confident as well, meeting Slade’s masked eye. Few people twice his age manage that. “I have a contract for you.”
“I’m outside your budget.” Slade immediately shuts that down. He’s curious but he’s not that curious.
“You’re not.” He claims. “My name’s Tim Drake, I’ve got access to the Drake fortune and I was formally adopted by Bruce Wayne three months ago. You’re not out of my budget.” Alright, Slade decides, he’ll bite.
“Little far outside city limits, aren’t you?” He says, even as he leads Tim further into the house.
“You’re worth the plane ticket.” Tim claims. They both take a seat at the dining room table.
“Well?” Slade prompts, resting back in his chair. Tim hesitates a moment before taking a deep breath.
“My brother went missing a few months ago.” He says. “Richard Grayson, goes by Dick. There’s been no ransom or anything. I was hoping you could find him.”
“Why go to a mercenary?” Slade asks. “Cops are generally cheaper.” Tim huffs a laugh at that.
“They’re also shit at their jobs. Dick travels around a bit, he’s got apartments in New York, Jump City, and Bludhaven. Local cops won’t take it because they can’t prove he went missing in their city. Gotham cops won’t take it because they’re corrupt. Private investigators won’t touch it because they think Gotham’s involved. At this point a mercenary’s the best bet I’ve got and you’re the best in the business.” Slade tosses that thought for a moment before accepting it. It’s always a mess with high-profile gothamites go missing, even when they’re not in Gotham.
“Why are you fronting the bill then and not dear old dad?” Slade decides to ask.
“Because as much as I love B, he’s a naive idiot that thinks the cops are going to do their jobs.” Tim claims. “I just want my brother home Deathstroke, and I’m willing to pay for it.”
“Then give me a number, kid.” Slade says.
“15 million now, 15 million when you bring him back alive.” Tim answers without hesitation.
“And if he’s not alive?” Slade asks. The question makes the boy flinch but, to his credit, he does answer.
“7 million. Gotta have some incentive for you to work fast, right?” He offers. Slade hums and takes a moment to think about it. It’s low for him, although it’s not bad pay considering the circumstances. He doesn’t usually take retrieval missions but they do tend to be heavy on the thinking department. It’d be a good distraction.
The only problem is Gotham. Slade’s not sure he wants to risk running into the Bats or the Court right now.
“I’m not one for Gotham jobs.” He says.
“It’s not a Gotham job.” Tim claims with all the frustration of someone who’s said this before. Probably has, considering his story. “Dick wasn’t in Gotham and the only connections he has to Gotham are family. If this was because of family, we’d have gotten a ransom note. It’s got nothing to do with Gotham.” Slade considers that.
Well, he’s in need of a new distraction. Contract. A new contract.
“20 million now, 20 more if he’s alive, 12 if he’s dead. If this starts leading to Gotham I’m done, no refunds.” He offers.
“Deal.” The teen must be desperate, if he’s not even bargaining. Tim stays long enough to share what little information he has, and to ensure the starting fee goes through. He hurries off when Slade’s 20 million richer, burner phone clutched tight in his hands.
Slade should have charged more.
He figured a rich kid wouldn’t be hard to track down. And he’s not. Slade finds plenty of footage of Dick Grayson near the three apartments he rents. Not enough for him to spend every night at them, but enough to know he lives there. Unfortunately, the footage stops just over 2 months ago. Richard Grayson walks into his Jump City apartment one afternoon and then never leaves.
His schedule is another dead end. He goes to a community college that didn’t see him regularly before he disappeared, the managers at his two jobs are more concerned but they also know nothing. There’s not a mention of a single party that Grayson’s been to, or any form of nightlife he had, let alone that he was heading to the night he vanished.
Grayson shares his New York and Jump City apartments with other people so Slade checks them next. Dead ends. Managers and friends of friends don’t know anything. Drake passes him audio files of conversations with the friends - because he didn’t want Slade meeting with them - but those are useless too.
Slade even walks the streets by each apartment, talking to every homeless person and gang member he meets. There’s not even a whisper of a murder from that night or a spree killer the cops haven’t noticed yet.
He really, really should have charged more.
Okay, Slade huffs a few weeks in, so he can’t reconstruct the kid’s life the day he disappeared. He can barely reconstruct the days leading up to it. But maybe there are clues earlier than that. Right now he agrees with Drake, if this related to anyone else in the family there’d be a sign. Which means Grayson was targeted for Grayson. He’s well-liked but none of his co-workers or classmates claim they’re close. His roommates all have reasonable alibis. The best Slade’s got right now is that someone from Grayson’s past is obsessed with him and they decided to take him. The first place to start with that is well, the start.
The first relevant news article is about the Flying Grayson tragedy, the next is about Wayne fostering the boy almost 6 months later. Slade digs into the time between and finds the juvie Grayson stayed at - because of course Gotham does that. He notes the other kids in custody in case they come up again and continues looking.
