Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~Tell me your story and I'll tell you mine

I'm all ears, take your time, we've got all night

Show me the rivers crossed, the mountains scaled

Show me who made you walk all the way here~

~Chosen Family by Rina Sawayama and Elton John~  

     Slade Wilson took a sip of his freshly made instant coffee. The steam caressed his white goatee and tickled the skin of his chin, and he inhaled the warmth, settling himself in for a peaceful morn—

     “JOEY! Stop hogging the bathroom, some of us have to shower!” Rose screeched from the floor above the kitchen. Her fists rapidly pounded on the door. “JOEY!”

     Another door flung open, and Grant’s footsteps stomped into the hallway. “Will you shut up! Some of us are still trying to sleep!”

     “YOU shut up and go back to bed!”

     “You go back to bed! Why do you have to take a shower so freaking early?”

     “Some of us like to get up early and go for a run, dipshit!”

     Another door flung open.

     “Finally!” A scuffle sounded, then—“Oh my god! Did you take a dump?”

     A thump on Joey’s part, and Slade swore he could hear his son’s angry hands signing back.

     Rose growled in response, and there was another scuffle.

     “Why do you two always have to be so fucking loud every morning?” Grant screamed.

     Slade exhaled and set his coffee mug down as the ruckus continued above.

     Billy glanced over at Slade from the coffee maker with a slight chuckle.

     More yells and thumps sounded above them.

     “Given their tempers this morning, I don’t think I’ll be safe if I tried to serve turkey bacon at brunch,” Billy said.

     Slade checked his watch and twirled it around his wrist. “I think I'll have to forgo my children’s training today. I have business to attend to.”

     “Abandoning me to the wolves?” Billy teased.

     More screams, thumps, and yelling.

     Slade stood from the kitchen island, leaving his perfectly brewed coffee, the promise of a peaceful morning soured.

     Billy straightened, stepping back from the coffee maker. “Oh. You’re serious.” His gaze narrowed. “Slade. You better not be running off doing mercenary business without Grant. You promised him.”

     Even he couldn’t hide his grimace, yet the lie rolled off his tongue easily. “I received a contract last night, personally. I’m afraid I must conduct this alone. Tell Grant next time.”

     “That’s what you told him last time. And the time before that.”

     “The right assignment will come up.”

     “You can’t keep avoiding this forever. You’ve been training him for this moment for seven years. If you’re getting cold feet, you should be talking to him about it, not running away.”

     Slade ignored him, waving back as he departed the kitchen. “I suggest real bacon. For Grant.”

     Billy sputtered. “S-slade! You can’t...don’t you...get back here!”

     Slade used his enhanced speed to hurry out of his chaotic house.

     Hit Contract:

     Price: $30,000

     Name: Luca Gomis

     Age: 37

     Nationality: Roma

     Location: Haly’s Circus, currently residing in Gotham City’s Fairgrounds, tour on hiatus after a performance tragedy the month before, now scheduled to resume their tour tomorrow, the next stop would be Metropolis.

     The contract's asking price was lower than Slade’s usual rate, and he would normally request additional money if a contract came with a time constraint, but, unfortunately, as much as Slade hated to admit it, even if it was internally, he was avoiding his eldest son, to the point where he accepted a contract in his least favorite city: Gotham.

     The reason for his strong dislike of the city was due to the rise of the new vigilante, Batman.

     Thankfully, there was a small skirmish at Arkham Asylum that would distract Batman enough that he would never catch a whiff of Deathstroke’s visit. Slade hadn’t crossed paths with the vigilante yet, and never wanted to. He found vigilantes to be the most hypocritical and un-honorable bunch.

     At least Slade could tolerate that Boy Scout meta, he respected a fellow country man like himself.

     The Gotham Fairgrounds bustled with activity as the members of Haly’s Circus packed up, obviously been given the all-clear to continue their tour. Curiosity had prickled the back of Slade’s mind when he accepted the contract: what kind of performance tragedy would keep the traveling circus in Gotham for a month? The answer proved his first instinct correct: murder, in fact, two murders.

     None of the local papers talked about a murder at Gotham Fairgrounds, they only vaguely covered a short snippet about a performance tragedy, alluding to the fault of an equipment malfunction. He’d heard of tourist cities keeping news of local crimes or accidents involving those who weren’t local out of their newspapers so as not to deter future tourists. Slade wondered if Gotham kept this quiet so as to not deter visiting entertainers, as if to keep the myth that only the crazies and the locals attacked each other here.

     He moved quickly and easily through the hurrying chaos of the circus crew shouting and packing. Despite the busyness, they moved almost with a melancholy, that Slade thought if he stood still in his Deathstroke uniform and waited until someone saw him, they wouldn’t care.

     He’d seen this with his first military unit, after his first commanding officer had gotten killed in the line of duty, defending...Slade refused to dwell deep in those memories, but he remembered how despondent the rest of the unit had been that the higher-ups had no choice but to disband and separate the remaining members of the unit to new units and locations.

     The circus lost someone they truly admired and respected, and, dare Slade even venture to think, loved.

     “I’m fifteen years old now, Dad! That’s how old you were when you killed for the first time. This is my crowning moment! My chance to kill and make a name for myself in the mercenary world.”

     “Let me find the right assignment first, Grant.”

     “Come on! You can’t keep delaying the rite of passage! Unless...do you think I'm not ready?”

     Slade blinked out of the memory, and gritted his teeth as he watched the members of Haly’s Circus move on, a few talking in murmurs, lifeless, and the fear, the unbidding fear surfaced, that this is what Grant would become when he killed.

     The first kill is always the hardest. The next will be easier. Grant should be here. This should’ve been his first.

     Slade shoved all his fatherly instincts and thoughts down in the deep pit of his mind, and summoned forth his collected, rational business mind.

     Deathstroke slipped past the boxes and crates. His fingers slipped down to his utility belt, thumbing between the handgun and the knife, wondering which would be the better kill, and thought for a group of circus folks, the knife would be more honorable.

     Luca Gomis looked older than the photo provided to Deathstroke, his hair wilder and a darker shade of brown. He was shouting at a man with a shorter stature, who threw a bundle of knives into a straw-filled wooden box, before he shoved a sharp finger up at Luca.

     Deathstroke hid in the shadows of the still-erected performance tent, the flaps gently smacking the pole against the breeze. He waited. Waited for the shorter man to stomp off. Watched as Gomis threw his head back in a dramatic fashion, running his fingers through his hair. Thumbed the knife from his belt, pinching the blade between his forefinger and thumb.

     Target was alone.

     The perfect time to stri-

     Deathstroke caught the corner of the tent flap that smacked against him, but the weight of the forward velocity caught him off guard. He went barreling into the performance tent, knife lost, a tear in the fabric. He immediately bounded back up, and turned toward his foe, curious to see who managed to sneak up on him.

     Had Batman arrived?

     Had Gotham birthed a new meta?

     Sunlight poured through the tear of the tent, a beam that sliced through the darkness, onto a small child, at least eight or nine, with greasy jet-black hair, sporting grey sweatpants and sweatshirt that read GPW: Gotham Prison Ward.

     “Tony Zucco sent you, didn’t he?” the boy snarled.

     “I don’t disclose details of my contract. It’s business,” Deathstroke said.

     The boy lifted his hand, and between the knuckles of his first and second finger rested Slade’s knife.

     Impressive.

     “Take your business elsewhere,” the boy threatened. He whipped the knife toward Deathstroke, and it whizzed past him.

     Not so impressive.

     Deathstroke rarely ran into children during his hits, and when he did, they either cowered or recklessly fought. This one was the latter. “You missed,” he said, bored.

     And the boy smirked at him, and that smirk sent a thrill running down his back.

     “Wasn’t aiming for you.”

     An object came hurtling down from above, and Deathstroke took a step back as it crashed onto the floor. A trapeze bar.

     The boy disappeared.

     Deathstroke felt motion behind him and turned, blocking an attack at the rear. He caught a trapeze bar with his hand, and tore the weapon from the boy’s hands. The boy rolled to the ground and sprung up, with another trapeze bar in hand and this time, dove the butt of it into Deathstroke’s stomach.

     If he hadn’t been wearing armor, that would’ve punched the wind out of him. He could’ve blocked that, but it was easier to allow reckless children to attack him and wear themselves out.

     Deathstroke swung his new weapon toward the boy, and the boy easily flipped out of the way.

     He ducked onto the floor and bounced up with a spring in his legs, and flew up, quicker than Deathstroke expected for a small child, and the bottom of the trapeze bar slammed underneath his chin.

     Deathstroke whirled his weapon and slammed the boy onto the ground, pinning him down with the butt of the trapeze bar against the boy’s chest.

     The boy kicked the back of Deathstroke’s knee, causing him to sink down to one.  He bounced up for a punch, but Deathstroke was quicker and aimed the barrel of a handgun between the kid’s eyes. The kid froze before he released an angry pant. Dark sapphire eyes glared back.

     “Leave now before I shoot you,” Deathstroke said.

     The kid fought well, impressed him even, but Deathstroke had no patience for reckless fools.

     “Will you?” the kid tossed back. “Nobody paid you to kill me.”

     The mouth on this boy.

     “I didn’t say I would kill you.” Deathstroke clicked off the safety.

     The boy glowered back, undeterred, as if daring Deathstroke to follow through on his threat.

     A thought occurred to Deathstroke. Perhaps this wasn’t a reckless kid. Perhaps this kid has already seen the most frightening thing in his life, and Deathstroke aiming a gun at him didn’t conquer any fear.

     The ghost of a smirk played on the boy’s lips as several beats passed. The glower softened. “If you can’t tell me who sent you, can you at least tell me why whoever sent you wants Luca dead?”

     “Sorry, kid, it’s...”

     “Business?” The kid moved, fast, and smacked the gun from Deathstroke’s hand. “Nobody touches my family.”

     “According to the file, Gomis has no family.”

     Anger blazed in the kid’s eyes, and he attacked.

     Deathstroke parried and blocked each one. He’d seen this type of combat style before, one that was designed for the stage, and he wondered if this kid picked up the universal fighting stances from the circus combat stage fighters, because it was evident he knew the moves, but incorporated his own style into a unique aerial-type, a style Deathstroke was unfamiliar with.

     The moves, the threats, the resilience, the quick thinking, this boy had so much potential, that if it could be molded and perfected, he could grow up to be a frightening force to be reckoned with.

     “You don’t understand family, don’t you, big scary man in a mask?” the boy taunted between kicks and punches. “All of us here are outsiders, all of us here are family, and nobody touches any of us without the rest of us rising up!”

     The back country where Slade grew up in taught everyone that family values were important, but Slade learned the truth that they were only important in maintaining the imagery and ideal of one.

     This boy here...fought for family. He meant his words.

     Unlike Slade’s childhood home, unlike the military where he’d grown up in, family was not an ideal.

     Is that what I’m doing? Maintaining the imagery of my own family?

     Deathstroke snapped out of his admiration and thoughts with a growl. Damn this boy for distracting him! He slammed the boy onto the performance floor, and dirt flew up around him.

     The boy’s back spasmed from the impact, mouth open, unable to draw air into his lungs, but Deathstroke knew he would.

     The flicker of sunlight illuminated a huge patch of dried puddled blood behind the boy.

     “Enough,” Deathstroke growled. “I have never turned away from a contract, and I won’t stop now. That witness is as good as dead.”

     The boy widened his eyes and rose up into a sitting position, arm around his stomach. “Wa-wait...”

     Deathstroke turned and stormed for the tent flap. The threat had been immobilized.

     “He’s not the witness...”

     Deathstroke froze. Shit. He gave up a detail of his contract. Did he need to kill this boy? He glanced over his shoulder.

     The boy had slowly gotten onto his feet, and Deathstroke widened his good eye at the boy’s resilience. He must be in so much pain.

     “I’m the witness. I’m...” The boy’s jaw clenched. “Tell Zucco I won’t talk, okay? Don’t kill Luca. I won’t talk.”

     “Begging doesn’t work on me, kid.”

     He grunted with pain, eyes searching over Deathstroke’s outfit. “Money does.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them. “The trapeze bars. Take them. Gothamites here are morbid and sick. They’ll pay you more than whatever Zucco is paying you.”

     Deathstroke scoffed. Kid had heart, but—“Bargaining doesn’t work on—”

     His analytical mind finally put all the pieces together, and he cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. The boy’s sweatshirt, the talk of an overpopulation issue at Gotham’s Orphanage where the newly intake of orphans are taken over to Gotham Prison Ward for boarding, the trapeze bars, the boy’s skills, of the performers who lost their lives in this very tent.

     “You’re of the Flying Graysons.”

     A glimmer of tears shone in the boy’s eyes at the mention of their names. He lowered his chin, his silent gesture a confirmation.

     So...the newspaper didn’t disclose the whole truth, a member survived. Deathstroke should’ve figured it out sooner, instead he allowed himself to be distracted by the boy’s talent.

     Police sirens sounded from outside of the tent.

     Grayson stiffened, jaw clenching.

     “They’re here for you,” Deathstroke said. “Better run now if you want a head start.”

     Grayson glared, fists curling at his side. “I won’t run. Mr. Haly will get in trouble if I do.” He huffed. “What will you do about Luca?”

     The two warriors stared each other down.

     “You’ll fight me to the death, won’t you?” Deathstroke said.

     Grayson’s fists shook. “I told you. Nobody touches my family.”

     Shame suddenly filled Deathstroke as he saw what it was about the boy that truly distracted and allured him: his honor.

     Deathstroke held honor as the highest esteem of character, and vowed he would only respect and honor in return those he believed to have more honor than him. It was why he never conceded to Jackal’s demands, why he refused to work with some vigilantes and villains, and why people couldn’t bargain with him. Their honor never matched Deathstroke’s level.

     Contracts. Getting paid. The mercenary work. It revealed the strength and integrity of Deathstroke’s honor, and his reputation was measured by that.

     Before Deathstroke, Grayson stood with honor, with radical acceptance, by stepping up to do what needs to be done by doing right by others, his honor measured by the strength of his moral integrity.

