Whumptober 2021- day nineteen
Just a scratch
Bitten, bleeding, stabbing

There are four people Slade will drop everything for if they're in trouble. That's why they have emergency beacons that he will receive immediately no matter what the circumstance. His two still alive kids, his only friend...
And Nightwing.
He never expected the kid to actually use his beacon, but the thought of what horror Dick Grayson has undergone to make him call to Slade for help is immediately trumped when he finds the kid.

Slade had given Nightwing an emergency signal several years ago, but he never expected the kid to use it.

It was an olive branch, in a way, but it was also something to help the weight on his conscience. He didn't let people into his life, he'd learned the hard way that it wasn't something he could do. He lost friends, family, an eye, he'd figured out somewhere along the way that that he couldn't do closeness. Not in his career. Adeline made him choose between the family and Deathstroke and he'd realised that, in being Deathstroke, he also couldn't have many more things than just a happy marriage.

She'd said it was a sign that Slade had been born wrong, for an omega his interest in family was atrocious. Slade paid it no mind, he loved his kids and if Adeline didn't believe that she was blinded by alpha superiority. Nevertheless, his job was a part of him and he couldn't give it up.

So when Dick Grayson, of all people, somehow managed to worm his way into his life, he'd fought tooth and nail every step if the way. But the kid knew him too well. He knew all the emptiness in his words whenever he tried to push him away, and he knew how to see past his exterior. He and the kid worked too well together, could make too much sense of each other, understood the pieces, the layers, could see past all the masks.

And eventually the need to make sure the kid was okay, protected, safe, outweighed the need to keep him out of arm's reach, and after that it was a quick downhill slope.

Thank god that Nightwing knew as much, knew what was happening as Slade slowly started to trust and accept him. Because the kid knew that that terrified Slade, knew that involving himself in Slade's family would only make things complicated, not just for Slade but for himself. Dick's own pack would not take kindly if he was suddenly being accepted into Slade's. So things slowed.

The kid accepted Slade's emergency beacon, promised he'd keep it on him, and he stopped things from going further than that. nothing changed except he took a step back. Rose still looked at him like a brother, and he still helped her get situated with the heroes. He and Joey remained close friends. Slade was suspicious of Wintergreen and was quite sure that he kept semi-regular contact with the kid in some capacity as well.

And Slade saw him on jobs, continued to give the professional courtesy of warning him when he would be working in Bludhaven, and sometimes he'd get a mission that would align with whatever the kid was doing and they'd work together.

But he'd never expected to hear that emergency signal. Never expected to see the light flashing on his computer, the sound of it playing through his coms.

It was instinct after that. that signal was a drop everything signal, a get here now signal. There were four people in the world who had the privilege of being able to call Slade at will to save them, and Dick was the person he least expected to ever use it.

It was kind of funny- Wintergreen still had yet to use his own. How had Dick managed to use it before Slade's lifelong friend?

He tracked the kid down within 48 hours, finding a building in the middle of a nondescript forest on an island off the American coast. Slade put in the research necessary to get in and no more, every second was another opportunity for Dick to take his last breath. It didn't require much research anyway, the whole thing reeked of human trafficking.

Before he even stepped up to the building he could hear alarms, high pitched and keening through the air. Shouts and gunfire filled the building and Slade barely managed to get in before the whole thing could go into lockdown.

The alarms weren't for him, they were for someone else, and Slade got the feeling that Dick had become impatient waiting for Slade.

He didn't have to cut through many people, and he soon found out why.

The main part of the building was a loading bay of some description, with trucks tucked off to the side and big enough space to have more, tall roller doors on opposite ends of the building and catwalks that connected the lofted levels above. The whole place stank of fear, lingering impressions of omegas that had once been shoved into trucks and made to disappear.

Slade looked down at the ground from the third level.

Accompanying the old fear was new blood. unconscious bodies littered the ground, people barely breathing.

Nightwing was collapsed on his knees in the middle of it all, wearing only the bottom half of his suit, the boots and gloves gone, no weapons to be seen, and a mask on his face. In front of him was a body, and Slade couldn't hear a heartbeat.

He approached slowly, and all the care in the world couldn't remove the sound of his steps echoing in the now-silent building. The alarms had disappeared and Slade couldn't hear anyone else aside from a few quiet heartbeats deep in the building- captives likely.

