Teen Titans; ReBeL Yell – If I Had Stayed a Renegade-

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Don't knock it Till You Try It!

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RENEGADE BEING DOPY AND DRUNK FOR THE FIRST TIME. SLADE GIVES HIM A WHAT FOR, NO SLASH. JUST GOOFY HUMOR AND A BIT OF THAT SOBERED MEMORY OF THE NIGHT BEFORE. DICK TURNS 21 AND THE NIGHT IS STILL YOUNG!

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"NO."

Slade's tone was harsh. Dick knew that the man didn't DO rewarding others or getting loose as his kids no longer put it, but Dick had just turned 21 and this was flipping in an English Pub! Why were they stopping off in London; finishing a job west of the country to only stop and see Wintergreen with his family on holiday in Oxford?

Well, it wasn't just coincidence. Dick had put the heroes back in Gotham and Jump in the back of his mind to protect them for years.

He'd gone through a full-blown epiphany at age nineteen.

Stomped on Batman's "law" before slamming the gates shut behind him while seeing his parents for their memorial (since they were buried nearby.)

He'd killed and taken lives to keep his cover, going through being shoved inside a cramped, hot prison cell in Istanbul before smoking his way out, guns blazing while Slade got the chopper into position.

At seventeen, he'd nearly started on a downward spiral until Slade had him see sense and went through a second mental breakdown before he was put in time - out for like, another year!

Slade was mean. Just, plain wrong and…. Dick was glad for some god - awful reason that he was also very literal at times.

It made it easier to tell Slade to butt out of his conversation - with a red headed bar gal in the pub they'd decided to rest their legs in for cheap winking over. She was thirsty fir a tip and his saved up quid, not the other thing as Slade raised a brow.

"You are to stay away from that bar tonight." He pointed his finger at the ebony twenty – one year old jock. "That's an order –

"Why?" Dick flashed his mentor a wise look, seeming out of place for where they were right now. "Slade. C'mon. I'm legally ok to –

"You drink like a fish, Grayson." Slade stamped on the man's whining.

"At least I remember to floss afterwards after every sip."

Slade groaned and threw a hand over his face.

He was doomed. Dick had taken every chance to purge his feelings into one bottle of whiskey and gin. If he EVER took the oath thrice next time, Slade would erase his apprentice's sense of taste for that one flavor he so loathed about now…

Alcohol. Man's folly. An outdated antiseptic for those who were dragging their feet in the mud.

Science was coming a long way. He had the supplies to invest in such a resource to undo the kid's fouk habit, but…

Dick was not easy to pin …oh, he was already looking at the bar gal.

Great.

"Down, boy." Slade tugged the male's arm as the ex – hero's glance looked totally if not all, desperate. He was miserable. He wanted out? Fine.

Slade looked out at the bar and saw the luckiest break he'd ever know. London. And guess what piece of work frequented this shoddy fixture…

But a good old, Johnny C.

Slade would have hugged the man had he not been trying to stay anonymous. John knew a Deathstroke, but not a Slade. Not really. Not since the time he'd gone off the radar and banished a bear – snake monster in Scotland (from my Constantine real world series.)

John was also chatting it up with a blonde staff who wasn't really all that interested in wankers.

Slade hatched a plan. "You want me to change my mind, Dick? Go over to that man over at the table across from us and take his glass."

Take John's rep and use his own ammo. As long as John knew nothing about Grayson going rogue in his universe, they could work it all out by the end of the night.

"Why?" Dick frowned at Slade, trying to squint to see past smoker's high island just what his "master" was implying.

"He hates a contest but loves a challenge. If you can beat him at darts, I can get over your shenanigans for tonight."

"But…" Dick looked at the bar and then at Slade again. "Aren't you telling me to get into some, shenanigans right now?? Am I being pun –

"Listen." Slade crooked a finger as Dick listened to the man's explanation. "I don't like Johnny over there. You barely have met but he owes me. We are going to empty his pockets and have a little fun while doing it. But NO alcohol." Slade dragged out a round pill case from his back pocket. "This will counter anything if you are forced to stoop to their level. I just need enough time until John is blasted and stomping to the "loo," so you can act as a likely distraction while I work." Dick bit his lip, chewing on it while mulling over the details in the back of his mind.