     This warrior stood before him as perhaps the most honorable warrior Deathstroke had faced, and for the first time, Slade found humility.

     The sirens grew louder, voices echoed outside the tent.

     Grayson kept his stance and gaze on Deathstroke.

     Still, perhaps, one more test.

     “You won’t talk?”

     “No.”

     Deathstroke twirled the bar in his palm. “I won’t kill him.”

     “I can’t trust you’re telling the truth.”

     “No. You can’t. You have heart, kid, but don’t test the limits of my generosity.”

     “We shake on it?”

     Deathstroke chuckled. “If it’ll ease your anxiety.”

     Grayson approached him, and the boy’s hands were so small in his Deathstroke’s gauntlet. His leather creaked as they shook hands.

     When they released their hands and stepped back, Grayson suddenly seemed so uncertain. “Um, thank you?”

     Deathstroke’s brows shot up from behind his mask. It’d been a very long time since he’d been thanked.   

     Grayson turned toward the tent’s entrance, and his shoulders trembled. “I should...turn myself in.”

     Deathstroke made sure to disappear in the shadows before the boy glanced back. He kept to it, in the distance, as he slipped back outside, as he watched a crowd gathered by the police car erupt in alarm and relief when Grayson walked out.

     He watched as a few, Luca Gomis included, give the small boy hugs, and offered words that never once eased the tension in Grayson’s shoulders.

     None of them knew the lengths Grayson went to save one of their own today. None of them knew the strength of his heart. His honor. His integrity.

     None of them would go through the same lengths to ensure Grayson stayed with them, their close-knit family. Deathstroke knew the legal systems were complicated, and for a group that was constantly persecuted and spat upon by society, the chances of them keeping Grayson with the circus were slim. A prisoner on death row had a better chance of being released on parole than Grayson had to remain with his circus family.

     Deathstroke wondered if the system would break Grayson’s honor, or strengthen it.

     It wasn’t his problem any longer.

     He glanced down at the trapeze bar, the sunlight glistened off the engraved words: The Flying Graysons.

     He broke a contract for a child.

     A child that was no longer his problem.

     Walk away.

     Go home for dinner.

     There’s nothing left here.

     Slade watched Grayson, a pinching feeling in his heart, as an officer put the young child in the backseat of his vehicle, as if Grayson were a criminal, and it set Slade’s teeth on edge.

     Walk away, Slade.

     His fingers tightened around the trapeze bar.

     Honor is stepping up to do what needs to be done. He’d done that as a father when Adeline died, when Lili deposited his surprised daughter into his hands before she succumbed to her fatal injuries, when Wintergreen had been sent on a suicide mission and he got himself disbarred from the military for disobeying orders to save his friend.

     Honor is realizing that his contract here wasn’t finished.

     Walk away, Slade. You’re finished here.

     The memory of that cocky smirk surfaced.

     Damn it.

     The glimmer of tears among the blazing fury.

     I haven’t done what needs to be done here.

     His honor wouldn’t let him walk away.

Chapter Text

~We don't need to be related to relate

We don't need to share genes or a surname

You are, you are~

~Chosen Family by Rina Sawayama and Elton John~

     They left him.

     His family left him.

     Dick curled up into a fetal position on the thin cot, knees pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs, giving into the tremors that trickled across his body. He laid in a dark room, his isolation room as they called it, where they had thrown and locked him into after his escape stint yesterday.

     He’d wanted to see his family one last time before they left, and a part of him hoped that when they saw him, they would keep him. But they let him go, allowed him to be dragged back to this place.

     Why?

     What had he done wrong?

     Why didn’t they want him?

     Was it because they knew he could’ve saved his parents and didn’t? Did the police tell them he'd overheard Tony Zucco and Papa Haly’s argument the night before his parents...before the performance? Papa Haly had shoved and told Zucco off then, and Dick didn’t think about it afterwards, or worried because he’d thought Haly handled it. The outside world always tried to tear the circus apart, and make them bend to their rules, and Dick never had reason to believe that the outside world would win.

     They hadn’t before.

     Why wasn’t his family mad at Papa Haly? Why were they only angry at him? Unless...maybe they were happy to get rid of him. Maybe they only tolerated him because they loved his parents.

     A sharp inhale.

     The snap of rope.

     The widening of their eyes, the fear.

     The brush of Mami’s fingertips against Dick’s.

     Their slow descent.

     The crush of bones.

     Blood.

     No.

     Don’t think of them!

     Don’t think of Mami. Tati.

     Dick squeezed his eyes tight, pressing his palms against his temples, whimpering. He curled in further into himself, into a ball, gasping.

     He’s alone.

     He’s completely alone.

     His parents were torn away from him.

     No one else wanted him.

     No one knew what to do with him.

     His breath grew erratic.

     He’s all alone.

     His parents...

     He snapped open his eyes at the sound of keys jingling.

     His cell door flung open, and a fluorescent light blasted into his room. He curled up further to shield his eyes from the onslaught.

     Hands grabbed the scuff of his sweater and hauled him off the bed, and onto his feet.

     “Get up, brat.”

     Dick tugged away from the bulky man’s grip. He’d only seen the officer a couple times since he arrived in this awful place. “What’s going on? Where you are taking me?”

     The man huffed. “Shut up and follow me.” He pulled Dick roughly by the sweater again, and this time, Dick allowed him. He had no fight left him in now. There was nothing left to protect. “Some fancy suit wants to see you,” the man rambled as he dragged Dick down a narrow corridor of cells. “Hope they’re getting you out of my hair. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

     “What hair?” Dick shot back.

     The bald man’s upper lip twitched. “Hellion.” He shoved Dick, making him walk faster than his little legs could handle.

     Dick wondered who would be visiting him. Fancy suit? He thought he had already settled things about Tony Zucco yesterday at the station before he got hauled back here. Did he have to repeat his new story fifty times to fifty different people like he did when his parents died? He didn’t understand why he had to keep repeating the worse night of his life to a bunch of strangers who didn’t care what had happened to him.

     The officer led Dick to the warden’s office, an office he’d become very familiar with. As Dick was pushed through the doorway, he wasn’t greeted by the warden, but instead a man he’d never seen before.

     Tall, muscular, and with broad shoulders, the man looked like he should be a lion tamer instead of dressed in a suit. The man sported a silver eyepatch over his right eye, that matched well with his short curled white hair and goatee. His singular bright blue eye regarded Dick with interest as he was shoved further into the room.

     “As you requested, Mr. Wilson. One gyspy brat,” the bald officer said.

     Dick’s shoulders tensed at the slur—a reminder that he was an outcast in the world that would continually be against him.

     Mr. Wilson narrowed his eye, anger smoldering. “That slur is uncalled for.”

     “Okay. Okay. Whatever. Sorry.” The officer left, shutting the door with a heavy thud, leaving Dick alone in a room with another stranger.

     Dick swallowed, stepping back toward the bookshelf, staying near the door. He tried to read Mr. Wilson. Mami said that you could learn a lot about a person from their body language, from the way they hold themselves.

     All Dick could see was a threat.

     “You asked to see me?” Dick asked, when the silence stretched between them for far too long, as they continued to regard one another.

     Mr. Wilson folded his arms across his chest, suit jacket crinkling. Despite the white hair, the man didn’t actually seem that old. Maybe the same age as Dick’s parents.

     “In your police report, you stated that you overheard the mobster Tony Zucco threatening Mister Haly the night before your last circus performance.”

     Dick’s fists clenched. How many times did he need to repeat a story? He grumbled, still feeling a hot flush of anger that he had lost the chance to avenge his parents in order to save Luca’s life, who didn’t even want him after that. He had to find another way to avenge his parents now. “Don’t you guys ever talk to each other? The case got thrown out yesterday.”

     “Oh?” the man drawled.

     This time, Dick crossed his arms and looked away, ashamed. “Yeah. Unreliable witness.”

     A beat passed.

     Then:

     “You kept your honor.”

     Dick furrowed his brows and looked back at Mr. Wilson. His goatee crinkled as he thinly smiled, almost proudly, and Dick’s heart panged at the reminder of Tati’s soft, proud smile.

     “I kept mine too.”

     Dick’s brows furrowed deeper, his memories tingling. “What?”

     Mr. Wilson tugged something from underneath his suit jacket behind him, and Dick widened his eyes as the man held out a familiar black trapeze bar.

     He gasped. “You’re...”

     “Mr. Big Man in a Scary Mask,” Mr. Wilson teased, mirth shimmering in his eye. “You can call me Slade Wilson.”

     Dick’s fists trembled at his side. His heart raced as he sought a way to slip out of the door. This mercenary was quick, but could Dick be quicker? And who outside this room would step up to defend him? No one cared about Dick’s fate. The heaviness of his loneliness grew.

     Mr. Wilson tilted his head as if he were the one reading in Dick in return. He sighed, bringing the trapeze bar close to his chest. “There is one thing you misinterpreted about me yesterday. I do understand family. I’m a father. I have three children. I’m training them to follow into my footsteps.”

     “Okay?” Dick stretched out the last syllable of the word. He didn’t understand where the man was going with this. Mr. Wilson was training kids to be killers? Good for him?

     Mr. Wilson sighed again, nose pinching, and he tapped the trapeze bar on the side of the desk. Dick frowned. He knew that gesture. Why was the man nervous?

     “I can train you,” he said.

     “Huh?” Dick blinked.

     “To take down Zucco. The police in this city will never touch him and you will never be able to receive vengeance for your parents’ death.”

     “I don’t need your help. I can take down Zucco on my own.”

     Mr. Wilson chuckled wryly. “You have potential, but it won’t be enough to take down a man like Zucco. I can harness your potential, strengthen it, and make you a force to be reckoned with.”

     Dick bit his lower lip. To be stronger? If he became stronger, nobody would ever take advantage of him again, and he would be able to help others too.

     Then Mr. Wilson added: “I can also get you out of here.”

     Training and freedom? The only way Mr. Wilson could grant Dick freedom from this prison was by...

     Dick glowered. “I don’t need you to adopt me. I already had a father. I don’t want you to replace him.”

     Mr. Wilson shrugged, taking no offense. “I already have kids. I don’t need another brat.” He smirked. “I can take you on as a ward.”

     The tension in Dick’s chest lightened slightly. “So...we’re equals? This is an even exchange?” He glared again. “What do you get out of this?”

     “The opportunity to train you. I must admit you thoroughly impressed me during our fight yesterday.”

     Dick didn’t want to admit that he got a bit of a thrill from it, it made him feel alive again, he felt like he died alongside with his parents, that he’d been living in a state of numbness and anger since. But... “You fought for Zucco.”

     “I’m a mercenary and I took on a contract. That’s what I do. I don’t work for Zucco.”

     “You work for yourself?”

     “In a way, yes. Contracts are an honorable exchange.”

     “You didn’t kill Luca though.”

     “No, because we exchanged a more honorable agreement that nullified my contract with Zucco. You should be grateful. You’re the first I ever broke my contract for.”

     Dick didn’t know how he felt about that. He didn’t really know much about this man. He still didn’t even really know if he could trust him, but... He had a contract to kill Dick’s family, and he listened to Dick and chose not to kill Luca.

     None of the adults ever listened to Dick since Mami and Tati... No one took him seriously.

     Mr. Wilson...Slade did.

     He thought of Slade’s children. He had to know if they had at least something in common. “Your children...”

     “Yes?”

     “You love your family? You’ll do anything for them?”

     Slade didn’t even hesitate. “Anything.”

     “Me too,” he whispered, even though he failed to save his parents, at least...at least he saved Luca.

     Slade may not be Romani, but at least he held a core value that was the most important: family.

     “You’ll help me get stronger?”

     “I promise you. You’ll avenge your family. Zucco is yours.”

     “And afterwards?”

     “You’ll be a better fighter. My conscience will be clear, and we can decide where you want to go from there.”

     “Even if it’s back to the circus?”

     “You’ll have to wait longer for that, kid. If you go back too soon, they’ll just take you away from them again.”

     So, they don’t want me.

     But Mr. Wilson does...

     I don’t know why.

     But he’ll get me out of here.

     I can avenge Mami and Tati.

     Slade held out the trapeze bar to Dick. “I believe this belongs to you.”

     Tati held out the black trapeze bar to Dick. “Respect the bars. These are yours and your family’s wings.”

     Dick swallowed a lump and gingerly took it. He had given his family’s wings away to save them, and it felt...like Slade was giving a part of Dick back.

     “You didn’t sell it,” he noted.

     “It’s worth more to you than anybody else.”

     Okay. Maybe Dick could trust him. Maybe not entirely, but maybe just a little bit for now.

     Dick smiled softly. “Deal.”

     “Hmm?”

     “You can train me, and I can help you protect your family.”

     Slade frowned. “That wasn’t the deal.”

     “No. But I have to do something for you in exchange. I can help. We’re equals, remember?”

     Slade sighed and scratched his goatee, debating.

     Dick grinned widely, pushing even further. “I’ll be the best protector ever.”

     Slade stared at him, as if he was some abnormality, and then he did that smile again, the one similar to Tati’s. He held out a hand. “Don’t get too cocky, kid, but fine, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

     They shook hands once more.

     The eight-hour car ride to the Wilson home was...awkward.

     To fill the silence, Slade played some orchestra music on the radio at a low volume. Dick liked the soothing music at first, because he didn’t know what to say to the man that rescued him. Mostly Dick hadn’t wanted to say anything, because he was afraid once he opened his mouth, the man would change his mind on taking Dick in as a ward.

     Yet at the two-hour mark, Dick began to get antsy. He couldn’t sit still. His knees kept bouncing up and down, rattling his seat.

     Slade obviously noticed, but kept driving in silence.

     The music continued to play softly, and suddenly Dick couldn’t take it anymore:

     “How much longer until we get there?”

     “Five hours and fifty minutes.”

     “Does your family know I’m coming?”

     “I called Billy, their surrogate dad, and one of my closest friends, and he notified them.”

     “How does he feel about me? What if your kids hate me? How do I impress them? What do I do? What are they like? Are you sure you want me?”

