Wow, two chapters in two days? What is this madness?

First off, thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter! I know it's been awhile, and it was definitely inspiring to see some support.

And secondly, I wanted to address a topic that was brought up in some of the older reviews. A lot of people commented that Slade's excitement over Robin was unsettling or ooc; I agree. But that's what I was going for. All we ever see is dark, scary, completely-in-control Slade. But I like the idea that he has exactly one person in the world to open up to, and to actually be a (somewhat) regular person with. That being said, Wintergreen probably won't be showing up again for awhile after this chapter, so don't worry: scary, intimidating Slade will be taking the stage.

But yeah. I just wanted to reassure you that Slade won't be turning into an excitable little puppy, because that would most definitely be a bummer (although it wouldn't surprise me if someone has written a fanfic about that...). And if I feel motivated, I might go back and edit that scene to make him a bit more Slade-ish. But that's something that probably won't happen for awhile because, if we're being real, I'm a lazy bum.

So anyways, here's chapter 7! Please, please, please review, and please continue with the constructive criticism because I luuuurve it.

*To Kirokokori: You were absolutely right about that line, and I've changed it. Shouldn't have written it in the first place, so thank you for bringing it up. And thank you for your review!

Wintergreen grunted as he dragged the heavy suitcase down the hall. Why didn't I buy the one with wheels? he thought irritably with gritted teeth.

Gasping, he finally managed to make it to the main room. His eyes narrowed when he saw Slade hunched over his desk; about five different screens were flickering in front of him on the wall, each displaying what looked like various newspaper clippings.

Wintergreen scoffed. "You know, it would be nice to have some help with this," he yelled across the room.

Slade grunted and didn't look up. "I'm busy."

"You're a terrible host, that's what you are," Wintergreen grumbled, grabbing the bag again and hauling it behind him. "See if I fly out here to visit you in your dank old haunt again. Why don't you live in nicer places, anyways? Can't all of your wickedness be accomplished from a nice apartment?"

He felt more than saw the eye roll Slade was giving him. "On second thought," Slade growled. "Allow me to assist you with your luggage, as to get you out of here faster."

"Fine by me," Wintergreen said with a grin and unceremoniously dropped the bag. "See, I knew you'd come around. I always win."

Slade smirked. "Except that now you've created a competitive environment, and if I help you with your baggage you'll have beaten me. I simply can't have that. So now I think I'll continue with my work and allow you to continue with yours."

"You unbelievable jackass," Wintergreen growled. Slade's smirk merely grew.

Abandoning the luggage momentarily, Wintergreen walked up to examine the computer screens. "Acrobatic prodigies?" he asked, quirking a brow.

Slade hummed. "And accidents," he said, pointing to one of the screens.

Wintergreen grimaced. "Looks like quite a fall. Explain to me how exactly this will help you with the boy?"

Slade sighed and rubbed his eye, blinking away spots. "I need to discover his identity. His ridiculous costume helps slightly with the search, but there's still so many other factors to consider. One constant I have to work with is that he's simply too talented acrobatically to have kept it hidden; either he was in a circus or he was in competitions. But there are many, many things to consider. For instance, is Batman his biological father, or was he adopted? If it's the latter," and here Slade gestured toward the screen with the broken bodies, "there's a possibility that it was a circus accident. Or, are the boy's parents alive, and he's off fighting crime with Batman in secret?"

"What do you think?" Wintergreen asked quietly.

"I think the boy's parents are long dead," Slade said smoothly. "It would certainly explain his aggression at such a young age, and his desperation to prove himself. And I'm also betting that he came from the circus, based on his costume choice. Gymnastic competitions have flashy costumes, certainly, but they don't mean much to the gymnast. A circus costume, on the other hand, would have much more sentiment. For Robin, it could be a touching reminder of the life he once had. He seemed awfully defensive of the colors when I brought it up."

"So basically you're looking for an orphan from the circus, who may or may not have been adopted," Wintergreen said slowly. "How difficult can that be? I can't imagine there's many circuses that pass through Gotham, and an incident like that would be in the papers."

"There are only one or two circuses that pass through here," Slade admitted. "The difficult part is knowing whether or not Batman and Robin met in Gotham or in a completely different area. They could have met anywhere."

Wintergreen smiled. "But you think it was Gotham, don't you?"

"It's the likeliest place, yes," Slade said with a knowing smirk. "And, in fact, there was one incident in Gotham only a few years ago that fits exactly what I'm looking for."

Wintergreen rolled his eyes and sighed irritably. "Bloody hell, you already know his identity, don't you? You've just been stringing me along."

Slade smirked. "I just like reminding you of how brilliant I am. After all, I did say it would only take me a week, and it actually only took me five days."

"Jackass," Wintergreen muttered for the second time in less than five minutes. For such an intensely serious man, Slade was awfully fond of games. "So, who is the kid?"

Slade raised a brow in amusement and turned to the screens. He pushed a key on the keyboard, and suddenly all of the screens were displaying newspaper articles of one story.

"The Flying Graysons," Wintergreen murmured. "Parents tragically fell to their deaths. Possible mob involvement. Richard Grayson, orphaned at age 10." He shrugged. "Well, I'm impressed; he certainly fits your bill. Do they look alike?"