"Isn't Constantine JLA material?"

"So? You took on the bat and made him look your way." Slade replied with a congratulations long since overdue for one – upping the dark knight. "Just like I taught you; deception is a vital part of keeping your energy in the dark."

"Unless he starts looking around for a light." Dick grumbled and thought for one, that he'd rather get a stern talking to and go back to the hotel right now.

Well, that thought was out the door, but not him.

Slade had s bone to pick with that vagabonde by the wall, and he meant every word that Johnny would owe him a few thousands by the time he'd finally gotten sobered up.

"Ready, great detective?"

"What's the catch."

Sitting back, Slade decided to raise the stakes. "Whatever you do, he cannot find out about your identity or mine. Now, go. Make your dear old teacher, proud tonight..."

/

John was hog tied into that dart competition, or would be once Dick spilled a good beer all over the man's trench by pure accident, pinning it on his company.

"Oy! That's my only clean spare. You don' hold up too well, do ya…whoa! Did we let a minor in here, Chuckie?" John's eyes boggled and Dick really couldn't blame anyone. He looked too young for his age, his parents had too. Good genes but yet, poor presentation as Slade did another groan with his face plant in the background.

"I'm allowed; I just turned twenty-one, dude!" The snippy kid lied, seeing as he'd turned a few months ago. This would have been his first bar fight if that "Chuck" had gotten to see.

"You wanna take this out back? A' –

"I want to play you, at darts."

The crowds turned to stare at the American hot shot and their regular from Liverpool (or Wales in Matt Ryan's case.)

"With those puny noodles you call fingers?" Laughed the drunken magi. "Am I being pranked? What's the catch, lad? You want me to back off and let you drink yourself into the seat cushions?"

"I want to win and be allowed to finish my night out without having YOU or your little crew to deal with."

~ Well done, Dick. Just push a little and they'll give you are reason to brace for impact. ~ Slade sipped his beer and watched the scene as if it were staged perfectly – for it was.

Slade didn't know that John could sense old auras from a great distance as his cool blue eye zipped a ways and located Deathstroke. Slade nearly forgot to swallow as John had him pinned to the booth by an unfortunate evil eye curse.

"Damn." Slade scowled between gritted teeth.

"Aright, mate. You've got yourself a showdown. Set up the board, Chuckie! We'll have a new winner on the wall by tonight." He called out to the staff as a rather large board was set upon the farthest wall inside the pub.

"You get five turns each." Chuck said to the competitors, handing them their sets as John grinned smugly and imagined this to be a pretty close bet. Slade was in it to put holes in his pockets? Really? More like in his head by THAT death glare… Yet, for the kid doing a three sixty, he doubted that very much. The kid was the one out missing for years; a lot little Robin, and it was obvious that he wasn't going to play coy to have the magi's full attention. His footwork was that of a trained warrior's, while John just knew where to hit the target in the center every time.

Even in the dark, as if by magic.

"Ready, ya' louts? Okay! We'll start with the rookie; can he do it?" Chuck patted the kid's back to push him a little into the space he'd be playing.

" No!" The crowd one side shouted aloud, bar - joined in their efforts.

Slade had to wait for them to quit their rambling as he sipped and watched calculatedly – the boy was assured a victory if he kept his head on his shoulders, John was known to be a con man by nightfall. He also knew at this time that the kid was trained to fight in actual battles.

Slade wondered if going blonde was the wrong call, ah. Of all the things to fret over!

Dick lifted a dart from its tray and held it steady, one flick and it hit, dead center.

Dick crossed his arms and grinned, letting the others know that he had his big boy panties still on.

John nodded back and knew magic was cheap, but still –

He sent it, and Slade acted. Wilson got a bottle cap and launched it at the dart so that its presence was missed by the naked eye.