     Slade’s hands tightened their grip around the steering wheel, and Dick swore he heard more than the leather creaking. Then his grip softened as he exhaled. “Kid...I don’t know how they’re going to react to you. I’ve never done this before, and this is all a little sudden. You can trust Billy. He’ll do anything to ensure you feel welcome. I have no doubt he’ll take a shine to you.

     “Joey might warm up to you the quickest. He knows what it’s like to be the outcast and be shunned. He’s mute. He’ll be able to understand you when you talk, but he communicates through sign language. I can teach you the basics right now...”

     “That’s okay! I know sign.” Dick proved it by signing along to his next words: “Crina taught me. She’s deaf. She can hear a little bit, but not much. She mostly performs sword swallower tricks, but she slays it at sword combat. She taught me everything she knows.”

     “You’re pretty fluent in sign. Did you learn most of your combat stances from her?”

     Dick nodded, and continued signing with his speech. “There are four universal stances, or as she called them “ready stances”. You can make a dance of them if you do the techniques properly.”

     “A dance?” Slade hummed. “Impressive.”

     Dick beamed. His parents had also been pretty impressed that he took the initiative to not only learn how to communicate with Crina on his own, but to also learn a new skill.

     “What about the other two?” Dick asked, wanting to know more of the people he would be living with.

     “Rose has been going through a phase where she’s struggling being the only female in a male-dominated house. I don’t know how receptive she’ll be of you, but don’t take anything personally.”

     Dick nodded, a little comprehension settling into his stomach. He’d felt so good about Billy and Joey.

     “Grant...” Slade sighed, and several beats passed before he continued. “Grant acts like a tough kid, as if nothing bothers him. He rarely asks for help because he fears being seen as weak. His mother died saving him, and I don’t think he’s forgiven himself for that yet.”

     Dick’s heart twinged with sympathy. He didn’t think he would ever forgive himself for not saving his parents.

     “He’s been begging me to take him out for his first kill.”

     Oh. Right. Dick had forgotten they were a mercenary family, and he wondered briefly if Slade destroyed any families like Tony Zucco destroyed his. Not for the first time, Dick wondered if he made a mistake becoming Slade Wilson’s ward.

     “You haven’t taken him yet?”

     Slade gripped the steering wheel tight again, and said nothing.

     Dick watched him, the comprehension lifting. Slade had warned him that he wasn’t a good man, yet Dick couldn’t help but intuitively feel that despite his protests, Slade Wilson was a good person, maybe not a nice person, maybe with twisted morals, but still a good person. And...

     Slade really would do anything for his family.

     He smiled softly.

     Tati used to say that good and evil existed in everyone, that even nice people could be evil, and bad people be good. He didn’t really know exactly what the difference was, but Slade seemed like a bad person who is good.

     He hoped he wasn’t wrong.

     The Wilson house was massive, at least massive to Dick. Slade had scoffed at his awe when they arrived, claiming that it was a modest home. The home was a teal two-storied house, with a porch wrapped around the first level. It was tucked in the back of the neighborhood, with its own cul-de-sac, nestled under a thick canopy of trees.

     Slade parked their car outside on the driveway. He got out and grabbed Dick’s black garbage bag from the backseat. Dick hadn’t been allowed to return to his trailer and gather his personal belongings. The only personal belonging he had was his acrobat uniform, though it was still stained with his parents’ blood, and the clothes the police department and prison provided for him. He wondered what happened to his trailer. Slade went closed-lip and flared his nostrils when Dick informed about the bag.

     Trepidation filled him as Dick slowly got out of the car, staring up at his new residence. Why was he more scared entering this place than the juvenile detention ward?

     Slade slammed the door and approached Dick from behind him. He laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, kid.”

     Tati always told him to work alongside with his fear, that fear could be his ally and could teach him, if Dick listened to it and respected it. He exhaled softly. Fear told him that he wouldn’t be accepted or wanted here. He didn’t know how to walk alongside that.

     Slade guided him up to the front door, and it opened as they came up the walkway, and a man sporting a white mustache and a green jumpsuit came out to greet them. This man’s hair looked white due to age unlike Slade’s. He smiled widely.

     “You must be Dick Grayson. I’m Billy.” He held out hand, open and inviting, his demeanor warm. Dick instantly took a liking to him, and knew he could trust him. He shook the man’s hand.

     “Hi, Billy.”

     Billy joined Slade in escorting Dick inside.

     Standing in the foyer in front of the stairs were the three Wilson children. The tallest and oldest, Grant, with wavy blond hair and a bulky chest, leaned against the railing of the stairs. The second eldest, Rose, had white hair like Slade’s tugged up in a ponytail, and had a slender build. The youngest, Joey, had tight blond curls, a lanky build, a head shorter than Rose, and gazed upon Dick with apprehension and curious blue eyes like Slade’s.

     Dick realized he’d rather fight Slade again as...what did he call himself, as Deathstroke than face the mercenary’s kids.

     Grant looked Dick over. “So, this is the little twerp?”

     “Grant,” Slade lowly warned.

     “No!” Grant pushed up from the railing. “You always get on our ass about secret identities, and you expose all of us to this kid. Did you accidentally kill his parents and felt bad?”

     “Oh my god, Grant, can you stop being an asshole for five seconds?” Rose grumbled, with a roll of her eyes.

     “You were bitching about him earlier too!”

     “Doesn’t mean it’s polite to do in front of him! Look at him, he’s trembling.”

     Dick forced his muscles still. He was not. He faced down worse things than this.

     “Where are your manners?” Billy chided. “We have a new guest, and you will treat him with respect.”

     Right. A guest. Dick needed to remember that. He was only a guest here. Until he got Zucco. He was only here for training.

     “Don’t blame me if someone breaks in our house again and slits one of our throats,” Grant snarled.

     Rose punched him in the arm to which he yelped.

     Joey stepped forward and signed: “Ignore him. I can show you around the house and your new room if you want?” He glanced behind Dick, as if waiting for Slade or Billy to translate for him.

     Dick stepped forward from Slade and Billy’s grasp, trying to smile, to act like everything was fine. “Sure, I’d like that,” he signed back.

     Grant and Rose gawked at him.

     Joey beamed, yet the apprehension still remained in his eyes, though not as heavy. “Great.” He pointed at the garbage bag. “Is that all your stuff?”

     “Yeah. They wouldn’t let me go back and get my belongings. I don’t really have anything anymore.”

     Grant growled. “Seriously? What the fuck? Dad! Why didn’t you kill those dumb bastard and hunt down the twerp’s things! Jesus!”

     Dick hid a smile. Grant was just like his father. Rough on the outside, but a good person inside.

     “I can take a contract out on them so you can keep your honor, Dad,” Rose added, folding her arms. "How does a penny sound?"

     Dick tried not to grin. He liked her.

     “What makes you think Dad hasn’t murdered them already?” Joey said with a mischievous smirk.

     “It’s being handled. Your father isn’t entirely incompetent,” Slade grumbled.

     Joey made an exaggerated grimace: “In denial.”

     Dick snorted.

     Joey grinned. He gestured for Dick to come up the stairs.

     Dick grabbed his bag from Slade and followed after Joey, and tried not to linger at the base of the landing at the top. He knew the four of them would be talking about him when he walked out of eavesdropping distance.

     At the end of the landing was Grant’s room, Joey’s was on the left at the end, Rose across from him on the right. Next to Joey’s was the bathroom, and across the hall from that was Dick’s new room.

     “It used to be Dad’s reading den, but we cleared out everything for you, and put new sheets on a takeaway cot. Your bed should be arriving this weekend.”

     “Oh. You didn’t have to get me a bed.”

     Joey frowned. “Why not?”

     Dick didn’t want to add that he wouldn’t be here that long. He didn’t even know how long he would be here. Instead of responding, he walked further into his room, inspecting it. Two empty bookshelves and a dresser lined the left of the room, while the other side rested the cot with a round nightstand next to it. But his favorite part was...

     He walked up to the wide window, where several trees swayed their green leaves at him. He opened the window, and a breeze trickled in, blowing the orange curtains the framed the window.

     Outside, two birds flew and landed on a branch that reached out toward him. He gasped softly, and blinked at the sudden tears that filled his eyes.

     Robins.

     They were robins.

     He swallowed a lump and turned back around.

     Joey watched him from the doorway.

     “Any house rules I should know about?” Dick asked.

     Joey twisted his lips to the side as if to think. “Rose gets first dibs on the upstairs bathroom in the morning.”

     “Okay. I can agree to that.”

     Joey grinned. “I break that rule all the time.”

     Dick laughed. “Gotcha. The only rules in the house are the ones made to be broken.”

     “Exactly.” Joey snapped his finger as if he remembered something. “There is an unspoken rule that every last piece of sweets is left for Billy.”

     Dick smiled, but it was quickly shattered by indecipherable yells from downstairs, followed by stomping, then a door being slammed. He winced. He knew whatever argument that occurred below was about him.

     Joey backed up. “See you at dinner!” And then he bolted.

     Dick closed his door, and glanced around the empty room, the empty shelves, the empty closet, the empty walls, and empty dresser.

     He thought of the room he shared with his parents in the trailer. The fairy lights. The posters of all the cities they’ve traveled to. Of future cities they’ve dreamed of traveling to. Things they wanted to do, wanted to see.

     Dreams that have been shattered and broken.

     Dick curled up on the cot and he trembled for the longest time before he gave into his sobs.

     Dinner that evening had been uncomfortable with stunted conversations, forced politeness, and long periods of silence.

     Until Slade mentioned that Dick would be joining their training session tomorrow morning. Grant stormed off without finishing dinner. Rose and Joey say nothing, but they focused more on their plate than anything else.

     Dick wondered, not for the first time, if he should’ve came here, if he were intruding. But, before he headed up to bed for the evening, Billy hugged him for the longest time, so maybe...maybe he wasn’t exactly intruding.

     Thankfully, it was just him and Slade the next morning in the training room, in their basement, the entrance hidden in their food pantry which Dick thought was kind of lame. Secret lairs should have much cooler entryways.

     Slade told him that he wanted to see Dick’s skills.

     “What skills? My acrobatics?”

     “That, and anything you think of as a skill.”

     “Why won’t you tell me what you’re looking for?”

     Slade smiled softly, folding his arms. “I will. Afterwards.”

     Dick grumbled under his breath as he went onto the training mat, dressed in an old outfit of Joey’s, and showed Slade everything he knew.

     Acrobatics. Tumbling. His more death-defying stunts such as his quadruple flips. Dancing. Baton swirling. Swords. Knife throwing. Juggling. Handstanding. He couldn’t really show off his flying trapeze skills since Slade didn’t have the equipment for it, so he had Dick swing from a rope climbing station.

     He spoke several phrases from languages he was fluent in: Romani, American Sign Language, and Italian. Then the ones he was still learning: Arabic, French, Yiddish, and Parlari.

     Slade watched him showcasing his skills with a pensive look on his features, and every once in a while, he would smirk.

     At the end, he told Dick: “You have so much potential.”

     Slade grabbed two bo staffs from the back wall where a line of sparring weapons were hung. He gave Dick a bo staff and said:

     “Fight me.”

     “I only really know stage combat,” Dick weakly protested. He really didn’t feel like getting his butt handed to him.

     “Fight me.”

     Dick sighed and took the bo staff.

     They circled each other on the training mat. Slade held his right arm out, bo staff pointed down, seemingly leaving himself open to any hits. Dick knew better. Crina taught him that that the hand moves first, then the arm, then the body. Slade had longer reach. All he had to do was flick his wrist to attack if Dick came charging in.

     Dick tried not to overanalyze. Crina told him never to worry too much about what his opponent was doing, because if he focused too much on that, he would lose the fight. And since he was smaller than most of his opponents...

     His heart twisted. He really wanted to participate in the sword combat duels down in Gibsonton, Florida where Dick’s family spent their winters. Mami had signed him up for one in Dec...

     Focus.

     In the here and now.

     Since he was smaller, he had to choose the tempo of the fight. He moved. Slade flicked his wrist, Dick rolled forward to dodge it, bounded up, thrusted his bo staff forward toward Slade’s chest—

     Slade shoved Dick with his left arm, and Dick whirled back to his starting position. Slade resumed his original stance, and cocked his brows as if to say: that’s it?

     Dick cackled, heartbeat racing in excitement. He charged forward again, and this time, they found a tempo. He could tell Slade held back, but they moved in rhythm with their attacks and counterattacks, rarely did they ever shift into a defensive stance, for a defensive move would block the rhythm of their dance. Eventually, Slade knocked Dick on his back, ending it.

     When he helped Dick back up, panting and sweating, he had that proud smile.

     “You have good stamina. Good rhythm. One thing I would suggest is to incorporate all of your skills when you fight. You did an acrobatic technique at the start, but you didn’t later. You can fly. Use that to your advantage, little bird.” Slade purred the nickname out.

     Dick tensed.

     “Relax and let go, little Robin.”

     “Get down from there, Robin, you’re too high up.”

     “What am I going to do with you, my daredevil Robin?”

     Dick whacked Slade in the arm with his bo staff, heaving angrily. “Don’t call me that!”

     Slade blinked, fury erasing the proudness. “We’re done sparring, there’s no need...”

     “Shut up! I don’t care. You can’t call me that. You don’t know anything!” Dick threw the bo staff onto the ground.

     “Hey! Respect the equipment. Tantrums are not allowed in the training room.”

     “No! That’s reserved for upstairs. Don’t worry. I’ll slam the door when I get to the kitchen!”

     “Grayson!”    

     Dick stormed off, and made sure to slam the pantry door when he got upstairs.

     Grant, Rose, Joey, and Billy all glanced up at him from the kitchen island, where they’d been eating breakfast, each wearing a facial expression of shock.

     “What are you looking at?” Dick snapped.

     Billy slowly rose up from his seat. “Is everything alright?”

     Dick pointed toward the basement. “You can tell the one-eye jerk that I already had parents, that I don’t need him replacing them. That was the deal! If he can’t do that, then I’m leaving!”

     Billy sputtered a couple half-started words before he settled on: “Dick. Hold on. I’m sure that’s not what he was doing.”

