The air was dead, thick, and suffocating. It was dark and foggy, a little lonely if not deadly. The fog trapped the world in a bottle, like there was nothing else beyond the fog, teasing eyes into seeing things that weren't there, like a dream.

The orange and black-clad mercenary crouched on the edge of a roof, he seemed paralyzed, he didn't even look like he was breathing.

He surveyed the street, not a single soul in sight. Gotham's dark night weighed heavy in the air, thick storm clouds low and dangerous. The street lamps were a sickly yellow, casting barely a haze into the foggy atmosphere. It was a place of dangerous things, deceitful, and dreadful.

Deathstroke didn't shift as a shadow dropped silently behind him.

He didn't even blink.

The mercenary continued to watch and wait, his katana safely strapped to his back and his fully loaded gun in one hand resting on his lap. The shadow grew hands, dark gloves reaching out for the unsuspecting man.

The shadow hurtled forward and tackled Deathstroke.

"Gotcha!" A light cackle filled the damp air, adding a new sense of joy to the dreary scene. The mercenary struggled to remain upright as he found a raven-haired boy had wrapped his arms around his neck. The boy was smiling and his masked eyes squinted with laughter, Deathstroke released a sigh.

"Sure kid, sure." Deathstroke rolled his eye to the heavens and focused back onto the street, ignoring the child clinging to his back. But he couldn't suppress a small smile under his mask.

"Admit it, I finally got the drop on you." The small teen said pridefully. Deathstroke could hear the boy breathing loudly next to his ear and a little heart beating against his back through the thick clothes and metal guards both of them wore.

"If you got the drop on me I wouldn't be able to do this." Deathstroke punctuated his sentence with a shrug of his shoulders, the boy gave a small yelp and a thud as he slid of the mercenaries slick metal plating.

The boy huffed with a scowl and crossed his arms as he sat on the ground in a pout. "Well, I wasn't trying to incapacitate you, if I was you'd be out cold by now."

"Would I?" Deathstroke asked, disbelief clearly evident in his tone as his gaze never shifted from the alley they were standing guard over.

"Yeah," The boy said, a grin slipping back onto his face. "especially since Catwoman taught me that one move." The boy stood and slipped into a practiced stance, he jabbed at the air playfully, imagining an opponent he had just nerve attacked.

The mercenary let the boy play as he kept an ever-watchful eye on the ground. It was times like these he wished he had both his eyes so he could watch both. (He, of course, knew that's not how eyes worked but the sentiment was still there.)

"Settle down Ren, our target is coming." The mercenary scolded with a narrowed eye, returning to a whisper.

The boy, Renegade, dropped his stance and scuttled up to the lip of the roof, peering down into the street.

Gotham was as grimy and dark as the boy remembered, dirt and litter lines the streets, the fog made it impossible to see very far but the hazy yellow street lamps signified where the street ended and started. There were some puddles here and there on the cobbled alleyways, nothing stirred in the dead air. It was peaceful almost, like the whole world just paused for a moment.

Until a dark figure slowly got more defined as it exited the fog.

Renegade shifted his footing and kept an eye out at his mentor for any signs, if he were to do anything, Deathstroke would tell him.

Deathstroke remained stoic, watching the target glide by in a dark mass through his single eye.

"Stay." Was Deathstroke's simple command. Renegade nodded his compliance and watched his mentor.

Deathstroke rose silently, keeping his gun in hand and reached back with his other to slide his katana from its sheath.

Renegade grinned, Deathstroke was about to do something cool.

The mercenary leaned forwards and fell, he somersaulted in midair and kicked off the wall. The flying mercenary dug his blade into the ground, sparks danced where the blade grated against the ground. His speed slowed and he stopped himself a few yards from the dark form.

Deathstroke straightened and twirled his blade threateningly, his gun lowered to the ground but definitely noticeable.

"Deathstroke."

The mercenary glared at the man.

"You know what's about to happen." The gravely voice continued. "You can't stop it."

"Not this time. You overestimate yourself." Deathstroke growled.

The Dark Knight didn't reply. Both men stood silently for a moment before they exploded into action.

Deathstroke brought his katana up to deflect the batarangs thrown at him, he fired off his gun and the shadowed form dodged with ease.