"Wha –

" Ohh! I think we will need a new picture frame up in the pub. John's got his fists pumping, tonight!"

Slade sat back and took another sip, knowing Constantine had his eye on the master, not the pupil who'd just hit another dart in the ring of fire.

The crowd went wild, and Dick felt something suddenly just go wrong.

His wrist was shaking, but not from a simple muscle strain.

A memory, as a performer.

His eyes shut as Dick took to gripping at another dart, but dropped his piece in a careless fumble. John almost started to think the kid was suffering under Slade with some flashbacks, so he took to whispering to his dart to protect it from flying projectiles this time.

It hit, but it still made a wobble before landing in again, dead center. Slade gritted his fists and took yet another slug of his beer. "Come on." He muttered under his breath. "Get it together…"

Dick nodded, as if hearing the elder's words. Seeing that getting kicked out for acting like a stupid kid wouldn't sit well for even his deflating ego.

Slade's? He didn't care about that; he was just after Johnny looking like a –

"Said all you had to say to me, mate?" John rasped as he leaned over to help pick up the kid's dart. Whispering beside the younger gent, he was sure this would bring the kid to his senses. "Daddy's worried sick. Ready to ditch this lil' gimmick a' yours, lad and come home?"

"No." Snorted the boy, eyes blue and hotly aiding in Slade's attempts to rattle the leaguer.

"Fine, have it yer way." John stood and went to his darts to hit one in. Slade wasn't ready to make the man pay for treating Dick like a victim.

~ Not, yet. ~

Dick licked his lips, stance regulated under Slade's one-eyed gaze.

John just gave the man a snide lip on his end, seeing as he could win.

Eh, or…

A dart landed in the center, but it wasn't from Dick's opponent's hand.

Slade sat up, his beer sloshing by his shock.

John had thrown, and had then lost.

While Dick had hit a perfect ten.

On purpose.

Oh, that just made Dick groan by how he was being treated right now. And Slade saw it!

HE wanted to join the merc in putting John on the spot, but refused. He'd be too desperate for the attention…

John dragged out a cig and chuckled to the brat on his right. "Tight score, mate. You earned the title. See ya, maybe in the big bad city…" He hinted not Gotham in that wave towards the back, yet Slade slunk by to catch the magi's crafty glance.

It clearing saying; " come and get me, wanker."

Dick slumped back into his booth, congrats going all around, people saying that John was off with his showmanship tonight. That a mere "kid" had packed quite a wallop.

And Dick felt sore, like a loser. A really big fib and it felt so…

Wrong…

He sighed and went to find Slade, probably giving the other –

"Bloody ' ell ! Doesn't anyone ever knock first??"

They were at it; but with gun and book, not whips or swords.

Dick stood gaping in the doorway to the back lot. "What are you doing ??"

"I told you he was looney, Richard."

Slade put the pistol up as John only crumpled to his knees. So little space to work wit, cornered like a dirty rat! How bloody amusing

"Your prison guard has had it out for me, but this time he says I've crossed it by fumbling the ball. This is just a –

"A dishonor, and of the worst offense."

"Slade!" Slipping between the two, Dick tried to mediate. "I'm free to do my own hits, but this…is juvenile!"

"You've been at the bar, lately, beastie?" John asked with a snicker. "Your insatiable lust for killing your enemies stone – cold dead must only measure by your tolerance for the good stuff. Eh, or… Is he just as drunk?"

Slade snorted through his bloodlust as his nostrils flared up dangerously.

Gun still loaded.

"Come at me, wizard. If you dare to push again, I'll –

"Slade, he's not worth it." Dick rubbed his temples and sighed. "Let's just go home…. I'm tired."

"The kid still thinks like a future –

"Oy – oy! Pistol is a bit much, bloke! Can't we talk about –

"Admit that you purposely lost to piss me off and that you won't tell a soul about who that boy is. I know you've had the Bat's number; you tracked us here on a whim, my ass."