     “You don’t get it! I’m here so I can get stronger and hunt down my parents’ murderer and avenge them!”

     He brushed past Billy and stormed up the stairs for his room. No. Not his room. Slade’s den where he’d been staying as a guest. Because that’s what he was: a guest. This wasn’t his new home. This wasn’t his new family.

     The sun was high in the sky by the time Slade found him.

     The man poked his head out of the window, sunlight glinting off his eyepatch. “Grayson.”

     Dick turned his head from him as acknowledgement that he heard him. He wanted to stay angry. He didn’t want talk to the man. He ran a finger across the bark of the tree trunk, the leaves from the branch above rustled.

     “Could you come in?” Slade asked. “I don’t think that branch would support my weight.”

     Dick plucked a piece of bark from the tree and tossed it to the ground below, a good twelve feet above the ground. He wanted to climb higher into the crown, but maybe...maybe a part of him wanted to be found.

     The branch jostled and Dick snapped his head toward Slade who grumbled under his breath as used the branch above to steady himself as he balanced-walk toward Dick. He took a seat next to him, left hand still steadying himself on the branch above.

     The branch they sat on creaked.

     “What do you want?” Dick grumbled, turning his face away from Slade again, focusing on the tree trunk.

     “We had a deal.”

     “Well, maybe I just didn’t feel like training today.”

     “I broke it.”

     Dick stiffened.

     “It takes a lot of courage for a person to admit they’re wrong,” Tati told Dick once. “There’s no shame in it. But don’t admit you’re wrong if you’re just trying to get back into their good graces.”

     Which was it? Dick snuck a glance up at Slade.

     “Your parents. Did they call you by that nickname?”

     Dick hugged his chest with his free arm, the other still on the trunk. “My Mami...my Romani name is Robin.” He grimaced, suddenly ashamed of his outburst earlier. “I’m sorry for...” 

     “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

     “I like the nickname. It was nice. It’s just...I...”

     “Too soon. And you told me before. You don’t want a parent.”

     “And you don’t want another kid.”

     Dick frowned when Slade winced at that. It was subtle but there. What did it mean?

     Slade stared out at the forest around them, and after a while, Dick did too. They sat among the breeze, inhaling the sweet scent of the soil and the smell of the leaves. Dragonflies buzzed around them, and a few robins perched on a branch on a tree across from them.

     Dick watched them, eyes stinging with tears again, and he angrily wiped at them.

     “Grief is...messy,” Slade said at last. “I’m ashamed of how I allowed my grief to get the better of me the first year after I lost Adeline. We’d been divorced for a while before that, but I still cared about her immensely.”

     Dick turned to him, watching his body language, the way his shoulders tensed at the memory, the way he avoided looking Dick in the eye.

     “The boys needed me. Rose needed me. And I wasn’t there. Billy stepped up. He threatened to take them away from me if I didn’t get my head together. I thought I had been grieving, however misguided, and used that as an excuse, but the truth is I was running from it.” Slade finally turned and meet Dick’s gaze. “Honor your grief, Grayson. The more you honor it, the less control it has over you.”

     This time, Dick couldn’t stop the tears from spilling. “Does it get easier?”

     “No. You just learn how to live with it.”

     “I’m scared I’m going to forget them. That they’ll forget me.”

     “You won’t forget them. You might forget details, but you won’t forget their memories.” Then Slade scoffed. “And kid, trust me, you’re pretty memorable. I doubt they’ll forget you.”

     Dick snuck a glance at the family of robins. “You think they’re watching over me?”

     Slade followed his gaze, and found the robins. “I don’t know much about the afterlife, or if there even is one, but I grew up in the South, where we have an interesting history in spirits, especially stories where past loved ones show up as birds.”

     Dick smiled. “I grew up hearing some pretty wild ghost stories. Tati loved telling them.”

     “You should tell some of them to Billy. He’s British, and they love their ghosts stories.”

     Dick winced. “I yelled at him earlier.”

     “Billy is more forgiving than I am.”

     “We can still train, right? I didn’t screw that up?”

     Slade smirked. “Oh, kid. We haven’t even begun training. Today was an assessment. Tomorrow, the real training begins.”

     Dick beamed. “Really?”

     Slade chuckled. “None of my kids were ever this excited about training.”

     Dick shrugged. “I like learning new things.” He cleared his throat. “I get that from my Tati. He always had his nose in a book.”

     “Sounds like a smart man.”

     Dick’s heart warmed. Not many viewed his parents as smart. He didn’t know why. They built the trapeze set by hand. They couldn’t afford to buy their own equipment. He thought they were the smartest people ever.

     “I left you some homework on your desk in the room.”

     “Desk?”

     “Your bed and desk arrived.”

     They clambered back into the room, where Dick found a sturdy and cushioned twin-size bed with bright blue covers. A desk next to the window, a stack of books on top.

     Dick read through the titles. Most of them were on the art of bo staff, and its history in various cultures.

     “Given your agility, your expertise with the baton and basic knowledge of sword stances, I think you would excel in bo fighting. You can use it as a weapon, and you can also use it as a means to give more power to your flips.” Slade tapped the top book. “Read through it. I might quiz you tomorrow.”

     “Okay!”

     “I’ll track Zucco down. I have the means and the contacts to flush a man from underground. He won’t be in hiding for long.”

     “And...you’ll let me kill him?”

     Slade tilted his head. “It’s kill now?”

     “That’s how I’ll honor my grief. Honor Mami’s and Tati’s memories.”

     I failed to save them. I have to do this.

     “I understand. Focus on the training. Get stronger, and we’ll get him. Then...you can kill him.”

     Dick nodded, briskly. He would do this. He would work hard. Train hard. Study hard. He couldn’t afford to allow his emotions to get the better of him and scare Slade off again.

     He would make Zucco regret taking his parents away and tearing him away from his circus family.

Chapter Text

~So what if we don't look thе same?

We been going through the samе thing, yeah

You are, you are~

~Chosen Family by Rina Sawayama and Elton John~

     Dick jerked awake, snapping his eyes open to the darkness. He blinked, adjusting his sight to the moonlight filtering in through his window, the open curtains gently rippling against the night breeze that trickled in. He licked his cracked lips as he laid a hand on his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heartbeat underneath. What woke him up? What had he’d been dre—

     Mami’s eyes widened as the rope snapped. She reached out, her fingertips grazing Dick’s.

     Dick cried out, reaching out, unable to move as he watched Mami and Tati fall to the ground with a heavy splat.

     The sounds of bones crushing, the impact of...

     Dick whimpered curling into himself, hands in his hair. Tremors invaded his body as a sharp heat covered his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, pain pounding inside his skull, as if death suddenly wanted to bring the last of the Flying Grayson to the other side.

     Take me. I don’t care. I can’t take this anymore.

     A hand laid on his shoulder.

     Dick’s eyes snapped open with a sharp inhale.

     Joey peered over him, brows creased in concern.

     Dick licked his cracked lips again. “I’m...okay. Just...a little nightmare.”

     Joey nodded, and left.

     Dick’s heart reached out for him, for anyone, to stay at his side, to help him, because maybe a part of him still wanted to live, but he couldn’t take it with the pain anymore, couldn’t...

     He whimpered softly as the tremors increased, and the heat flushed up his neck. Why was he so hot? Why wasn’t he sweating? Was he dying? Was he still trapped in the nightmare?

     A coolness pressed against his forehead.

     Joey had returned. “Ice pack. It helps.”

     Dick held it against his forehead, the coldness stopped the heat’s assault. “Th-thanks...” he managed to get out, unable to sign due to his shaking hands.

     Joey clambered into the bed with him.

     Dick tensed. “You-you don’t have to...”

     “I still have nightmares of my throat getting slashed. I hated sleeping alone after that.”

     “You don’t...I can...I’m okay.”

     “You’re not. I’ve been hearing you the past two weeks.”

     “I’m sorry. I’ll be more...” He cut himself off as Joey tugged Dick into a hug. He trembled against Joey’s chest. “I’m okay. You don’t have to...”

     Joey held him tighter. Between the warm embrace and the coolness that Dick moved to the back of his neck, the tremors slowly subsided, and eventually, the heat withdrew their invasion.

     Dick exhaled softly, almost bracing himself for the return assault. He self-consciously lifted his head from Joey’s chest. “Um, I’m better now.”

     Joey rolled his eyes. “No. You’re not.”

     Dick smiled softly at the tough love. He laid back next to Joey’s side, allowing the comforting heat of another person’s body to soothe him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

     Joey tapped his shoulder as a gesture of you’re welcome.

     “I don’t like feeling helpless,” Dick continued. “I’m tired of not feeling safe. I don’t...I don’t feel safe.”

     Joey turned onto his side and looked at Dick, the moonlight shimmering across his blond hair.

     “Did you...did you ever feel safe again?”

     Joey slowly nodded.

     “When?”

     He thought about it. “When my dad came back.”

     Slade. Did Dick feel safe in the man’s presence? It’d been over two weeks since he’d come to the Wilson home. The awkwardness had faded, and Dick found himself slipping into the kitchen after training with Slade to watch Billy cook, or into Slade’s new study next to the kitchen to browse through his books, or read the ones Slade had given him.

     The Wilson kids were nice, cordial, even Grant was polite to him after he witness Dick’s explosion the second day. Yet there still was a distance between them, they still didn’t train together, like they were both scared to take the first step. Dick didn’t want to overstep his welcome.

     Did Slade feel safe to Dick?

     He thought of their training, the man encouraging Dick to push beyond his limits. He thought of his own frustration, him punching the mat when he couldn’t land a move right, when Slade continuously forced him back up over and over.

     “Again.”

     “Again.”

     “Again.”

     But then, it was worth all the exhaustion and frustration when he finally heard the purring praise:

     “That’s my boy.”

     Every time he heard it, he remembered Tati scooping Dick up when he finally accomplished an acrobatic move he’d been working on and tossing him onto his shoulder with a cheer of “that’s my boy!” and he would remember Mami throwing both fists up happily with a cheer of “that’s my robin!”

     “Do you feel safe with him training you?” Dick asked. “To become a mercenary?”

     “I like training. I feel stronger. Like next time something bad happens, I’ll be able to handle it.”

     “Do you think you’ll be able to kill?”

     Joey paused. “That won’t happen for another three years.”

     Grant had turned fifteen weeks ago and still hadn’t had his first kill yet. Slade was worried about that, but, he had no problem with Dick making his first kill at nine.

     What did that mean?

     “Will you be able to kill this Zucco?”

     “I have to.”

     Joey nodded softly. Then he added with a gentle smile: “You can’t kill anybody if you’re sleep deprived.”

     Dick snorted. “Alright, alright. Fine. You can sleep here, but for one night, okay?”

     “One night.”

     Joey ended up sleeping with him every time Dick had a nightmare and woke up with a panic attack.

     And they began to train together after that.

     Four weeks later, Dick woke up to a screaming match. He blinked tiredly, for a moment, thinking he was back in his trailer, hearing an argument between Luis and Madell in the trailer next door about whoever made the coffee wrong that morning. 

     He wiped a dry crust from his eye as he stared at the door, finally deciphering the screaming match between Grant and Rose over the bathroom.

     Joey rose up next to him with a yawn.

     Dick groaned. “Why are you guys like this every morning?”

     Joey grinned. “You don’t like your wakeup alarm?” He slipped off the bed, heading out into the hallway, the now open door increased their arguments, and Dick swore he could hear Joey’s hands moving in the air as he joined in on the argument.

     Dick smacked his head back down on his pillow and groaned again. He grabbed his robe and slipped downstairs to get away from the noise, where he found Billy cooking in the kitchen, with Slade at the island nursing a cup of coffee, reading the newspaper.

     Dick slipped onto the stool next to Slade, and to Billy asked: “Do you need any help?”

     At the stove, Billy placed a hand on his chest, and spun around, brandishing his spatula like a weapon. “Oh, geez. You move more silently than a member of the League of Assassins.”

     Slade grinned behind the newspaper.

     Dick never heard of them, but they sounded like ninjas. “Sorry?”

     Billy chuckled. “It’s okay. You sit back and relax, my boy. Breakfast will be ready shortly. You want anything to drink?”

     “Orange juice.” Dick wiggled his nose as Slade took a sip of his coffee. “What coffee is that?” It didn’t really smell like the one Billy normally brewed, or like the one Tati religiously drank.

     “Instant coffee,” Billy side-whispered in a mocking staged disgust. “He drank it all the time in the military, and I can’t him to drink anything else. I think he personally likes bad coffee.”

     “Can I try it?”

     Slade raised a brow, before sliding his coffee mug over to Dick. He flattened his newspaper and folded it back up, laying it back on the counter.

     Dick had picked up the mug, the ceramic warm from Slade’s hand and not the lukewarm liquid inside. He took a cautious sip. “It’s...it tastes...” Dick scrunched his nose before he turned to Slade. “Why do you torture yourself?”

     Billy barked a laugh as he handed Dick a small glass of orange juice, leaving the pitcher of the drink next to it.

     A mischievous idea formed within Dick. Tati had pulled this prank on him, he wondered if... He tried not to grin. “When Tati couldn’t get his usual Italian roast and had to settle for whatever American brand Papa Haly could get his hands on, he would pour in to American brew a bit of orange juice. He said there’s something about American beans that reacted well to the acidity of the orange juice.” He grabbed the orange juice pitcher and poured a little bit into Slade’s mug, and took a sip. “Ah.” He sighed contently. “That’s better.”

     Slade glowered at him. “Did you spoil my coffee?”

     “I made it better. Go on! Try it.”

     Slade scoffed incredulously and took his mug from Dick’s hand. He inhaled it and shook his head, setting it back on the counter.

     “If you’re not going to drink it, can I finish it?”

     “You’re already hyper enough as it is, kid. You’re not having caffeine.”

     Dick pouted. “It was my Tati’s drink.”

     Slade clenched his jaw. He took the mug and downed it in one gulp. He grimaced and coughed. “It tastes like a grass smoothie. Your Tati had poor taste.”

     Dick grinned victoriously, taking a swig of his orange juice. “Hey Billy, I got him to drink something besides instant coffee.”

