Disclaimer:I don't own anyone.
A/N:Despite my terrible week, this chapter was surprisingly easy to write. Still working on improving my prose, so lay your criticism on me if you wish!
I am Lazarus Raised from the Dead
Falling...falling...falling...
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Something careened into me, knocking out what little air I had in my lungs...
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Crack.
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Someone...or something...dragged me across pavement. Street lights blurred my vision. Lights of all colors smeared into one another, completely indistinguishable. Everything hurt. Everything...
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Whydidyoudothiswhy...?
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Am I dead?
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...someone...please help...
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Someone spoke softly to me. Gradually, the wordless voice became coherent, rising like a musical crescendo.
"That was quite a fall."
Wintergreen. Wintergreen was talking to me. A pillow cushioned my throbbing head. Turning my head to my right, I found that the sleeve of my costume had been cut away. I watched Wintergreen examine my shoulder. Ugly contusions colored my swollen shoulder, which lay beside me at an odd angle.
"Your shoulder's dislocated," Wintergreen said. "I have to put it back into the socket."
"Just do it."
Tremors of pain ran through me as Wintergreen helped me sit up. Before I had time to brace myself he took my shoulder and shoved it back into place. I could feel the bones slide back into place, a very nasty and painful experience I hoped never to go through again.
"Just stay still. I'll get some ice to reduce the swelling."
As Wintergreen left I tried to left my head. An immense headache caused me to lie back down, the world around me tilting sideways. The strong smell of anti-septic made me believe that I was in the infirmary. What had happened? The last thing I remembered was Bruce letting go of me.
The Sladebot was supposed to break my fall.
A gunshot. There was a gunshot. That was why Bruce let me go. I remembered falling, remembered being tackled by a Sladebot as the crowd's attention was focused on Batman and Slade. Despite the Sladebot 's intervention I still hit the ground hard, hard enough to knock me out. I lifted my uninjured arm to check the injuries on my face. Something warm and sticky matted the hair on the back of my head. Great.
A door banged open. I craned my neck to see who it who, even though there was no need to. Slade's voice boomed, his voice sounding louder than it should.
"The media's having a field day," Slade said. "I left just before the Titans showed up."
The Titans...Bruce...everything rushed back to me.
Slade's bulky figure blocked out the light. If I didn't know any better, if I didn't recognize his voice, I could almost imagine that it was Bruce standing in front of me, ready to give me a lecture.
"You didn't have to shoot him!"
My voice sounded weak, yet oddly forceful in the small room. Both men turned to look at me, as though surprised to see me there. The mercenary advanced slowly towards me, his voice calmly dangerous.
"Are we having second thoughts?" Slade asked. "It's too late to turn back and you know it."
He put a loaded gun to your neck, Grayson. You can't trust him.
Being threatened with a loaded gun was definitely not part of the bargain. Was all of this a mistake? Should I have left with Batman while I had the chance? A choked laugh hurt my chest as I struggled to stifle it. Had the chance, yeah right, who was I kidding? Two chances to go back and I didn't. I ran away.
"You dislocated my shoulder, you son of a b—"
"Language. He knows you betrayed him. I did what I had to do."
One of my demands was that he didn't belittle me, I should have known that he would find some way to do that.
"This wasn't—" I began.
"Right now you can't afford to talk back." He turned to Wintergreen. "Anything else I should be aware of?"
"The Sladebot broke his fall, but he still acquired a couple of broken ribs. He shouldn't exert himself for the next couple of weeks."
"Fine. We're leaving anyway."
"What?"
My shoulder felt as if it were on fire. I barely felt the numbing cold of the bagged ice being pressed against my shoulder. At that moment I just wanted to be left alone. Ignoring the pounding pain in my head and shoulder, I forced myself to sit up. Slade pushed me back down.
"Lie down. You shouldn't move."
"You shot him. I don't care you can't do that to him—"
Instead of trying to argue, Slade beckoned Wintergreen over. "Get the painkillers. He'll want them."
Panic called me to action. At that moment I didn't care how bad the pain was, I didn't want him sticking needles in me.
"No!Don'tyoudare,Slade—"
Too late. He held me down by my bad shoulder, the fresh pain immobilizing me as an unexpected yelp of pain escaped me. The prick of the syringe in my arm barely hurt compared to my aching shoulder and ribs. As Wintergreen sedated me I scowled at Slade, who held me down as if I were a rabid animal.
"You're a real prick."
"Takes one to know one."
"Boys, not now."
A curious numbing sensation spread from my arm to the rest of my body. I couldn't move, which frightened me more than anything else. The pain ebbed away to a dull throb. Everything sounded muffled, as though heard through a pillow. Wintergreen shone a bright light into my eyes.
"Well, he also had a concussion." He tutted. "You shouldn't have pushed him off the roof."