There’s tabloid articles being racist, newspapers with a white saviour complex, a handful of actually good stories but there’s nothing that seems like a real lead. The kids' school records indicate that he stuck to himself and had plenty of angry issues. It calms a bit by highschool but nearly every report says Dick struggles to make friends - save for Barbara Gordon. Slade can’t find any evidence of extracurriculars. No sports, no clubs, there’s hardly any evidence he left the Wayne manor for anything other than school and galas.
When Grayson’s 15, he disappears for 6 months.
Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. When Grayson’s 15 he disappears from the Wayne family for 6 months before he appears once or twice a year until Jason Todd’s death. Then he disappears for another 9 months before he slowly starts appearing again.
Outside of the Waynes? Dick Grayson disappears entirely until he turns 18.
There aren’t any school records, work records, or press photos.
At 18, Grayson starts renting out his three apartments. All at once and suddenly. He enrols in his Bludhaven community college, starts working at a cafe nearby and as a social workers receptionist in Jump City. On the weekends he volunteers to teach gymnastics to kids in New York and hosts tutoring sessions in Bludhaven.
Overnight Richard Grayson goes from non-existent to a fully integrated member of three different communities.
What the actual fuck?
Slade is used to people having weird and disjointed paper trails. It’s a requirement of careers like his. None of them are as weird as Graysons, and Grayson is a civilian. Isn’t he? Staring at this, Slade’s not sure.
The mercenary takes a deep breath and tries to piece together a timeline. From birth to almost 8, Dick Grayson travelled with his parents in Haley’s circus. Upon their death he spent 6 months in a Gotham juvie before being fostered - not adopted - by Bruce Wayne. Until he was 15, Grayson appears to have led either a sheltered or abusive life. He struggled and appears to have overcome anger issues, to have made one friend, and to not leave the house unless going to school or accompanying his guardian.
So what happens at 15?
Slade would be hard pressed to say Grayson stays in Gotham. From what little evidence he has - from the regular sightings pre-15 and the occasional ones after - it would appear the teenager left only to occasionally come back when Wayne took on more children.
Logically, that would imply he was either kicked out or ran away. Given his previous experience, he likely didn’t want to become a ward of the state again. Slade doubts Wayne would want that podcasted either. The guy probably bankrolled Grayson well enough to get a fake identity until he actually turned 18.
Except that lead doesn’t go anywhere either. Slade hacks into Wayne’s various bank accounts and while he definitely makes note of how much the billionaire donates to the charity bankrolling the Justice League, there’s nothing else questionable. He tries looking through the employees at Wayne’s business but none turn out to be fake identities for his estranged foster son.
There is something here, Slade knows it. He just needs to find out what.
Conspiracy boards and true crime forums are the last place he likes to research but… well, he’s run out of options. Considering the difficulty everywhere else, it’s almost suspicious how quickly he finds what he’s looking for. There’s an entire forum entitled ‘Dick Grayson is Missing’. Most of the members appear to be simping for a 15 year old but Slade chooses to pretend they’re also minors and finds his way to a thread of supposed sightings.
He’s been scrolling for about fifteen minutes when he breaks his mouse.
The thing about Slade is that he’s very good at lying to himself. He has to be. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not entirely without empathy or care. He simply got good at convincing himself otherwise. But even the best liars can crack under enough evidence.
It’s a simple photo. The supposed Grayson - and it is Grayson - is wearing a (homemade) Starfire-themed shirt and black jeans. His sunglasses are covering half his face and he’s ordering from a cafe. A cafe Slade knows well. It’s barely five minutes from the original Titan’s tower. Slade bugged it soon after Joey told him about it, and he’s watched this exact boy walk in with every combination of Titan’s possible.
No.
No .
This isn’t Nightwing. Nightwing is an ageless con man that got his son killed.
Except something always seemed off about that. Even when the talon first implied it. Slade’s seen Nightwing bleed red. He’s seen and heard plenty about injuries that take a normal human amount of recovery time.
He’s seen the kid age.
Slade wants so bad to believe that NIghtwing is to blame for Grant's death. Wants to pretend it wasn’t Grant’s desperate desire for power - a desperation Slade instilled with every frustrated comment as he trained his son. He wants to believe that Nightwing was an adult that day, that Nightwing knew well enough to do better.
6 or more years. That’s how long they say the first Robin was around Batman. At that point there was maybe - maybe - half a dozen of superheroes with more experience. There wasn’t a sidekick with half as much. It’s so easy to blame Nightwing when he had 6-8 years experience in Gotham of all places before he watched Grant die. So easy to believe he was an adult that knew what he was doing like Batman or Superman knew what they were doing.
Dick Grayson lived with Bruce Wayne for 7 years. If he was… he would have been 9 when he started. At best .
He would’ve been 15 when Grant died. Not even the oldest Titan, certainly not as old as Grant.
Dick Grayson turned 19 just 3 days before Nightwing went missing.
Was there meant to be a party? A party that didn’t happen as it dawned on the Titans that Joey was missing?
Or did Nightwing - Dick Grayson - have his secret identity so thoroughly drilled in his head that he couldn’t tell his friends his birthday?
