Chapter Text
Slade had to admit that the kid was efficient. And maybe even competent. He’d seen hints of that in their initial not-planned team-up, but now Red Hood was living up to the expectations.
Todd pulled a knife and wiggled it between the window and the frame. After barely a moment, he pulled it back, grabbed the window, and slid it open. The kid looked at Slade. Expression was hard to sparse under the mask, but Slade was pretty sure Todd was grinning.
“Courtesy of Gotham warehouse design,” Todd whispered, barely audible. He didn’t wait for a reply (not that one was forthcoming), instead slipping into the warehouse, silent as a ghost. Huh. Seemed like the kid had also been practicing: he compensated well for the longer limbs and heavier body.
Slade followed the kid into the darkness of the interior. He had to blink a few times for his eyes to adjust. Damn, he missed his eyesight, lopsided as it was.
The catwalk below him was narrow and creaky, running along the length of the warehouse right by the roof. Sometimes Slade wondered if the bats have adapted to the architectural design of Gotham or if the architecture contorted to suit them. Slade wouldn’t put that kind of blatant favoritism past this blasted city. Courtesies, indeed.
Slade kept to a low crouch and moved forward for a better vantage point. The kid had stopped right on the optimal spot, waiting for him wrapped in shadows and silence. He was perfectly still, blending in so well that even Slade had trouble seeing him, his eyes almost sliding right over the spot. Anybody below didn’t have a chance of spotting him.
Slade pulled his gaze away from the kid and peered down. Looked like the kid’s intel was good.
The warehouse was in frantic movement. They were packing. Crate after crate was checked, then either abandoned or sealed and moved closer to the doors and arranged in uniform high stacks for easy transport. People were not running, but every movement hinted that they just might burst into a sprint at any moment. The tension was palpable.
Slade allowed himself a smile. They were spooked. Good.
And there, near the door, gesturing all over the place and not-so-efficiently guiding the men, was his target. The ringleader of this little gang, a wanna-be big-name smuggler who had stepped on just one too many toes in his pathetic scramble for fame and money. Even from this distance, Slade could see that the man didn’t look too healthy. He was sweating under the hard lights, switching nervously, rubbing his hands alternatively together and to his thighs. All together unable to stay still.
It was nice to see that the prey knew the hunter was coming. And dreaded it.
“Ready?” Todd asked quietly.
Slade looked at him. Todd looked back. A set of eyebrow twitches was lost under the helmets.
“No other questions?” Slade finally whispered before the wordless exchange got completely ridiculous.
“We covered everything already, didn’t we?” Todd whispered back pointedly.
Sure, they did. But that’d never stopped Grayson or others from the kid’s ilk from taking any opportunity to hammer the ‘rules’ home again.
Todd tilted his head. The gesture was annoyingly familiar.
“So,” Todd whispered, “ready?”
This time Slade just nodded.
Todd pulled a smoke grenade from his belt (well, Slade’s belt, but semantics), flicked off the safety, and threw it. The clamber of it hitting the ground nearly vanished into the surrounding noise, but the white smoke that burst out couldn't be missed by anybody with eyes. Somebody yelled, the target whirled around, face twisting in fear.
Time to hunt.
Slade jumped down from the catwalk, seeing Todd do the same at the corner of his eye. Slade pulled two guns from his holsters, took aim, and shot, fast and ruthlessly. Knee-cap, shoulder, hand, another shoulder, both knee-caps of the man trying to hit Todd’s back with a stray crowbar. One hit nicely to the thigh, that’d leave a mark. Slade followed up with a kick to the chest and didn’t wait for the body hit the ground before moving on.
There was a gurgling scream amidst the white smoke, one that in Slade’s experience meant a painful sword wound. Good, Todd was doing his part.
At the same moment as the thought arrived, Todd became visible in the smoke. He wasn’t moving Slade’s body like Slade would’ve, but had obviously figured out the longer reach of his temporary body and used it accordingly. He moved smoothly, continuously, flowing from one maneuver to the next, combining power with grace, flawless technical moves with haymakers suited for all out-brawls in dirty bars. And he wasn’t shy. When he hit, the target stayed down. Huh.