     Billy barked another laugh, turning around with a wide smile. “I salute you, boy. You get extra bacon with your pancakes this morning.”

     “You’re a little shit,” Slade muttered, somewhat fondly as he smacked Dick in the head with his newspaper.

     A warm feeling burst within Dick at the affection, and he smiled widely. He liked it with Billy and Slade, he was beginning to get comfortable with them.

     The rest of the kids came into the kitchen, continuing their argument from upstairs. Joey had managed to take a quick shower, his hair wet. Rose only managed to put eyeliner on her right eye, and yelled at Grant to sharpen the liner he’d accidentally broken.

     “Oi, oi!” Billy smacked the spatula on the counter. “What did I say? If you break the peace of my morning, there will be no family outing today.”

     Grant and Rose muttered apologies, as Joey frantically rubbing a fist on his chest in a circle. Grant grabbed the coffee pitcher from the machine and poured himself a fresh cup.

     “We’re behaving, Dad. See?”

     Dick glanced around as Joey and Rose settled in the stools next to Slade. Confused, he asked: “What family outing?”

     All of them looked around at each other in shock, and Dick didn’t know if it were because of him or...

     Grant threw a hand toward Dick. “Nobody fucking told the twerp?”

     “I thought you did! You had one job, Dad!” Joey signed to Slade, who smacked his forehead with his newspaper in return.

     Rose rolled her eyes at them before she leaned in on the counter, explaining to Dick. “On the last Sunday of every month, we go on a family outing. All of us take turns picking a place to go to. It’s Joey’s turn this time. He picked the opera. We’re all going after brunch.”

     A family outing. Dick tried not to show any disappointment. And why would he be disappointed.? They weren't his family. He could find something to do on his own here. “That’s cool. Hope you all have a good time.”

     Grant snorted. “What are you talking about, twerp?” He ran his fingers through Dick’s hair as he took a seat next to him. “We got you a ticket too. If I have to suffer listening to some fat lady sing, you have to suffer too.”

     Joey tossed a piece of strawberry at Grant who dodged it. “I had to suffer through that boring baseball game you picked! I thought it would never end.”

     “Hey! It was an exciting game. They scored a lot!”

     “Six points is a lot?” Rose teased.

     “I have an old suit you can borrow, Dick. You’ll like this one! I picked the show especially for you.”

     “I’m excited for it,” Rose added. “It’s a new show. Circus Days and Nights.”

     “You’ll have to let us know how accurate it is to a real-life circus,” Grant said, taking a sip of his coffee after he dumped three heaping spoonsful of sugar into it.

     “Actually, Dad found it. I had trouble choosing which one to pick and he helped.”

     Dick stole a glance at Slade, who ignored him by getting up and headed over to the hot water kettle to make himself another cup of instant coffee.

     Slade found the show?

     Why?

     He thought he was just a soldier for Slade to train. That’s what the deal was. Maybe he was just being nice, making sure Dick felt included while he stayed here. That’s all it was.

     He turned to Grant, trying to ignore the weird feeling within. “Hey Grant, have you ever had orange juice in coffee before?”

     “Who the heck would drink that?”

     Dick had seen a few opera shows before with his parents. The host city sometimes gave the circus a couple free tickets as a thank you for performing. They were always low budget with bad acting, but the singing always memorized him.

     Circus Days and Nights went all out on the circus performances, with the tumbling, flying, and aerial tricks. They added to the authenticities with the inclusion of jugglers, lion tamers, and bearded ladies (much to Grant’s delight). They even included trapeze artists, that for a brief moment Dick felt he was home. The illusion shattered when the curtains closed, and he realized he sat in the audience with the Wilson family.

     After the show, they decided to walk from the opera house to a restaurant for an early dinner. Rose and Grant took the lead, already bickering about the menu. Behind them, Joey and Billy signed about the show, leaving Dick and Slade trailing behind them, walking in comfortable silence.

     The cloudy day brought out the strings of lights that hung on the Spanish moss that lined both sides of the downtown street, and Dick thought of the fairy lights in his old trailer.

     “Did you enjoy the show?” Slade asked.

     “Yeah, I did,” Dick said, shoving his hands into his suit jacket pocket. The sleeves were a little short, and the pants a little long, but the suit overall fitted him well. “Did...did you?”

     “I enjoyed it, especially the philosophical musings in the second half.”

     “Of course, you did,” Dick mumbled. “You kept going on and on about honor when we first met.”

     “Honor is an important virtue.”

     “Can you exist without it?”

     Slade hummed, stroking his goatee. “Are you saying you can’t exist without the circus?”

     “Mami and Tati always said the circus can only exist if there’s absolute trust. That’s why everyone in the circus is necessary. All of us have to trust one another in order for it to survive.”

     “So, to you—trust is the most important virtue?” Slade probed.

     Dick thought about it. He trusted his circus family, he did, but they left him. Did that mean Dick no longer existed as a part of a family without them?

     “It’s not about who to trust, Robin, but how,” Mami had once said.

     “I wouldn’t have come and trained with you if I didn’t trust that you would help me catch Zucco.”

     “You’re making a grave mistake if you trust me,” Slade said.

     “You trusted me with your secret identity. Are you saying it’s a grave mistake to trust me?”

     An emotion Dick couldn’t decipher shimmered in Slade’s eye. “It is your honor, not you, that I am trusting.”

     Dick thought about Mami’s words again. “Is honor how you trust?”

     “Honor doesn’t mean giving trust when it hasn’t been earned. It means: here is how much I’m comfortable giving you, and the amount of risk I’m putting into the situation.”

     Dick tried to make sense of that. “You put your family at risk by trusting my honor. What does that mean?”

     Slade stiffened, it was a small motion, but Dick caught it. "You're not a threat to my family. That's what it means. You risked much more by trusting me."

     Did Dick absolutely trusted Slade? He...didn’t know. The man mourned with him, comforted him, thought of him for their family outing and chose something that Dick would enjoy. Slade has shown himself to have honor. However, honor isn’t how Dick trusted. He trusted Slade because of what he could read from him, but...he knew he didn’t read everything.

     He thought Slade was a good man because he loved his son enough that he didn’t want him to kill, but...what if it was more than that? If Slade was a deeply philosophical man, then, did trust mean nothing to him? What if Slade didn’t want Grant to kill for another reason entirely?

     “Does that mean Grant hasn’t earned your trust yet?”

     Slade’s eye narrowed dangerously. “What do you mean?”

     “You're not comfortable enough to give him his first kill.”

     Slade’s jaw clenched. “It is a complicated situation.”

     “But isn’t his role in the family important?”

     “My son is important to me.”

     “Then why haven’t you been honest with him about how you feel? Grant is your successor, isn’t he? Where’s the absolute trust between the two of you?”

     “Kid...” Deathstroke’s voice rumbled out from Slade’s lips.

     Dick plowed on, terrified that maybe Slade didn’t view everybody in the family as necessary, that Dick, in the end, would essentially become unnecessary, like he’d become to his circus family. “Do you think your son doesn't have honor then? How can your family survive without trust?”

     “You went to lengths to defend your circus family, but what lengths did they go for you?”

     Dick flinched, but he knew where to hit back. “At least I have more honor than you!”

     “What is going on here?” Billy stepped in between them, palms up.

     Dick searched for the other three, but they were gone.

     “We’re having a little disagreement over a philosophical musing,” Slade grumbled.

     “That didn’t sound like a little disagreement,” Billy said. He glanced down at Dick. “You okay?”

     Dick folded his arms and nodded.

     “The others are in the restaurant just ahead. Why don’t you join them? Slade and I will be in just a little bit.”

     Dick found the Italian restaurant and went inside where the other three were waiting at the hostess stand.

     “Where’s our dads?” Grant asked.

     “Business talk,” Dick said.

     “Business? I should go out there.”

     Rose smacked his shoulder. “Easy tiger. What did I tell you? Keep it cool. If you keep acting like an eager puppy, Dad won’t let you out.”

     Grant’s face fell. “He’s never going to. I’ll never prove myself.”

     “You will. Right, Joey?”

     Joey nodded. “You’ll be the best there is."

     The hostess came by, and took them to their table. Grant kept staring toward the entrance door, until Slade and Billy finally joined their table.

     Slade pretended their argument never happened. He asked questions about the circus when the others prompted Dick to compare the opera show to his real-life experience. He listened, or at least, Dick thought, he pretended to listen. He didn't know how to read Slade anymore. Didn't know if Slade actually cared.

     Dick should tell Grant the truth, but he didn’t want to tear apart their family. He couldn’t help but wonder exactly why Slade took him in, and he had a feeling it had to be more than wanting to help him catch Zucco.

     What if Slade was using him?

     What if Slade saw Dick as someone more important than Grant, someone more worthy enough to become his successor?

     The thought left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

     Dick and Slade never addressed their argument the following week. They trained, and trained, and trained. And Dick pushed himself harder, and harder, and harder, beyond his physical limits to the point where even Slade had to stop him.

     He told Dick to take the rest of the afternoon off when Dick nearly injured himself trying to master an advance bo staff movement.

     He hated it. He wanted to get stronger! He wouldn’t if Slade didn’t push him.

     When Dick slipped into the den to catch up on reading the history of the bo staff, he found Rose sitting at the circular table in the center of the room, going through index cards. She recited a foreign language that Dick didn’t know before she glanced at the back of the card. She groaned and smacked the card on the table in frustration.

     Dick took one step backwards to escape the room, but Rose caught sight of him, and he froze. He weakly wiggled his fingers in a weak wave. “Erm, hi?”

     “What are you doing?”

     Dick held up his book. “I was going to read.”

     “Go on. I’m done. Going to fail this stupid test anyway.”

     Rose began packing up her index cards spread out across the table, muttering under her breath.

     Dick looked at her, and though she seemed angry, she also seemed sad. It kind of reminded him of Mami. She would get in a mood where she would act angry, but really be sad. He ventured into the room, and took a seat across from Rose.

     “Wh-what are you studying?” he asked.

     “Doesn’t matter. Didn’t you hear me? I’m going to fail.”

     Dick read the back of one of the index cards. Though he didn’t know the language, he thought he recognized the script. “Vietnamese?”

     “Hmong, actually,” Rose corrected with a harshness in her voice.

     Dick grimaced. “Oh. Sorry.” Then he tried to remember what Slade said about her mother. “Was...your mother Hmong? Is that why you’re learning the language?”

     “You’re always this nosy?”

     Dick didn’t shy away though. “I like learning languages. In the circus, there’s so many of us, and for most of us, English isn’t our native tongue, so I try to learn the native languages of everybody else in the circus, because we’re all family, and you have to speak the language of your family, right?”

     Dick reached forward and grabbed the index cards. “What are the basics? Could you teach me?”

     Rose looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. “You want to learn Hmong?”

     “Yeah! Could you teach me? Or at least—I can quiz you? I can pick it up if I quiz you. Let me help!”

     Rose chuckled softly, the anger snuffing away to a tender sadness. She took out the index cards that she had packed into her small bag, and ran her fingers along the edge of them. “Hmong was my first language. I used to speak it so fluently. Then I came here after...and no one spoke it, and I’ve forgotten...”

     Dick thought about forgetting Romani and Italian, both his native languages, and the grief in his heart spilled out. He couldn’t let that happen. He would practice, he would remember his parents’ languages. He took the index cards from Rose. “You didn’t forget. You’re just out of practice. I’ll learn and then we can speak it together!”

     Rose blinked, eyes swelling with tears for a brief moment, before she sniffled and straightened, demeanor shifting. She handed him a stack of cards. “Okay, Boy Wonder. Quiz me on these, and I’ll teach you the basics.”

     Dick pumped his fists up.

     “And...” Rose looked at him again. “Maybe you can teach me Romani?”

     This time, Dick blinked. “You want to learn?”

     “You have to speak the language of your family, right?”

     A strange feeling stirred in Dick’s chest. Family? But...he was going to leave in a couple months. She...did she see him as family?

     Or was she being polite?

     She shook the index cards still in her hand, and Dick took them.

     Family?

     He...didn’t want to replace his old family.

     But...they were gone.

     He ignored that weird feeling in his chest and focused on quizzing Rose, and learning a new language. He allowed his curiosity to distract him from the confusing emotions.

     Grant pulled him away from his sparring session with Rose and Joey, a notebook in hand.

     “Come on, twerp, it’s been over a month, and we need to figure out your mercenary name,” he said as they settled in the chairs around a table on the other side of the basement near the uniform display cases.

     Dick caught sight of the colors on the paper when Grant set the notebook down. It was an artbook, and Grant had drawn an outfit similar to Deathstroke, but with a more vibrant blue, and a cowl over the eyes, chin exposed.

     “Wow! You drew this?”

     A soft amused expression graced Grant’s features before he turned serious. “You’re easily impressed.”

     “No, this is really good. Can I see more?” Dick took the artbook and leafed through it. There were so many other drawings, mostly of uniforms and weapons ideas. Grant had even drawn out an idea for Superman.

     Grant’s cheeks turned red. “That...was for Joey.”

     “Sure,” Dick teased. He gave the artbook back. “You’re really good.”

     Grant shrugged, turning to a new page. “Okay. I’ve seen you fight. Your outfit has to be tight so they don’t get in the way of your acrobatic skills, and we have to make sure your outfit utilizes your movements.” He began penciling a unitard. “Any ideas on your name?”

     “Name?”

     “Yeah. I chose Ravager. Rose picked Siv Yis. Joey chose Jericho. You know Slade and Billy chose Deathstroke and Major. You need one.”

     There was one name Dick wanted to be known as when he finally faced Zucco. “Robin.”

     “Robin, okay, cool, Ro...” Grant paused. “Like the bird? Or like the English folktale?”

     “The bird.”

     Grant blew raspberries as if he was trying not to laugh. “Okay. Why don’t we ruminate on that and come back to the name later?”

     “I’m choosing Robin.”

     “Have you not heard of what we called ourselves?”

     “My Romani name is Robin. Mami used to call me that, most people in the circus called me that. I want Zucco to know that he may have killed my parents and forced me out of the circus, but that the circus still lives in me, that I am still Roma, and I want him to know who it is that finally takes him down.”

