Barbara: Chapter 2

Where is he?

This was the eight night in a row that Barbara had no seen no signs of Robin. The two of them had been trying their hardest to stand in Batman's place, but now it seemed he too had disappeared along with his mentor. It left an empty, sinking feeling in Barbara's stomach. With Robin there she felt a safety net that could catch her and help her should she ever make a mistake. He'd already saved her life three times. She had saved his five times though.

As she scaled the roof to her father's preferred turret above the central City Watch keep she feared if she would be enough to continue protecting this city. She wondered if Robin felt the same weight on his shoulders when Batman had disappeared.

"Ser Gordon," she murmured as she flipped up and over the wall. She strained to deepen her voice, and remain in the shadows of the turret wall to prevent her father from recognizing her.

"So you're the new one, eh? The one they're calling Batgirl? What's next, Bathound? Batwoman? You're going to have a Bat Family soon should you lot keep this up," he japed with a deep sigh. She could see the pressure not having Batman around created for her father. But this night, he seemed even more sunken and hopeless than usual.

"We found these, in drain ditch outside the Narrows," he continued, as he tossed some rags at her feet.

They were Robin's dressings. His boots, cape, leather vest and leggings, everything was there except his mask and metal sticks. She lifted it into her hands to stare into it. The golden, metal emblem with R chiseled into it glowed in the bright moonlight. Barbara blinked as she realized tears were welling up at the corners of her eyes.

"There's no signs of damage or blood other than the sogginess from being in that ditch for gods know how long."

Barbara couldn't bring herself to look away from the emblem. It's all on me now. There's no Batman, no Robin, all that's left…is me…

"Look, I don't know who you are, or how you measure into all of this, but go home. Go back to your family, your life. Two have tried their hand at this game and both have gone missing, one for months now. Just do yourself the favor, and go home," her father sighed as he turned and slowly returned downstairs with a sunken figure and his head held low.

She waited until her father was well out of hearing range when she scoffed and jumped up to stand on the turret wall. "Fuck off." She threw her grappling hook to a nearby roof and flew.

Five armed thugs, two thieves, and an attempted raper later she had discovered that the remaining crime family heads were meeting in private beneath a brothel. It was easy enough to sneak in through an unlatched window on the third floor, and easier still to creep from room to room unseen until she was nestled in a hole in the ceiling overlooking the basement below. It was unexpectedly well lit and not damp in the slightest. One long table had been set up in the center, with various men scattered along its sides. She had heard this was to be the largest gathering of the crime families in years, but she only counted a dozen in attendance. With the five figureheads killed by the Joker, many had probably given up.

"Dedrick isn't gonn' show so I guess we should start. Now what should we do about this storm of shit we're in?" One of the middle aged ones spoke. He had greasy black hair pulled back, and a scar across his cheek.

Another spoke up, this one was fatter than a horse and had a servant behind him waving a fan at him. "Batman is gone, Joker's in Arkham, what storm do you see here?"

The scarred cheek man pounded his fist against the table as he seethed, "Aye, but there will be more of em'. Penguin's still runnin' Joker's side of things while he's in chains, and there's that Catwoman still lurkin bout'. Who's to say more of those masked freaks don't seep out of the woodwork tomorrow, or the next day?"

Before any could continue the door flew open. Two massive brutes made their way down the steps, cutting down the three that tried to stand against them. One of them placed a burlap sack on the table. It was damped the color red.

Then a voice spoke that sounded darker and rougher than even Batman's voice. "Open it."

She could not see the source of the voice but knew he was standing in the doorway from the shadow cast upon the wall.

One of the family members reached forward and opened the sack. A head rolled out. It had matted brown hair and its brown eyes had rolled back into its skull.

"Dedrick…" The fat one exhaled in disbelief.

The voice's source made his way down the stairs. He was dressed in flawless white tunic and breeches. His boots were pristine boiled black leather, and his gloves were matching. The man's face could not be seen however, for a horrid, metal skull was clamped around his head. It was black, as if it had been burned for such a long while that the metal was burned. His eyes were visible, but from Barbara's angle they were only glaring white pupils. The hole where the skull's nose was remained as the only visible openings to the man under the helm.