"The costumes are practically identical," Slade scoffed, looking a little irritated. "Honestly, he could have at least tried to cover up his past."

"Damn sentiment. Gets 'em every time," Wintergreen quipped wryly. "Don't tell me you're disappointed?"

"Oh, not with dear Richard," Slade drawled, leaning back in his seat. "He's still just a boy, and probably didn't even entertain the thought that someone could trace his costume back to the circus. Batman, on the other hand, was an idiot for allowing the boy to wear those colors. But his stupidity is my gain, so I won't complain."

Wintergreen scratched his head. "So if Robin is Richard Grayson, then who -"

"Oh, it's very clever," Slade interrupted with a sly smile. "Honestly, you would never guess that it's him. But really, it makes perfect sense, once you've entertained the idea for awhile."

"What's very clever?" Wintergreen asked, puzzled.

Slade nodded at the screen, still with a small smile. "Richard Grayson was adopted by none other than Gotham's favorite billionaire and utter buffoon, Bruce Wayne."

"Bruce Wayne?" Wintergreen hissed in disbelief. "The Bruce Wayne?"

"The one and only," Slade said, nodding at the screen. "Genius, isn't it? All of the funds to make his little toys, along with the perfect cover story. Who would ever suspect the spoiled son of a billionaire to fight Gotham's scum?"

"I don't believe it," Wintergreen said, shaking his head in shock. "I saw a news clip of him once; reporters were trying to get a statement out of him, and he tripped over his own feet. Landed flat on his face. You're telling me that he's Batman?"

"It's an impressive act, but that's all it is: an act."

Wintergreen whistled. "Wow. Didn't see that one coming. Almost makes me want to stay, see how this whole thing plays out."

"What's stopping you? Stay," Slade said with a shrug, starting to type in another search. "It's sure to be more interesting than whatever's in England."

"My life is in England," Wintergreen said with a sigh. "You know, life? That thing with a job and your own apartment and friends?"

"I wouldn't know about that," Slade said with a scoff.

There was a slight pause. "Well," Wintergreen started off hesitantly, "you could, you know."

Slade stopped typing and turned to raise a brow. "I'm serious, Slade," Wintergreen said softly. "Come to England with me. We can live in my flat, find you a real job, maybe a nice lady. Turn away from all of this, before it's too late. There's a better life out there."

"I tried that life once. Lost an eye," Slade deadpanned. "I think I'll stick with this, thanks."

"Oh please, you didn't try," Wintergreen scoffed. "You tried to be a father and a husband and an assassin all at once, but it doesn't work that way. Please, just consider -"

"Will," Slade interrupted in a dangerously low voice, "Will, you are my friend, and I value your opinion. I appreciate your concern, really, I do." The one eye glowed coldly in the light of the screens, and Wintergreen felt a shiver run down his spine. "But, if you don't drop this," Slade continued softly, "I will snap your neck without a second thought."

An ugly silence pervaded the room. Both men stared unblinkingly at the other, until finally Wintergreen sighed. "Maybe, one day, you'll consider it," he said sadly.

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Slade replied coldly.

Wintergreen nodded and bit his lip. "Yes, well, I'll hope for it anyways."

There was another long pause, and then suddenly Slade's face softened. "I'm sorry."

"There's really no need for -"

"Yes, there is, I was completely -"

"No, I was completely-"

"Will," Slade growled, "I'm trying to be decent, and you're ruining it."

Wintergreen's mouth twitched into the semblance of a smile. "My apologies."

"You're forgiven," Slade said gruffly.

A third pause. Neither seemed quite sure what to say. Then:

"I wish you would stay."

Wintergreen nodded sympathetically. "I know, old friend. I know. And I wish you would come."

"And we both know," Slade said with a bitter smile, "that neither will happen."

"Yes," Wintergreen said softly. "I suppose we do."

Slade took a deep breath. "Well, then, all there is to do is grab that ridiculous suitcase of yours and send you on your merry way."

Wintergreen looked up sharply. "My suitcase is hardly ridiculous!"

Standing up, Slade smirked and moved to grab the bag. "You pack far more than is necessary, Will. Honestly, what do you even have in here? Bricks?"

"Well it's not that much!" Wintergreen sputtered.

Slade threw the suitcase over his shoulder and began to walk out. "It probably weighs more than you do," he called back with a small grin. Wintergreen rolled his eyes and followed, taking a moment to contemplate the oddity of his situation.

It wasn't the first time Slade had threatened to kill him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. And over the years, it bothered him less and less. He supposed it was because everything with Slade was just... More. Like every emotion was heightened, or in its rawest form. It wasn't healthy, or excusable, or something he approved of; it was just something that had become normal to him over time.

And he also acknowledged that a large reason he didn't run away from the man and never look back was because he was all that stood between Slade and utter solitude; god only knew what the man would be like if he didn't have Wintergreen to remind him of his humanity.

Sometimes he wondered if Slade ever really would kill him; he doubted it, but admitted to himself that it was a possibility, even if only a very slim one. Slade, after all, was a very, very complex man.

He only hoped that little Richard Grayson would be able to survive it all.