     Grant stared at Dick and then cleared his throat. “Okay. I sit corrected. Robin is the most badass name you could come up with.” He grinned. “What were your colors?”

     “My colors?”

     “The colors of your Flying Grayson outfit.” Grant took out a container of his colored pencils from a bag strapped around the chair. He opened it, waiting. “Come on. I know orange and blue is all the rage here, but we’ve gotta branch out.”

     “Our colors were yellow, red, and green.”

     Grant whistled. “Bright colors. Everyone will see you.”

     “Good, I don’t want to stick to the shadows. I want to keep the spotlight on me.”

     Grant chuckled. “You’re a cocksure bastard, but yeah, let’s do it. Now...where do you want the colors on your outfit?”

     Dick laid on top of the hanging ceiling box light in the basement. He had trouble sleeping earlier, so he snuck down, needing to be up somewhere high. He promised Billy he wouldn’t sleep in the tree anymore, or clamber up on the roof at night.

     Just being up somewhere high made him feel secure, eased his thoughts, and calmed him down. He didn’t know why—and he’d been craving it since...

     Screams echoed in his memories, and he winced. He tried to think of happier memories, fonder memories, yet the darker ones cut through the light. He pressed the palm of his fists against his temples. Maybe he should cuddle up with Joey tonight. He slept better with him.

     “...think you’re doing?!”

     Dick stiffened. That was Rose.

     “It’s the only way to convince Dad I’m ready. It’s been months, and I’m sick of waiting.”

     Grant. Dick kept still, listening, he could hear rummaging noises and the sound of a drawer opening and shutting.

     “Dad will also kill you if you fuck this up!” Rose hissed.

     “Then at least I’ll have my answer. At least I’ll know.”

     “Grant. Don’t do this.”

     “Don’t stop me.”

     “Grant,” Rose’s pleading turned soft, gentle. “Let me come with you.”

     “I can’t. This is something I have to do alone. I need to prove to Dad that I’m worthy of carrying the Deathstroke mantle. I need to prove to myself I can do it.”

     “Will you be able to pull the trigger?”

     “Please—how many times have I provided dinner on our hunting trip?”

     “That’s not the same thing.”

     “I know. I will. I have to.”

     Rose cursed. “Be careful. Please. Come back.”

     “Come on, this is me we’re talking about here. I’ll be fine.”

     They moved, continuing their conversation.

     Dick slowly turned onto his side, barely making out Rose and Grant heading back to the stairs in the dark.

     Grant accepted a Deathstroke contract.

     Slade and Billy left a couple days ago to meet up with an old military buddy. They won’t be back until late tomorrow.

     Dick sat up.

     He didn’t have his uniform yet. Billy was still working on it, but...

     He still had his Flying Grayson outfit. Billy had washed out the blood stains and provided it to him, nearly brand new on his third day here. He hadn’t worn it since.

     It was time for Dick to soar, and do what he did best.

     Protect the family.

     He made a promise to Slade, and he would uphold it.

     Dick inwardly thanked Esmeralda for secretly teaching him the basics of riding a motorbike as he tracked Grant down. It was either take the motorbike, or electric scooter, and there was no way Dick would reach Grant in time on a scooter.

     He knew Grant wouldn’t have gone far if he took the other car. Grant would probably want to complete the contract before Slade and Billy got home, so it had to be close by, at least by a couple hours. He found Grant’s car as he neared New Orleans, and instead of entering the city, Grant pulled off the exit before and continued on another interstate, before he drove off another exit, parking in between an office building and apartment complex.

     Dick continued to drive around, remembering Slade’s training that when you’re following someone to act casual and like you have another destination in mind.

     “You mean it’s kind of like role-playing?”

     “Yes. Act like you are there for another reason, and if you act like you believe it, they’ll believe it too.”

     He circled around a few times before he returned to Grant’s empty parked car. Dick parked behind a dumpster further up the alley.

     Steam rose from the sewers underneath him, and he sought where Grant may have gone. He found a fire escape ladder and climbed up it, then leapt to the one above it when it stopped at a certain floor, then another, until he arrived on the roof of the office building. At the top, he found Ravager fighting against someone dressed in black.

     Ninja? League of Assassins?

     Dick dodged behind an electrical box and peered around it.

     Ravager fought well, as Dick trusted he would as the world’s best mercenary trained him. Dick promised himself he wouldn’t interfere unless he absolutely had to. He trusted Grant’s abilities, he was just here as a safety net, as he promised Slade he would be.

     The fight continued, both opponents equally matched, with neither gaining the upper hand, until Ravager pulled out a knife and stabbed the assassin in the shoulder.

     The assassin upped their ante by whipping out their own array of knives.

     Ravager managed to block most of the oncoming attacks, until one slashed him in the forearm. He hissed and dug the heel of his boot into the assassin’s stomach, sending them whirling off the side of the roof.

     Ravager slumped onto his knee, and Dick saw that he had another injury, a gash in his calf, bleeding profusely.

     It took everything within him not to go running over.

     He watched as Ravager took a cloth tape from his utility belt, and wrapped it around the calf wound, tightening it. He checked the forearm, and probably decided it wasn’t worth the tape.

     Ravager swayed as he got onto his feet, and headed over to the rifle set up at the edge of the roof, the muzzle pointed toward a window of the apartment building across and below them.

     And then...

     Dick nearly missed them, too focused on Ravager, and he moved before he even muster up a thought, propelled by an intuitive feeling.

     Another assassin had snuck upon Ravager, knife in hand.

     Dick freed the bo staff from his back and extended it. He whacked the assassin’s hand that threw the knife and did an aerial flip, using his momentum and body weight to slam his feet against the back of the assassin’s neck.

     The assassin smacked hard onto the ground.

     Ravager had bounded up, the knife had missed him.

     “Robin?” He approached him. “What are you doing here?”

     “I know. I know I’m not supposed to be here. That this is your contract. I’m not here to stop you, but...” Robin stared up at Ravager. “I can be your safety net, if you let me.”

     Ravager stared at him, then a grin spread underneath his blue-silver cowl. “Let’s tap you in the fight, circus boy.”

     Robin mirrored his grin, until a grunt interrupted the moment. He whacked his bo staff against the assassin’s jaw, causing their head to snap to the side, and they dropped again, an immediate knockout.

     Ravager cackled, smacking his back. “Watch my back. These damn League members think this is their contract. Sometimes they fight Deathstroke over kills.”

     “Don’t contracts ensure honor?”

     Ravager scoffed. “Only a person can ensure honor, and they have none.” He went over to the rifle. “Hold on. Let me get this kill.”

     Robin nodded and scanned their surroundings. No threats. Unconscious assassin still breathing, even. Sound from electrical box. Traffic. Then...

     Hyperventilating breathing.

     Robin turned to Ravager, who trembled over the rifle. He followed the rifle’s line of sight to someone pacing in front of an apartment window, talking on the phone, oblivious to their impending death.

     “Just pull the damn trigger,” Ravager muttered to himself. “Pull it.”

     Robin stared at him, heart twisting. A strange thought surfaced within him: will I be able to pull the trigger on Zucco?

     “Deathstroke always follows through on a contract. Kill her. Do it. Prove you’re your father’s son. Damn it. Do it.” Ravager suddenly gasped, dropping his hand from the trigger. “Why can’t I do it?” He grunted out in anger, and with a yell, lifted his hand to the trigger.

     Robin knocked the rifle over with his staff.

     Ravager spun toward him. “Why did you do that?”

     “Don’t follow through on a decision made in anger.” Tati always said that it leads to mistakes. What if Grant makes a mistake right now? What if it destroys him?

     Oh.

     “I have to follow through on this contract! Don’t you understand, Dad will kill me if I don’t! His reputation is important—I have to follow through on his contract, I have to follow through on his honor.”

     I made a decision to kill Zucco in anger. “You’re trembling. You obviously don’t want to do this.”

     “I have to! It’s what I trained for.”

     “Ravager means revenge, doesn’t it? Didn’t you become Ravager to get revenge on the type of people that took your mom’s life?”

     Ravager gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Those type of people don’t have honor, and I won’t either if I don’t uphold this. I took a contract...I need to...”

     Tati once told Dick good and evil existed in everybody, and right now, it was waging a war in Grant’s heart...and Dick’s.

     Robin dropped the bo staff, and surged forward, wrapping his arms around Ravager.

     Grant slowly raised his arms and hugged Dick back. “You must think I’m so pathetic. I’m a crappy role model.”

     Dick hugged him tighter. “You’re the most courageous person I know.”

     “Stupid twerp. I’m not.”

     “You are.”

     Grant sniffled. “Damn it. You’re making me cry.” He loosened his arms, pulling slightly back from Dick. “I still have to do this.”

     “But you obviously don’t want to!”

     Grant cried out, pressing a hand against his forehead. “I don’t know what to do!”

     “I...I think you do,” Dick said. He knew...he knew what he wanted to do with Zucco.

     Grant gritted his teeth. “I know...but Deathstroke...my dad...”

     Something heavy dropped behind them.

     They both turned around, settling into an offensive stance, ready to attack their new opponent.

     Only...  

     Deathstroke stood behind them, radiating a furious aura.

Chapter Text

~Hand me a pen and I'll rewrite the pain

When you're ready, we'll turn the page together

Open a bottle, it's time we celebrate

Who you were, who you are

We're one and the same, yeah~

~Chosen Family by Rina Sawayama and Elton John~

     “I can’t believe you went through all this trouble tracking this down for Dick, and you’re not going to tell him about it,” Billy exclaimed, tugging the corner of his mustache. 

     Slade slid the storage door shut, the metal vibrating as it connected to the concrete. He locked it and turned to Billy: “We had a deal. I’ll give it to him afterwards.”

     “A deal?” Billy scoffed, following Slade to their car. “Those are his belongings—” he swept his arm to the storage locker. “His parents’ belongings! By rights, it’s all his!”

     Slade clenched his jaw, keeping his emotions checked in.

     Billy continued on, as Slade’s loud overbearing conscience: “And this deal you made, with a traumatized nine-year-old boy I might add, it’s all about helping him get Zucco, right? There’s no other ulterior motive?”

     “No,” Slade said through gritted teeth.

     “Bullshit.”

     Slade smacked his hand on the car’s hood, leaving a bit of a dent in the metal. “The boy has potential, yes, but I’m helping to train him—”

     “—Become a soldier to carry on the Deathstroke mantle,” Billy finished, glaring hard at him.

     Slade froze, meeting Billy’s harsh glare.

     As if seeing he finally caught Slade’s full attention, Billy added: “The boy grew up, constantly on the edge of danger. You know he would struggle in a normal life because teetering with danger is his natural equilibrium, he needs that danger to feel alive and normal, just as you do after your military stint.”

     Slade knew that. He knew that Billy knew he knew that. He waited for his friend to get to his point.

     Billy sighed. “Your kids are well-trained, and they’ve had traumatizing events happen to them, but they are not soldiers, and you don’t want to be the one to make them become one.”

     “That’s not true.”

     “When will you stop running and be honest with yourself?”

     Slade opened the car door and got into the driver’s seat.

     Billy got in, slamming his passenger door shut. “Your guilt over Adeline’s death nearly destroyed you and your relationship with your kids. You’re terrified that if you push Grant to kill, you would feel so guilty in making him a soldier that you will lose him!”

     “So what if that’s what I’m scared of? I’m a father, I care about them! I don’t want to screw up their lives anymore than I already have!”

     Billy’s features softened. “Slade. The reason I allowed you to bring Dick home was because I trusted in your conscience. You’re already wrestling with it now. Am I wrong?”

     Slade squeezed his eye shut, and gripped his fingers around the steering wheel. “You said it yourself, the boy needs danger.”

     “That’s not the only thing he needs.”

     “He said he doesn’t need another father.”

     “Ah. There’s the heart of the issue, isn’t it?”

     Damn it. Damn Billy for knowing him better than he knew himself. He slowly opened his eye, turning to his friend.

     “Dick just lost his parents and his circus family. Of course, he doesn’t need another father right now. He’s grieving. He’s lost. You gave him a purpose to help him get through the grief, but what happens after he catches Zucco? What happens when all the boy is left with is his grief?”

     Slade thought of his own grief when he entered the military at fifteen, of the grief that he would never have the father he always wanted, and that he will never be the man that his mother wanted him to be.

     “What new purpose will you give him, Slade? Will he carry your reputation, or will he carry your heart?”

     Slade shook his head.

     “You love that boy. So do I. In the small amount of time we’ve had him, I’ve grown to love him more than I can bear.”

     Slade did love that damn boy. His mischiefs. His excitement and zest for life. His need for the thrill. His dedication. His courage. And...

     A sharp trilling sound pierced the car.

     Slade frowned. It was his communicator, only to be used for emergencies for his kids. He tugged it from his jacket and flipped it open. “Wilson. What—”

     It was a mechanical voice, which meant it was Joey, typing. “Grant took one of your contracts and ran off with his Ravager costume.”

     Fear filled Slade’s heart. “Which contract? Do you know where he went?”

     Billy already had out his laptop, clicking away. “Marche Antica. On the outskirts of New Orleans.”

     “Joey, stay put in case Grant comes back. Billy and I are going after him.”

     “Wait. Rose said the motorbike is missing. Do you think Dick went after him?”

     Slade’s heart pinched, hard, as he remembered Grayson’s promise: “You can train me, and I can help you protect your family.”

     That dumbass kid.

     “We’ll get them back. You and Rose stay put.”

     Slade threw his car into drive and took off at high speed.

     He found his boys on the rooftop of Mobius West Apartments.

     Ravager was hunched over a rifle, like Deathstroke had taught him, like a predator about to slay their prey, and a strange twist of pride swelled up within him. That’s my boy. I knew he could do it. I don’t know why I kept delaying this moment. He was meant to be a mercenary. A League assassin laid unconscious behind Ravager, and there stood...

     A Flying Grayson wearing a mask across his face: Robin.

