Chapter Text
Slade dropped into his chair with a huff. His mission had been a success. Shocker.
Unfortunately for him, said success didn’t exactly take away the biting exhaustion that sunk in once he had made it back to one of his many safe houses.
He glanced to the side in irritation. Under different circumstances, he would consider the way his chest heaved a little more than usual abnormal. He’d note the way his hands shook and fidgeted restlessly. He might even be concerned by how his mind wouldn’t obey his incessant demands to think clearly, the cogs of his brain malfunctioning in a sloppy, sticky tar.
Slade would consider all of these things unusual if he hadn’t held Grant’s lifeless body in his arms the year before.
When Joey’s life was believed gone, Slade had prayed that would be the last time he would ever have to cradle his child’s corpse. He had never been the type to chase life or be so arrogant as to plead against death. That is until seeing Joey’s mouth frozen agape, sweat dripping from his clammy skin, his bright eyes unblinking and dull. Slade had seen countless dead bodies, but no amount of death could have ever prepared him for that day.
Joey had come back. Damaged, but undead. Slade managed, and whatever guilt he had was quickly shoved down where all the other unnecessary emotions belonged.
Joey was alive. He worked with the Teen Titans, a foolish decision, but alive. Grant’s foolish decisions hadn’t been so merciful.
Slade shook his head briefly before forcing himself up out of the chair to rummage for medical supplies. No use wasting time crying over the unchangeable. There had been enough of that.
As he fished around for bandages, a knock on the door caught him off guard.
A knock?
Slade whipped his head towards the door. This safe house was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. If it was an attack, a knock would hardly be tactical. Slade narrowed his eyes.
Another knock, more urgent this time shook the rotting wood on the door. Without making a sound, Slade crept to where his surveillance monitors were. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment in confusion before stomping to the front door and throwing it open with a bang.
A familiar mop of blonde curls greeted him. “Joey?! What the hell are you doing here?” Slade asked incredulously.
Sorry, Pops, Joey signed. I would’ve said it was me, but you know. He smiled hesitantly.
Slade let out a small noise of confusion before quickly ushering Joey inside and shutting the door.
“You didn’t answer the question, genius,” Slade said, harsher than he intended.
Joey seemed to pay it no mind. It wasn’t a secret his father wasn’t exactly thrilled by his new career.
Joey fidgeted with his hands for a moment, skittishly trying to form a sentence. Slade narrowed his eyes. “You couldn’t even practice what you wanted to say to me before you knocked on my door?” He asked, half joking.
I did! I practiced but, Joey eyed his father cautiously.
“But what? I would’ve expected you to figure out your wording,”
I don’t really have any wording.
“Hilarious, Joe,”
…It’s Jericho, He signed weakly, eyes glued to the floor.
Slade’s jaw clenched. “Not to me, it’s not.”
Joey swallowed, deciding to choose his battles. Battles were especially important to choose wisely when Slade Wilson was the opponent.
I came here because, He began. Because I need your help, Dad.
Slade’s breath caught in his throat for a millisecond before he cleared it and crossed his arms. He eyed his son skeptically. “Do you need my help, Joe? Or do the Teen Titans?” He said, spitting out the last words. Joey wasn’t the only one left acting abnormal after Grant.
Joey flickered a guilty look to his father before returning to the floor. His hands similarly returned to fidgeting.
Slade let out a disappointed breath through his nose. “That’s what I thought.”
Joey’s eyes shot up.
Dad, please just hear me out, He found his footing and signed frantically. Nightwing’s been taken. Joker.
“Good,” Slade snorted. “Let the bird rot,”
Joey glared at his Father for a moment. You don’t mean that. He signed, his hands slicing through the air.
“Wanna bet?” Slade returned with a glare of his own.
Joey let out a frustrated huff and chewed on his lip. Dad, this is bad. Like, really bad. We’ve looked everywhere. He began to pace, his footsteps having trouble keeping up with his hands. It’s been days. Days. This is Dick we’re talking about.
