Chapter Text
It was only meant to be a stopover. In and out. A quick shower and a change of clothes before Slade caught a plane home.
He kept dozens of safehouses along the East Coast. This one wasn't anything special—just a place to stash medical supplies, canned foods, and emergency cash. The essentials. No one knew where it was. Not even his children.
Slade was alone, just the way he liked it. A welcome change from the bustling city he’d just left. But like most good things in his life, he didn’t get to enjoy it for long. The moment he unlocked the front door, his senses snapped to attention.
There was someone else inside the house.
To their credit, they’d been careful. Only a thin layer of dust had been disturbed, sending particles drifting through the air. There were no footprints, no obvious signs of forced entry. What gave them away was the heartbeat. His enhanced hearing picked up a strong, rapid pulse. Whoever it was, they were close, hidden somewhere in the living room.
Slade narrowed his eye, scanning for the idiot stupid enough to trespass on his property.
They’d done a surprisingly good job. It took him a moment, but he eventually caught the silhouette. He might only have one eye, but his vision was sharper than any ordinary human’s. It came with being enhanced.
They were tucked into the corner of the room, shrouded in darkness. A figure dressed in black. A familiar figure.
Slade let out a long, tired sigh.
Of course. He should’ve known only they would risk his wrath. No one else was reckless enough to track him down to the middle of nowhere.
Slade dropped his duffel bag onto the table, kicking up another cloud of dust, and began unpacking his gear: dual pistols, his blade, and a couple of throwing knives. Some were still bloodied; others pristine. It’d been an easy job. A shame, really. He preferred things up close and personal.
He waited for the kid to reveal himself, but they stayed silent, watching him instead. Their gaze tracked his every move, like a predator sizing up prey, ready to strike the moment Slade let his guard down. Not that it mattered. Slade didn’t do intimidation. Not in his line of work, and definitely not when he knew exactly who was lurking in the dark.
“You know,” he said causally, “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t think there’s a lick of alcohol in here.” He nodded towards the empty kitchen, already aware it had been stripped bare.
If he’d known this particular visitor was going to show up, he might’ve stocked the cabinets with his favourite malt liquor. Not to share—just to have something on hand for when the kid inevitably got on his nerves.
“You’re usually chattier than this,” Slade added dryly. “Finally learned to shut up?”
That comment must’ve struck a nerve; the figure finally stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light.
Slade immediately abandoned any lingering thoughts of heading home. Clearly, he was about to be dragged into some saving-the-world crap, or worse.
Nightwing glared at him, his lips pressed into a firm line. No quips. No one-liners. Not even a “hello”. Everything about his body language screamed tension, from his squared shoulders to his defensive stance. He was ready for a fight.
What concerned Slade most was the bloodied katana strapped across his back, where his escrima sticks usually sat. It wasn’t the only blood, either; specks had dried on his face and dotted his suit, blending into the black fabric. Whether it was his or someone else’s, Slade couldn’t tell.
“What’s this about?” he asked, cutting straight to the point. A roughed-up, bloodied Nightwing was never a good sign. He could already feel his weekend slipping away.
“Tell me where to find Talia al Ghul,” demanded Grayson. His voice was scraped raw, as if he’d been screaming for hours. “She’s gone underground.”
Talia al Ghul, huh? Not what Slade had expected. He’d assumed this would be a plea for backup, a last-ditch effort sort of thing. But this... this could work, too.
“Why the hell would I know where she’s gone?” Slade asked mildly. “And more importantly, why would I care?”
“Don’t bullshit me!” snapped Grayson. “I know you have connections to the al Ghuls. You have to know where she’s hiding.”
Slade scoffed. Of course, he knew how to find her. He knew the hideouts of all the al Ghuls. That didn’t mean he’d hand the information over freely.
“And what do I get in return?” he asked. “Information isn’t free.”
Grayson clenched his fists, fury rolling off him in waves. But he bit it back. If he wanted Slade’s help, he’d have to play nice.
“Anything,” Grayson said through gritted teeth. “Just name it, and it’s yours.”
“Anything, huh?” Slade smirked. “I accept your terms.”
“So where is she?” Grayson demanded.
Slade moved to the couch and picked up one of his blades, resting it against his thigh as he prepared to clean it. Grayson didn’t move. He stayed near the doorway, fists still balled, waiting.
“The al Ghuls have several hideouts scattered across the country,” explained Slade. “I can show you where they are. But first, I’ll need some answers.”
“To what?” asked Grayson.
“Why are you after her?”
Grayson scowled. His mask caught the light, making the lenses glow an eerie white. “Payback,” he said at last.
Slade’s smirk deepened. It had been years since he’d seen Grayson’s vengeful streak. Back when he was Robin, he was consumed by anger; at the world, at Wayne. But after becoming Nightwing and gaining some independence, he locked that part of himself away, restraining the instincts that made him truly dangerous.
Talia had reignited that anger.
She’d handed Slade the perfect opportunity to shape Grayson into exactly what he’d always known he could be.
“When and where was she last spotted?” he asked.
“Gotham. Three hours ago.”
Recent. That made things easier. He could narrow her location to the East Coast. And knowing Talia, she’d probably head inland, but not so far as to cut herself off from civilisation. She’d want to stay close. Keep watch.
“Then let’s move,” said Slade. “We’ll use my jet.”
He slid his blade back into its sheath and started packing away his gear. There’d be plenty of time to clean the blood off later.
Grayson finally shifted from the doorway, stepping forward. His movements were jerky, a stark contrast to his usual grace. “I thought you were going to give me the locations.”
“I am,” smirked Slade. “I’ll personally take you straight to her. But if you wanted coordinates, then you should’ve said so.”
“That’s not what we agreed on.”
Slade straightened, towering over him. Grayson didn’t retreat. He lifted his chin, meeting Slade’s gaze head-on.
“Aren’t you in a hurry?” asked Slade, already knowing the answer.
“Well, yes, but—”
“If you want my help,” Slade cut in, “you follow my lead. Take it or leave it, kid.”
He could see the gears turning in Grayson’s head, reaching the conclusion he knew they would.
“Fine,” Grayson said, frowning. “Lead the way.”