Chapter Three: Looking Through the Rust
"Slade, you better come over to Jump City…. You've got to see this."
Deathstroke's finger rewound the tape and his eye watched the scene again. This shouldn't be accurate; his apprentice falling from a high distance and finally getting stepped on. How could the boy be so careless? So sloppy? Alas, the more he studied the surveillance, the more his temper rose at the Teen Titans, rather than Richard. The witch carelessly threw a lamp post at their leader after he specifically told them to hold their fire.
He clenched his hands together, the only sign that he was angry. His mask was securely on and the young man who worked for him was twitching nervously beside him. Wintergreen, gasped the fifth time at seeing the stone giant step on Robin, which was getting very aggravating. "Poor boy, died just as his parents did." Wintergreen crooned and something snapped in him as he turned and grabbed the young man around the throat. The officer's normally pale face turned red from the lack of oxygen.
"Where did they take him?" It was a whisper, but he was sure the boy heard him perfectly well.
"I- I do- don't know boss." Deathstroke watched as a vein in the boy's forehead pulsed with the pressure around his neck. It would be so easy to just squeeze this worthless life in his hands.
A hand was placed on his shoulder and Wintergreen shook him softly, yet firmly. "Slade, get a hold of yourself." His single eye surveyed the officer, the young man whose life was held in Deathstroke's hand, and opened up his fist, letting the body drop to the floor with a heave of air.
He took a deep breath and looked at the camera, watching as his apprentice looked disbelievingly over at the alien across the street with blood pouring down his face.
"Just let him go, Slade. He was a great fighter, but it was his time to go. Move on." Deathstroke turned and stared coldly at Wintergreen.
"I know my apprentice, Wintergreen. He is still alive." He watched as William's eyes widened and looked at the camera in disbelief.
"Slade, no one can survive this. Maybe you, but… he was so small. The compact from the fall no doubt shook him, but when he was crushed-,"
"I want you to check all the hospitals in Gotham and Jump City, Wintergreen, and report back to me." With that sharp order, the mercenary turned his back and disappeared in the shadows.
--PA--
"He's paralyzed?" The voice was full of disbelief. The nurse nodded, still checking the numbers on the clipboard from the patient lying in the bed before her.
Wintergreen looked at the form lying in a coma in the bed. He looked so small, how was he any importance to Slade?
--PA--
Wintergreen walked in the dark atmosphere of the underground factory and spotted Deathstroke hunching over multiple chemicals, no doubt doing experiments. He seemed utterly calm, with his hands moving in sure motions despite the fact that his apprentice was in critical condition.
"Did you locate him?" His voice was void and his back stayed turned to Wintergreen while the old man stared holes in the back of his old time friend.
"Yes. But I'm afraid that he wasn't in a hospital like you had originally thought." Wintergreen watched as Deathstroke continued to work, not even a pause in his movements.
"Oh? And where is my apprentice, William?" It was daunting that the man still had his back turned to William, like he knew what the man was going to say ahead of time.
"His body was committed to the morgue, Slade. He's dead." Deathstroke's back and head straightened up, but he continued to face away from Wintergreen.
"Is that right?" The tone was quiet and chilling. Wintergreen watched as Deathstroke turned slowly to face him. The only thing William could see were the shadows clinging to the large man's frame. His eye eerily stood out from the darkness, glittering with a strange emotion.
"Yes. Batman ordered the burial as Richard Grayson. A Tim Drake is playing Robin's role now in Jump City." Silence was thick in the factory, besides the ghostly sounds the gears made behind him.
"That is odd," Slade started, cocking his head slightly to the side. "George Sampson, a doctor and one of my workers, has an employment at the Wayne Memorial Clinic. He contacted me and told me a fascinating account. Do you know what he said, Wintergreen?" William swallowed his fear and lifted his chin, ready to defend himself to the mercenary.