“Why don’t you just have the Bat fetch him?” Slade drawled, repressing an eye roll.
Joey huffed in frustration before signing Batman’s off-grid! so harshly each word was clipped.
Slade let himself roll his eyes this time. Of course.
“Why the hell is-“
I don’t know! Some stupid mission! We really can’t reach him. Dad, trust me, he was the first person we contacted. But he’s nowhere to be found and I just, He turned to look Slade in the eye, struggling to keep a calm face. I don’t know what to do.
Slade looked levelly back at him. His face gave nothing away if not impartiality. While Joker was, with all consideration, nothing Slade couldn’t beat, he was a royal pain to deal with. Figuratively and literally. But if the famed Boy Wonder had been stupid enough to get himself caught by Gotham’s most wanted, that was his fault. Maybe Batman should get better at babysitting.
He owed Dick Grayson nothing but harm. First he took Grant, then Joey. What more could he possibly wish to take? What more did Slade even have to give? The man had taken Joey away from him and led him into countless missions for the sake of justice. Him and Joey’s mother had planted the idea in his head that he could be a superhero. All they’d given him was ignorance and a death sentence. He grit his teeth.
Admittedly, it was surprising that Dick had been captured in the first place, let alone for days.
Regardless, it was of no matter. This could work in Slade’s favor, even. If Dick Grayson was out of the picture, would the Teen Titans not fall apart? Would they all go back to being normal civilians? Would Jericho become Joey again?
He made up his mind. Saving Dick Grayson would mean giving Joey his leader back. Giving him his team back. A team that seemed determined to make sure he ended up buried next to his brother. Slade Wilson had a lot of blood on his hands, but he’d be damned if it were Joey’s a second time.
“I will not let him take your life. Not again,” Slade said, the finality in his voice making Joey’s face scrunch his face up in frustration.
They stared at each other for another long moment, Slade’s eyes narrowed and Joey’s pleading. Joey finally swallowed, determination hardening his gaze.
Fine. Then I’m going on my own. He signed, attempting to return his Father’s finality.
“No, you’re not!” Slade snapped, grabbing Joey by the arm as he tried to storm past. Joey instinctively pulled away, but couldn’t break free. He looked his dad in the eyes, his free arm dropping to his side in defeat due to his inability to communicate. Instead he just hoped his livid stare got his message across.
Slade didn’t care whatever message Joey had to deliver. He would not allow his son to risk his life, against the Joker of all people, just for the chance to risk it again.
Keeping his hold on Joey, he spoke, his voice coming out low. “Joey. Listen to me. You will not go and throw your life away just to try and save that pathetic excuse of a leader. The Bat should be back soon. He’ll get to him. You will not. Understand?”
Joey’s face tugged in awkward directions, trying to mask the turmoil of emotions crawling to the surface. Slade knew that look. He hated it. The stubborn, childish look of “if I break down, I lose”. Joey was many things, but discreet was not one of them. And as much trouble as that caused, Slade couldn’t bring himself to mind.
But he hadn’t seen Joey’s eyes be that enraged in a long time. Maybe ever. So full of hate. Joey wasn’t a hateful boy; it was always Slade and Grant doing the hating. Joey was always the best at loving. Slade startled at the thought of him losing that.
Joey’s eyes brimmed with unshed, angry tears, flitted to where his father held his arm and gave a slight tug.
“Understand?” Slade asked again, tightening his grip and refusing to let go until he got his answer.
Joey practically snarled and wrenched his arm out of his father’s grip before signing an aggressive No! I should’ve known better than to ask for your help. I know you hate the Titans because of what happened to Grant. I know you hate them because now I put my life in danger. But you didn’t have a problem putting yourself in danger my whole life, so you have no right to tell me anything. I can’t decide what holds you back more, your ego or your fear. You won’t have to worry about me or Dick, because I’m getting him back, and you will not stop me. Understand?
“You don’t get to make that decision!” Slade scolded.
Yes I do!
“I’m still your father!”
Oh, please, you haven’t had custody for years!
“But you still came here, didn’t you?”
