Yet another update. I seem to be on a writing kick.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

Slade Wilson was a small time mercenary that Luthor had heard talk about in certain circles recently rising to the top, known for his skill. He was the perfect man for the job Luthor had in mind, which required stealth. Although Savage could be stealthy, he tended more towards the dramatic side.

Speaking of Savage, the ancient-but-young-in-appearance man stood off to the side of Luthor's desk. Any man of less than average intelligence would be a fool to think Savage a body guard, though. Vandal stood straight and proud, a carefully blank look of disdain for his luxurious surroundings on his face.

This was the scene Slade walked in on, Luthor sitting comfortably at his desk and Savage off to the side, but no less intimidating.

"Slade Wilson," Luthor greeted.

"Please," Slade smirked behind his black and orange mask. "I've taken up the name Deathstroke rather recently."

"Deathstroke, then." Luthor plastered on fake smile, keeping his annoyance in check that he had not known this little tidbit.

Slade nodded. "I understand that you have a job for me."

Luthor nodded, smirking. "I have a feeling you'll enjoy it."

Slade jerked his head towards Savage. "If I may ask, what is he doing here?"

Luthor shrugged, keeping the emotions on his face controlled.

Casually, he said, "I have recently entered a business agreement with Mr. Savage. Part of that business requires your help, and he merely asked to be present to greet you."

Slade raised an eyebrow. "How . . . humbling. Will I be let in on the details of this agreement?"

"Watch your tongue," Savage drawled, looking Slade directly in the eyes, his cold, ancient blue eyes momentarily freezing the mercenary's blood.

"Ah, no," Luthor said, trying to diffuse the tension. "It is not necessary."

He shrugged. "As long as I'm payed, then I have no questions."

Untrue, but he really didn't care about what these two were doing, unless Luthor and Savage were rewriting history again or something.

"Very well then," Luthor smiled thinly, his eyes hard and cold. Calculating the risk of hiring Slade.

"You're hired."

Slade let his mouth twist into something resembling a smile, but it was cruel and devoid of the usual joy a smile had.

"When do I start?"

"Now," Luthor said. "Take one of these."

He handed Deathstroke a relatively small, calculator-like device.

"It is programed to track your target. Bring what you find to me," Luthor ordered.

Slade raised an eyebrow. "And what will I find?"

Luthor was reluctant to answer that question, since revealing he didn't know put him at less of an advantage.

Savage answered Slade instead, "Nothing that will kill you. I thought you operated under a no questions policy, anyways."

Deathstroke nodded. Reluctantly, he said, "Very well, then. Looks like I have a challenge ahead of me."

"Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure," Luthor said.

"Of course," Deathstroke said coolly.

"Wally. Wally. Wally."

Her voice echoed around him, that familiar voice that he'd heard angry and shy and kind. Artemis. He was running once more, running because he could hear her voice. Because he wanted to see her.

"You left."

That voice, her voice came again. Soft. Deadly. Accusing.

"You left me."

And wasn't that the stab in the heart, Wally reflected, as he stumbled in his running, until he face-planted in a snow drift. He was suddenly freezing, and her voice echoed around him, hurt and broken and oh-so-accusing.

Wally flinched. And started running once more.

Only, he was running in circles, running as fast as he could, except something was hitting him and it was almost like a lightning bolt and it hurt, it hurt so much and he felt like he was dying, and then he was dying, blurring and fading and breathing heavily, winded.

Until he finally shattered, running until he burst into fragments, with his Uncle Barry's voice echoing in his mind, thoughts of his parents and Artemis following him.

Then he woke up on cold hard ground, thinking that if he was dead and this was heaven (because he died to save the world and if that doesn't get him a free ticket to heaven, he wasn't sure what did) then this sucked, because he was starving and cold and miserable.

Time seemed to blur by, flashes and faces of familiar-yet-not people and it was too much too fast, which Wally thought was odd, because too fast was a word that did not exist in Wally West's vocabulary until he ended up running into oblivion.

And he was left standing in the middle of life blurring by, tears streaming down his face and obscuring his vision as he looked around him in despair, feeling the weight of his losses suffocating him, dragging him down.

Then Artemis was there, in all her blond haired, grey-eyed glory.

"You idiot," She told him, which was how Wally knew she loved him. "Slow down. Take my hand."

