CHAPTER 29:
"Break-In at the Manor"

Tim Drake was feeling better, and he was beginning to feel sensation in his legs, arms and body again. Barbara was right, the shock to his system from Arkells Neuro-Diffuser was only temporary, albeit its effects were prolonged. He had taken it on full power. So, recovery was going to take a while. But he was thankful it was not permanent. However, the indignity was beyond embarrassing.

Alfred was a huge help, however. It's said that a full body massage helps to stimulate and relax inflamed, tense muscles. And along with chiropractic methods, pitched nerves that can effectively halt fluent movement can be reversed.

Tim had no idea that Alfred knew about this stuff, but what he did helped tremendously. Whatever he did, unlocked something. Alfred theorized when Tim had taken the full brunt of the Neuro-Diffuser, his muscles seized up, and summarily cut feeling off from the neck down, subsequently causing paralyses. Alfred explained that if a bone is even slightly out of alignment after a sudden jolt, it can effect the entire nervous system of the body, and said something about the upper spine and cervical vertebrae. When he put the bone back in place, it was a sudden shock to Tim's system and he felt it. But the nerve numbness would still remain for a time.

He now rested comfortably in bed, but the embarrassment of the situation was nerve-racking to stay the least. Not only was he attached to a catheter but he also had to wear diapers for the other bodily function because he had no control like a baby. And since the incident, Alfred had already changed him three times. He felt like crying more than once, but Alfred assured him it was okay and not to fret. And he said it was kind of like taking care of Master Bruce when was a child. But that gave Tim little comfort.

Alfred also told him that once he got more feeling that physical therapy would be needed and he would be there to help as well. Tim couldn't thank him enough. And as he lay in his bed, alone in his room, he felt a calmness and ease that everything was going to be fine. But his mind also raced with what could be happening on Treasure Island.

The device that he had Barbara get from his secret closest shorted out soon after the fight between Dick and Arkells, so he couldn't even surf the net. He told himself, when he was able, he'd have to redesign it with a much more powerful processor.

He wished he could have gone with the others to Spyral's secret island, but Arkells, his future self went in his place. He wasn't upset, but he was a little miffed that the person who did this to him had taken his place on the mission, and it reminded him of the time Damian had come onto the scene and took his place as Robin at Batman's side. That got him heated every time he thought about it. It was like when a person has put so much effort into a proposal for a presentation and then someone else swoops in and steals it, getting the credit. And when Damian did become Robin, Bruce just accepted it.

Why? Because biology usurped adoption? Blood was better than bonds? He had wanted to quit and Damian had told him repeatedly to get out of the way. Instead, he took some time away and chilled out, even spent some time with Jason, and did some other things. But he eventually came back with a new outlook and a level head, and a new costume that was Alfred designed—good old Alfred—and was reborn as Red Robin, taken from the bird of the same name: the Red Breasted Robin.

He inhaled and exhaled with his eyes closed, and he felt like he was about to fall asleep. He shut down all negative thinking. He had suffered from depression in the past, but with Alfred and the others helping him get through this difficult moment, he strangely felt at peace, and all he wanted to do was to rest.
Until he heard the floor creaking. It was so quiet in his room right now that he could hear a pin drop, and with the baby monitor on the nightstand next to Tim's bed, Alfred would probably hear it too as he was preparing lunch in the kitchen. But maybe Alfred had finished lunch preparation and had come back up to his room?

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and prepared a smile for the supportive butler. But the moment he saw who was in his room—and it was not Alfred—he opened his mouth to scream, before Deathstroke slapped a hand over Tim's mouth, effectively silencing him.

Deathstroke put a finger to the area where his mouth would be behind his black and orange mask, and then switched off the baby monitor. He looked Tim over and for a second and seemed to pause, wondering why Tim had not fought back and jumped out of bed, covered by a comforter. He retrieved a hunting knife from a leg sheath and placed across Tim's throat.

"Now, when I lift my hand, if you scream, I'll slice your throat from ear-to-ear. Understand?" Deathstroke's voice was menacing and reverberated from behind his sinister mask. Tim gave a little nod. He removed his hand, then said, "It's a little early in the day to take a nap. Shouldn't you be with the others? I saw the Batplane blast off away earlier. There's no one in the manor but you and the butler, Alfred Pennyworth."

"What did you do to Titus?" was the first thing Tim thought of to ask.

"The dog? The German Shepard/Great Dane cross-bred? I drugged it, put it to sleep. No, I wouldn't kill such a beautiful animal. Although, it did sense me before I shot it with a tranq-dart. It won't wake up for hours."

"Good," Tim eyed the villain darkly. "Because Damian would hunt you down to the ends of the earth if you harmed Titus. He might still."