No. No. Slade refuses to believe this. He doesn’t want to believe this. He steps away from his computer and grabs the largest bottle of whiskey he can find. Slade doesn’t think for much longer that night.
If Dick Grayson and Nightwing are the same, that makes Tim Drake no civilian. Slade digs into the people around Dick Grayson that could be heroes and he quickly has a billion dollar list on his hands. Dick Grayson has roommates in New York and Jump City - both Titan cities. Slade quickly ties Conner Kent in New York back to Superboy. Wally West and Donna Troy in Jump City are Kid Flash and Wonder Girl. Roy Harper, who regularly crashes on their couch, is Arsenal.
With enough attention, he realizes that several of the regulars at his gymnastics classes are younger Titans. Many of which aren’t active but live in one of the towers. The blonde girl at his tutoring sessions is Stephanie Browne, Tim Drake’s friend and the Gotham heroine Spoiler.
The one friend Grayson had growing up - Barbara Gordon - is clearly the original Batgirl. Now Oracle. His brothers - Jason Todd and Tim Drake - are obviously Robins 2 and 3.
And of course, Bruce Wayne is Batman. The Gotham socialite whose donations to the JL charity increased dramatically when Grayson turned 15 is also the Bat-themed hero that handles all League funds. Including those that go to other teams. Like the Titans.
Even as the clues start filling themselves in, Slade doesn’t want to believe it. He wants some other form of confirmation. But he can’t go to Gotham, the Court will have his head if they realise he’s looking into Grayson.
A few months ago he could have asked Joey or Rose. Could have checked in with the Titans through them and got all the confirmation he needed.
Too bad he burnt that bridge.
It takes Slade a week to gain access into Gotham heroes communication system. It’d have taken him longer, had Batman not gone off-world with the Justice League. The League's system is laughable easy after struggling against Oracle’s, and Batman is either too cocky, lazy, or foolish to disconnect from Gotham. Slade piggy backs his way in and then he waits.
The conversation happens 2 days later.
“Can we revisit the beat Slade up until he tells up what happened to N plan? Because I’ve had a bad night and I’d love to shoot something that’s orange and black.” It’s Red Hood (the criminal that Nightwing befriend after he beat up Robin #3, and the second Robin according to the research Slade still doesn't want to believe) that starts it, voice gruff.
“I’m with Red Hood!” Spoiler chimes in.
“We’ve been over this. We don’t even know that Slade’s behind it, and we’d have no way to confirm what he said was true. The guys a professional mercenary, I’m sure he’s got plenty of back-up plans when it comes to getting tortured for information.” Oracle sighs, sounding like she’s repeating an argument they’ve had many times. Maybe she is. “We just have to trust Robin’s plan.”
“Robin’s plan is risky and could backfire!” Red Hood argues.
“You came up with a better one then.” The familiar voice of Tim Drake - of Robin - grumbles. “And don’t say torture.”
“What if he’s just scamming us?” Spoiler asks. “What if he knows who we are and just took the money and ran?” The line is silent for a moment.
“He doesn’t get paid in full unless he finds Wing.” Robin eventually mumbles. “15 million is nothing to a guy like him. That’s why we low balled.”
“15 million to fuck with the family of the guy you got killed doesn’t sound like nothing to me.” Red Hood huffs.
“Nightwing isn’t dead.” Oracle cuts in firmly. “Don’t talk like that Hood. Just… just don’t.”
“Right, sorry O.” Red Hood mumbles. The conversation drops off but Slade doesn’t need to hear any more. He didn’t need to hear more the first time Robin’s unmodified voice rang across the line. But now… now there’s really no denying it.
He handed Nightwing over to the Court of Owls because of his own personal delusions. Was so desperate to deny his guilt, that he convinced himself a 19 year old was an ageless monster. Barely 19.
Slade needs to fix this.
Normally, Slade’s pride refuses to let him go for help. Two days after accepting the truth, his guilt wins out over his pride. The Court of Owls isn’t just good at what they do, they’re the best. Save that one escaped talon - John Grayson, Richard Grayson’s father - no one has ever been able to touch them. And John Grayson didn’t actually bet them, just escaped them. An impossible feat, sure, but not as impossible as trying to re-kidnap someone from them.
Slade spends two days just looking for somewhere to start. Their meetup would be the most logical place, but he’s not dumb enough to go in person and there aren’t any cameras. Slade doubts camera’s would help anyway.
Using his backdoor to the Bat’s files, knowing it would likely be useless, Slade digs around for his files on The Court. There are plenty of files. They’re all in code.
Slade almost snaps his new mouse when suddenly his screen flickers. The files have been decoded and a control console has opened.
Find him.
The words flash purple on his screen. Oracle.
I’m trying. He doesn’t mean to type back, isn’t sure she’s really watching. But his frustration has been building and Slade feels the need to type the defence anyway.
Try faster. B doesn’t have anything useful here but there’s background information. This is my favourite part.
