Teen Titans © DC Comics

86. Picking up the Pieces

He had nothing, but his guitar to remind him of his father. The mute was alone in the world, forced to live his life on a vacant mountain, surrounded by emerald, jade, brown, and gray of the mountains. Joseph Wilson was still in a child in the world, knowing the arts and survival. Joey was a social boy, filled with kindness and love in his heart. He enjoyed singing when he could and making music; he was a prodigy in his own right. His mother and father encouraged him to continue his passion, and Joey was a happy boy, a beautiful child with a prosperous future.

However, the incident happened.

"Oh, God! Joey!" Adeline Wilson, his mother, screamed and covered her mouth.

"M-Mom?" Joey stammered, arms forced behind his back.

The assassin gripped his waist, forcing his arms behind him, and a knife to his throat was placed without mercy. His boss remained a few paces away, and to this day, Joey remembered what they looked like. Adorned in their crimson and shadow-colored uniforms, they held an air of hatred and superiority. He caught eyes with the boss, an uncaring, loathsome creature if he ever caught one.

"Adeline, don't grovel," Slade Wilson, his father and skilled mercenary, ordered. He crouched low, donning a metal mask with an assortment of gray and black covering his body. Gripping his sword tightly, he aimed it in front of him and remained platonic.

"Are you crazy? He's our son!" Adeline shrieked, throwing her arm as her brunette locks swished in her fury.

Joey sniffled, metal edge of the cool blade resting his throat. "D-Daddy?"

"So, Mr. Wilson, what are you going to do?" the boss sneered.

"Nothing is more important than our son!" Adeline barked.

Slade raised his sword, silent as an assassin should be. Joey caught eyes with his father, lime green eyes pleading with him to for a rescue. Hesitation was vivid in his father's stance, and Joey felt lukewarm tears roll down his puffy cheeks, whimpering for Slade to save him. Slade flicked the sword over his head, ready to throw.

"My bond is!" Slade roared, chucking his sword expertly at the man's head.

"Now! Kill him now!" the boss commanded.

Joey's body stopped functioning as the knife shredded his throat, and he felt nothing. No pain, agony, or suffering for a few brief moments as his crimson blood gushed out in torrents. He tried screaming, but his mouth worked like a fish out of water. Through the knife's reflection, he saw the sword implanted deep through the man's eyes and buried into his brain. Death was instantaneous, but for Joey, it lasted a life time.

He heard his mother wail as his vision clouded. Slade appeared over him, commenting that he was alive. Joey felt shadows eat at his sight, invisible demons devouring his eyes as his father picked him up. Joey tried to speak, but bubbling blood constricted his throat, and the words died in a sea of rising scarlet. Joey passed out in a red haze.

…

Joey remembered waking up to bright, fluorescent lights and his mother's angelic face hovering over him. Adeline reached out to him, gently stroking Joey's cheek and soothed him once he attempted to speak. She informed him that he was in a hospital, explaining the scent of sanitary products that lingered in the air. When he opened his mouth, Adeline instantly quieted him, placing a slender finger on his mouth.

"Joey, I'm sorry, pl-please don't…" Adeline whispered, bringing her yellow coat around her tightly as Joey opened his mouth, trying to talk. "You-you can't speak!"

Joey shook his head, ripping his lips open to scream, but no sound emerged. Clutching his throat, he silent shrieked to the world, tears flooding down his paler cheeks. Stopping suddenly, he felt a strange deformity along his neck. A jagged, coarse marking crossed his neck, frightening him as he fell back into the hospital bed. Shivering, Joey snatched the blanket and tucked it over his head as his mother's harsh sobs split through the air.

Hours later, after Adeline left, Joey learned that his mother shot Slade in the eye, blinding him from one of the nurses. Another hour later, she filed for divorce. Joey could not sleep as the horrendous flashback continuously flashed through his mind. He was only twelve years, anyway.

During his night in the hospital, Joey thought of his incarcerated brother, Grant Wilson, otherwise known as The Ravager. He had followed in their father's footsteps, becoming Slade's more preferable son even though Slade still loved Joey. Yet, Joey felt the sting of betrayal rush through him. If he were Grant, would this have happened? Would his father have given in order to save his precious Grant?