"Get up!" Deathstroke ordered, raising upright.

"I can't. I'm paralyzed from the neck down," he revealed. He sighed, he knew saying such would be like nailing his own coffin, but he had no choice. However, Slade Wilson did visit Dick in the hospital on more friendly terms, Alfred had told him. Briefly, he explained the reason for his condition. "It's only temporary. I'm already beginning to generate feeling in my extremities, but it'll take time."

Deathstroke grumbled under his breath. After what he heard, he said, as if speaking disappointed: "That was a stupid thing you did."

"Save it! I already got a lecture from Dick about it. But enough about me, what the hell are you doing here, Slade?"

"Incidentally, I came to see Richard. I owed him a favour. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, it can't be fulfilled. Richard asked me to find Dr. Jonathan Crane as restitution for shooting him, but with news of a cure to Crane's Fear Germ revealed to the media most recently, thanks to Richard, Crane's gone underground and out of my reach."

"Ha! Out of your reach, Slade? A rat like you should be able to find vermin like him."

"Watch your mouth, Tim Drake." Slade still had the knife in hand. "I could decide to open you up from pelvis to chest and watch you bleed out and enjoy every minute of it in retaliation of all the times you and the Batfamily have interfered in my plans."

"I'm afraid, sir, that you'd never get that far," came Alfred's voice from behind Slade. Even Tim was surprised.

Slade snapped his attention around to see Alfred wielding two very large and extremely sharp kitchen knives in an inverted fighting stance that would offer him the most maneuverability to strike and defend. Tim knew over the years Alfred had honed his own special method of defence using every day cleaning items. The family jokingly called it Butler-Fu. Anything can be turned into a weapon, Alfred once said. But it's up to the wielder to use the tools properly to be most effective.

"How the hell did you…"

Without allowing Slade to mount a counter-response, Alfred attacked, slicing through the air with his knives. "I will defend Master Tim to the hilt, Mr. Wilson." Slade put up his own blade to defend himself and blades clashed, the sound reverberated like swords clinging. "Any assault on one of my family is an assault on me!"

"I haven't assaulted anyone, yet," was Slade's verbal response.

Slade used his knife like a shield, blade to blade, to block another one of Alfred's attacks. But Alfred kept the pressure on, forcing Slade to back off. Slade put up an arm to use his forearm armour to block against another quick strike, but Alfred's kitchen knife was so sharp that it carved a deep slit through the armour plating like a knife through butter.

Seeing this was a shock and Slade Wilson backed off further.

Suddenly, Slade was assaulted from another direction—from below. And Alfred Pennyworth, the Cat, jumped out from under the bed and pounced on him. The "attack" was nothing to Slade, but the distraction was all Alfred, the butler, needed for him to perform a leg sweep to the assassin and knock him on his back to the floor. For a man of Alfred's age, he was extremely nimble and flexible.

Slade rolled over and got to his feet and threw down his blade, then reached for his sword in its sheath on his back. Alfred stood in an offence posture, but even he knew two kitchen knives were no match for a sword. The cat growled and hissed at Slade as it stood just in front of Alfred, too, and Slade took a moment to observe how ridiculous the situation had become—and how he had been momentarily bested by a butler and the manor's feline. The time for jokes was over.

"Nice move, Pennyworth," Slade snorted behind his mask, "but your knives are no match for a sword."

"To quote Master Jason, while crude: It's not the size that's important, it's where you stick it." And he said it with such a straight face.

There was a moment of silence, and then Slade began to laugh. "So dryly said, but the delivery was beyond reproach," he said, then sheathed his sword behind his back, and removed his mask. The Batfamily knew who he was, so revealing his identity meant nothing. Behind the menacing mask and gear was a fit, white haired, older man, with an eye patch over his right eye, from an injury he sustained long ago. "You can put the knives down, Pennyworth, and call over off your guard cat." Alfred and Alfred remained steadfast for the moment. "Obviously, your animals have just as much bravado has their owners."

Alfred seemed to take a moment to analyze the situation and then lowered his arms, but if Slade tried anything, Alfred would be ready to counterattack. "Quite, and they are to be commended." Alfred, the Cat, sat down proper next to Alfred, the butler, but continued to eye Slade with an unblinking stare. "I was bringing up Master Tim's lunch when I found Titus laying unconscious near the main foyer. Communication was not an option at that point as the baby monitor was switched off. So, I summed up the situation, and knew we had an intruder, and took appropriate precautions."

"You snuck up on me," Slade said impressed. "No one has ever done that before."