     Then from across the rooftops, Deathstroke heard it: the quick pattering of Ravager’s heart, the fear and the panic.

     Robin smacked Ravager's hand from the rifle, and Deathstroke picked up on their exchange, and the swell of pride immediately soured with a coldness of fear.

     He nearly lost Grant, for what?

     For his honor. His reputation.

     The fear shifted into a scream of guilt.

     He moved, to save his son from making a terrible decision, from following through on what he thought would make his father proud, and it would’ve made Deathstroke proud, and that’s what made him feel so guilty, because it would’ve broken Slade.

     He dropped behind them, and they both jumped, spinning toward him.

     “Dad!” Ravager exclaimed, immediately standing up to attention, like a...Slade’s teeth grinded. Like a good little soldier.

     But Robin shifted into an offensive stance in of Ravager, mask narrowing as he glowered from underneath it. Deathstroke knew that stance, knew the protective vibe the boy emitted: nobody touches my family.

     Ravager’s heartbeat raced, thrumming so quickly. He laid a hand on Robin’s shoulder, yet the boy didn’t relax, didn’t step back.

     “I...I’m sorry, Deathstroke,” Ravager apologized. “I will...” 

     “If you think my reputation is more important than you, then I have failed you,” Deathstroke said. 

     Ravager exhaled a sharp gasp, dropping his hand from Robin’s shoulder. He shook his head. “You—you trained me, for years, so that I could be strong, so that I can carry your legacy.”

     “I trained you so that you could be strong. Ravager, you are not a killer.”

     Ravager stiffened. “I can be. I will be. I promise. Let me...” He turned to the rifle.

     “Let her go, son.”

     “But your reputation!”

     “My reputation is not important right now.  You are.”

     Ravager tugged his cowl free, and gazed up at him, as if searching for Slade’s sincerity. All the tension seeped out of Grant’s body as he seemed to have found it. “Dad...”

     Slade moved forward, wrapping his firstborn protectively in his arms. “I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry.”

     Grant trembled in his embrace, burying his nose deep into Slade’s chestplate. “I’m sorry, Dad. I fucked it all up. I know, and...”    

     “You didn't screw anything up. You were doing what I trained you to do.”

     And Slade Wilson cursed himself for nearly making the same mistake he made with Jackal and Joey all those years ago. He finally understood why Adeline shot his eye out.

     He wished someone would shoot the other one out for nearly losing Grant’s precious heart.

     Rose and Joey ran out of the front door upon their return home, tugging Grant out of the passenger seat, a mixture of calling him an idiot and well-wishes exploding out of them before they all hugged each other tight.

     Billy pulled up behind them, with Grayson, the motorbike in the backseat.

     Grant mumbled about Grayson saving his hide, which caused Rose and Joey to haul their older brother over toward Grayson. Grayson stiffened in their embrace, but eventually melted into them.

     Billy approached Slade and watched the scene with him.

     “You need to talk with Grant.”    

     Slade nodded. He knew. Grayson tried to tell him before Billy did. Slade’s family could only survive if there was absolute trust among each other.

     “This isn’t going to blow over that easily. I mean it, Slade, talk to Grant.”

     He didn’t get the chance until late night became early morning. The sky darkened, indicating the sun’s upcoming arrival. He found Grant in his bedroom, dressed in his pajamas, still awake, after Slade sent all the others to bed.

     Grant tossed a baseball between his hands, legs crossed on the bed, as Slade took a seat at the edge of the mattress.

     “Now that it’s just you and me, be honest, how mad are you?” Grant asked, almost timidly, and Slade wished for the hot fiery anger instead. No. This timidness, this fear, this uncertainty lurked behind his son’s anger the entire time, he just chose not to see it.

     He still hadn’t learned to be a father first, and mercenary second. No. He still hadn’t learned to be a father, period.

     “I’m more angry with myself than with you.”

     “Don’t lie to me, Dad. You’ve pushed me, forced me to train to be like you for years! Be honest. You blame me for Mom’s death, don’t you? I wasn’t strong enough to save her.”

     Slade almost deflated. How had he failed so miserably all these years? When he first became a father, he’d been frightened that he would end up like his old man. He never imagined he would end up worse.

     Adeline, your shot should’ve killed me. The wrong parent is alive. You would have never made your son feel like this.

     “Your mother died to save you. You were a child, Grant.”

     “Dick’s pretty much the same age I was. You look at him, and wish I was like him then, don’t you? Is that why you brought him back? To take up your mantle, because you know, Rose and Joey don’t have the heart for it. I thought I could carry on your legacy, be the strong one, but Dick proved to me tonight that he’s the soldier, and I’m the civilian. I can’t be you, Dad. I will never be you.”

     “I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to be you, and nothing less than that. I kept putting off your rite of passage because...I didn’t want you to take up mantle. It’s not because you’re weak, it’s because you’re stronger than me.”

     “You...really think so?”

     “I don’t want you to live your life trying to live up to a version of me so that you can gain my approval. My father was like that to me, and I hated him for it, and I hate...that I’ve become him. Honor means living your life to be the best version of you.”

     Grant glanced down at the baseball, and twirled it in his palm. “It means asking yourself what can I do to be the best version of me and do the most amount of good.”

     Slade tilted his head, impressed.

     Grant snorted. “Stop it. Honor is important to you. I read. I’m not dumb.”

     “I never said you were.”

     “Wh-what...” He glanced back down again. “What do we do now?”

     “You train, you get stronger, and you find your own destiny.”

     Grant furrowed his brows. “You...you mean it?”

     Slade’s heart pinched. Grayson was right. There wasn’t absolute trust among his family members, or rather, no absolute trust when it involved Slade. And who’s fault it that? he heard Adeline’s voice chiding in his head.

     The circus opera show tried to tell him that: that you must balance your life, that if you try to hold onto any aspect of it too tightly, you will fall. He held onto Grant too tightly, and nearly lost him.

     How could he earn Grant’s full trust? He felt that he lost a bit of it tonight, even if Grant said otherwise.

     “Get some sleep. Later today, I want you to tell me what it is that you want out of life. If there’s something you want to learn, I’ll teach you that.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “I want you to learn what you want to learn, and not have me imposing all of my knowledge and all of my powers onto you. Tell me what you want to learn, and if I know it, I’ll teach you, if not, we’ll learn it together.”

     Grant perked up. “You...you mean it?”

     Slade supposed he could learn from Grayson. He heard the little brat asking to learn Rose and Lili’s native language. He should’ve been the one doing that. He had to learn the language of his family.

     “I do.”

     “Ok-okay. I’ll...let you know.”

     “Sleep on it. I mean it, Grant. I want to know.”

     Grant nodded, still tentative, uncertain, but there was something else lingering behind the surface, bravery and...Slade hoped it was trust. Please, God, let it be trust. Don’t let me ruin everything once again.

     He made a promise to his mother’s God, and to himself, that he would strive to be a better father.

     And that meant his reputation as Deathstroke might have to take a little blow.

     The following morning, Slade went through the ritual of making his instant coffee, and paused. He dumped the contents back in the sink, and brewed a fresh pot of coffee. He rummaged through the cupboards, and decided today, he would make breakfast, or rather a late lunch, for his family.

     Billy came sauntering into the kitchen with the newspaper, dark bags under his eyes, and smiled. He went to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. He settled into a stool at the island when Grant and Rose came in, both still exhausted, both with their elbows linked.

     Rose lightly shoved her brother off him, and skidded toward the coffee pot.

     Grant allowed her to have the last cup and went through making another pot.

     Slade had a spread of eggs, pancakes, toasts, and bacon set out when Joey came into the kitchen, frantic.

     “Dick’s gone!”

     Slade straightened his spine. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

     “We usually sleep together when he has a nightmare, and we did last night, and when I woke up, he was gone.”

     Slade shook his head. “He might be lurking in all the high spots, did you check?”

     “I checked the roof, the tree, and even the garage. Where else could he be?”

     “Did you check the hanging lights?” Billy asked. “He likes to lay up there to think.”

     Grant scoffed. “That’s how he knew. Sneaky little fucker. He should be called a cat name, not a bird.”

     “You think of the name,” Rose snapped. “I’ll find him.”

     The family spread out throughout the house, searching, and all returned to the kitchen with the same conclusion: Dick was nowhere to be found.

     Rose smacked Grant. “This is all your fault. Your dumbassery rubbed off onto him!”

     “How is this my fault?” Grant screeched.

     “Children. One thing at a time,” Billy scolded. “Think. Where would he go?”

     All three children widened their eyes. “Zucco.”

     Slade heard through the mercenary grapevine that Zucco came out from hiding underground and had risen in status in the Gotham Criminal World. It seemed killing the Graysons had allowed the mobster to become more brazen and more ruthless as he been extorting more money and took over more businesses.

     “I’ll go after him,” Slade said. “You three...”

     “No.” Grant stepped forward. “I’m coming with you. He came after me and protected me. We’ve got to protect him.”

     Joey nodded, agreeing.

     “Exactly,” Rose said. “You’ve been training us. If we can’t use our skills to protect each other, what are we even using them for?”

     Billy smiled, mustache crinkling, proudly at them.

     And this time, real, genuine pride swelled within Slade, not the egotistical pride of Deathstroke.

     He loved his children, his family.

     “Suit up,” he told them. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”

     “Okay, that’s the third Lamborghini I’ve seen pull up to this place, and the restaurant is not even hopping with customers,” Ravager griped over the comms. “This place is definitely a front.”

     “Jericho, one of the cooks is heading out for a smoke break,” Siv Yis said. “I’ll cover you.”

     Deathstroke watched as a man dressed in a suit, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, dug his hand into the front pocket of his apron and tugged out a lighter along with a box of cigarettes. He walked to a railing overlooking the storm drain leading out to one of the many bays in Gotham.

     The man suddenly grabbed the side of his neck and toppled against the railing, body folding against it. Jericho snuck out from behind a lamp post and approached the unconscious man. He pried open the man’s eyelid, and the man stiffened, leaning back up from the railing.

     “Jericho? You good?” Deathstroke asked. He knew the boy hated to possess people, yet he was adamant to use his powers to find Grayson, nothing else mattered.

     The man did a J sign, and Deathstroke sighed.

     Several beats later, the man dropped back unconscious, and Jericho slipped away from him, hiding behind another lamppost in the parking lot.

     A mechanical voice crackled into their comms: “Zucco is in the glass building above the restaurant. Twelfth floor. They were delivering food service to him just before Sammy’s break.”

     “Robin’s going up that way. He’s small. He would find a way,” Ravager voiced what all of them thought.

     Deathstroke took out a grappling hook. “I’ll crash the party.”

     “Was...was that...Did Deathstroke make a pun?”

     “You see what I had to suffer throughout the years working in the field with him?” Major teased.

     He rolled his eyes. “I’ll inform you if I find Robin. Stay down for now.”

     Deathstroke shot his grappling hook up to the rooftop of the building next to him, flew up there, dropped down onto the roof, and then shot the grappling hook to the window beam of the thirteenth floor of the glass building, just above the rooms where the curtains were drawn.

     He swung down, lifted his gauntlet boots out, and crashed, feet first through the glass windows.

     The curtains dropped and Deathstroke landed on top of a table, lined with food. Shouts and shrieks filled the room.

     Unconscious bodies were strewn across the floor, platters of food were overturned, and cracked pieces of champagne flutes laid upon carpet stains of the bubbly liquid.

     Bodyguards, armed with guns and knives, surrounded a long table, and in the center, Tony Zucco held Robin at knifepoint, eyes wide at Deathstroke’s appearance.

     The kid obviously fought well, but he hadn’t trained how to last against an overwhelming number of foes. Deathstroke was surprised by how many Robin managed to take down before he got to Zucco.

     Resilience, strong, and reckless.

     “What the fuck are you doing here?” Zucco exclaimed. “I’ve got no business with you!”

     “Fulfilling a contract,” Deathstroke said. Then he shouted, more so for those listening in on the comms then to the crowd: “Hey Rube!” He punched the bodyguard next to him unconscious.

     Robin perked up at the familiar circus slang, as Deathstroke knew he would.

     Major, Ravager, Siv Yis, and Jericho suddenly flew into the open cracked window that Deathstroke entered through. Major and Ravager tackled their own respective opponent, while Siv Yis roundkick a man in the jaw, and Jericho rolled off the table and whipped a bodyguard in the head with a platter.

     Dick used their distraction to slip out of Zucco’s hold, and take down the bodyguards surrounding them.

     Soon, the entire room, save for Zucco, were either unconscious or had fled. Seeing the fate of his bodyguards and company, Zucco tried to flee, but Jericho and Siv Yis caught him, bounding him immediately.

     “Zucco’s mine!” Robin snarled, storming up toward him.

     Deathstroke stepped in front of Robin, blocking Zucco from his sight. Ravager and Major flanked behind Robin.

     “I told you that you were not ready to take on Zucco,” Deathstroke scolded.

     Robin glowered. “You mean you’re not ready to stop using me! You wanted me to carry on your mantle instead of your kids. That’s why you said you didn’t need another brat!”

     Ravager whistled. “Yikes. That’s all on you, Deathstroke.”

     Major folded his arms, disapprovingly.

     “I don’t need you,” Robin said. “I can take down Zucco myself.”

     “Yes, you had the situation well in hand before we arrived,” Deathstroke sarcastically said.

     Major shook his head. Right. Sarcasm won’t work here. Deathstroke had to try a different tactic.

     “Why did you run away?” he pressed. “Why did you sneak off to try and take down Zucco on your own?”

     “To finish our deal so I can leave!”

     “You want to leave our home?”

     Robin threw up his hands with a frustrated yell. “Why do you care anyway?”

     “Because you little twerp,” Ravager snapped. “We’re family. We wouldn’t all be here if we didn’t care.”

     “Well, I don’t care! I don’t care about any of you guys!”

     “Robin, I know that’s not true,” Major said.

     “It is!” Robin yelled. “I don’t need another family! Family means you get abandoned. Left behind. I won’t let that happen again!”

     Oh.

     Oh.

     Deathstroke was a fool.

