Turning Tides

Preface

Slade Wilson and Amelia Jackson met in a pub while he was fulfilling a contract in the North of England; Amelia had been with a few friends when Slade had approached her and they had hit it off right away, arranging a date for the next night.

Slade grew attached to her, more attached than he had been to anyone since Adeline. Long story short, they began 'dating'--well, if a mercenary could ever actually date, but that's what they'd called it, anyway.

Evangeline was soon conceived, but Amelia, having learned what Slade did for a living, kept the child a secret from him, swearing that she'd never let her daughter become a murderer like her father–it failed, ultimately, but at least she had tried, right?

Amelia had ran away while Slade was off at 'work' and paid Wintergreen a decent sum of Wilson's money to cover her tracks for her, and he did.

Amelia and Eva lived in relative peace for four years–sure, there were a few scares that Slade might have found them, but Wintergreen (who was ever-loyal to Amelia despite his friendship with Wilson) always tipped them off just in time and always had a safehouse prepped for the two to move into.

Evangeline was just a week away from starting primary school when it happened.

Amelia had nipped to the corner shop just down the road that day, leaving a napping Eva on the sofa for no more than ten minutes–but it was more than enough for Slade.

And far more than enough for Deathstroke.

He'd been observing them for two days at that point, staking out on a rooftop that opposed their quaint little flat and taking note of their habits. Since Amelia wasn't far off being just an average citizen in the small town–the only thing setting her apart being that she had once dated a mercenary–she was quite predictable. He probably hadn't needed to wait more than a day to make his move, but something inside his cold heart warmed at the sight of his daughter giggling when her mother played peek-a-boo with her, or when she would shout nonsensical warnings at the brightly-coloured characters as they moved across their small tv screen.

He had a daughter.

A whole fucking daughter.

And Amelia had kept her from him for four whole fucking years.

Not anymore.

Slade climbed down the fire escape of the apartment block that he had been living on for the past 48 hours and made his way across the surprisingly busy road, clad in his orange and black uniform, ready to take what was his, whether Amelia liked it or not.

When he reached the door of their flat, he knocked it down without hesitation, knowing that there would be no resistance from the other side since Amelia wasn't even half way to the corner shop yet, and he seriously doubted that his four year old kid would be barricading the door.

He'd be insanely proud if she was, though.

His foot made contact with the door and it flew open, swaying treacherously as it threatened to fall off its hinges.

That's when he saw her up close for the first time.
His daughter, Evangeline Marie Wilson, stared up at him with wide eyes from her place on the sofa, looking like a deer in headlights.

And then the tears started.

Well shit.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, kid," Slade tried, and failed, to comfort the terrified infant. He hadn't expected this to happen. Were kids always this jumpy? He'd seriously have to train her to keep her emotions in check if she was going to be living with him of all people. "It's okay, I'm just here to bring you home."

She sniffed and scooted away from him as he moved closer. Why was this so hard?

"Mummy said not to talk to strangers. This is my home!"

Oh, for fuck's sake. "But, you see, I'm not a stranger, Eva. I'm your dad, and your mommy wants you to come stay with me now, okay?" Yeah, he was lying, but so what? The kid obviously wasn't coming with him (at least willingly) any other way, and he'd rather not have her first memory of him be a kidnapping.

"You're not my daddy; you sound funny."

Slade's expression fell blank. Damn Brits. He decided on a different route.

"First off: you're the one that sounds funny, kid, alright?" Eva glared at him, reminding him so much of himself that he had to hold in a small chuckle. "Second," he pulled his mask off, watching his daughter's eyes widen as she took in his eyepatch, "if you're not my daughter, then why do you look like me, huh?

That one wasn't a lie; they did look startlingly alike: Eva had the same white-blonde hair as he did and the same bright blue eyes, except hers looked a bit more freaked out than his did at that moment. Even their skin tone was pretty much the same, but Eva was a great deal paler than the man was, having clearly inherited her mother's English skin that looked like it had never seen the light of day.

"But I have two eyes?"

This kid, man, this kid. He didn't know whether to laugh or be offended.

He settled for a mix of both.

"Don't be rude, Evangeline. I got in an accident, that's why. So, are you gonna come with your old man or not?" She was either way, he just wanted her to feel like she was in control of the situation so that if Amelia came back soon, he could truthfully say that she was coming willingly.

She thought for a second, tapping her finger to her chin in thought. She was downright adorable.

"Can I have one of those cool swords?"

Yeah, this was definitely his daughter.

"Sure, kid," he chuckled. "I'll give you a sword if you come with me-"

Thump.

Slade turned around to see the woman who he had once loved standing before him, her blue eyes wide and her body stiff, with a black plastic bag by her feet, its contents spilled across the old, wooden floor.

"What are you doing here?" She finally managed through gritted teeth. Amelia's dark hair hung in loose curls down her chest, which was moving far too rapidly to be healthy.

"What are you doing here, Amelia, with my daughter?" he spat back, placing himself between her and the child.

"I've been looking after her, Slade, while you went off to kill people." She hissed.

He felt Eva go rigid behind him and anger bloomed to the surface.

"So what?" He countered, taking a step towards the blue-eyed demon before him, his voice deadly low. "She's my daughter, Amelia. My fucking kid. You think I'd hurt her?" He was close to her now, his face mere inches from her own.

Silence.

"Yes."

Red.

He didn't think. He didn't process anything until it was already done; when he heard his daughter's sobs echoing through the old flat. When he sheathed his sword.

When he saw Amelia Katherine Jackson lying dead on the apartment's floor, crimson blood pouring rapidly from her throat.

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Word count: 1210
A/N: This is my first time writing in a while, so any help is appreciated! Also I can't reply to comments because my dumbass logged myself out of my old account that actually has my real email and for this I used a fake one that I can't verify🫠