Slade ducked and jammed his elbow up, hitting a thug trying to sneak up at him nicely right under the jaw. Fine, peripheral vision had its uses. But honestly, he’d rather take his senses back. The thug staggered backward but didn’t fall down. Slade sighed and kicked, hitting the man right on the chest and down he went. With his actual body, the power of the punch would’ve been just perfect for a black-out hit. Apparently, he didn’t need to compensate quite as much. Though maybe it was better to err on the side of caution this time; he doubted the kid would accept a contract breach due to an accident. Especially one caused by clear incompetence. And Slade was more professional than that, thank you. If he broke a deal, it was on purpose.
The man on the ground groaned pitifully. Slade looked around. Amid the lazily swirling smoke, there was no longer movement, not counting some bodies switching on the floor. Looked like the onslaught had ended. Time to finish the contract.
“Don’t come any closer!” a high voice yelled, nearly breaking at the end. “I mean it!”
The kid laughed, low and mean. “Not much you can do about it,” he said.
Slade followed the voices to the middle of the warehouse.
The target had tried to escape, but retreated when they had cut the escape routes. Now his back was against a high and steady stack of crates. Slade could’ve climbed them, easily, but this shithead obviously couldn’t. Which meant that he had nowhere to go.
The kid’s head turned slightly as Slade appeared. He had been waiting. The sword was ready but not raised at his side. Ah. Time to see if the kid could keep his part of the deal.
The kid raised the sword and cheekily saluted Slade. Then he stepped forward.
The target screeched. His hand darted back and the next thing Slade knew something small flew through the air and slammed on the ground. There was a sound of something breaking. The target yelled, but this time it sounded purposeful.
“Oh, fuck” said Todd.
Black smoke poured out of the item. Except it wasn’t really smoke, looking too much like an inky liquid for that, even as it rose like a cloud. And it wasn’t really black either, more like a shiny reflective piece of pure nothing. Nothing that didn’t disperse, instead forming a steady shape in the air.
Oh, fuck.
The blackish inkiness surged forward. Todd dived left, dodging a— something that tried to hit him. The inkiness pulsed and by the next blink, it had doubled in size.
Slade flung back as part of it flashed toward him. Heat, pressure, prickling like electricity scorched his chest. Slade crashed down to the floor, and without thought rolled left.
It didn’t even hit him! Fuck, that thing had an aura.
“I recommend dodging!” Todd yelled.
Slade gritted his teeth against the unpleasant feeling spreading in him. It wasn’t really pain, but it left a prickling in its wake as if trying to steal the strength of his muscles. He didn’t bother to waste his breath on replying, just raised to a crouch and pulled the guns.
Shot, shot, shot, three bullets right to the center. The thing didn’t even flicker. Fucking rubber bullets.
“Do you have anything that works on that?” Slade yelled, though he doubted that regular bullets would do much more of a dent either. Faintly, he could see the target covering behind the entity against the crates. Slade shot again, this time aiming for the target. The man flinched and screamed, but nothing reached him. The bullets didn’t go through the entity, not even the parts that were a bit transparent. Fuck. That’s it for that idea.
Todd rolled and sprang up from a crouch. He seated the sword on its scabbard and planted his feet. He yanked his arms wide open and forward, palms up, fingers wide and—
Nothing happened.
“Oh, c’moon!” Todd wailed, “That’s so clearly soul-tied magic!”
The black inkiness surged again and Todd ducked, hitting the ground shoulder first. When he came up, he re-threw the sword and slashed. It was a neat, beautiful slash, but the effect was about as pronounced as with the bullets.
Slade rolled again and took the shots he could, even though it amounted to nothing more than a waste of bullets.
“S!” Todd yelled, “Ditch the guns! Think of swords!”
What? How was that supposed to be helpful?
Slade didn’t have time to show his indignation, but Todd probably got the gist, because the next thing Slade heard was a string of curses. Detailed and creatively used.
Slade would appreciate that more if he wasn’t so busy dodging.
Slade rolled and ducked behind another stack of crates. They needed a plan. And they needed it now. Fucking magic.
“Heads up!” came from the left.
Slade moved and half a second later Todd crashed hard to the side of the crates. He didn’t stop to take a breath, just pushed out: “Okay, a crash course on my magic: stand like I did. Think of swords. And evil.”
“This is the special situation then?” Slade asked.