"Last-minute plan."
"Well, he still hit the ground hard. He should stay in bed for a few weeks. Let the swelling go down in his shoulder. Everything else should heal with time."
Without the drugs I would have attacked Slade. Shooting Batman was not part of the agreement. No matter what I thought I wasn't a killer. I didn't want Bruce to die. If Bruce died, then I would never be redeemable. Lying immobile, without any way to speak these thoughts out loud, killed me.
"Adrenaline keeps you going. You're a lot worse than you feel." He turned and muttered something to Wintergreen, something that my drug-induced state couldn't comprehend.
Someone tucked a blanket around me. The lights seemed so bright, I couldn't tell who tucked the blanket around me as if I were a child. As the lights dimmed Wintergreen stuck an IV into a vein and set up the drip.
"Try to breathe deeply," Wintergreen said, "it'll help your ribs heal."
"Wh...er..e?" It hurt to talk. "Go...ing?"
"Don't worry about that now."
Wintergreen patted my good shoulder absently, as though trying to tell me that everything was going to be ok.
During the following long, agonizing hours I wished that he had knocked me out. Aside from the dislocated shoulder, everything was my fault. I told Slade to throw me off the building. I knew that I'd better battered up when I hit the ground. Nothing could prevent that. I didn't want to be left alone with my seditious thoughts, yet I had all the time in the world to run words over and over in my aching mind.
Eventually I dozed off into a light sleep filled with darkness.
-TT-
When the light came back I felt an engine rumbling beneath me. My injured shoulder was in a sling. A melted pack of ice rested numbly on my shoulder, the cold burning my cheek. Rolling my head to the side, I looked out the window. Raindrops raced across the glass as the rain pattered against the window, distorting the outside world.
I felt ancient. My fingers fumbled to unwrap the ice around my shoulder. Everything still hurt, but I would live.
"Good afternoon."
Slade. Always Slade.
"Afternoon? Did you drug me again?"
"No. You fell asleep in the car."
Silence once more, though this time the silence wasn't awkward. It wasn't pregnant with tension or fear. It was a companionable silence, the kind of silence I never expected to enjoy in the company of Slade Wilson. I let my head rest against the cool window and watched the landscape roll by.
"I never said goodbye to them," I mumbled.
"To whom?"
"My friends."
"They aren't your friends anymore."
When did people stop being your friends? Is there some magical time limit? Hey, you haven't talked to me for a few months, buddy, our friendship has expired.
Later I learned that Tamaranians have a special holiday for celebrating friendships. It's called Blorthog, a traditional festival day to strengthen platonic love between friends. If there is anything I regret, it is the fact that I never stayed with the Titans long enough to celebrate with her. But maybe, just maybe, I would be able to...
Kiss her goodbye.
My eyes snapped open again. Starfire and I kissed once before, if you could even call it a kiss. Back then it was nothing more than a tool to learn the English language, at least that was her excuse.
Certainly a better kisser than Poison Ivy.
Always making jokes, wasn't I? Even when I wasn't cracking jokes with my team I made them up in my head. I couldn't afford to be a joker while evil was afoot. Maybe that's where I went wrong: not being myself when I should have been.
Then who will be my friends?
I conspired against them and was responsible for getting Bruce shot. There was no turning back now. There was another option open to me: go back to Gotham as Dick Grayson. Now that Robin was dead I didn't have any more responsible to take care of Jump City. I could go back to the circus, where there had always been a home open to me.
But would I really be happy there?
No, I couldn't go back. My past would continue to haunt me. The circus, though part of my childhood, wasn't part of my life anymore. Without my parents it just wouldn't be the same. What would they think—no. I pushed them from my mind.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere the Titans won't follow us."
That was what I wanted, right? For my past to go away from me? Distancing myself from my friends would protect them, especially now that they knew I was a criminal.
My thoughts drifted as the gentle sway of the car lulled me back to sleep. Once the car slowed to a halt however many minutes later I woke up again. Darkness surrounded us for a few seconds before a series of lights in the walls flickered on.
"Where are we?"
Slade didn't bother to answer. Sure that the answer would come momentarily, I clumsily unbuckled and opened the car door. A strange musty smell filled the air, the kind of smell of a room one hasn't used in a long while. Looking around, I realized that we were in a garage. Instead of lingering I followed Slade through a door into the main house.
Not too shabby. It could be nicer, but that didn't bother me. Mansions were incredibly lonely, especially as a child I feared that I could get lost in Wayne Manor. Slade's insignia didn't cover the walls. Everything just looked...normal.
"This is cozy. Is this another secret hideout?"
"I have many hideouts."
"Your employers must pay you well," I said. "How much were you paid to take out that crime lord from the other night?"
"A considerable amount." Slade leaned forward, touching his fingertips together. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I was just wondering how much one life is worth to you."
