(A/N): I would have given a great deal to have had Deathstroke in the Gotham Knights game and interacting with Nightwing! Alas, here is a little something I came up with instead.

Nightwing stared down at the city streets below, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He observed several police patrol cars making their rounds and moved deeper into the shadows just in case the officers decided to gaze upwards. They were far more prone to do that these days with the commissioner's new stance on the illegality of vigilantism.

He missed the years when Jim Gordon was Gotham City's police commissioner, their slightly uneasy truce with the department usually working to both their advantages. But mostly he missed Blüdhaven. Not that the police force was really any friendlier back home but at least they weren't actively taking shots at him when he was spotted moving throughout the city.

But he had seen the records at GCPD, ones that pertained to Nightwing and the others. Since they were sister cities, the GCPD had decided that it could try and put pressure on the BPD to help in their investigation on the heroes found in their neighborhoods. Going so far as to demand that they hand over any information they might have gathered over the years. He knew Blüdhaven wouldn't like being bossed around by Gotham but wasn't sure if they'd take a solid stand against them in this matter. His city was just as corrupt, if not more so, and there were many who didn't like his presence there.

He sighed, considering the situation he and Batman's other protégés had been forced to undertake. By now, Gotham's criminals had noticed that something strange was happening on the side of justice. Batman hadn't been seen by anyone in weeks and the underworld was starting to talk. They were turning towards darker and more risky ventures. And Nightwing had to plan their patrols accordingly. More often than not, their nights would be noisy, having to take down multiple attempts at various crimes, which ranged from armed robbery, to breaking out an ally on their way to jail, to trying to kill a witness, and anything they could think of in between. And it was all paired with the constant feeling of some far greater threat lurking just out of sight.

Nightwing shook his head, trying to clear it and keep focused but he was exhausted. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since Bruce's death. Both the nightmares and the enormous responsibility dropped unwillingly onto his shoulders were enough to wake him in the dead of night when all he wanted to do was slip into the blissful oblivion of sleep for a few hours. It was starting to show in the sluggish movements of his limbs, and would soon move to his reaction times if he wasn't careful. No one had made mention of it so far, but he knew the others were watching him.

His eyes followed a car racing down the empty street and wondered how long their investigation would take. He couldn't stay in Gotham forever. He wouldn't. He had a life to live, one that he wasn't going to give up just because Batman was no longer around to protect Gotham. Eventually he'd, at the very least, have to get back to work; Blüdhaven's police department wouldn't allow him a grievance period forever. He needed to make plans on what to do about Gotham's future and move on. He needed to get the others to a healthier place mentally, one where he could be confident they could take over and not rip each other's, and in the case of Red Hood, the criminals', heads off. He huffed, so far that was nothing more than a pipe dream, and he was running out of ideas.

Abruptly, Nightwing quieted his movements and cocked his head, but didn't freeze or turn around, not yet. He hadn't exactly heard footsteps behind him but rather the whisper of something that didn't quite fit into his expected environment far up on the rooftops. Had one of the others broken off their pattern to join him? They knew they weren't supposed to but they weren't always ready to obey his orders. Vaguely, he wondered if they needed to talk and felt it easier to do so out in the night rather than in the Belfry where any of their little group could walk in and overhear.

He huffed and rolled his eyes under his mask when nothing happened for another minute. "I can feel you there, you know, you might as well come out."

Nightwing finally turned when he sensed a presence land without a sound on the roof behind him. But what he saw was not at all what he expected. "Deathstroke?"

The massive mercenary stood across from him, tall and imposing, in full orange and black armor and metal mask, as casually as if he and Nightwing had scheduled this rooftop rendezvous.

"You're getting soft, kid, if you thought my movements were from one of your little Bat family," he chuckled affably as their eyes met.

Nightwing snapped his jaw shut, trying to consider what Deathstroke could be doing here, in Gotham, tonight. Was there some sort of big game contract out that he wasn't aware of? He had gotten fairly good at deciphering what jobs might garner Deathstroke's appearance in Blüdhaven and knew that nothing of the sort had been offered in Gotham. There were too many players on the board only out for themselves right now, to hire out jobs as expensive as the Terminator.

His train of thought was interrupted when his comm suddenly crackled and a rough voice spoke in his ear. Red Hood out on patrol in another part of the city. "Wait, what? Did you just say the name Deathstroke, Nightwing? He's here?"

"He's standing right in from of me," he confirmed, feeling no need to hide the fact of the mercenary's surprise appearance. He had already said the man's name in his astonishment and the others would only come descending on him if he ignored them. Deathstroke, for his part, hadn't moved any closer or gone for any of the many weapons strapped across, and hidden on, his person.