On his screen, the page suddenly slides down to a section of an analysis on the make-up of Talons, highlighted to draw his attention. Slade gives it a quick read. Batman - Bruce Wayne - explains for the benefit of himself or the reader that his information was gathered through whispered conversation on the streets and at expensive galas, as well as through the personal journals of John Grayson.
The Talon serum, as Bruce Wayne understands it, is made primarily of expertly prepared Electrum. The first dosage - if it can be called that - is enough to entirely replace the Talon’s bloodstream. Giving them abilities similar to - but stronger then - Slade’s own, and giving them resistances to most external meta-abilities. Wayne’s research suggests these resistances come from the way Electrum chews at and consumes a Talon’s soul. A side effect the Court willfully encourages considering the cocktail of drugs they soak the Talons in when ‘off duty’ to keep their minds easily palpable for manipulation.
According to John Grayson’s notes, while the concoction never fully goes away it does fade. Talon’s are regularly injected with a smaller dose to avoid this, while the elder Grayson himself died when his regenation faded enough for the Talon’s to kill him.
Even now, Slade can remember getting his own powers. The pain of the experiments and the conditioning. How he rolled his eyes at the army’s political propaganda right until he realized he was blinding obeying it. The Court of Owls have turned that up far beyond what the government could manage. And Slade handed Nightwing right over to them.
He’s fairly sure Oracle was being sarcastic when she called this part her favourite.
Find him. Fast . She’s ordered when he glances back to the command console.
I will. Slade assures.
And he tries.
He reads every word in that file. He reads all the ways the Court tried to kill Wayne, and all the ways they failed before deciding to play defensive. They’re good at that, Wayne hasn’t a clue where any of their hideouts are and only has an uncertain list of benefactors.
Two days after he admitted the truth, Slade gives up his pride for his guilt. Normally he wouldn’t dare ask for help on a case but he has read this file over and over and he has learnt two things. One, unwilling Talon’s are not easily conditioned. Not when they have the spitfire attitude of someone like Nightwing. While not fine, Slade is sure that Nightwing is still holding his own (he has to be).
And two, there is a reason beyond Batman that kept the Court from going after Grayson. A reason that will explain why John Grayson speaks of knowing his time is up is because his powers have faded so much it ‘barely hurts’ to hug his son. A reason that explains the concoction Slade fed into Nightwing’s veins.
Slade still has that vial and he knows just where to take it to figure this out.
It’s not hard to find Constantine’s current place of residence. Well, not after Wintergreen hears Slade admit he fucked up. The moment ‘I’m trying to fix this’ comes out of his mouth, Wintergreen gives him the address of a seedy apartment in New York. Slade doesn’t question his sources, simply buys the plane ticket and packs his things.
He knocks - it seems the polite thing to do - and is soon met with an annoyed face that turns murderous. Slade allows himself to be pulled into the apartment and held against the door by a hand burning warm enough to melt the metal of his neck piece.
“The next words out of your mouth better be fucking good after what you did.” The man growls, grip tightening in warning. He’s pissed, in more ways than one. Slade’s fairly sure Constantine doesn’t make the same habit of murder as he does, but the sorcerer is motivated and possibly capable.
“I’m trying to save him.” Slade responds calmly. The man lets out a humourless laugh, his hands getting hot enough that Slade shifts his neck in an attempt to get away from the heat.
“You’re the reason he needs saving.” Constantine spits. “Try again. Quickly.”
“Ever heard of the Court of Owls?” The widening of Constantine’s eyes is a yes. “A Talon showed up in my house the other month, contracted me to bring them Nightwing.”
“And you went along with it?!” Constantine shouts. “You could have hidden!” He couldn’t have, but he also wouldn’t have so Slade doesn’t point that out. Instead he says,
“They implied he was the runaway Talon.”
“He isn’t!” Under the mask, Slade raises an eyebrow. That was a quick response. Actually, the sorcerer hardly seems phased by the Court’s involvement at all.
“I know that now.” Slade says rather than comment on Constantine’s attitude. He’ll save that for when he’s convinced the man to help him. “But at the time, I was under the impression he was at least a 40-something Talon and my son’s death was looking a lot more intentional. I got mad.”
“Mad enough to send an innocent kid to a fate worse than death.” Constantine huffs.
“A fact I’ve since realized and am trying to fix.” Slade returns. “Are you going to help me or what?” Constantine hesitates a moment before stepping back.
“Fine.” He says. “But if this is some fucking con or a contract or what, I will kill you. Painfully and slowly.”
“Noted.” Slade brings a hand up to his released neck, assessing the damage. Yeah. He’ll need to replace that. “When the exchange happened,” Constantine scoffs but Slade ignores him, “I was told to eject something into Nightwing’s arm. I assume it was magic in nature, given it made his veins glow for a moment. I’m hoping you can tell me what it was.” He pulls the vial from one of his pockets but Constantine doesn’t take it. He’s frozen, staring at the liquid.
“Fuck.” He mutters, dropping his shoulders and stepping back to his coffee table to grab the beer he was nursing before Slade knocked.
“I’m guessing you already now?”