He cocked his gun to get a reaction, watching John lower his head, hands up and book vanishing. "If it gets you off my case, fine. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose. I lost because the kid doesn't belong in these sorts of dens. He's like a lamb to the bloody slaughter."

"I'm telling you…I just got my reason to be here! I'm twenty – one!" Dick pressed on his chest, telling this idiot that looks could deceive.

"Hum, time sure flies, eh? Oh, but you won't gett'a quid outta me, DS." Smirked the magi, making Slade narrow his one eye beneath the strain and fatigue of WANTING to end the bastard's career.

"I've gotten diplomatic immunity from the league, just like you. And if you ever want this kid to get the funny picture you've painted, then drop the tough guy act."

"Damn it." Slade did, and John only backed up to dust off his trench. Like he'd been rolling in earth all night.

"Better, mates?"

"I wish…" Dick groaned and hugged his arms to his chest. "I'm so done with this night."

"Maybe when you finally have enough kills, you'll appreciate a free night to roam. But for now, this is where we part."

Slade nodded to John as he and his protégé left John in the back lot.

Once they were gone, John let go a hard sigh.

He tugged out a device from his coat pocket and spoke into it, a single comm unit allowed through the Justice league's labs. He had a few words to get out before heading to his flat for some zzs, and Zee's company.

"Renegade is quite a character…different, but I saw how he couldn't face the damned mastermind…You're right."

~ How was he. ~

"Bats…." John seethed in a breath, rarely getting this gushy over a kid barely knew. "I think I'd better start from the beginning on this one…Have a drink with me." He lit another cig and looked up into the London night air. "I've got a lot to tell you about what he taught me."

/

When they'd returned to the safe house, Dick saw Slade run into the bathroom no sooner than when they'd gotten ahold of the knob. He waited in his room to get a chance to wash up, but Slade took a rather long time in there…

"Sir?"

"Ung…. That wizard…. punk…" Slade coughed and vomited back into the toilet.

The magi's sneaky evil eye had nullified his lovely long-standing tolerance to alcohol, so naturally? Wilson's body had tried to remedy the situation by having him purge all of his fish and chips, drunken down with tequila…eye eye…. damn it! He WASN'T a damn rum – drunk pirate!

"Should I call up, Will??"

"No, it'll pass. Get me some toast and a bit of… tea. I'm ready… ung…!"

"Shoot!" Slade slammed he door shut as Dick ran to the kitchenette to whip up a cup of herbal. If Slade ever had a hangover, it was magic that had b…

"Oh, that is wicked…." Dick chuckled. John knew a drunkard when he saw one, and in the end, he'd won their little fist fight. No weapons, just wit alone. It was no wonder Slade hated the man.

He laughed to himself.

They were total opposites!

Maybe when he was older, a good time at a pub would make sense, but he had time to decide if being like Slade or John was really the route he wanted to go down.

With a second cup, Dick made himself a little tea to sooth his nerves. He wondered if Batman had really not given up, if he was still out there. Hoping Dick would pull a Red Hood and become his lap dog on the side. Here, he was supposed to be Slade's partner and heir one day. That had to be true, but by how Slade was upset at how he'd been treated by Constantine…maybe –

" Blleewrrh !!"

"Coming!!!" Dick just dropped his thoughts. Right now, he really wished Will would come back from vacation.

He sighed. As always…Slade could be such a handful, at times…

/

Slade's one weakness? Unpredictability. I kid you not. His imagination is very straightforward so he'd not be a very good freeform artist. Too stoic. And John is such a box of chocolates! I love that dynamic. Dick is a bit of both, very flexible (pun for the acrobat!)

Slade and John however, are in very few comics together, though my other arcs on show them butting heads. It's kind of similar to Bruce or Ollie's relatinship but not as anti – heroes of course.

Well? That's that for Dick staying away from the bad, but Slade got blasted by that spell and ended up burping his guts up. Hah, anyway, more one shots to come. Let me know if a poll to see if one of these should become a fic! Thanks, and read on, stay curious!