     This was a grieving child who had been abandoned by everyone he ever knew, and Deathstroke had taken advantage of that, had tried to use the kid to protect his own family, when the kid was the one who needed to be protected, who needed to feel safe, who needed balance.

     Trust and honesty.

     That’s what this kid needed right now.

     He needed a safety net.

     Deathstroke took off his mask, and Slade blinked his eye to adjust to the lightning of the room.

     Ravager squeaked. “Er, Deathstroke...”

     He heard ruffling behind them, and heard Siv Yis placed an ice bucket over Zucco’s head.

     Slade Wilson knelt down in front of Robin, and slowly peeled off Robin’s mask.

     Dick looked up at him with red-rimmed, watery blue eyes, filled with so much pain.

     “Family didn’t abandon you. Your parents are still here, watching.” He tugged at Dick’s uniform. “They’re still a part of you.” Dick’s lower lip quivered. “The circus didn’t want to leave you. If they had fought for you, it would’ve meant things would’ve been worse off for you and them. They still love you. They kept your parents’ trailer. Major and I got it back for you.” Dick sniffled, and yet Slade knew, it wasn’t enough.

     Maybe...maybe Slade needed to take a leap.

     “I lied. I do want another brat.”

     Dick’s breathing hitched.

     “Nah. Not another brat. Just one. You.”

     Tears slipped down from Dick’s cheeks.

     “I can’t ever replace your parents, Robin. I don’t want to. All of us here, we don’t want to replace your family, we just want to be a part of it.”

     Dick wiped at his tears. “You...want me?”

     “We all do,” Ravager added.

     Slade dared another risk. “What do you say, little bird? Come back home with us?”

     Dick glanced at each member of the Wilson family, as if suddenly seeing that they were here, and that they came, and fought for him.

     “I...still need to take care of Zucco.”

     Slade nodded and handed Dick his mask back. “We won’t stand in the way of that.”

     Ravager opened his mouth to object, but Major cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. He nodded and stepped back.

     “Can...can you guys...I have to do this alone,” Dick said.

     Slade motioned for them to obey the kid’s plea.

     Siv Yis and Jericho set Zucco down, with the ice bucket still on his head. The man whimpered, yet he couldn’t move, bounded as he were.

     Siv Yis slipped Dick a quick peck on the cheek, and Jericho squeezed Dick’s shoulder. Major gave the kid a side-hug, and Ravager ruffled his fingers through Dick’s hair.

     “We’ll be waiting for you in the hallway. We’ll make sure no one interrupts,” Major said.

     Slade remained behind.

     Dick looked up at him, smiled softly, and placed his mask on his face. Deathstroke put his helmet on.

     Robin released a heavy exhale. He took something out of his utility belt and something broke in Deathstroke when he saw what it was: a bottle of burning acid, the very same weapon used to murder Dick’s parents.

     “Aren’t you going to stop me? Prevent me from being a killer?” Robin whispered.

     “I promised you vengeance, and I trust you,” Deathstroke said. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

     “Can you...pull out Zucco’s hands for me?”

     Deathstroke manhandled Zucco onto his feet, and the man squealed, piss trickling down his pants, pathetic whimpers and pleas echoed beneath the ice bucket that he ignored, as he yanked the man’s bounded hands forward.

     Robin looked back up at Deathstroke, and the man wondered whether Robin was hesitating or if he were waiting for Deathstroke to intervene.

     “Can we make another deal?” Robin asked, voice barely audible above the pathetic coward’s whimpering. If it weren’t for Deathstroke’s sharp hearing, he would’ve missed it.

     With one hand still restraining Zucco, Deathstroke signed with the other: “What do you propose?”

     “After I take care of Zucco, can we...can I...go home...to your home...you can still train me, and...”

     This kid snuck into Zucco’s armed residence without fear, but he trembled when he exposed any vulnerability, much like Deathstroke himself. They were alike, more so than Deathstroke liked...and perhaps...Dick and Grant had more in common than they realized.

     “What would you like me to train you in?” Deathstroke nudged, hoping to probe out the kid’s core nature.

     Robin’s courage shone forth as he smirked, cocky, assured. “To be a protector. I want... I want to be the world’s protector.”

     It brought back memories of when Deathstroke joined the army: “I want to protect the innocent and be a part of something bigger than myself.”

     The military’s true nature and toxic blind loyalty destroyed that idealism, that goodness, that need.

     Deathstroke saw it simmering beneath the surface of Grant’s boasts, through the gentleness of Joey’s actions, and on the sleeve of Rose’s heart.

     But Dick’s...Dick’s idealism came forth as a...

     Deathstroke smirked beneath his mask.

     A force to be reckoned one, one that will inspire many to follow him, and even Deathstroke found that he would be willing to follow this kid into the depths of hell for his beliefs.

     Heh.

     He was already in the mouth of the lion’s den, holding the lion.

     “First...” Robin looked back at Zucco, determination settling into his features, the fear gone, replaced with resolution. “I have to take care of him.”

     And Deathstroke knew in the depth of his bones that Robin wouldn’t kill this spineless man.

     Robin popped the vial’s cork free and methodically poured the unique concoction of burning acid over the Zucco’s hands.

     It burned through Zucco’s flesh, sizzling his skin, the fluid in his tendons evaporating into the air through tendrils of vapor.

     The man screamed, at first in unadulterated panic, and then in unfathomable pain.

     Robin re-capped the vial and placed it back in his utility belt, watching, inspecting the damage done to the hands.

     The skin and flesh of Zucco’s hands vanished, the white of his bones now dominant, and even then Deathstroke could hear more than see the acid work its way through Zucco’s bones, and knew by the end of the night, the man would have stumps.

     Robin gave one brisk nod to Deathstroke.

     That’s my boy, Deathstroke thought.

     Deathstroke took the ice bucket off the man’s head, so that the screaming coward could see his new hands, and Zucco’s screams heightened in pitch as he witnessed the sight.

     “No, oh, god, please, I’m so sorry, give me my hands back, oh gods, make it stop, make it stooooop!”

     Robin walked past him.

     Deathstroke shoved the man onto the floor for good measure, and relished in the sound of the joints cracking as the man braced his fall to the floor with his hands.

     The screams continued.

     Deathstroke and Robin joined the others in the hallway.

     Jericho glanced in the direction they came from, wincing at the screams. “Should we be concerned?”

     “He won’t die,” Deathstroke said.

    Siv Yis wiggled her nose, and he realized the scent of burning flesh was stronger out in the hallway.

     Robin’s shoulders trembled, and for a moment, Deathstroke feared that he should have stopped Robin from crossing a line he would never be able to come back from.

     Ravager picked the kid up, who squeaked in surprise. His eldest rested Robin against his hip where the boy wrapped his legs around for better support. “You upheld your honor,” Ravager told him. “Proud of you, twerp.”

     Robin tried to smile, and then buried his nose into the crease between Ravager’s shoulder and collarbone. The trembling increased.

     Ravager tightened his grip around him and carried him to the emergency exit stairwell.

     “Will he be okay, Dad?” Siv Yis asked.

     Deathstroke laid a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “His grudge has been settled, and now all he’s left with is his grief.”

     “And us. He has us,” Joey added.

     Major smiled softly, tugging Joey in for a short hug. “You’re right, my dear boy. He has us.”

     And they would honor Dick Grayson’s grief.

     Slade poked his head into Dick’s bedroom. The bottom of the window curtains floated into the room, brushing against the surface of the desk. The kid had been a little withdrawn since they returned from Gotham. He chalked it up to exhaustion, but it’d been three days now, and the family had a surprise waiting outside for him.

     Slade walked up to the window, already finding Dick sitting on his favorite branch. He sighed inwardly, if the branch cracked this time when he went out there, he would not be catching the boy, nor shielding him from the fall.

     He clambered out, and Dick spared him a listless glance before gazing back at the tree where the robins were chirping.

     Slade waited, inhaling the breeze of tree sap.

     “Am I evil?” Dick finally asked, soft. “Is what I did to Zucco cruel? I think I scared Joey.”

     “He’s worried about you, not scared of you. We all are.”

     Dick drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin against them, keeping his balance on the branch.

     Dick had strong morals, especially for a young kid, and Slade knew he would grow up to continue walking the morally grey line, the hardest of line to walk. Was what Dick did to Zucco cruel? He’d like to think he was beginning to understand the kid now. He knew why the kid did it.

     “The most important body part to an acrobat is their hands,” Slade said. He held out his own. “They fly and catch people with them. Zucco made your parents fall, and now, nobody will ever catch him as he falls from power.”

     Dick glanced up at him. “You knew what I was trying to do?”

     “You told us that the life of an acrobat lies in unerring balance. You were restoring balance.” Slade laid a hand on Dick’s upper back. “You are not evil. I think you had to make a very hard decision that most children your age shouldn’t be making. Heck, most adults couldn’t make that decision.”

     Dick turned back to the nest of robins. Their eggs had hatched, and the two adult birds were feeding a rabble of younglings.

     “Your Tati...” Slade added. “He said that good and evil existed in everybody.”

     Dick snapped his head toward Slade. “How did you know that?”

     He may have skimmed through John Grayson’s notebook when they brought the trailer over for Dick this morning. That line jumped out at him. “He told me. That everyday we make decisions that are either good or bad, but what defines us are the decisions we make in the present moment.”

     Dick smiled, then eyed him strangely. “How did he tell you?”

     “Come with me. We’ve got a surprise for you.”

     This time, Slade chose a decision of boldness and jumped down from the branch. He landed with a roll, and turned up to Dick, still up in the tree. “You coming? I’ll catch you.”

     Dick hopped his feet up onto the branch before he leapt down. Slade easily caught him and spun the brat around, tickling his sides.

     “Hey! Hey!” Dick said with a laugh. “No fair!”

     “That’s for making me look for you all morning, you brat.”

     Slade carried him to the front of the house, to the edge of the driveway.

     Grant, Rose, Joey, and Billy all turned upon their arrival, beaming with excitement.

     “What’s going...” Dick trailed off.

     The Flying Graysons’ trailer sat behind the group.

     “Is...you...you weren’t lying.”

     “I told you.” Slade tickled the kid’s side again. “You’ve got a big family.”

     Dick looked at him, trust brimming in his eyes. “And you said you would do anything for them.”

     Slade smiled, his heart warming. Damn it. He loved this stupid brat. He set the kid down. “Go on. Everything’s still intact.”

     Dick ran up to the trailer, heart racing in delight, then paused. He turned to them, tears welling.

     “Do you guys...want a tour?” he asked, wetly.

     Grant wiped his eyes. “Damn it. Yes.”

     “You go in first,” Rose said. “Give us a tour when you’re ready.”

     “But I’m already ready now,” Joey complained.

     She stepped on his toes. “Patience, jerk.”

     Billy moved Rose from Joey with an amused roll of his eyes. “Children. Please.”

     Slade joined Grant’s side, and watched as Dick entered the trailer. Most of the items inside had fallen over when they transported it from the storage unit, and they spent the morning tidying it up for Dick as best as they could.

     “Think he found it yet?” Grant asked.

     In response to Grant, Dick stepped out of the trailer, paper in hand. “Wh-what’s this?”

     Grant shoved Slade forward. “This was your idea, if it backfires, you’re taking the blame.”

     Slade glowered at his eldest’s childish behavior before he approached Dick, knowing what the boy asked.

     “It’s an adoption paper.”

     “But...”

     “You are still my ward, it’s not official until you sign it, and you never have to sign it if you don’t want to, but...it’s a reminder.”

     Dick raised his tear-filled blue eyes to Slade’s. “A reminder of what?”

     Slade vowed he would go to the ends of the earth to protect this child. “That we will not abandon you.”

     Dick’s lower lip quivered, and suddenly, he jumped from trailer’s steps and into Slade’s arms. Slade caught him and squeezed him tight against his chest as the kid embraced him.

     And suddenly the rest of the family joined in, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the group. When they finally managed to compose themselves, Dick asked once again, still holding onto Slade: “Who wants a tour?”

     And Slade carried him the whole time, never once letting go of his little bird.

     Slade Wilson took a sip of his freshly made instant coffee. The steam caressed his white goatee and tickled the skin of his chin, and he inhaled the warmth, settling himself in for a peaceful morn—

     A heavy pounding sounded on the door above him.

     “Damn it, Dick! Stop hogging the bathroom, some of us gotta take a piss!” Grant yelled.

     A door flung open, and stomps echoed in the hallway. “Oh my god, shut up! Why don’t you go use the downstairs bathroom?” Rose screamed.

     “I don’t wanna walk all the way down, it’s too early!”

     Thumps, stomps, and the rustling of Joey signing.

     “Hey! I’m not lazy, I got up before you, didn’t I?”

     Billy sighed and took a seat next to Slade, leafing through Grant’s artbook Not only was his eldest a fashion genius when it came to creating the mechanics for fighting outfits, but his design for Dick’s grappling hook was brilliant, and Slade couldn’t wait to build it together with him.

     That is, if his children would stop arguing and start getting ready. They had a family outing planned for today, and they were to leave in a half hour.

     “Geez, they’re always so loud in the morning, aren’t they?” Dick Grayson-Wilson groused as he entered the kitchen.

     Slade narrowed his gaze at the brat who poured himself a small glass of orange juice from the pitcher Billy had prepared from the center of the island.

     “I suppose we should build another bathroom,” Billy said, not really meaning it as he turned a page of Grant’s artbook. Then he snapped his head toward the brat. “What—I thought you were in the bathroom.”

     Dick grinned, mischievously. “I may have climbed out the window.”

     “Dick!” Billy exclaimed. “How did you manage to squeeze through a window that size? Oh god—there’s no ledge, how did you get down with your limbs intact?”

    The arguments continued upstairs, the subject matter turning to the location of the bathroom key as Grant continued to pound on the door.

      Dick twirled the bathroom key in his hand. “How long until they realize I’m not in there?”

     That little shit.

     “Young man, you will go up and unlock the...” Billy cut himself off with a sputter as Dick slipped out of the kitchen with the graceful finesse of an acrobat, cackling.

     Slade chuckled to himself, taking a pleased sip of his coffee. “That’s my boy.”