"He was ready to turn on you," the skull helmeted man spoke. "Convinced you couldn't win, he was going to sell you all to the City Watch if it meant saving his own ass."

The crime family members stared up at the frightening visitor in their presence. They knew not whether to flee or order what few men they had left to attack.

"You," he stated, pointing to the fat one. "You said that you think you're safe now that the Batman and the clown are out of the game? Have you been living under a rock you fat fucking fool? It's not just the masks you have to look out for. You think Tywin is going to keep his tail tucked? You think the Kingslayer won't want some revenge? What fucking country do you think this is? You piss people off, you get killed. It's why Ned Stark is dead, it's why Batman is dead, and it's why you're dead."

Before the fat man could even take another breath with his bulbous, quivering throat, a crossbow bolt was jutting out of it.

As one of the two brutes loaded another, the skull helmeted man moved to the front of the table, directly beneath Barbara. "Name's Black Mask. You want to fight masks? You want to survive? Then you'll all bend your fucking knees to me. Or end up like him."

Richard: Chapter 2

Deathstroke tugged on the rope causing Dick to stumble forward and loose his footing. He fell head first into a large puddle of mud. Resting for a moment, Dick let the cool mud wash away the caked sweat coating his face and neck. His captor had had them rushing at such a fast pace in order to put as much distance as possible between them and Gotham.

In the beginning they had horses and traveled on the roads, but with thousands of soldiers traveling west for the Lannisters or east for Renly's camp, they soon had to take to the forests. The forests proved too dense for the horses, one falling and breaking its leg. Deathstroke had put them both down to avoid a trail and they continued on by foot.

Dick was grateful for his many years traveling with his family however, as gazing up at the stars aided him in knowing their course. They were traveling northeast, somewhere in the dense forests between the Roseroad and the mountains defending Hornvale, Deep Den, and farther west, Casterly Rock.

He had been stripped of his uniform, now wearing a plain brown tunic and wool breeches. His hands were bound in metal cuffs and his fingers tied together. His captor was unexpectedly thorough. His feet remained free for travel, but Deathstroke warned that should he try anything it would make no difference if he were delivered with one less foot. It was enough to convince Dick to follow along. Once they arrived to their destination it would be easier to escape without Deathstroke's watchful eye upon him day and night.

Deathstroke rarely spoke, other than the grunted command and orders. Deathstroke told them when they would stop to piss, when they would sleep, when they would eat. They had run into no soldiers or curious smallfolk. These lands were untouched by the war, so people had little need or desire to venture far from their homesteads. Should they have stumbled upon the two of them, they would not live to tell the tale for long.

His captor chose to remain in his colorful armor, and never whispered a murmur of complaint from the added weight. Dick expected the weight would slow the assassin down, but it appeared the man nearly never tired. He would march late into the evening, and rise early before dawn. It seemed the only reason he would stop would be for Dick's sake, as to not slow them down.

One night by the fire, Dick decided to start a conversation with his captor.

"Why orange?"

Slade had been viciously biting at a roasted hare impaled on a stick. "What?" He growled as he continued chewing.

"Your armor, half is black, half is white. Was just wondering why is all."

He spat, "Cuz it's my favorite color."

Dick could taste the sarcasm in his voice. Deathstroke appeared rather youthful for a man of at least fifty. His hair was silver, the corner of his eye's had crow's feet, and the corners of his mouth had wrinkles from the constant flat or frowning expression he surely always made. But he still moved like a man of thirty and could handle his sword with ease in a single hand.

"Mine's red," Dick replied.

Slade stopped his feast as he looked up mildly puzzled. "What?" He asked, already having forgotten Dick's initial question.

"My favorite color is red." Is his mind slipping in his elderly years?

From that night forward Dick was forced to travel with his mouth gagged by a piece of cloth.