"Let me take a gather. A patient by the name of Grayson, Richard was admitted yesterday afternoon. He's lying in a hospital bed, knocked unconscious from a coma; may I add that they have no idea when he is to wake up? Two broken ribs and both his legs broken." He paused. "And what was the other symptom?" He frowned at Slade. The man continued to watch him with an eerily calm.
"What was it, Slade? Ah yes, now I remember! He is paralyzed from the waist down. He is a crippled who will never be able to walk again. His spinal cord was shattered to pieces, no hope in fixing it." Wintergreen was hoping to get a reaction out of Deathstroke but the man was just…standing there with his hands behind his back. "So, are you going to have an apprentice that wheels around in a wheelchair and shoots bullets at the enemies coming at him? Or maybe you can make a wheelchair that can do flips and goes one hundred miles per hour?" His accent was thick when he was spitting angry.
"That's quite enough, Wintergreen. I've known many people in wheelchairs who do amazing things." Slade's voice sent chills down William's arms.
"I'm not trying to criticize people in wheelchairs, Slade. I agree with you. Yes there are people who succeed brilliantly in life when they're in wheelchairs, but you're looking for an apprentice, someone who is strong and stands by your side. You can't have a crippled apprentice." Silence filled the air again and the two men stood stiff, sizing each other up.
"Your absolutely right, Wintergreen. I can't have a crippled apprentice." With that Deathstroke turned back to the work table and scratched something on a piece of paper.
William blinked and slumped his shoulders. "That's good, Slade. You and I can get out of this country and find you a perfect apprentice-,"
"I've already found my perfect apprentice, Wintergreen. Richard Grayson." Wintergreen spluttered and gnashed his teeth together.
"But you said-,"
"Yes. I will not have a crippled apprentice." Deathstroke paused and turned his head to survey William with his cold eye.
"I will have a healthy apprentice who is loyal to just me." Something on William's face must have showed his confusion for Deathstroke chuckled softly…yet dangerously.
"William, my friend. Have you ever seen me fail in an experiment? I will find a cure for paralysis, and when I do, Richard will only see me as the one who stood by him in his time for need. I will be the one who believed in him when he was at his lowest." With that, Deathstroke turned back to his work and left Wintergreen staring disbelievingly at his back.
He might as well get unpacking…
"Oh, and William?" Wintergreen turned back around, with an antagonistic taste in his throat. "If you lie to me again, the consequences will be severe. Considering you have a hard time seeing you can be successful in a wheelchair, perhaps you will do well in experiencing that first hand." Wintergreen paled and gave a sharp nod, walking out the factory.
--PA--
"Poor boy." A plump nurse was brushing back Richard Grayson's sweaty black hair while she check his vital signs. Nicole was assigned to watch over Richard and was giving strict orders not to give him antibiotics or speak of the boy's condition to the public. It was heartbreaking to watch a boy, as young as Richard, die in the hospital. She knew first hand not to get too close to the patients, for it would only break her. And she couldn't be broken, because she loved working at the hospital.
He had woken up from his coma about a week ago. Regrettably, he had been asleep or too drugged on sedatives to speak to anyone. A patient like this would be severely traumatized in life. He would need a counselor to talk to if he would've been taking the antibiotics. But alas, Richard wasn't going to receive those antibiotics, meaning, he was going to die slowly from infection or illness while being drugged.
A throat cleared in the doorway, making Nicole remove her hand away from the patient.
"Excuse me, Nurse. I am Doctor Wilson. I'll be taking care of Richard for now on." She turned her brown eyes over to the speaker and became speechless, her mouth becoming dry.
He was damned sexy. White shaggy hair seemed to be ruffled perfectly and a goatee accented it. Blue eyes looked back at her from a face sculptured perfectly of sharp lines and curves. He was a very tall man with a broad upper body. She gave a small smile that he didn't return. In fact, the more she looked at him the more she saw how… rough he seemed. His eyes turned from her to Richard and she noticed that his right eye seemed unnaturally white.
She cleared her throat and stood in his line of vision to the boy.