“Yes,” said Todd, “and I rather risk whatever mess John was talking about than let that shit get away with this. How about you?”
Something hit the stack and the crates wobbled dangerously. They couldn't stay.
Todd didn’t wait for an answer and continued to explain, talking fast, “Think of how much you want the rid to the world of that thing and—“
The explanation broke as Todd looked up. Then he pushed and Slade tilted back. Slade used the momentum to roll and stood up on the other side of the crates.
“Just try it!” Todd yelled and darted to the thing, brandishing the sword again. He docked a tendril of whatever, and sliced and dashed as he went, whirling around like a fully trained swordsman. He didn’t bother with theatrics, just efficiency and dealing as many hits as possible, dancing around the counterattacks.
And none of that made even a dent.
A tendril smacked Todd right on the middle of the chest and the kid staggered. Ouch. Slade’s skin was still prickling after only a close contact. He wasn’t eager to find out what an actual straight-on hit did.
Fuck it. Wasn’t like he had any better ideas.
Slade widened his stance and opened his arms like a second-grade wizard trying to show off.
Alright. Swords.
Slade took a deep breath and visualized his favorite sword, extending from his hand. He missed it. After so long, it was more than a weapon. An extension of his own limbs, full of deathly purpose, honed and kept with care. Blade always sharp, the balance perfect.
Slade looked at the thing. He didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t of Gotham. It was alien to this place, and whether or not it had the capacity to know it, only a weapon. A shield brandished by a man who was evil. Slade didn't put much stock on white and black differentiation of morality, especially when it came to people. But it didn’t matter if someone was really evil in their heart. It mattered what they did. And trafficking… That was undisputedly high on the list of evil acts.
The world would be better without the man in it. He would enjoy it, sure, but that didn’t make the act any less righteous.
The thing aimed at Todd again. Their fight was making the air charged, the pressure of it pushing on Slade’s skin. The kid rolled and sliced, but kept close. He was distracting it. Or maybe he was annoying it, at least. If such a thing could be annoyed. Waiting for… Well, Slade, apparently.
And what the fuck ever was supposed to happen.
“And now what?” Slade yelled.
Todd took a quick look back. “You call that trying? Concentrate!”
Goddamn brat.
“Think of…” Todd dodged another slap. The entity shivered again, making electricity tingle in the air. “Purpose! Justice! Evil!”
Slade pushed out a breath. That was the opposite of helpful. He still had no idea what was supposed to happen. But he looked at the thing. And then really looked at it.
It wasn’t his target, but it was an obstacle. It didn't matter how hard it would be to get past, impossible even. It mightn't be the most noble of pursuits, but Deathstroke never backed down.
The target would die tonight.
And that thing was in his way.
The air tingled as he drew it into his lungs, letting it fill him up, center him.
But the feeling didn’t stop there.
“Wha…” Slade said, gaze snapping to his hands.
“Let it happen!” Todd yelled.
Slade’s skin warmed and then it burned, all along the veins in his forearms. His chest constrained, suddenly heavy, as a pulse of the tingling, much more powerful, run through it.
For a millisecond, everything stood still.
Then he was holding two swords.
By reflex, his grip snapped tight over the handles.
The swords glowed. Then they burst into flames.
Suddenly Slade felt hunger, a deep and haunting yearning. A drive, a need to— to—
“Heads up!” yelled Todd.
Slade looked up just as Todd sprinted past him.
Leaving the way to the entity clear and open. If the thing had eyes, Slade was looking right at them.
Slade charged.
Powerful strives ate up the distance. A tendril struck, Slade slashed. An otherworldly howl tore through the air, and a powerful thrill of elation ran through Slade. He didn’t stop to look at the impact, but something hit the ground behind him. Slade took the last strive and launched himself into the air. He pulled his arms forward, swords striking out, blades gleaming eagerly—
The blades hit the center mass of the inkiness simultaneously. Barely a millisecond later Slade’s weight and momentum hit it too. The flames flashed high.
And the entity stumbled.
A crackling like lightning hit and for a moment Slade saw only white. His eyes slammed shut as a thin, wordless wail pierced the air.
Slade’s feet hit the ground and he tilted forward. He let go of the swords to brace and made a somersault. The skin on his arms tingled again, and a sharp satisfaction drummed in his chest.