“I don’t know what it is, but I know what it did.” Constantine confirms before taking a long swig. Slade waits patiently for him to continue.
“When John escaped the Talon’s, he found me. Figured I was a safe contact. I don’t mess with the court unless they mess with me and I haven’t lost yet. He needed a way to hide until he could find somewhere safe. Talon’s blood is pretty easy to track, so I covered it with a spell. By the time it wore off he’d settled with the Haley’s. ‘Parently Talon’s used to ‘recruit’ from there and they’ve gotten pretty good at holding Talon’s off because of it. When the Court finally found him, they couldn’t do anything about it.
“Problem is, babies are pretty fucking fragile. When John had a kid he found a talon trying to kidnap the baby not even a week later. Barely fought him off and he realized the second that kid could walk, he was gonna wander off just far away for a Talon to kidnap him. So John brought him to me. We brainstormed a bit then figured the best bet was making it so electrum reacted badly to Dick. Basically I poisoned his blood against it. Any time a Talon touched him they’d be in so much pain they could barely move.
“That,” Constantine points to the vial still in Slade’s hand, “is essentially a counter spell. Though I doubt they used magic to make it.”
Slade takes a deep breath, another wave of guilt washing over him. This is why he has his moral code - slight as it is - so he can avoid the overwhelming guilt that threatens to swallow him when he does something stupid like hurt a kid.
Once he’s successfully compartmentalised the feeling, he picks out the most important bits of information from Constantine’s explanation.
“So they can be tracked.” He says.
“A Talon could track a Talon. I might be able to if I had some of that shit that passes for their blood, but I don’t.” Slade considers that a moment then pulls out his comms. Considering the way his entire system was cleansed of any access to the Bat’s, he’s betting Oracle’s still in his system. He opens an empty message and types her name then waits.
‘Found Nightwing yet?’ The text comes from an unknown and encrypted number. Oracle.
‘Has the bat got a sample of a Talon’s blood? I can use it to track him. ’ It takes her long enough to respond that Slade continues. ‘You can send it to Constantine, if it makes you feel better.’
‘I’ll check the cave. If we have any, I’ll bring it to him.’
“Hopefully, Oracle will bring us that soon.” Slade relays to Constantine, who raises an eyebrow before accepting it. “Another thing. Can you make that spell of yours work on Talon?”
“What?” Constantine frowns.
“Can you make a Talon allergic to their own blood?” Slade rephrases. “I can’t think of an easier way to incapacitate a Talon, especially going into their turf to get the kid. Even if I manage to sneak in and out, they’ll know who came for him and they’ll go after him.” Constantine ponders this a moment before holding out his hand.
“Give me the vial, I’ll figure it out.” Slade does so.
And then all he can do is wait.
The next knock on the hotel door comes from a red-headed girl in a wheelchair. She doesn’t do something as obvious as glare at Slade, but he can feel the rage and danger oozing off her anyway.
“Oracle.” Slade greets, stepping aside to let her in. And far enough to avoid having his toes rolled on. Theoretically, his boots should be able to withstand any damage her wheels might do. He decides it’s not worth risking anyway.
“I found the blood.” Oracle states, barely glancing at Slade as she rolls inside the room. “If you explain what’s trackable about it, I should be able to track it myself. Figured it’d be smarter to do that from here rather than Gotham.” She explains, already setting herself up on the dining table.
“Smart choice.” Constantine mumbles, begrudgingly turning away from his spell to explain to her the makeup of the talon’s enhanced blood. As they translate between magical and chemical terms, Slade waits and watches.
“At least make yourself useful.” Oracle eventually huffs - once Constantine has turned back to his spell and her to the blood. “I’ve already downloaded all the blueprints B labelled as potential bases into your system.” She says, tone condescending like Slade should have figured that out on his own. He’d take offence but, well, he’d rather she not bring up the actual reasons he should feel stupid right now.
Instead he acknowledges her words with a nod and immediately starts studying the blueprints, memorising every section that could possibly hide a bird.
Oracle finds the Talon’s base long before Constantine finishes his spell. Well, the most likely base at least. Talon blood can be tracked, sure, but not easily. From her spot at Constantine’s dining table, she checks every camera she has access to - which is all of them - and she and Slade review as much footage as their eyes can take. It’s well doctored, but it’s also definitely doctored. Even Oracle can’t recover the original footage, which just serves to convince them further.
“I’ll still have to send Black Bat and Red Hood to check it out.” She mutters, trying to rub her eyes of strain.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit risky?” Slade suggests.
“ Someone has to check it out. It’s too dangerous for any of us to go. Black Bat has the right training, Red Hood has the cover. He’ll pretend he’s checking out a dead deal location; she won’t be spotted. I don’t trust any of them to go alone and not get involved, these two are the least likely to get involved if paired up. All I need to do is remind them it’s your head on the chopping block, not anyone else’s.” Oracle explains. It’s more information than Slade expected. Likely a mix of Oracle being tired, assuring him of their qualifications, and reminding Slade that he’s fixing this mess even if it’ll kill him. It’s effective enough.
