Son of Deathstroke

The Fall

"Master Wayne, where do you think you're going?" Alfred asked.

The millionaire paused in putting on his jacket. "Haly's Circus. I bought tickets. I don't want them to go to waste."

"Sir, you are in no condition to go out."

"Alfred--"

"You have the flu. You need rest. It is either this or the business meeting tomorrow. And you DID say that was important, did you not?"

"Alfred, I am a grown man, and--"

"One that evidently never learned when to take the night off." The butler raised his eyebrows pointedly.

The millionaire took the hint and handed his jacket to his insistent housekeeper. "Give the tickets to Commissioner Gordon and his daughter. I'm sure they would enjoy it. I hope I don't miss anything bigger than the Graysons' quadruple flip."

xXx

Snap.

Crack.

Screaming.

Dick stared at his parents' still forms in disbelief. What-- How-- Were-- Could they--?

Complete thoughts were beyond his capabiliy.

He tried to approach them, shoving through the crowd.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't get close enough. He couldn't get there. He couldn't see them anymore.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

So he ran.

He left behind the tent and raced away, not paying attention to where he was going.

He was sobbing now, gasping as he blindly stumbled away from the tragedy and horror behind him.

He ran right into him.

xXx

Slade Wilson grabbed the boy who had run into him by the shoulders, taking in the costume he wore and his disheveled and distraught appearance.

The boy tried to pull away, which was understandable. He imagined the Deathstroke uniform looked terrifying in the eyes of a child.

"What's happened?" he asked him.

The boy continued to sob and babbled incomplete thoughts in Romanian. "Mami-- Tati-- cădea [fell]-- întrerupe [cut]-- firele [wires]--" He broke off into more sobbing.

He could glean enough. "Where are they now?"

That just made him cry even harder.

The mercenary finally understood. "Your mother and father are dead?"

The boy nodded, finally trying to rein in his emotions. He was now breathing in shuddering gasps. He made a small noise in the back of his throat that brought forth an emotion the mercenary hadn't felt in years: compassion.

"What do you say I help you?"

"H-help me?" Apparently the acrobat could speak English.

"You say the wires were cut?"

"I saw him! The man who did it! I saw him come out of the tent! But I didn't *hic* tell anyone..." The agony of what Slade knew must be guilt appeared on his face, contorting his expression to suit its needs. He was on the verge of crying again.

Under his mask, Slade had smiled slightly at the hiccup, but was immediately distracted by the pain in the boy's voice and how much he knew the boy needed to stop blaming himself. Now, the smile came back, a bit bigger, as he arrived at a decision. "Well, what do you say we pay him a little visit?"