"Of course Dr. Wilson, could I see some identity, please?" His eyes locked with hers and she gave all her strength to her knees to keep herself standing upright.
"If you deem it necessary, Nicole." His voice sent a blush to her cheeks and she couldn't help the smile that grew on her face.
As she studied the ID, the man stepped around her and went to the clipboard at the edge of the bed, studying it. "It says here that you are not giving him antibiotics. Why is that?" His voice had a hard edge to it and Nicole ran a hand through her hair in hopes to tame it. Oh, she must look awful…
Her eyes sought his waiting expression and blinked. What was the question? Ah, yes. He wanted to know of the absence of antibiotics. Perhaps he was new to the hospital scene.
"His guardian decided it wasn't necessary to sign for them. Most hospitals are required to give the patient antibiotics to prevent hospital illnesses or infections to occur. But with an injury such as severe as his, well, it really is up to the guardian if they want…" She trailed off at the expression of disgust the man was giving her.
"To let the child die." He finished her sentence rather accurately and turned toward Richard, studying the boy… almost obsessively it seemed. She watched as he walked over to him and stroked the face of the boy.
Nothing made a sound, beside the gentle beep of the heart monitor. Dr. Wilson trailed a finger down the trail of stitches over Richard's right eye.
"Has he eaten anything since he's waken up from his coma?" Nicole winced and looked over at Richard. It did look like they were starving him. He wasn't supposed to die of starvation, only infection.
"Not through the mouth, no. But we've hooked an IV into him, giving him nutria-,"
"I am well aware of what an IV does, Nurse Nicole. But it looks to me like you have been treating him very poorly. You do realize that he might not acquire an illness or infection if you take care of him properly." He paused and Nicole opened her mouth to try to defend herself, but he continued.
"Has anyone been in, or talked to him on what happened? I'm sure it isn't a good idea to keep him quiet when something this traumatizing has happened." This doctor was odd. For all her years of being a nurse, there was never a doctor who actually took time out of his busy schedule to ask about the well being of a patient… who was actually going to try to prevent an infection.
"No." She didn't understand why she was so inclined to speak the truth to this man. But from his stance, it seemed as if he required instant respect. Nicole wasn't going to try otherwise. "To tell you the truth we have been giving him sedatives every time he wakes up. He wakes up screaming… from nightmares and doesn't calm down. He's actually very strong for such a small kid." She smiled but it dropped instantly when Dr. Wilson turned to face her with an unreadable face expression.
"So in short, you're slowly killing the boy? Is that even legal?" Studying her face he gave a chilling smile. "I guess it is, as long as you have a signature." At his tone she stepped back and cleared her throat.
"The sedatives are on the counter by the sink. When he wakes up from his sleep, you're required to give him a shot. I'm sure you know the rest. Good day, Dr. Wilson." With that, see fled the room as fast as she could, hoping she didn't just make herself look like a fool.
--PA--
Deathstroke sneered in disgust as the women fled. They never cared about their patients. Some doctors blamed it on the lack of space in the hospital; some just didn't have the energy to nurse someone back to full health…just as long as they received their pay check.
Disgusting.
He turned back to his apprentice and frowned. Richard was in bad shape and Slade would try his best to clean him up. No, he would clean Richard up.
He shouldn't have been surprised that the Bat never signed for antibiotics. After all, the Dark Knight had his own life he needed to take care of. It would be far too much work for him to take care of Richard like this, with all his fancy parties to attend and all that money…or was it simply because the man was too weak to see Richard like this? Broken beyond repair?
Surveying his apprentice, he noticed that the cut on the boy's face healed up enough to remove the stitches. Ironic that it was over his right eye, no?
For over an hour, Deathstroke worked over his apprentice, cleaning him up as best he could without his tools that resided in his hideout.
He would kidnap Richard as soon as the boy was able to stay awake for more than three hours. Until then, Slade would attempt to fill in the cracks that were his apprentice's spirit.