Nightwing's scent blocker had been taken, but Slade couldn't smell fear on him. just him. his heartbeat was still a little fast but slowing, his breaths even as he came down from whatever adrenaline rush had kicked in when he'd done...

Slade glanced at all the bodies.

This.

There was a knife, gleaming with blood, on the floor by his hand, and now that Slade was closer he could see all the injuries littering his chest, the sweat beading at his forehead, the paleness to his skin.

He crouched down in his direct line of vision, but Dick was too busy staring at the dead body in front of him. The pool of blood around it had stopped expanding and was now sticky, Slade could tell it had soaked through the knees of Dick's pants.

"Hey kid," Slade said, voice soft, "you okay?"

Dick was clearly not okay, at all, there was an emptiness in his expression that Slade did not like. But it was the easiest way to open the conversation, and Dick might give him an indication of what was happening in his head.

Dick was silent, but he slowly managed to tear his eyes up to Slade, a flash of something appeared in his face, akin to recognition but closer to confusion.

Eventually he managed to slur out, "Slade?"

"yeah," he said, and relief began to edge in at the fact that the kid was at least present enough to speak, "you hit your distress beacon, it took me a while but I got here, I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

Dick blinked, staring at him, but he nodded and said, "okay."

"Can I touch you?"

Dick stilled, staring at the dead body in front of him again, but said in a terse close to breaking voice, "yes."

Slade was careful but Dick remained tense regardless. He slid an arm under one shoulder and around his back, lifting him up enough to get the other arm under his knees, and then rose. He made sure Dick was as comfortable as feasibly possible, mindful of the injuries littered on his skin, and began to trek back out of the building and to his transport.

Dick's head remained dropped on his chest, resting against Slade. Halfway to Slade's car he said, "are you going to ask?"

"later, little bird," Slade said.

Dick nodded, "thank you."

Slade was true to his word: he didn't ask.

He asked about injuries; about what did and didn't hurt, if he could recall the date, when he last ate or slept. He asked if he wanted a shower now or after a sleep. He asked if he wanted to be left alone.

Dick appreciated it, a little, but mostly he was too tired to answer in more than a few words.

He'd lost all his energy in the fight and the events leading up to it, and now that he'd wrapped his head around what happened he couldn't find it in himself to care. He knew what this was. He knew this was a storm of apathy taking him over because he'd become saturated in emotion and was now disassociating as a coping mechanism- but he could still be perfectly aware of his mistakes whilst making them, he'd proven that to himself many times in his life.

He didn't ask till the day after, when Dick walked out of the bedroom Slade put him in for the night. It looked decently late in the morning, maybe even early afternoon, but Slade must have heard him slowly waking up because he'd started making breakfast. Dick sat at the breakfast bar, the fogginess had long since disappeared but he was still tired and aching and a little apathetic.

Slade put food in front of him and he ate it, and Slade did the same, the two of them falling into companionable silence.

Slade's scent had long since stopped being sharp in his nose. Everything about him used to put Dick on edge, but with the events of the past few days the familiarity of it was easing something in him.

He knew it had to come, but that didn't make him any less happy about it. After they washed and dried and put away their dishes Slade turned to him and asked, "what happened?"

Dick tried to start explaining several times, opening his mouth and closing it, floundering for a place to start. He tried to point out a specific place that he could begin the conversation with and couldn't so he settled for finding the most important thing.

"I killed him," was all he could get out.

Slade deflated a little, seeming to have realised that this was going to be a difficult conversation, but he stuck it out, "I know kid, I saw. I need you tell me what happened."

"I..."

What happened? What happened? Dick got caught by the trafficking ring he was trying to take down is what happened, and it was a great big show of his complete incompetence that he had to call for Slade, because he hadn't told his family anything. What happened was he got strapped down and beaten bloody as they tried to figure out just how much information he had and who he'd given it to- and they didn't believe him when he eventually said he was working alone. What happened was they started dragging terrified omegas into the room and shooting them before they even asked a question and after that something in Dick broke. Because they didn't believe his truths and he had no lies to them.

What happened was a bloodbath as he broke out and cut through as many of those filthy bastards as possible.

And then-

And then.

And then he killed one. He crossed a line. A line that he'd promised for a long time to stay the hell away from. He'd let himself break that promise once, with fog in his head and a gun pointed his way and a step that became a decision to let someone die on his watch, to let someone die because of him.