After another week, Dick's feet were blistered and sore. Each night of rest was a blessing to him. If they stopped near a puddle or creek he would make sure to rest with his feet in them. This night he had no such luck.

As Dick sat resting upon the trunk of a tree, his sore feet resting in the dry summer grass, Slade surprised him. He spoke.

"You must hate me, eh?"

Dick stared into his captor's eye confused, but made no move to agree or deny the comment.

Slade sighed and continued as he turned his head back to the fire. "I've killed a lot of men, even some women, and a few children. Lords, peasants, queens, even two Khals. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that life is useless. I've killed hundreds, maybe even a thousand or more, and every single one dies the same way. They grasp my arm or their sword, they gasp for those last few breaths that their lungs can muster, and they shit themselves. Matters not if they're living in a castle, a hovel, a large golden pyramid, or underneath the stars in a field, they all die the same way. What they did in life doesn't matter, what they wanted to do in the rest of it doesn't matter. I fail to see the point of trying to live it, let alone fight for it, or fight for someone else's."

Dick wished his lips were free, so that he could ask his abductor why he would kidnap a small boy if life and everything in it were meaningless. Deathstroke had seen Dick's face, if he was observant enough he could even discover Batman's true identity, and yet he didn't even attempt to. Deathstroke appeared uncaring of who the boy was, or who Batman was. He seemed like a tired, lifeless husk.

Deathstroke looked down to his gloved hand. He flexed his fingers, moving them in turn. He was studying them, as if his own fingers were foreign to him.

"Or perhaps these are the views of a man whose returned to life, after losing it," he finished.

Then, from the darkness of the woods surrounding their campsite a voice echoed, "And what of little girls, Slade Wilson?"

Deathstroke was on his feet, masked, and sword in hand at the ready within a heartbeat. He quickly glanced around, trying to find where the voice was coming from.

"Tell me, Slade Wilson, do little girls die in such a way as well? Do they reach for your arm, gasp their breaths, and shit themselves just as all the others?" The voice echoed back. It had an accent to it, one that Dick had never heard before.

"Whose there?" Deathstroke growled in his husky voice.

Then, a man stepped into the light on the opposite side of the fire from Deathstroke and Dick. He had shorter hair, black with streaks of gray, and it streamed down from the top of his scalp along his jaw and wrapped around his lips. He had a sharp nose, and dark eyes that pierced into Deathstroke's. He was wearing a golden surcoat that wrapped around him and reached down to his knees. Atop that was a crimson, boiled leather chest plate and spauldrons. The sigil of a golden sun being pierced by a spear was painted into it, shining in the light of the fire. His hand was loosely clutching a spear, standing as tall as he was. The spear had a golden metal snake wrapping around it before resting its head flat against the blade.

"Answer my question, Half Mask, and I shall return yours," the mysterious man chimed with a delighted smile.

"Yes, I suppose they do. You look awfully happy for a man that's about to die," Slade scoffed.

Their guest chuckled, "I'm afraid I have not come all this way to die."

"You would have stood a better chance against me had you attacked me from the shadows to catch me unaware," Deathstroke threatened.

Suddenly, the man with the spear's demeanor changed as he lifted the spear and lowered into a battle stance. His smile was gone, and now his eyes glared down at Deathstroke. "I am Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne. I have come here this night, Slade Wilson, to take your life, as you took the life of my niece all those years ago in King's Landing with the aid of Amory Lorch and the Mountain. And I would never kill you from the shadows as a craven would. When I kill you Slade Wilson, you will have a sword in hand, you'll be awake, and you'll be facing me, so I can see the life drain from your eyes as you grasp my arms, strain for your final breath, and shit yourself."

So I'm so sorry to everyone that read this upload after watching the most recent episode of Game of Thrones. I didn't even plan to do this on the same weekend. Unfortunately this will be my last upload for a while, so I wanted to leave you on something nice and juicy to get you all excited for the next upload. Deathstroke versus the Red Viper! Hopefully I can do a fight as epic as that justice. When I return expect some new faces, the return of old faces, and I'll be back in a FLASH! ( Totally not a hint ;) )