Yes, I did! Because I thought maybe you’d actually help for once, but now I know better than to ever rely on you again!
Both stood, breathing agitatedly. Both unsure of what to say next.
Of all the fights Slade went through with Grant, Adeline and Joey, he probably hated fighting with Joey the most.
It’s not that the other two were a joy to deal with, he was just less careful with them. Whether that played a part in how both of them left him in some way or another, he didn’t know. But something about Joey forced him to be fragile. Forced him to be careful with his words for once. Or carefuller.
Adeline and Grant thought more like Slade. They were more jaded and much more cynical. But not Joey. Slade couldn’t have a guess in the world as to why Joey had come out the optimistic shining hero he had, but it was almost incomprehensible.
When an argument with Grant erupted, Slade could scream at him. Maybe even knock him around a little bit. Because Grant would hit back just as hard. For better or worse, Addie was more or less the same.
Joey didn’t push back, he pleaded. He didn’t demand, he begged. He didn’t shout, he cried. Slade didn’t know what to do with that. And having to dash his boy’s dreams over and over again that justice isn’t something to die for never got easier. He hated the path Joey took with every bone in his body, but couldn’t push away the glaring fact that it was less because of logic and more because of love.
But this time, Joey wasn’t pleading; he was pushing back. He wasn’t begging, he was demanding. And although he was close to crying, the snarl he wore on his face washed away any fragility that came with tears.
Slade always thought he wanted Joey to be just a little more manly, for safety’s sake. Not be so easy to push around and persuade. To be strong and stand up for himself.
He got what he wanted. Joey was pushing back. And Slade hated it.
Options. Slade needed to switch gears. What were his options? He could keep Joey here against his will. Against Slade’s will as well. The man was controlling at best, but the thought of basically keeping his son hostage felt wrong.
He, of course, was no stranger to wrongdoing, but the bodies usually dropped dead before staring at him with such venom. They also usually weren’t loved by him.
He grit his teeth. He could technically go and save the bird himself. The Joker was no walk in the park, but he definitely wasn’t a run either. Slade could handle him easily.
Or, Slade mused. I could try to save the bird and… miraculously fail. But one look at Joey’s anguished face told him otherwise. Too smart for that. He’d never buy it. He’d also never trust his father again. Was losing his son’s trust worth keeping Joey safe? Slade shook his head. It seemed Joey had decided on his path despite all better judgement, and knowing the Titans, even if by some miracle Grayson were ever to drop dead, they’d surely have a successor. He managed to repress a scoff. Who knew it was so hard to kill heroes.
And much to Slade’s chagrin, he realized the team would be much better off with Dick’s natural born leadership in control of the team than any other foolish member.
Slade closed his eyes and let a deep breath out.
He was used to powering through things he didn’t want to do, but damn it all, what he wouldn’t give to fight a rival with fists over his son with words.
Joey seemed to perk up in anticipation. He recognized this mannerism. This was the middle ground where the answer wasn’t a yes or a no. This was the same deep breath his mother would let out when he asked for something before she would say “…go get my purse.”
“Alright, Joe. Here’s the deal.” Slade said, finally looking Joey in the eyes again.
Joey’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape. It was practically an old wives tale of how hard the task of changing Slade Wilson’s mind is.
“I stand by my word. You’re not getting the bird.”
Joey brought his arms up to start singing again before-
“I am.”
Joey’s arms froze. He stared at his father in utter disbelief. Slade stared back.
Joey raised a shaky hand.
Really? He signed, almost afraid to burst whatever fictional bubble he was in.
“Really.” Slade conceded. “Don’t start getting me all wrong; I’m only helping that dumb bastard so you won’t end up six feet under. This does not mean I want you in the Titans. This does not mean I support your heroism. This does not mean I support your choice. I’m gonna go in, grab the kid, dump him back to you heathens, and take my leave. Capische?”