"Believe it or not some lives are worth losing money to save."
Like everything else Slade said, he meant a lot more than what he literally said. His words dripped with deeper meaning, although whether or not that deeper meaning was worth the trouble of knowing was a whole different story.
Lowering myself carefully into an armchair, I considered what to ask next. At that point I don't think he trusted me enough to talk about his past openly, but I needed to know.
"Tell me more about your son," I said. "How did he die?"
No one had to warn me not to ask Slade about this. But if we were going to work together, if I was going to learn from him, then I needed to know as much about him as possible. Forget dark, brooding and mysterious. Like it or not, Slade was dangerous, and I would treat him as such. Having some backstory (while initially I would not be interested in) to work with would give me a better sense of how he worked.
"He was like you. My first apprentice, one who completed his training and went out into the world. He was killed on a contract too tough for him to handle. Beaten to death before being blown up."
"Was it a revenge scheme against you?"
"Not that I know of. And if it was, then it worked well."
For the first time I heard the sorrow in his voice, the slight tremor that betrayed emotion normally hidden by his stoic exterior. Nothing would ever excuse his more violent tendencies, but I was more trusting than he was. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to know that, deep down, he wasn't the villain I originally believed him to be.
"I'm sorry."
His face remained impassive. "It was his own fault."
How much effort did it take for him to stay calm?
"Then I can never have a family in this line of business?"
"No. Not if you care for them."
Real family was too precious for the mercenary. Yet who would trust Slade Wilson? His own wife turned on him. The only person he trusted was Wintergreen and myself. But why would he ever decide to trust me? For a long time I had been his enemy and now I was his accomplice.
Without another word about his son, Slade reached into his utility belt and took something out. He handed me a silver "S." Reaching out with my left hand felt unnatural and awkward, but my other arm still hurt badly.
"Wear this."
I turned the insignia over in my hand, unexpected anger bubbling up inside me. "I won't wear your colors or your insignia."
Oh, he didn't like that. I wasn't going to be a sheep. Even Batman never made me wear his symbol, at least he allowed me to choose my name and costume.
"I want people to know that you work for me."
"Correction: I'm learning from you, not working for you."
A snort I never expected to hear from Slade, the world's greatest mercenary, reached my ears. I handed the "S" back to him. He was smart enough not to make a big deal out of it.
"I expect you to be learning something while you recover. We can use this time to disappear from the radar. We need that after our stunt on Wayne Enterprises."
Our stunt. Soon it would be "our heist" and "our kill." Frightening, how fast I was becoming used to the notion that we were accomplices. The evil opposite of Gotham's Dynamic Duo. Well, maybe it wouldn't go that far, but the thought still brought a chill down my back.
"I don't intend to waste my time."
"Good." He eyed me suspiciously. "Would it kill you to call me 'Sir'?"
"Why? You hoping that I call you God?"
"If you insist..."
"Boys," Wintergreen called from the other room. "Your bickering is rather irritating."
Both of us straightened and turned our heads towards Wintergreen's voice. Slade's brow furrowed, as though he just thought of something important.
"You're dismissed for the afternoon," Slade said abruptly. "See you at dinner."
And with that the conversation was over. Hmm. I don't think the tension between Slade and I will ever die down, not even if we acted as if we were pals. No matter how close we got there would always be something separating the two of us, an invisible barrier that would prevent me from getting as close to Slade as I did with Bruce. I stood there awkwardly until Wintergreen poked his head into the room.
"Your room is that way," Wintergreen said, pointing, "second door on your left."
I nodded and left the living room. Considering my injuries, there was nothing I could do but rest.
My bedroom was much bigger than that cupboard I had in the Haunt. The curtains of the window were drawn back, the afternoon light flooding the room. Folded sheets sat on the end of the bed, evidence that Wintergreen expected me to keep my own room clean. The whole room was unsurprisingly Spartan in the sense that only the essentials were there. Bed, nightstand, dresser...but one thing stood out to me.
A copy of Huckleberry Finn lay on the nightstand, my bookmark still in place. I couldn't help but laugh, even as every inch of me hurt.
The rain had cleared. Nearly all the dark clouds were gone. Dust danced in the beams of the afternoon sun. It took the life of a prisoner to fully appreciate the little things in life, the beauty of the world around you. Being stuck in a windowless room changed something, made me a little crazy. He was kind enough to give me a room with a view. Somehow that made all the difference in the world.
After closing the shades I went back to bed, intending to nap for a long, long while.
A/N: Yes, indeed, I did reference Deathstroke's reboot series. I read it in the store and decided to reference some stuff even though I am unhappy with the reboot.
Unfortunately I am not yet on spring break like some of you losers. In fact I should tell you that you probably won't get much fanfiction during my spring break either because I decided to do school-related STUFF. Anyways, review! Reviews make me very happy.