Blood Ties

Chapter 16 -Soft Spot-

Deathstroke was crouching, stock still and dead silent as he observed the roof.

Dick was on that roof, THE roof, the roof Dick always ran off to when he was upset.

Deathstroke wasn't visible to any untrained eye, he was deep within the shadows of the roof adjacent to their old apartment, watching and waiting. The perch wasn't too close to the edge, he could barely see his apprentice, but he wasn't sure he wanted to keep this detailed imagine of his abandoned boy in his mind anyway. It was a quiet night, yet something in the air felt abnormally alive, something that prickled at his skin but he refused to let it faze him.

He was focused on his son.

Slade would have loved to just jump down, pull Dick close, and run. Never look back. Unfortunately, with their current situation, there was nowhere to run to, no place to hide from the people he so foolishly thought he could work with. If he took Renegade and ran, for one he'd look like a complete coward, but also they'd both be dead (or the immortal's equivalent) within a week at best. It was in Dick's best interest to stay with the heroes, that was his only chance of getting out of this chess game alive. Even if at the cost of Slade himself. Which meant it was in Slade's best interest to stay away, but with Dick coming here of all places after having a night terror... he just couldn't help himself.

He was there, watching, waiting for Dick to wake up.

It was too cold outside, Dick would get a cold if he stayed out for much longer. He couldn't feel the wind through his suit, not even the chilling air, but the picture pinched between his fingers fidgeted with the gusts along with the boy's midnight hair.

Slade's mood was mirrored by the atmosphere, the clouds grazing the tops of the buildings, giving the scene a dreary and dream-like feel. The past few days had been a haze, anytime his mind wasn't occupied Slade often found himself paused in a room, feeling like he was missing something, then realizing Dick wasn't there. Then he would get angry, hitting the training room for a good relaxing spar with a punching bag, one that always ended with sandy guts spilled on the floor. One that held no taunting laughter of his apprentice, no swift moving shadow playfully lurking in his blind spot, no challenge to his practiced fists.

Slade has tried to protect Dick from all of this mercenary business, he never wanted this for Dick, he never wanted Dick to become involved in this deadly game of chance. He had tried keeping him away, giving him missions that weren't too big or noticeable, something he wouldn't have to worry about other bigger players jumping in and running amuck.

Dick had technically only been out in the field for a year before it came to this apparently inescapable fate. Slade, at the time before Wintergreen's death, figured he should give the boy at least some self defense training, but Dick wouldn't have it. He would seize up and ignore him, simply standing there like an emotionless log and trying not to flinch anytime Slade got physical with him. Slade would usually back off after a few probes, deciding maybe the boy hadn't grown out of his fear of violent adults yet. The truth was Dick already knew how to defend himself, he was only hiding any part of him that resembled anything the Court put in him.

After Wintergreen's death though, it was like a dam had been opened and Dick was truly himself.

Slade has been surprised, very surprised, at the notion the poor little boy he picked up off the streets had any link to the merciless Talons. He had felt a bit betrayed by the secret, but he hardly held it against the child, he was still just that, a child, he couldn't have known better. Of course he was angry about Wintergreen's death, he had been his only actual friend through his entire carrier of lies and betrayal. Slade tried his best to keep his anger away from the boy, it really wasn't his fault, Dick had reacted just as badly as Slade had to his death, just a lot more openly.