Wally obeyed, despite the sarcastic part of him wanting to point out that he wasn't running. He couldn't help but marvel at the fat that she was there, wearing her Tigress costume but without the mask and the silly necklace.

"Calm down," She ordered, "Breathe."

And once more Wally obeyed her, because he'd follow her to hell and back if need be, because she was his calm within the storm, his rock, what kept him grounded.

She smiled up at him, one of those smiles she reserved just for him. "Open your eyes."

Wally obeyed.

Wally woke up in a cold sweat, his thoughts confused and muddled in his half-awake state. His grey shirt stuck to him, and sweat coated his body. It made his loose sweatpants stick to him. Gross. Finally, he seemed to become more aware, and he automatically looked over at the other side of the bed.

As usual, there was no one there, and as usual a part of him deflated a little, and Wally could feel the tears sting at his eyes. He suppressed them. There was no reason to cry. He stopped crying a while ago because he learned to deal with the pain.

Then Roy and Dick came, and turned everything he thought he knew around. It wasn't entirely for the better (after all, they were stuck here too), but at least he wasn't the only one who missed the others now. That thought was entirely too selfish for Wally, so he dismissed it completely, feeling bad.

He made a life here. He had friends. Roy and Dick were adjusting. Their life wasn't here, though, and Wally knew that. He felt the tiniest bit disappointed, because a small part of him kind of wanted to stay, as terrible and selfish and cruel as that sounded.

He dreamed about bringing Artemis here. They could build a life here, he knew it. But of course, that was a dream that was out of reach, about as real as the nightmarish dream he just had. Like the other confusing dreams he'd been having lately.

The sleepover a little while ago was probably one of the last time he slept soundly.

Wally shook his head. He laid back down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought. He didn't get up until his alarm went off, letting him know it was time to get up for his day job.

He rubbed his forehead, yawning as he stood and stretched. His life screwed up.

With this happy thought, Wally got ready to face the day.

Dick met Wally as he walked outside of the work.

"Hey, man," He said, "What's up?"

Wally shrugged. "Nothing much, really. Wanna grab a cup of coffee?"

Dick raised an eyebrow. "With how hot it is right now?"

Wally shrugged once again. "Then let's get ice coffee."

"Fair enough," Dick agree, and they started walking down the street.

Suddenly, Wally asked, his voice low, "Have you ever wondered if you have a counterpart here?"

"What?" Dick stared at his friend. He frowned. "I thought we already tried searching for counterparts."

Wally sighed. "It was just a thought."

They lapsed into an easy, comfortable silence.

"So . . ." Wally began.

Dick eyed Wally warily. He had that mischievous glint in his eye that meant something wasn't going to go well for Dick.

"Are you coming to the party?" Wally asked excitedly, inches away from jumping up and down. Strangers passing by gave them weird looks.

Dick frowned. "I . . . don't know."

"C'mon, man," Wally coaxed, "It's the Fourth of July! Time to celebrate!"

Dick rolled his eyes. "You mean, an excuse to eat junk food, party, and see family and friends."

"Exactly," Wally beamed, pleased that Dick understood.

The pair were walking down yet another street in Central, Dick having met up with Wally after the redhead got off work. Each of them wore comfortable clothing for the hot summer day, shorts and a T-shirt complete with sneakers. Dick's blue eyes shined brightly in the sunlight, as did Wally's green eyes.

It was a really nice day. The breeze blew softly, and it was one of those days where everyone seemed to be in a good mood. They chatted, teasing each other good-naturedly as Wally led Dick to the local coffee shop.

"Well," Wally said, "Thanks for meeting me. Works been busy."

"Yeah," Dick said. "It's not like I have anything to do, really, besides drive myself nuts over Chance."

To a passerby, it seemed like they were talking about probability. Wally and Dick, however, knew Dick was referring to the stupid – ah, amazing – machine that was supposed to take them back.

Wally sighed. "Don't beat yourself up about it, man."

"I know, I know," Dick said, "I just feel like I'm close to something, Walls."

Wally nodded. "I know the feeling. But dude, promise me you'll be there."

Dick sighed. "Yeah, I'll come. Can't pass up a chance to eat her pie, can I? And the giant blue smurf would be heartbroken."

Wally cracked a grin. "Excellent. Everyone's coming, man. It's going to be spectacular."

