Disclaimer: I do not own Slade or Teen Titans. And I do not own Bruce Wayne or Batman. They'd be too much trouble to have to deal with, anyway. ;) Just Kidding! But seriously, I don't own them.

A/N: Okay, so this is Chapter 4. And is set a year after Slade started training Slashera. So, enjoy!

The gray morning clouds covered the land in a thick blanket, seeming to smother the world beneath them in quiet isolation. And as with a baby in a tight blanket, it seemed each living thing felt restricted, confined to their beds, satisfied with that rather than having to face the dreary atmosphere outside. Suddenly, a golden stream of light broke through the thick blanket, and the sun shone down upon the world below, ending the world of gray and creating a world of brilliant life. Inspired by the light, the bluebird took off from his nest in a tree in the forest, and as it sang its morning song of rising, flitted gaily through the trees of its home, and soon over the fields surrounding said forest. Happy to simply do what it was created to do, to live freely and to sing for all the world to enjoy its song. Its beautiful blue feathered wings were gilded in golden light in no time, as the sunshine shown down upon the little creature. The blue bird reveled in this addition to its glorious being, believing that everything in the universe had come together for it to enjoy this moment. Oblivious to the fact that the sun did not focus all its energy to just make it happy. That what was occurring this glorious morning was nothing special. In its joy, the bird did not realize that as the sun shone down upon it, it also shone down upon various other things, regardless of their appearance. In this way, the sun also shone through the window of a certain warehouse, and into the bedroom inside.

Slashera lay curled up in her tight little ball underneath the large white sheets. As the sun hit her face, she groaned softly, and snuggled deeper up against the chest beside her, her little muscular arms wrapped firmly about herself, and with her nose, took a deep sniff of the man lying beside her, likewise asleep. And let out a long sigh, a smile spreading over her features as the soothing scent relaxed her body. The girl involuntarily buried her face deeper against the black muscle shirt the man wore over his rippling muscles. Having been slightly awakened by the sun, she began to drift back into her deep sleep, when . . . her black onyx eyes shot wide open, staring, as the annoying buzzing of an alarm filled her ears. Rolling quickly over, she quickly sat up, blinking at the room around her, fully awake. Then turned to the culprit that had interrupted her sleep. . . frowning at the small white digital alarm clock on the bedside table on the left side of the bed, her side, which brilliantly read in its neon green print 5:45. Blinking, she leaned over, and with the flip of a switch located on the top of the clock, turned the alarm off. Turning, she blinked at the man lying still asleep beside her. Took in the relaxed face, the white hair . . . his right arm folded beneath his head on the pillow, his left one lazily draped over his side, the sheets down to his waist. Slade was rolled over on his side as usual, facing her. Leaning forward, she gripped the man's left upper arm, and gave it a shake, "Slade, it's time." She announced. The man's crystal blue eye fluttered open.

Slade took in the girl beside him. A month ago, he'd introduced her to alarm clocks, and had instructed her to wake him up, rather than the other way around. The first few times, she'd actually slept right through them, and hadn't gotten up until an hour later. But now . . . He chuckled, and reached his left hand over, and ruffled her already disheveled bangs, "So it is. Good girl. Well then, let's get dressed, shall we?" Beaming, the girl whipped off the sheets from over them, and walked immediately to the foot of the bed, where her newly cleaned smock dress lay, as it did every morning. In no time, she'd slid out of his navy blue shirt she'd worn to bed, and had tugged the dress on. Turning to him, she smiled, "READY!" she declared brightly. He smiled back at her, "Let's go." He got up as well. After both of them quickly used the restroom and Slade had brushed her hair before throwing it up in a ponytail, the two went to the gym.

Slashera blinked, stepping up onto the platform then down again, sweat glistening on her body, an hour into training, as Slade stood off to the side, two five pound bench press weight disks under her arms and held tightly in place by her fingers. "How many is that?" He remarked calmly. She glanced at him, but did not hesitate in the slightest, "138." He smiled warmly back, "Very, very good. Now, do one hundred more." She smiled at him, and nodded, turning. Continuing, her eyes focused ahead of her, "Yes sir," the girl answered, unable to hide the happiness in her voice at his compliment. He smiled calmly at this, him in a dark charcoal gray shirt and light gray warm up pants himself. Arms folded behind his back. Over the past year, Slashera had made incredible progress. He could easily have moved her up to two eight pound weights. But adding such weight could wait. "Faster, little Slash," he murmured, using a slightly shorter version of her name. She blinked. She had already been going at a high pace . . . but if Slade wanted her to step it up . . . she pushed herself a bit more, and heightened her speed by the tiniest percent.