“I’ll see what Wintergreen knows about the place, double our bases.” He says, Oracle acknowledging his with a huff.
“I should be done by tomorrow night.” Constantine chimes in, although he likely hasn’t heard a word they’ve said.
“Almost.” Oracle mutters, as close to a prayer as most heroes get. Slade doubts she means for him to hear. “Just hold on a little longer Dick.”
Slade doubts the Court is watching him. They’ve spent generations in power, without any sort of real opposition. Sure, their rule hasn’t been without incident. From the sounds of it, Constantine and the Bat have been annoyances for a while now. But even the Bat has left them untouched. A track record like that makes a place cocky.
Plus, if the Court was watching they’d have gone after Slade by now. Likely when Tim showed up on his door. Definitely when Slade showed up at Constantine’s.
That doesn’t make it any less unnerving to step back into Gotham, the Court’s destruction in mind.
Wintergreen and the Bats confirmed the base location as well as anything can be confirmed. He arrives at the building and he waits, tucked as far into the shadows as he can possibly go and watching for any hint of movement.
“I’m in.” Oracle says. Black Bat found considerably more active wires in the building then it should have last night, and she left Oracle’s calling card attached to the intranet ones. “They don’t even have security cameras.” She says, tone suggesting she doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. Slade gets it. The Court is - clearly - cocky but not without foundation.
“Do they have a map?” He asks. The blueprints hadn’t been much help.
“No, but give me a moment.” Oracle answers. “Red Hood planted his field generator. This isn’t going to be great, he usually uses it for secret rooms and drug stashes not underground bases. But it’ll be something.” As she takes she activates whatever it is that Red Hood left in the building. Some time later, an incredibly undetailed map appears in Slade’s vision.
“Just like a video game.” Oracle mutters, clearly annoyed by the lack of detail.
“It’s better than going in blind.” But only just. “Do you have access to the entrance?”
“Obviously.” Oracle answers immediately, offended. Black Bat had found the entrance hatch last night. “It requires blood, like we guessed. I’ll watch it to make sure it doesn’t sound any genetic alarms.”
“Good. I’m going in.” Without another word, Slade makes his way into the building and into the hatch, using what remains of the Talon blood Oracle grabbed. In his time as a mercenary, Slade has visited countless villainous lairs. Some by invitation, most not. So far, the entrance to the Court doesn’t stand in comparison.
He only hopes it stays that way.
Oracle doesn’t start screaming warnings, which Slade takes as his cue to keep moving. They’d agreed to radio silence for this mission, not wanting to risk either of their voices tipping off the Talon’s enhanced hearing. She’s still there, updating his map with information as she finds it, but Oracle stays silent.
So does the risk of the base.
Slade’s ears probably aren’t as enhanced as a Talon’s, but they’re still enhanced. He should be able to hear something. Training, footsteps, even just breathing. None of that reaches his ears. It’s possible his brain is ignoring the sounds. After all, he’s trying to follow the sound of machinery to the ventilation unit. He could be intentionally zoning out things that might distract him.
It’s unlike him. But it is possible.
He finds the ventilation unit tucked away in a dusty room and quickly moves to plant Constantines creation inside.
“Wait.” Oracle’s voice is whispered as quickly as she can possibly manage, but it’s still louder than they agreed. “The talons are kept in vats.” She doesn’t say anything else, letting Slade stew on the limited information. He takes a moment, tossing it in his head. They only have one Talon killing bomb. If the vats are self-sustaining, they aren’t going to be able to kill them all. That’s why they choose the ventilation system.
“Can you release them remotely?” He asks, not quite as quietly as she did. He has to be loud enough that she can hear him after all.
“Maybe?” She says, almost hissing. “If I can, I haven’t gotten that deep into the system yet.”
“Then figure it out.” Slade says, continuing on to the ventilation unit. “We don’t have another option.” He can almost hear the groan of annoyance she lets out. Almost, because Oracle doesn’t actually reply. She knows he’s right, after all.
With the bomb set, Slade makes his way down. Eventually - finally - he comes across noise.
“It isn’t my fault your methods are ineffective.” Someone snaps.
“My methods are not ineffective.” Slade recognizes the second voice as the Talon who hired him. He stops to listen, in case they reveal Nightwings location, but doesn’t draw near. Being spotted by that Talon is the last thing he wants. “Your crystal is failing.”
“It isn’t failing!” The first voice claims. “As I have told you countless times, it won’t work unless you break the boy. Something you are failing at spectacularly. Did you even have a plan Cobb? Or did you just get so giddy you ran in without one? He was raised by the Bat, did you really expect controlling him to be easy?”
“Careful what you say Haas.” The Talon - Cobb, presumably - growls.
“Oh please, don’t waste both our time by threatening me.” The other - again, presumably Haas - huffs. “You need me, and I enjoy getting paid. So how about you do your job better so I can actually start mine.” Slade hears someone take a few angry steps before Haas speaks again. “Although I won’t suggest doing anything else tonight. You might kill the boy, and his body still isn’t reacting well to the Talon serum.”