"Yeah, yeah," Dick rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let's go; you owe me an ice coffee."

Wally wrinkled his nose. "I'm pretty sure we've never even had one of those before."

Dick laughed. "Can't hurt to try."

Wally smirked slightly. "Unless we're allergic to something in it."

"Wally . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Tailing behind the heroes, walking casually in nondescript clothes, was Slade, or as he had been called recently, Deathstroke. He planned to kidnapped the young black haired man, who appeared to be one of the sources of the energy Luthor hired him to track down and bring.

He listened to the conversation, mildly baffled. Pie? Giant blue smurf?

Slade blinked. Superheroes.

On the less baffling side, the young man would likely be alone. Perfect.

Dick determinedly worked on the machine. His t-shirt and cargo shorts from earlier had a few stains on them, since he'd been at it for a while now. He almost had it . . .

"YES!"

He let out a jubilant shout. A thin, bright rainbow line shined directly onto the wall. It was slowly becoming bluer, and the machine started to shake, the loose parts in the room rattling. Hurriedly, Dick shut it off.

They'd need something to widened it and stabilize it, but he'd done it. He found one of the final puzzle pieces, and successfully ripped a hole in the universe, world, whatever.

At the same time, he shouted, there was the sound of a person coming in from the platforms. Dick rolled his eyes, figuring it was Wally coming to drag him to the Fourth of July celebration. Except, now, Dick was in a mood to celebrate.

He expected the redhead to speed into the room any minute, but nothing happened. Dick paused in his tinkering. He set his tools down, tightening his utility belt around his waist and fixing his mask. Impulsively, he grabbed a wrench, gripping it tightly.

The Watchtower was silent. There was no one besides him there, most were home, working, or partying.

"KF?" Dick called out. "Hello?"

His nerves remained on edge as he walked to where the platforms where, the hair at the back of his neck standing up. He tensed, expecting an unseen foe to jump out. His exhaustion slowed him a little, so perhaps this was the reason Dick only just managed to dodge the fist heading for his face.

He quickly side-stepped, blocking and throwing a punch of his own, swinging the wrench full force into his attacker's ribs. His attacker backed off, and Nightwing remained on guard as he observed his attacker. The man wore a strangely familiar outfit.

A chill went down Nightwing's back as he saw the half-black, half-orange mask.

"Deathstroke," He spat furiously. "Why are you are?"

"How nice," Slade said dryly, "We're already on a first name basis. But I'm afraid I don't know your name . . . Knight, is it?"

Nightwing glared at the mercenary. "Nightwing."

Deathstroke nodded, before attacking. Nightwing flipped backwards to avoid the sudden leg sweep, and the fight passed in a blur of flips, kicks, punches and blocks. His escrima sticks were knocked out of his hands, and Dick made a bid for the control panel.

The League needed to know Deathstroke was here. So did Wally and Roy.

He didn't get very far before Slade managed to put him into a headlock, and Dick gasped for breath, struggling. Eventually, he passed out, the world fading to black.

Slade dropped the unconscious young man to the floor, taking a moment to collect himself. The fight had been harder than expected. The boy had been exceptionally well-trained by Batman, whom Deathstroke had observed conversion with Nightwing.

It paid to know more about one's targets. Sometimes literally.

And of course, by chance he was presented an opportunity to capture one of the young men and bring them to Luthor when Nightwing told his friend (his original target to kidnap – ah, take – but Nightwing was unexpected) he'd be alone.

Deathstroke sighed. He then heaved the boy over his shoulder in a fireman's lift after removing and discarding the belt. Luthor would be overjoyed.

Indeed, after waiting patiently for Deathstroke to succeed, Luthor was very happy his investment turned a profit. He just didn't expect the results to be a person. The device he gave for Deathstroke to track the energy source never meant to lead to a person.

Lex Luthor was baffled.

Still, he wore a pleased smile. Savage wasn't present, but that was no matter. Vandal would arrive soon enough. By then, Luthor hoped to have this boy on a lab table with a dozen different scientist analyzing why the source came from him, and how to harness or use the energy.

"Your services are no longer required," Luthor said, "You will find that the agreed upon amount has been deposited in the account you specified."

Deathstroke nodded. He paused in the doorway momentarily, his lingering curiosity begging him to ask more, but he ignored it in favor of walking out the door. He decided a long time ago to not ask his employers questions; don't bite the hands that feed you, and all.