Joey stared, mouth still agape, but his facial expressions began shifting. His face crumbled, and before Slade could do anything, he threw his arms around his father, burying his face in his chest. The loss of his voice had taken away any sounds Joey would’ve made, but it didn’t take much to know by the way his breaths hitched and his shoulders shook that he was crying.
Slade’s arms hadn’t yet reciprocated, still held up at an awkward position just above Joey. He reluctantly let himself feel a rush of relief at his son’s short-lived anger dissipating. Poor kid couldn’t hold a grudge for the life of him. Addie would’ve reacted this way. She probably would’ve yelled at him even more for making her wait for him to come around.
He breathed out a sigh and slowly reciprocated the hug, one arm reaching across Joey’s shoulder and the other hand finding its place on his head.
Slade almost never let himself think it, but sometimes, very deep down, he missed this. Violence would always force its way into his life, and he usually didn’t mind. But every once in a while a jumble of different things his ex-wife had said about what they could’ve had all came back in a rush. He furrowed his eyebrows before giving Joey one last squeeze and running a hand through his blonde curls.
“As much as I appreciate the gesture, Joe, I’m not so sure there’s much time to lose.” Slade said softly.
Slade felt Joey smile against him and pull back. Joey looked up at him through glassy, but unreasonably grateful eyes. It was almost unbearable to receive.
Thanks, Pops. Really.
Damn it all. Damn this kid for making him soft.
Slade ruffled his hair before stepping away and grabbing supplies. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m not happy about it.” He added on half teasingly.
Joey slid next to him. I know. I’m sorry. He fidgeted with his hands a moment before signing again. I’m sorry for what I said.
“Which part?”
All of it. Or at least most of it.
Slade huffed a laugh out through his nose, continuing packing. He wouldn’t need too much; hopefully this would be a stupid rescue and return. Slade hadn’t exactly rescued anyone in a while, but it was just like a bounty, he supposed. Just less killing.
Silence held for a moment as Joey eyed him.
I don’t like fighting with you, Dad.
Slade turned to look at him for a moment, slightly taken aback. He really shouldn’t be at this point. Joey, like all people, could sometimes say what shouldn’t be said. But he also, unlike others, always said what should be said.
Slade smiled sadly for a moment before going back to loading one of his guns. “I know, Joe. Me neither,”
Joey smiled as he watched his father pack.
I think I got snot on your shirt, too. He signed, leaning onto the table.
“If you think snot is gonna be the thing that finally grosses me out then you obviously don’t know me very well,”
Joey let out a breath that was a laugh. Slade instinctively brushed away the nagging feeling that so desperately missed what it sounded like.
He had always felt dwelling on the unchangeable was anything but productive. He felt that even more when Grant died.
After a few more moments of Joey watching his dad in a comfortable silence, Slade was subconsciously reminded of when Joey was much younger and much smaller and would jump up all around his desk, watching him work. He was barely as tall as Slade’s knees, so he’d eventually have to scoop Joey up and sit him on the desk so he could actually see. He was always underfoot at that age, his hyperactivity almost as unfathomable as his ability to talk a man’s ear off. Slade glanced at Joey’s now, definitely-taller-than-knee-height for a moment before resuming packing. No need to pick him up anymore. No need to ask him to lower his voice either, he realized with an ache in his chest.
Slade never really asked Joey if he missed his voice. Between the two of them, he wasn’t quite sure who missed him talking more.
Slade finalized what he needed and changed back into his Deathstroke uniform.
Sorry to have you to go out again, I know you just got back from a job. Joey signed sheepishly.
“Just how long were you stalking me?” Slade asked, walking to the door.
Not tooooo long. Joey signed mischievously. You didn’t even notice me though! Aren’t you proud of me?
“Always, Joe.”
Joey perked up for a moment, slightly caught off guard, but smiled back in earnest anyway.
Stay safe, Dad.
“I can’t count on that, but if one thing’s for sure, I’m getting that damn bird back. Hold down the fort for me, Joey.”
With my life.
“No. Not with your life, you dunce. I’m doing this to keep you alive, remember?”
Joey giggled and nodded.
Go get ‘em, Pops.