Each man ghosted forward, Deathstroke's katana and Batman's arm guard met with a clang of metal on metal. Batman punched the mercenary's unprotected side, the man took the blow in favor of hitting the bat vigilante on his temple with the butt of his gun.

Batman staggered back, quickly dodging Deathstroke's blade and flipping backward to gain distance.

Deathstroke fired at the vigilante again, but the bullets seemed to harmlessly pass by. Anger riled up inside of Deathstroke, he ran forwards with a guttural yell.

Batman stood still, waiting for the mercenary to get closer.

The next few minutes were filled with flying fists and grunts of pain. Batman was able to knock both the gun and the blade from Deathstroke's hands. Renegade looked down onto the scene with worry, not aware of the man creeping up behind him.

The two men were locked in an intense hand-to-hand fight, each nearly missing their target and if a single blow should land the fight would be over. Deathstroke and Batman went back and forth in lunges and dodges in a deadly dance. Batman rose his arms in an X formation to block another blow, he then kicked out and caught the mercenary in the knee, causing the man to fall.

Deathstroke grunted and sifted so he fell onto his hands, he swiped at Batman's legs with his own, now the vigilante was on the ground. Deathstroke flipped upwards and came down on the Dark Knight. There was no room for error here, every second, every blow counted.

Deathstroke was about to smash down on the vigilante's head to finish the fight but a gloved fist rose up and hit his chin.

Deathstroke's head whipped backward and his balance failed, he stumbled back, a line of blood dripping from his mouth, a section of the orange part of his mask had cracked and broke off.

Both men stood still, heavily breathing and nearly exhausted from their fight. Each man held scuff marks and deep bruises, pain lacing almost every limb and it spiked as every breath was taken. Deathstroke forced himself to stand upright, he knew that if he didn't end it soon, something bad would happen. He couldn't let it happen, not again.

The mercenary wiped at the blood on his chin, his single eye glaring at the vigilante who stood across from him.

And just like that, the fight began again.

Deathstroke grew more weary with each dodge, his own blows became slower and more pitiful. Batman seemed unstoppable. Deathstroke forced himself to go faster, to trip up the man in black, he was fighting for more than just his life.

"SLADE!"

A fearful cry from a familiar voice distracted the mercenary.

Renegade looked beaten up and held roughly against his will in the arms of Green Arrow. The orange half of the boy's mask had been torn off, his piercing blue gaze brimmed with tears, not with pain, but with fear. Renegade struggled against the archer, he only succeeded in giving himself more pain as his arms were held tightly behind him. The boy was breathing heavily and his hair hung in his eyes, blood trickled from his forehead and other places along his body. His orange and black suit was torn in places, blood was smeared on the metal. Renegade didn't go down without a fight, it made the mercenary both proud and angry.

Deathstroke's eye widened in pure fear.

Within the second Deathstroke was distracted Batman lunged and twisted the mercenary around, grabbing him in a headlock.

Deathstroke struggled for air, his concern not for his own life but for the life of his apprentice. The vigilante wouldn't strangle him, he could use that to his advantage, but he wouldn't be surprised if the vigilante did knock him out.

"Give up," Batman growled.

Deathstroke tried elbowing the vigilante in the gut, it had no effect, he couldn't kick at him either as Batman forced him off balance.

"Ne-ver." Deathstroke choked out. His eye bugged and it caught the horrified gaze of Renegade.

The boy struggled more, crying out Deathstroke's name. "No! Slade! Don't let them take me! Please!" The boy was sobbing now, Green Arrow held him back stoically, ignoring the boy's pained cries of anguish.

"Get... your hands... off of him," Deathstroke growled, more like garbled as he was still struggling for air.

"Deathstroke, for your many crimes and murders, and for the kidnapping and abusing a minor, you're under arrest. We're taking the boy." Batman said.

"No!" Renegade yelled, "please! Sla-"

The boy was cut off by a whack to the head by Green Arrow, forcing the boy into unconsciousness. The archer then hoisted the boy onto his shoulder and carried him away into the fog, never to be seen again.

Batman released Deathstroke and the mercenary tumbled to the ground, exhaustion pricking at his bones and air finally returning to his lungs.

Batman stood triumphantly over the wounded mercenary.