"Good," he remarked. Smirking, watching as the already forming muscles of her body grinded together in perfect harmony as she trained, like cogs moving perfectly in sync with one another. Most if not all of the baby fat had disappeared, as her muscles had developed through the training. He couldn't deny that Slashera had exceeded his expectations of her, with all the quick improvements she'd made along the way. He was sure it would be time soon to step it up to the next level of training. Very, very soon.

After she had drunk half a gallon of water, he had her lay down on her back on the floor. "Here you go," he murmured softly, handing her the eight pound medicine ball. She nodded, and began to push it away from her, him cradling it lightly with his fingers as the bottom ridge of the object met them, then she moved it down again, then up, then down.

She bit her cheek a bit, as she pushed it up from her little body, feeling her heartbeat in her ears, her muscles grinding together. And licked her lips a bit, continuing to breathe in and out, in and out, tasting the salt on her skin. He smiled softly down at her, "You're doing wonderful today, Slashera," he praised her. She managed a smile, "Thank you, Father Slade," she breathed. "How many is that?" he continued. "Mmmm, 43," she said. Pushing it up again. He smiled, "Correct. You have 157 more to go, Slashera." She nodded, "Yes sir." And continued.

Finally, he took the medicine ball away from her, and smiled down at her, holding up the half full gallon container of water again, "Finish this off, and then you'll do pushups and lunges." She nodded, and slowly sat up, her smock practically a second skin it was so damp, and kneeling, he tilted the gallon jug to her lips, holding it firmly by its handle. She gulped the drink down, her Adam's apple thumping up and down, up and down . . . she felt tiny rivers of the sweet liquid trickle out of the corners of her lips and down her chin, as he cradled the back of her head with his other hand, ruffling her hair a bit, "I'm very proud of you. You're working hard today, aren't you?" he murmured gently. She nodded, still drinking, her dark eyes on his crystal blue one. "It shows," he assured her, smiling at the girl. And pulled away, just as . . . she wrapped her sweaty arms around his large neck, and hugged him tight, "Thank you," she whispered. He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound, and she grinned, the sound gradually slowing her own heartbeat, it was so calming to her now. And he wrapped his much larger arms around her small, damp body. For a few minutes. Then he slid himself away from her, all business. She blinked up at him, as he stood and spoke to her, "Let's go get some breakfast." She nodded, "Yes sir," and followed him out of the room obediently, blinking up at the tall man.

After a quiet, quick breakfast of pancakes and bacon, Slade followed the jogging girl back to the gym, walking calmly himself. He smirked, as she rushed through the doorway to the large workout room. It was clear to him that while the child had made significant advancements physically, she had mentally made even greater success. Since that day on the couch, she'd never, not even once, mentioned her mother ever again. And why would she? For the first two years of her life, she had looked to her mother for guidance. For truth. Her mother, who had been her primary caregiver. Now, with the abandonment of the woman, Slashera's trust in "Mommy" had been shattered, to be replaced by her new caregiver and primary role model. Slade never mentioned her mother. And because of that, Slashera didn't, either. She looked to Slade for truth. For comfort. And Slade alone. By keeping her in isolation, he had a child that was devoted to him entirely, and one that would never question his ways. After all, who would she compare him to? He smirked, and walked into the gym. She smiled at him, happy he had arrived. Walking over, he put a hand on her bangs, ruffling them. You are MINE, little Slashera. And MINE ALONE to command.

After she had done 250 pushups and 150 lunges with the two five pound weights under her arms again, stretching her legs as far as they would go, they ate chicken kabobs made up of teriyaki chicken, mushrooms, bell pepper, and tomatoes with some fried rice. Slashera smiled, picking off each of the things off of the stick, and put each into her mouth, savoring the flavors. She adored all the herbs Slade put into their food when the type of food he made allowed for it. It was like a lot of little flavors playing around on her tongue. And because of the variations he used, everything she ate, she knew that she'd never tasted anything like that before. . . as she ate another piece of chicken, getting some of the sauce on her hands, she was tempted to lick it off . . . frowning, she looked down in her lap, and rubbed it on the napkin there. Knowing that her fingers wouldn't like that. . . Slade smiled, and picked off one of his own pieces, and popped it in his mouth, grinding the meat between his teeth, watching as she picked up the glass of water, and gulped some of that down, eyes closed. That's my girl.

