Slade x Nightwing

Chapter One: Dead Man

Dick was thrilled to have the new apartment. It felt good not having to go back to Wayne Manor following his night patrols. He finally felt independent, Bruce wasn't breathing down his neck the minute he walked through the door. The millionaire had a habit of practically interrogating Dick before he could even take his mask off. It was smothering.

He stepped into the apartment, tossing his duffel bag on the counter top. Taking a deep breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow and headed towards the bathroom. Dick splashed his face with cold water and looked into the mirror, a faint shadow moving in his peripheral vision. His body froze and his eyes stared into the corner of the mirror, contemplating if he should be concerned. It was a new apartment after all. He convinces himself its his eyes adjusting to the new space and wipes his face dry with a towel. Dick lowers the towel from his face, his eyes grow wide as he sees a dark figure standing behind him. Before he has a moment to react, a strong hand slams his skull against the mirror. He falls to the tiled floor, shards of glass follow suit and shred his skin. He looked up at his attacker, vision slightly blurred.

"Long time no see, Grayson."

The voice made Dick's blood run cold. It was the unmistakable voice of Slade Wilson.

"You're supposed to be dead." Dick muttered, his vision clearing and validating that Deathstroke was in fact alive.

Slade grasped the collar of his shirt, turned, and shoved Dick against the wall.

"I guess you could say I'm a dead man walking." The older man smirked, landing a punch to Dick's midsection.

The young man grunted at the impact, his head slumping forward. Slade snaked his fingers around Dick's neck firmly, but not enough to cut off his air supply.

"You gonna kill me asshole? My girlfriend can choke me harder." Dick spat, blood trickling down his chin.

The assassin threw him down the hallway with a growl. Dick tumbled backwards and stumbled to his feet, not as gracefully as he usually did. He leaned against the counter and reached for his duffel bag, grabbing two batarangs and throwing them at Deathstroke. Slade unsheathed one of his swords and deflected the attack with ease.

"I wasn't going to bring weapons into this boy... but if you insist." He swung the blade swiftly towards his victim.

Dick barely dodged around the counter, the newly sharpened metal slicing his side. He grabbed a skillet off a metal rack and swung hard connecting a blow to Slade's shoulder. The assassin grunted and proceeded to swing his sword as if he hadn't hit him at all. Dick growled as he deflected the attacks, curious as to why none of them felt as if they intended to kill him.

"I think you're getting a little to old for this Slade," Dick knocked the sword out of Deathstroke's hand, "You've lost your touch." He grinned, dropping the skillet and extending his arm to punch the assassin's face.

Slade grabbed the boy's arm and flipped him onto the couch. Dick gasped as Deathstroke slammed his knee down on his spine, yanking his arms back roughly by his wrists and cuffing them behind his back. Dick's mind was racing but his adrenaline was running out. He felt sick.

"The only thing I've lost..." Slade started as he took a syringe out of his belt. He grabbed a fistful of Dick's hair, pulling back to expose the vulnerable skin of his neck.

"...Is my interest in this pitiful fight you've put up." He lodged the needle into Dick's neck, injecting a drug into the boy's bloodstream. Dick let out a groan at the pinch and hot burning sensation under his skin. His vision blurred and his heart rate plummeted faster than he could ever imagine.

"...Fuck...you..." Dick managed to croak as darkness swept over him, the last thing he felt was being thrown over Slade's shoulders.