Slade turned around with the last bit of the momentum, ready to—
Nothing.
There was nothing.
Where the mass had stood there was only an empty batch of the warehouse floor. No blood, no matter of unclear origin. Not even a dent or blackening on the floor.
Slade blinked.
Then he looked at his hands and the floor he’d crossed. The swords were nowhere to be seen.
The tickling, tingling feeling all over his skin, pulling his insides had vanished too. Slade hadn’t even noticed how consuming it was before it was gone.
The sound of heavy footsteps threw his attention.
Todd walked through the newly freed floor with steady steps, attention unwavering. “Anything else you’d like to try?” he asked, using Slade’s low voice to its full extent. The kid looked a hunter, every inch of him.
The target whimpered. He was still cowering against the crates, face rapidly flickering from expression to expression. The most prominent one wasn’t hard to decipher: shock.
Todd pulled a gun.
“Wait!” screamed the target, now pure fear. “I can pay—“
The man’s head snapped back. A single bullet hole appeared on his forehead. He fell back against the crates and slid down to the floor, a pool of red starting to form.
Todd lowered the gun and holstered it.
Slade’s eyebrows rose. Well.
Todd turned around and looked at Slade. “You okay?”
Slade frowned. Why wouldn’t he be? He grunted and stood up.
“All Blades can be a bit intense — Whoa!”
Slade staggered. The world tilted.
Everything went black.
***
There was something on his chest.
“Mrouh!”
Slade’s eyes snapped open. For one stretching moment, he couldn’t see, but then he focused on a round head of a cat. Right in front of his face.
“Mrouh,” said the cat.
Slade blinked. There was movement only on the left side of his face.
The cat screeched as Slade sat up, dislodging it carelessly. Slade had more important things to check than the cat’s ruffled feathers. Like his hands, his chest, his hair, his body.
He was back.
“Hey,” said a voice. Slade’s head snapped up.
Todd was standing by the door, smiling slightly. He looked tired and worn, the same way Slade felt.
“Todd, I presume?” Slade asked, just for the final confirmation.
Todd cracked a slightly wider smile and moved into the room, “Yup. Happily back where I belong.” He sat on a chair and the cat immediately jumped up onto his lap. It glared at Slade, full off indignation, before settling down. Well, looked like they didn’t need to settle the staring competition right now.
“You brought me to your home?”
Todd shrugged. “You already knew where I lived. And no offense, but you’re not exactly easy to cart around when unconscious.”
Slade grimaced. Fainting like a Victorian lady, pathetic. These last couple of days were not his finest.
“Impressive work with the All Blades,” Todd said, stroking the cat.
Slade raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need his ego stroked, thank you. Todd shrugged again. He didn’t seem pitying, just matter-of-fact. “They can be a bit much. Soul-sucking magic and all that.”
Slade squinted. Questions were lining up behind his tongue but he kept them back. He was not going to touch on that. Todd could keep his weird magic and manifesting-in-presence-of-evil swords. Slade would happily leave such things to somebody else. Even though flaming swords might come in handy…
“Oh, that reminds me, I took a picture,” Todd said. “Of the dude. In case you need to prove he’s dead. I send it to you already.” He indicated Slade’s phone that was lying on the coffee table.
Slade spared it a glance before focusing on a more important part of the situation. “You kept your end of the bargain,” he said.
“Of course I did. Good riddance. World’s not going to miss him.”
“You killed him.”
Todd narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so hung up on that?”
Slade squinted back. Wasn’t it obvious? “You, a bat, killed a person.”
“Correction: Deathstroke killed a person.”
“That’s semantics.”
Todd shrugged, again. “Good enough for me. B can’t get huffy about that. At least not to me.”
“That’s why you don’t kill?”
“What can I say? That’s family for you, gotta keep the peace.”
Slade harrumphed. Todd grinned.
“Would you like some tea? We can do a debrief.” His hand stilled on the cat and he licked his lips, fast, before continuing. “Or watch a movie.”
So very casual.
Slade eyed Todd. The kid was supremely annoying and dangerously devious. Those videos might present a problem at a later date. The man was a liability Slade didn’t need.
He was also a person who unwaveringly kept his end of a bargain. And was competent. Deathly. Flexible. And pretty.
“Yeah,” Slade said slowly, “I could stay for tea.”