“And you still haven’t found a way to undo the damage Constantine did.” Cobb adds, mockingly.
“Your talons can’t even go after the man, you think I can?” Haas asks. “His body will adapt eventually. Just as his mind will break. Have patience, Cobb.” The man in question tsks before he continues to walk away. Not in Slade’s direction, the mercenary concludes after a moment. He continues forward, slow, steady, and refusing to acknowledge his increased concern for the hero he’s searching for.
Following the crude map, Slade heads lower into the base. A half dozen flights of stairs and at least a dozen corridors later, he hears a new sound.
Breathing.
Laboured breathing.
Just as slowly - just as quietly - as he’s been, Slade follows the sound. It leads him to a hall of metal doors, and then to one door in particular. He listens closer, until he’s sure that the breaths he hears belong to Nightwing, and then he tries the handle.
Locked, obviously.
“Is it digital?” He asks, quietly. A moment later, there's a distinct click.
“It’s open.” Oracle says, voice strained. Slade tries the handle again and this time it turns easily.
The room inside is something between a military bunk and a prison cell. Small, with barely all the necessities a person needs to be left alone for a long period of time. Sitting on the bunk, clearly supported more by the wall than his own strength, is Nightwing.
Is Richard Grayson.
Any doubts Slade may have had - and there weren’t any - are gone. The person sitting on that bed, clutching his side like he’s holding a broken in place, is undoubtedly Nightwing. The suit is nowhere to be seen, replaced by what could politely be called old workout gear. The loose shirt does nothing to hide the new bruises, new scars, the open wounds. The loose shirt does nothing to hide the new bruises, the new scars, and open wounds. It doesn’t hide the old scars too. Some of which are as familiar to Slade as the intense gaze in those eyes.
This is clearly Nightwing.
And this is clearly a child.
There’s age in those eyes, Slade can see. One born from a lifetime of seeing too much shit. But everything else is so clearly youthful. A fresh wave of guilt almost knocks Slade to his knees. Jesus Christ. Was he really this fucking delusional?! This desperate to ignore the hand he played in Grant’s death?
Apparently so.
“Great.” Richard mutters to himself, sounding more pained than he probably wants to. The words quickly snap Slade back to reality. “I’m hallucinating again.”
“Not a hallucination, little bird.” Slade doesn’t think as he says it, not until he watches Richard flinch. The movement sets off a chain reaction, making the boy cry out in pain. Right, Slade thinks as he remembers where they are and why Richard was targeted. ‘Bird’ probably isn’t the most fun of nicknames anymore.
“Then what? Come to gloat?” He asks, pain leaving him breathless.
“Atone, more accurately.” Slade says. There doesn’t appear to be any chains or systems keeping Richard tied in place. As soon as he sees the boy's feet it makes sense. They’re covered in cuts, some deeper than others. Walking would be unpleasant, standing and trying to unlock that door would be unbearable. Slade doesn’t doubt Richard tried away, in the early days.
“Well now I know you’re not real.” He huffs, leaning his head back against the wall and shutting his eyes. “There’s not enough money in the world to make you save me.”
“One of your brothers did pay.” Slade admits. “Got me to pull my head out of my ass.”
“Heh, sure.” Richard doesn’t open his eyes. “I got your son killed, you’re not here to save me. Why couldn’t I hallucinate someone else?”
“You didn’t get Grant killed.” Slade finally says the words out loud, startling Richard enough to look at him. “You were, what? Fifteen? Fourteen?”
“Fifteen.” He answers softly.
“Grant was seventeen, he knew what he was getting into.” Slade says.
“We used the antidote.” Richard mutters, his eyes starting to look wet. Slade takes a steadying breath. He thinks he might have known that, might just have buried the knowledge in denial. “It didn’t work. I always thought it was ‘cause we were too late. Now I think it’s got something to do with this, doesn’t it?”
“I bet it does.” Slade agrees. It probably wasn’t even a functioning antidote. “Alright kid, I’m getting you home.”
“How?” Richard asks then startles when Slade touches his face. The movement causes him to wince again. “You’re real.” He says, more life coming into the eyes that Slade is inspecting.
“Told you kid. Grant’s death wasn’t your fault, I was just being a dumbass.” He lets go of Richard’s eyes, satisfied that he has at least some talon serum running around in his blood serum. Slade’s not sure what Cobb meant when he said it was reacting weirdly, maybe something to do with how his blood isn’t gold (although it isn’t quite red either, now that Slade’s paying closer attention).
“I can’t walk.” Richard tells him. He sounds more like Nightwing all of a sudden, not the nearly broken boy for a moment ago.
“I noticed.” Slade says, nodding to his destroyed feet. “Put this on, then I’ll carry you. You’ll have to go on my back, in case we need to fight our way out.”
“There’s only two people awake in the facility.” Richard tells him, taking the face mask with only a moment's hesitation. “Cobb and the doctor. Although there are at least a dozen Talons in the vats.”