He didn't bother looking back.

Wally stood around the Clark's Fourth of July party, watching as the League talked amongst themselves and Batman sulked in a corner, no one daring to approach him. He scanned the crowd, looking for a pair of familiar blue eyes, but couldn't find them.

Frustrated, he said to his companion, "Something isn't right."

Roy grunted, ignoring Wally in favor of taking another sip of his lemonade.

"He'll turn up," Roy offered, "You know how he is. Bit of a workaholic."

Wally glared slightly at Roy.

Annoyed, he asked, "Why aren't you more concerned?"

Roy shrugged. He eyed his drink.

"I think someone spiked it."

Wally shook his head in exasperation.

"Honestly," He muttered, "You'd think as superheroes, we'd be mature enough to not do that."

He wandered off, tugging on the ends of his shirt, fidgeting as he wandered through the crowds. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Wally cautiously approached the glowering Batman (wearing a pair of dark sunglasses) and more than a few Leaguers gave him a questioning look; as if they were asking Wally if he was out of his right mind.

Well, Wally was out of his right mind. He was in his left mind.

"Could you . . ." His voice trailed off at the dark, grumpy glare Batman sent his way.

"Fine," Batman said, "It's almost over anyways. He should've been here a while ago."

It was true. The sun was setting, painting the sky pink and gold. A golden light was on the corn fields, and it slowly started to cool off. People were gradually leaving, too, as the sun went down. Distracted, Wally missed Batman taking out a pad, typing in a code, and sudden he was no longer in the party.

Instead, he was standing in the middle of an exceptionally beat up platform, blinking around at the bright, sterile light of the Watchtower. He noted the Wing-Dings in the wall, along with the skid marks on the floor and Dick's discarded utility belt.

His eyes nearly bugged out of his hand. Worriedly, he looked around, noting that a fight had definitely happened. The escrima sticks were far apart, like they had been thrown or maybe kicked away by someone.

Whatever happened, Dick put up one heck of a fight.

Wally dashed off to the room were Dick should be, part of him praying and hoping despite knowing it's useless. He looked in horror at the empty room, not bothering to note the improvements to the machine. He paced the hallway frantically, leaving marks on the floor and nearly biting his nails.

He heard the platform go off, and anger surged within him. Wally raced off, full prepared to take on someone, but he stopped himself and stared at Batman, Roy and Superman. They stared back at Wally, a little dumbfounded at the anger that had been on the normally happy speedster's face.

(Although Batman would never, never in a million years admit to appearing dumbfounded, if only for a moment).

"Dick'sgoneandIdon'tknowwhattodoorhowandohmygoodIneedyourhelpheneedsyourhelp," Wally continued babbling, but eventually it got to the point where none of them could understand him.

"Hey," Roy snapped.

Wally waited, expecting – hoping – for something reassuringly, which he desperately needed.

"Shut up. I can't hear myself think."

Superman shook his head, and Batman's lips twitched into the smallest trace of a smirk.

Wally gaped at Roy. "How much of that lemonade did you drink?"

Roy tossed him an annoyed look. "Only the one glass. And it wore off quickly, dumbass."

He blinked at Roy's casual cursing. Then again, he was acting a little . . . erratic? Panicked?

"Something along those lines," Roy agreed.

Wally winced. He didn't realize he said those out loud. He was such an idiot.

"You are," Roy agreed once more. Wally nearly face-palmed, he did it again! "Now breathe and tell big bro Red Arrow all."

Ignoring the sage-like wise old fortune teller tone Roy took at the end, Wally did.

A little while later, the four of them were still on the platform, looking at one another. Batman was scowling fiercely, and Superman looked unsettled. Somewhere along the way, they had changed into their uniforms, and all of them looked ready to wage war.

"Flash," Batman barked, "Check the security cameras."

Both Roy and Wally tensed at the figure on the screen, Dick's attacker, recognizing him as the alternate Deathstroke. They winced when Dick was knocked out.

Superman frowned. "Who is that?"

"I'm about to find out," Batman responded simply, "The rest of you, search your cities. Avoid creating a commotion, try and be discreet about this."

"Wait," Wally said, "That's Deathstroke, also known as Slade Wilson."