Joey closed his eyes, blocking out the world to darkness before removing himself from his bed. He gazed at the stars, thick and bright, and he saw the Pegasus constellation. Its' wonder and grandeur surged across the black night, flying freely throughout the world. How Joey wished to ride that sweet, earnest Pegasus, to flee from the madness that contorted his once perfectly peaceful world.

"Joseph."

He jerked around, finding his father standing there in his mercenary get-up. Joey said nothing to him as Slade continued. There was nothing he would say if he could.

"Come with me," he ordered, voice soft and low.

Joey shook his head.

"Joey, listen to me."

Joey placed his hands onto his ears, rapidly shaking his head, mouthing "no".

Slade grumbled pitifully, kneeling down in front of his youngest son. "I love you, Joey. You're the only one I have left, and I need to do this for your own protection and mine. One day, you'll understand or maybe you won't, but I can still save you from me."

Before Joey knew it, a syringe was stabbed into his wrist. Joey's mouth became a thin, creased line of electrified shock. Instant sleepiness overcame him as he leaned wearily into Slade. He felt himself become like a father, dainty and weightless. Slade heaved him into his arms, walking out when Joey drifted off to darkness.

…

When Joey woke up, a bug was on his face. Silently yelping, he slapped the fly off and sat up. He was on a mountain, large and gray with it seemingly stretching on forever. Joey's urgency instantly swept over him as he shakily drew to his feet, surveying the land for anyone. He yearned to shout, but no one would hear the poor boy due to his condition. Dread consumed him like a wave crashing down, spoiling the tranquility he once had.

Joey found a paper stuck in his hospital nightgown. Pulling the crumbled note out, his eyes read the words repeatedly, drinking them in. He dropped to his knees, gasping breathlessly. Quietly, he covered his mouth and continued to shiver. The paper fluttered from his grasp and into the wind, but Joey remembered everything the note said.

Dear, Joey,

I love you, you know that, but this is the only way I can protect all of us. The ones I killed were going to get you in the hospital before Adeline could get you in the morning. I couldn't let you die. This group of teenaged brats called the Teen Titans captures Grant's wasting away in jail since he was a fool, letting himself. Joey, you're the only one I have left. I need you to stay alive. I've lost your mother and brother, but I can still protect you. I made a cottage for you at the summit of this mountain. It's a short distance, and you should see it over the mountaintop. It has everything you'll need to survive. I'll come by every now and then to supply you with more necessities.

Your father,

Slade Wilson

P.S: You're in India.

Joey struggled to his feet, wiping his eyes and started down the mountain towards a fair, white cottage like the kind in fairytales. He lived there for two years, living in tranquility and peace. Slade's visits were far and few, providing him with what he needed and went on his way. Joey became the local hero of a few villages, discovering his unusual talent of body-jumping that no one could explain. He took the name "Jericho" upon his fourteenth birthday, excitedly telling his stories through sign language that Slade taught him. Joey, now Jericho, could see his father was proud of him, and upon his final visit, gave Jericho a simple guitar.

"It was mine when I was your age," Slade informed as Jericho worked magic upon the strings. "Take this."

Jericho stared at the bag Slade placed on the wooden table. Searching through it, he revealed a bright purple tunic with black boots, a white undershirt, and black pants. Slade explained it was his uniform, his hero costume, and Jericho eagerly changed into it. Slade smirked from underneath his mask, stating he looked good.

Then, Jericho possessed him.

Almost instantly, Jericho came out, frightened and horrified. Slade backed up, gaping in horror as Jericho traveled back to his seat and sat. He saw his father's memories, watching the dread he caused: destroying the innocent life of a girl named Terra; stealing the revered Robin to be his apprentice; using two elemental brothers named Thunder and Lightning to attack others unwillingly; hiring a team of juvenile villains to kill the Teen Titans; and working for the imperial demon, Trigon. Jericho shuddered, glancing anywhere that his father wasn't.

"Why did you do that?" Slade snarled, advancing maliciously.

To see what you were really doing, Jericho signed. You've spoken so much about the Titans during your visits that I wanted to discern fact from fiction.

Slade remained quiet, turning away. "Goodbye, Joseph."

Jericho said nothing, but took the guitar and began playing. Once Slade left, and he heard the door slam, he shot to his feet and ripped the door open. When Slade faced him, Jericho extended his middle finger. Slade's sole eye widened, getting into his chopper, and Jericho smirked, closing the door. Pleased with himself, Jericho sat down and strummed along his new instrument. Life was finally going pretty well.