"Then I'm pleased to be the first. Now, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit to the Manor, Mr. Wilson? As you may already be aware, the others are not at home at present. They have flown to an island in the Atlantic to battle Jake Handles and to rescue Master Damian." Alfred knew Slade was aware of Handles and his connection to Dick Grayson when they were in Spyral together. During a brief moment, Dick Grayson and told Alfred of Slade's visit to the hospital.

"As I explained to Tim Drake, my original intention was to speak with Richard."

"Then why not knock on the front door?"

Slade gave Alfred a curious look. "Really? People like me don't knock on doors."

"True, you rather crawl around the sewers like rats, or hide in the shadows like a coward."

Slade's face tightened, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He breathed out. "Okay, I deserved that after what I've done, and more. But I'm trying to do the right thing after shooting Richard. It was all about the money. I never thought Jake Handles would go this far in an attempt to destroy him. Incidentally, Scarecrow has scampered underground. I can't find him."

"I quick telephone call would have sufficed regarding that information. I was advised of Master Richard's request of you to locate Dr. Jonathan Crane and to hand him over to the authorities to stop the spread of his Fear Germ. Media reports say a cure has been found for the germ. I have no doubt this is the reason for Crane's sudden disappearance, hence, your business here has concluded to a reasonable satisfaction. You've had your say, you can depart the Manor any time."

Slade was a little taken aback by the straight-forwardness. He put up a halting hand. "Wait. I may not have been able to fulfill Richard's request, but there has to be something I can do? I owe him. And despite my past transgressions, I am a man of my word."

Tim started to laugh. "That's rich coming from the man who nearly destroyed Bludhaven with his league of meta-super-soldiers! Dick trusted you then, you two carved out a deal, but then you betrayed him. Thousands of people died. Billions of damage incurred. And it's only by the grace of God that Wayne Enterprises is helping to rebuild the city. No thanks to you!"

"I am inclined to agree with Master Tim," Alfred said. "So, please, don't take it offence that I say that your word is garbage."

Slade looked at them both with equal reserve. He even eyed the cat, who seemed calm, waggling its tail but still on guard. "Have you ever thought of the glass half-full?"

"Yes, but only when the beverage can be trusted to partake," Alfred replied. "Now, I request that you take your leave, Mr. Wilson. Master Tim needs his bed rest and his recovery will be faster without disruption."

"Um, if I can interject for a moment," Tim chimed in. "There may be a way to make my recovery go faster, but I will need someone's help for it to happen." Tim sighed dejected, as if trying to bring himself to say something forbidden. "He has in depth knowledge in Abnormal Psychology, but he also has a great deal of expertise in Neuropathy. It may be essential for my full recovery despite it coming from him. And I shutter with the thought of it coming from him." And Tim explained to them his thoughts.

Alfred thought about it, he agreed. "In theory, it's may work, but it doesn't come without its risks." He then turned to Slade. "Mr. Wilson, since your favour with Master Dick was unfulfilled, and you insist on helping, this task will fall into your hands."

Slade gestured incredulously with shock. "Me? You want me to…Are you crazy? That's suicide for a person like me!"

"You know…" Tim began. "Come to think of it, one call to our friends around the world—the Justice League, the Titans, even the Outsides—and you Slade, will become Enemy Number Uno for targeting Dick."

"You heroes are not in the assassin business," Slade said in disbelief. "Your threat is meaningless."

"Dick is respected all around. You'll be hunted to the ends of the earth, Slade. They'll be no place you can hide. I'm serious, with all the meta-humans who are our allies, you won't even be able to steal a stick of gum without someone knowing about it. No one will hire you knowing the fallout that will come to your benefactors and/or clients either. Your name will become blacklisted, and trust me, it can be done, and in quick succession, too. And I have no qualms in doing it."

Slade shared a hard stare with Tim, then: "You know, you'd make a great villain, Drake. If ever you decide to hang up the superhero gig, give me a call, and I'll train you like I did with Richard to be a master in your trade."

"Trust me, I already am. I can 'assassinate' a person more easily from the comfort of my computer," Tim said without all seriousness. "The information highway can kill a person much faster than a bullet these days."

"I believe you." Slade shrugged and relented. "Fine. I'll do it. But the remainder of the arrangements must be yours."

Alfred agreed.

x x x

Several minutes later, Slade got into the passenger seat to a dark, nondescript Sedan that was parked on a dirt road a mile down from Wayne Manor. In the driver's seat sat Pixie, but her hair was now dyed black. After they met again, Pixie had more information for him about another matter, sparks flew and they became lovers, and were now partners.

She noticed he looked dejected. "Problem?" she asked.

"We have a job to do," Slade said. Then sighed.

He told her. She was shocked, but she ended up agreeing to it.

The car sped off.

To be continued...