Batman gave the speedster a look that said they'll most definitely talk about that later, but turned and left without any further world.

"Well," Roy said, "Isn't this just a lovely mess."

"Shut up, Roy," Wally muttered, exhausted and not in the mood to deal with the moody archer.

"Why?" Roy asked disinterested. "C'mon, Walls. This isn't the first time he's been kidnapped, alternate dimension or not. He's got to have some sort of tracker on him."

Wally said, "Yeah, well, for me it's been a little longer than how it's been for you, so excuse me if – wait, that's it! Roy, you're a genius!"

"Well it's time you finally realized this."

Superman cut in, "Flash, what are you talking about?"

Roy frowned. "Quiet, you. He called me a genius; I'm trying to savor the moment."

Ignoring Roy, Superman continued staring at Wally, who sighed and pulled his cowl down. Wally ran a hand through his red hair thoughtfully.

"'Wing probably has a tracker or something on him," Wally chose his words carefully. "If we can hook up to his holo computer from a computer here – assuming it's with him and isn't broken – we can try to find him."

Superman raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit of a risk."

"Got anything else?" Roy asked, his voice bored with a hint of a challenge in it.

Superman shook his head. "No."

"Then let's do this," Wally said.

He quickly accessed one of the computers, Roy and Wally coming to stand behind him and to the side.

"Quit breathing down my neck," Wally muttered to Roy.

Roy rolled his eyes, but gave Wally some space as the speedster typed as fast as the keys wood allow without being set on fire, or broken. Though Roy was acting a little careless, he was genuinely concerned, and pissed.

When they got him back, Dick better be in one piece, or there would be hell to pay.

"There," Wally said, "I managed to find out his location. It's somewhere in . . ."

Wally hit a few buttons. Impatiently, Roy shifted, while Superman watched calmly with a vaguely irritated expression.

" . . . Metropolis."

Superman blinked, before he spat, "Luthor."

Wally had to give him credit, he did an impressive imitation of Batman growling out a name.

"We don't know that," Wally argued weakly, knowing that was the most likely case.

Honestly, with all the problems Luthor caused them in the past, it was extremely likely he was the cause of this problem. Just their look, Wally thought, that of all people to stumble upon their secret, it was Luthor who was coming close.

Wally winced, frantically hoping that Luthor hadn't figured out anything yet.

Roy shrugged. "Let's go."

Superman looked annoyed. "Not that easy. We'd have to sneak in; Luthor would turn the public against us if we outright broke in, and that is the last thing we need.

Roy looked confused, but Wally merely nodded.

"Yeah," He said, "The last thing we need is the media against us. It's so much harder to help people when they hate us."

Superman sighed. "They don't hate us; they're afraid of us."

Wally nodded in agreement, sighing a little. He understood Roy's confusion. Back where they came from, the media, public, and superheroes had a generally good relation, though Godfrey tried to ruin it. It was practically the man's life goal.

"One of us needs to radio Batman," Superman said. "Wally, please do it, now."

Wally obeyed the order, turning back towards a computer and picking up a headset.

"Are we going now?" Roy asked, "Because we need to leave right now."

The archer looked mad, and determined.

Superman sighed. "Look, Red Arrow, we can't just storm in there. We need to talk to Batman, make a plan, and then go in, as much as I want to kick Luthor's behind into outer space."

Roy scowled. Before he could open his mouth to protest, there was a noise of the platform going off, and Batman was there, stalking towards their little group. Wally walked away from the group to stand beside Roy and Superman.

"Deathstroke wouldn't say who, or where," Batman said, his face set into a permanent looking scowl.

"But with the new information Wally relayed to me and the significant transferred out of Luthor's account, we can confirm it is Luthor."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "You hacked his bank accounts?"

Dick was apparently wearing off on this Batman.

"That," Batman responded, "Is not what I said, and it is irrelevant at the moment."

Perhaps Dick was wearing off on Batman a little too much.

"We need a plan to get inside," Batman said, "And I have one."

Wally shifted. He looked straight into Batman's masked eyes.

"Then let's hear it."

So, Deathstroke won't play a major role. This will probably be his only appearance, maybe. And yes, I made it so he was just starting out. My apologies if there's any mistakes. I'm trying, I swear. I hated to end the chapter on a cliff hanger but, well, it just happened.

Review.