Slashera frowned, hours later, sliding the bullets into the toy gun, pointing said gun at the wall, and pulling the trigger five times, watching as the bullets shot out, one by one, and pinged against the wall. She blinked as each hit the wall, then moved over, and picked up each of the bullets, and reloaded the gun. Turning to the wall opposite, she stuck out her tiny arms, braced slightly, and shot five more times, trying to get quicker each time she pulled the trigger. And smiled. A bit faster . . . she glanced back at Slade, as she got up, and moved over to where the bullets lay. As she slid them into the gun, he only smiled at her, his crystal eye watching her. He didn't say anything. She turned, frowning at the gun, and bit her lip, before turning, and shooting the bullets in the direction of the door, pulling the trigger even faster that time. They landed feet from it. She frowned, got up, and walked over, before sitting down and reloading the gun. Turning to the wall opposite, she blinked, and pulled the trigger, moving her fingers even quicker. Every day, he encouraged her to load the gun and pull the trigger faster. And wouldn't read to her until she had done it to his satisfaction. So she continued, trying her hardest to shoot faster each time.

Finally it seemed, "Very good, Slashera. . . why don't you go to the bookcase and pick a book for me to read to you?" he murmured. She practically sprinted to the small wooden box of shelves, which were full to burst with books on the Bolshevik Revolution, the Nazi Concentration Camps, the Civil War, and Dictators or Warlords. . . She smiled, and let her eyes go over the leather bound copies of different widths and heights and colors. She knew most of the titles simply by the color of the book, and what shelf each was on. And so she knew which ones she was allowed to pick. The rule was that if he had read from two different types of books in the past two days, she had to pick a different type. She frowned, blinking, gazing at them all. Yesterday, he'd read to her about the Concentration Camps, and before that the Civil War. . . that was her favorite subject. . . so today. . . she smiled, and pulled out the black and red leather bound book, entitled in gold lettering Strangling the Baby: Pushing a Nation Over the Edge.

In no time, she was curled into the crook of his arm, her gun sitting on the coffee table, her legs folded beneath her while his were stretched and resting on the table, her head resting on his chest, as he read with his deep voice about the Civil War of Russia, and about the October Revolution of 1917, of Lenin, the Red Russians, the White Russians, and how through Woodrow Wilson's "Missionary Diplomacy" the US had pushed the Soviet Union deeper into their own paranoia. By fulfilling Karl Marx's prediction that when Communism would rear its head in the world, to right the wrongs the elite had imposed upon the disadvantaged, the Capitalist world would try to "strangle" the baby in the cradle. Try to stamp it out. In this instance, as Slade had explained to her time after time, the Bolsheviks, or the Soviet Union as their nation was called, was the "baby", and the US was the "attempting murderer". By validating a fear that Marx might have kindled in Lenin, and later Stalin, America had sent the Russians on the defensive, in which the Communists would try to create buffer "cushion" states to protect itself from the Capitalists. Slade had explained such states to her once by using couch pillows to surround her, and then shot her little toy bullets from her toy gun at them, showing that the Russians sought security in their "cushion" states, from the attacking Capitalists. Because of the later rapid accumulation of such states, or countries, he declared, America would later fear the spread of Communism, and attack the arising communist governments out of pure fear.

"So it was all a big misunderstanding?" Slashera had said upon hearing this the first time, frowning up at him, "Why didn't one side just tell the other how it felt?" He had smirked back, and rubbed her bangs, "That would have made a lot more sense, wouldn't it? Little Slashera?" amused by her innocence. Knowing all too well that at that point, both sides would have shown up at the conference bearing arms and bodyguards. She had sighed, rolling her eyes, shaking her head, "So one was just trying to protect itself. What did the other think?" He had smiled, "The other was terrified of something it didn't understand, among other things." "Well then why didn't they read Marx's book?!" she gasped, staring up at him. Hands on her hips. He smiled, "Not sure. . . tell me, little one. . ." he knelt down, and smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder, and she blinked back at him, "Would you like for me to read it with you one day? The Communist Manifesto?" Her eyes had grown so wide, and she had smiled from ear to ear, and jumped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, "Oh I WOULD Father Slade!" He had only chuckled, wrapping another large arm easily around her tiny back. "I'll see what I can do."