"You should be ashamed of yourself. You never saved him from anything. You failed him. He trusted you, and you lied. He will hate you once he learns the truth. You turned a child into a killer." Batman spat, "He deserves better. He deserves to be safe. You will never be his father."

Deathstroke closed his eye, and for the first time, Deathstroke let the tears fall.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Slade woke silently, he had trained himself to wake without alerting anyone, it was rather anticlimactic considering what he had dreamt about.

He rose slowly in his bed, sitting in the pitch-black room. It was probably late, a look at the clock told him it was early morning, only a few minutes until his alarm would go off. He breathed in a deep sigh and slid a hand over his tired face.

His hand met his scratchy white beard, he rubbed his eye and blinked tiredly. He grabbed at his eyepatch on the table next to his bed where a lamp, a clock, and a gun resided.

Another day, another nightmare.

His greatest fear, his only regret.

Slade tossed his covers to the side, he knew he wouldn't go back to sleep, there wasn't enough time anyway, his alarm would go off in two minutes. He rested his feet on the cool ground, thankful for something to wake him up a bit more. His long pants were bunched at his knees, he smoothed them down and sighed again. He'd been tossing and turning again, his shirt was also twisted a little. He wished the nightmares would leave. He understood what they were saying. He knew what he had to do, he just didn't want to do it.

The sleepy mercenary got to his feet and pushed the unwanted thoughts out, yanking the chain that would turn on the lamp next to his bed. Orange light bathed the room in its burnt hue, a simple bed in a room with no windows, a dresser and an office like desk on either side of the room, a door in the middle.

Slade grabbed the gun and put it in his waistband behind his back, he wouldn't be using it hopefully, he carried a gun with him everywhere, just in case.

He sidled over to the door, it opened silently and he stalked through a bare hallway. It was all stone, webs clung to the corners, Slade had tried to keep it as clean as possible but it was a near-impossible task. The hallway was lit with white lights from the ceiling, at intervals of two yards, it made his graying hair seem more white than it actually was. They say raising a teenager can add a few white hairs, and Slade believed it, but those white lights often gave the mercenary a different feeling of age. He felt ancient, like every step was another thousand years, his bare feet plodded along, his eye searching his surroundings out of habit. The hallway curved to the left, the mercenary paused at the first door, he rose a hand to knock.

After waiting a few seconds Slade opened the door a crack, a rectangle of light shot into the room, illuminating whatever was in the square.

Dick Grayson slept peacefully on the bed, his mouth was parted and a bit of drool escaped through the corner. His raven locks were wild with bed head, his closed eyes casting a peaceful look upon the boy's face. His head was leaning off the pillow, an arm raised above his head on the pillow while his other dangled off the mattress. His two-colored mask rested on the cold ground, obviously having either fallen off or taken off during sleep. The boy's chest moved up and down rhythmically and softly, deep with sleep.

The boy's suit and some random articles of clothing lay scattered across the floor, papers rested on the desk and a few books lay open. A few disks and his belt were laid on the chair, Slade would have to get onto Dick about that. The boy knew he should always have his belt on his person, whether he was sleeping or not. A glint of metal caught the mercenary's eye and he snorted softly. Under the boy's pillow was a blade, it's hilt barely visible beneath it.

Slade thought for a moment longer then closed the door.

He would let him rest, teenagers needed sleep, especially this one, he got sassy when he doesn't get enough sleep and Slade was always the one who paid for it.

Slade went off down the hallway again, the worm of worry fleeing his chest. Dick was safe, and Slade was determined to keep it that way.

Slade entered a new room, passing under an archway instead of a door, he flicked on the lights and was met by the kitchen. Slade wandered over to the pantry and grabbed a blue bag, he then went to one of the cabinets and brought out a bowl. He then got a pan out from a drawer and set it on the stovetop.

Pancakes were the best meal on birthday mornings.

SURPRISE

ITS ANOTHER BOOK

I seem to be drowning in them.

Anywho, I got this idea while making dinner. Really random I know, but it wouldn't leave so here I am, ready to pull more heart strings.

To be clear this is NOT a Sladin book, heck nah. It's about a Deathstroke who isn't an arse and has his own version of Daddybats. You'll find out more as the story progresses.

But for now, the word count is 2524.

I swear one of these days I'm going to actually drown in books.