He thought he'd had his punishment for that but apparently it wasn't enough because here he was with more blood on his hands. And maybe it belonged there, maybe he was too far gone, maybe the line had been crossed and there was no going back.

"Kid."

Slade's hands were on his shoulders, and dick realised that they were all that was holding him up. His knees were weak as he thought about that night. That night when he'd stepped out of the way and let her-

And then on the roof when he'd let her-

"Breathe, Grayson," Slade said, looking down at him with something like concern, but the idea seemed insane. Dick had thought he'd pulled away enough for Slade's growing acceptance of him to die out before the both of them could get stuck too close. He'd thought he'd cut off the part of him that wanted to melt in his embrace.

He sucked in a breath of air, trying to get himself back together.

Slade waited patiently, and once Dick could get his knees to hold him he guided Dick over to the couch and sat him down, then took the couch opposite.

"What happened, kid?" Slade asked again.

Dick didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to explain why, he was tired and the words hurt. Part of him was somewhat... prideful about the fact that Deathstroke the Terminator held a smidge of respect for him, and if he explained what happened, why he'd grabbed the knife and stabbed it into the man and twisted, he knew Slade would lose that respect. Dick was a broken little thing masquerading as a hero and there was only so many people he could disappoint before he lost the ability to even be that anymore.

He shook his head, and Slade raised an eyebrow.

"Talk to me."

"why?"

"I've heard it helps."

"why do you care?"

Slade watched him, looking him up and down as Dick sat slouched on the couch, staring blankly at the carpet.

"I think that's rather obvious kid."

"I thought we both decided it was better if we didn't care about each other."

Slade rose an eyebrow, "and yet your endearment remains."

"It doesn't matter," he said, voice quiet, "I need to finish the job and then I'll go home and-"

"You're in no state to take down a trafficking ring."

Dick screwed his eyes shut. Slade sat in silence waiting for him to answer.

"I don't know what to do," Dick eventually said, "I don't- Slade, I killed him, I- I can't..." he pressed his hands into his eyes and exhaled, then knitted his fingers behind his neck and pressed his forehead to his knees.

"What did he do, kid?"

"Nothing. He didn't- he didn't do anything," Dick said, "I killed him before he could."

"Dick," Slade sighed, "I can't help you if I don't know how."

"I don't want your help!" Dick stood from the couch, holding back the wince as his injuries stung.

Slade followed him, though, and he took Dick by the wrist and stopped him from walking away.

Dick dropped his forehead against Slade's chest, and Slade wrapped his arms around him in a hug and held him close.

"It's stupid," Dick said, finding it so much easier to talk when the words were directed at the shirt in front of his eyes and not the face that would hold only disappointment, "I- Slade, I don't know what to do- I don't..." he swallowed and said, "I'm not a murderer."

"I know."

"But I-"

"what did he do kid?"

Dick shuddered and said, "he tried to... he held me down. he was going to- to bite me. And I just- I just reacted and..." He sobbed, "she used to do that. I trusted her, she's the only person I ever... I only ever let her do that but she..."

"Who's she, kid?" Slade said, quietly and empty of emotion, but Dick could sense an underlying thread of dread.

"Tarantula," Dick said, when he failed to be able to say her name, "I let her... I trusted her Slade, and she... I couldn't. I couldn't let him do it, I was there again, on the roof, and I thought- I thought he would..." hearing it all come from his mouth, the explanation so empty of reason, he realised just how it looked.

Such a small thing, a stupid thing, something that shouldn't bother him, and he'd fallen to pieces. he'd killed someone because of a stupid instinct, a flashback to the woman he loved and how she'd ruined something he'd deemed special. He never let anyone bite him, claim him, except her. He'd thought she understood the importance of that but...

Well, that night on the roof had been a wake up call and a half, and she'd shown him just how little she cared about his wishes. He could smell her on him for months after and every time he caught it he'd had to fight back the memories.

But Slade didn't let him go, didn't cast him aside.

"How can I be a hero, Slade, when I've done this?" Dick asked, "how can I... I don't know what to do."

Slade gave him a light squeeze, and said, "you don't have to."

"I-"

"One step at a time, little bird," he said, "I'll be here all the way."

Dick couldn't find words,couldn't string together a sentence, so he buried his head in Slade's chest andsaid nothing.