“We won’t have to worry about the Talons.” Slade assures. “Assuming everything is good to go?” He adds, tilting his head away from Richard to indicate his com.
“I’m releasing the spell now.” Oracle informs him. “Get him out of there.”
“Barb?” Richard asks, voice muffled some by the mask, then he winces.
“Are all your senses enhanced?” Slade checks. It shouldn’t change anything about their escape, but it’s good to know anyway. Especially if he’s not used to them yet.
“More or less.” He answers, not sounding happy about it. “The serum’s not working right. My healing, my strength, and my speed were enhanced but not enough, apparently.” Slade nods.
“Oracle, try to make sure there aren’t any alarms that go off.” It takes a while to adjust to alarms with enhanced hearing. “Alright, on my back kid. I’ll need the movement.” Richard reaches up but hesitates again.
“I’m scared this isn’t real.” He whispers. “That you’re not real or you’re tricking me again.”
“Only one way to find out.” Slade says. “What have you got to lose?”
“My mind.” Richard answers, almost too quiet for even Slade to hear. Even so, he climbs onto Slade’s back.
Shortly into their escape, Cobb starts screaming. The Talons join him, when Oracle forces them all from their vats and into the poisoned air. The sound makes Richard tense, likely a mix of too loud and the knowledge that people are dying.
At some point, Slade hears the doctor searching for them. He avoids her, for Richard’s sake, but makes a note to ensure she joins Cobb in death.
Climbing the escape ladder isn’t the easiest with a passage but Slade manages. When he steps out of the building proper - into the relatively fresh air of Gotham - Richard pulls off the mask and looks up.
“I was in Gotham the whole time?” He asks, quiet and broken. Whatever adrenaline spike he got from realising Slade wasn’t a hallucination is well gone.
“The Bat knew, probably.” Slade says. He may have even known the specifics, what with the Talon blood he had stored. “The others didn’t. That’s why they needed me. That and the Talons are dangerous. I’m notably more expandable to the lot of you.” Oracle doesn’t counter the argument, neither does Richard.
“He probably knew the whole time.” Richard sighs.
“B’s off-planet.” Oracle offers. No, Barbara offers. Her tone is suddenly completely different.
“That doesn’t actually make me feel better.” Richard mutters.
“I know.” Barbara mumbles right back. “He has been worried though, you know.”
“Yeah, just not worried enough to do anything about it.” Richard says. Slade is silent as first, moving carefully across the roofs of Gotham. The words are familiar, a painful reminder of his relationship with Grant. With all his children, honestly.
“Is he a problem?” He asks eventually, unable to stop himself. “I was taking you towards the manor, but I can detour. The Tower isn’t that fair.”
“This is why I don’t think you’re real.” Richard groans into his shoulder. “You literally sold me to Gotham’s worst murder cult, now you’re acting like… like a weird uncle. What the hell Slade?”
“I told you, I got my head out my ass.” Slade says. He almost shrugs then stops, not wanting to justle the boy's injuries. Richard doesn’t say anything but Slade gets the impression he’s not so convinced. After a moment of considering it, Slade continues.
“Grant went with H.I.V.E because I pushed him too hard. I was a terrible father and a worse mentor. It pushed him to H.I.V.E because they promised him powers and respect. And it got him killed. You were there, and I couldn’t handle the guilt so I convinced myself you were an adult. Then Cobb showed up and implied you were the missing Talon.”
“Wasn’t. M’dad was.” Richard says. “Actual dad, not B. I didn’t know.”
“I figured that out after your brother hired me to find you. Civilian you.” He said that before but this time it makes Richard wince.
“Who else did you figure out?” It might be quicker to list off who he didn’t figure out, but Slade doesn’t say that.
“Doesn’t matter.” Slade hums.
“Why not?”
“I do have some rules, kid.” Slade says. “One, I don’t take contracts on kids. Two, I don’t hurt my kids. Fortunately for you, Joey cares a lot about the Titans. And you.”
“You broke that rule though.” Richard points out. “When you took Cobb's contract.”
“I did.” Slade confirms. “And I was so guilt-ridden I took down the Court of Owls.”
“Well, I guess I can’t argue with that.” Richard mumbles, relaxing against Slade’s back. Moments later, the mercenary realises the boy’s asleep.
He meets Oracle at the front of Wayne manor, and helps her settle the boy in such a way that she can wheel him into the house proper. They don’t say a word to each other until Slade is leaving.
“Take care of him.” He asks.
“Obviously.” She replies.
“And tell me, if the Bat is a problem.” That makes her hesitate a moment before Oracle nods and they part ways.
When Tim Drake sends him the rest of the money, Slade doesn’t hesitant to send the 40 million back.
That family’s paid more than enough for his stupidity and pride.
Constantine doesn’t take much prompting when Slade finds him sitting in the bar, nursing a drink.
“It’s going to get worse for the kid before it gets better.” He says. “Talon serum fades a bit, like his dad’s did. But what I did to him will fade first. He’ll get the full force of the serum, and I don’t know how long that’ll take to fade.”
Slade nurses a drink of his own after hearing that.