Slade smiled as he went over the Revolution once more with Slashera. Despite how many times she'd heard him read this, it seemed the child always found something new to be fascinated with. As a new idea donned on her, she turned to him. He smiled down at her, "Just think of something, Little Slash?" "Well. . . both sides felt like they were doing the right thing. And each made the other only think that more, huh?" He frowned, "Excuse me? Please, explain. . ." "Well, the Capitalist guys. . . they thought Communism was bad. . . which was wrong. They didn't know anything about it. . . but then when they tried to do what they thought was right, the Communists felt like they had to protect themselves! So they were doing what they thought was right. . . then later, the Capitalists would do the same thing over again, and then. . ." "So it's a cycle? It continues on and on, and on and on?" Slade said, blinking at her. She frowned, and turned to gaze at the words on the pages, "I. . . I guess . . . do you think they're still fighting? I mean, the US Civil War ended, right? With Grant and Sherman beating the South?" He smiled, "They're not fighting any more, if that makes you feel any better. . . not as much, anyway. . ." she gazed up at him, eyes wide, "Really? Who won?" "No one did," he murmured back, "Eventually, both sides. . . kinda got tired of competing with one another. It cost a lot of money. So it died down. . . kind of like one agreed to stop, if the other did. . . the beginning of that was with Détente. . . You see, what they did was, they wanted to be stronger than one another. So they kept competing. . . it was called the Cold War. But Détente, which means "thawing", which means when you take something cold, and you make it warmer. . . it was created in the 1970s. . ." "So they don't fight any more?" she said, gazing up at him. In awe that he knew so much. As always. He smiled at her, and ruffled her bangs, "Not as much, at least." She smiled at him, "That's alright. . . did the Capitalists finally read that book?" He chuckled, "I guess so."

She let him continue for about 20 more minutes, then turned to the man again, blinking. He smiled softly down at her, "You just seem to be full of ideas today, aren't you? Little Slashera?" "I . . . I was thinking. . . why did they decide to stop getting stronger?" He frowned at her, blinking. She took that as a sign to continue, "I mean. . . I like getting stronger. . ." she frowned, her eyes falling to his abdomen, and running a finger in circles on it. He smiled, "Not all people want to get stronger like you. . ." he lifted her chin up, and she could see the pride in his eye. It welled her up with joy. "You're very, very special, little Slashera. And that's very, very good. I'm proud of you," she smiled, and flung her arms around his neck, "Thank you, Father Slade. I love you." he only smiled, and hugged her tight to him. "You're welcome, Little Slash." Once she'd turned around, he continued to read, as if nothing had happened.

That night she lay, once more, curled up under the sheets, eyes closed, wearing a light gray shirt of his, her arms wrapped around her drawn up knees, her head resting gently on the white pillow, her head next to his chest, the digital clock on the bedside table behind her reading 10:00. Slade watched her, blinking down at her. The child'd fallen asleep approximately an hour and fifteen minutes ago, and now that she was soundly asleep. . . turning slightly, as to not unsettle the child lying on the bed beside him, he moved the large pillow from the floor on his side of the bed with a dark blue muscle shirt on top of it sewn firmly in place up onto the bed with them. Turning to her, he smirked, and felt the small speaker in it thumping away, a recording of his own heartbeat. . . sliding away, he quickly propped the pillow up against her, getting quickly up from the memory foam mattress, being sure to not unsettle the child in the least. He watched her, as she snuggled deeper against the pillow, oblivious to the fact that it wasn't him. He smirked down at her, turned, and silently crept out of the room. He had things to attend to, after all. . .

A/N: Huh, now where is he going? Where do you think? Did you like the chapter? The next one is much longer. I promise. So, yeah, please review! ;) And by the way, I did look it up. It's not that uncommon for women to have Adam's Apples. Just so you know. ;)