"I'll be right there, Goldie. Hang tight."

"Wait, Wing," he hurriedly spoke, before the other man could get very far, "there's no need." He glanced at Deathstroke again and felt certain he was right. "There won't be any fight."

He heard Red Hood snort amidst the sounds of rustling clothing and the night's breeze. He was undoubtedly leaping across rooftops, heading for wherever he had stashed his bike. "Hood, I'm serious." Nightwing was surprised when he heard Jason actually pause at his firm tone. "Keep with your own patrol. I'll be fine." And not waiting to hear any further protests, he muted his comm.

"Always have been a bit overprotective," Deathstroke commented nonchalantly as he finally moved closer.

He shrugged, knowing it was true. "They mean well. What are you doing here, Slade?"

Nightwing watched in amazement as Deathstroke worked the catches on his mask and soon he saw the familiar black eye-patch and well-groomed white hair and beard. "I heard about Wayne," he said matter-of-factly. "I came to see how you were doing, little bird." His words were said with concern so utterly sincere that Dick had to immediately bite the inside of his cheek and look away, gripping his arms tightly around himself. His mask would not be forgiving if he let tears escape.

When he finally took a few deep breaths and felt he had control of his emotions again, he looked at Slade. "Not too great actually," he admitted, as though his reaction hadn't given that away already. He walked towards the roof's low wall and sat, dangling his feet over the high height. Slade's eye followed each of his movements.

"I thought as much. Running the whole show yourself now?"

He shook his head, though he was sure Slade already knew the answer. "It's not just me. Batgirl, Red Hood, and Robin were brought in as well."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Slade give a smirk, "And I'm sure that's working out wonderfully for you. They're all taking orders like the good little soldiers Batman expected them to be?"

Dick raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips at the man's sarcastic tone. "Not exactly… everyone is butting heads, insisting that their way is the right way."

Slade shifted as he considered him. "You're not unfamiliar with leading a team of misfits."

Dick sighed. "No… I don't know, it's just… it's different, you know? Taking the lead because you want to and others are willing to follow your direction versus because you have to otherwise the whole damn system will fall apart." He shook his head sadly. "The four of us are together because of a loss, not because we want to be. We're all a mess. How do I help the others when I am just as lost and broken as they are?"

He desperately missed Bruce and his ability to keep everything together. This city, his siblings, him. In spite of everything, how they had so often butted heads, he knew it hadn't always been like that. Dick missed the man's voice in his ear the times he would come up to Gotham for a random visit and stay for patrol. He missed being able to call him at random hours to talk about nothing in particular and Bruce would stay on the line because he knew how much Dick just wanted to know someone was there and listening. Bruce's death had ripped a hole in him that only seemed to grow larger with every passing day, the edges shredded and oh so very tender.

Slade was quiet for a while and Dick wondered if he had gotten too emotional, if the man would cite something else he had to do and leave him here, alone. It wasn't often he would do that, but one could never tell with Slade Wilson.

However, the man took a few steps forward, bringing him to the roof's wall that Dick was currently perched on and lowered himself down beside him. Without any conscious thought, Dick scooted across the few inches that separated them, until their shoulders were touching. He could feel Slade freeze momentarily at the sudden contact before he let his muscles relax, surprising Dick by putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. Dick leaned into the touch, the warmth, the contact that told him someone cared.

Slade let out a deep sigh, "Little bird…"

Dick's eyes closed briefly at the term of endearment, trying hard to draw strength from the other man. He knew for all the man's tough and stoic exterior, that Slade harbored a soft spot for him. And right now, he craved every ounce of compassion he could get.

"Losing the Bat might be a bigger blow than any you've experienced before, due to the myriad of repercussions it has sent out. But I don't think it's anything you can't handle. You've always been good at landing on your feet, kid."

Dick brought his legs up close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and propped his chin on his knees, staring off into the distance. He hummed, "I'm not so sure anymore, Slade."

Slade shook him slightly, his frustration leaking out as it always did when Dick questioned his own abilities and value. He knew Dick had too much talent and fortitude to ever be worthless, and was always trying to get him to see that. "Wayne was good at making everyone around him doubt themselves. He placed his standards of merit to a height that no one could possibly reach. But you don't need to try and measure up to the Bat anymore."

"He cared about us. Wanted to make sure no one would get hurt out in the field." Dick barely registered the words in his brain before his mouth automatically formed a defense of Bruce. No matter the man's faults, he had taken him in, taken them all in. He had shown them a positive way to take on the darkness of the world.

"That's impossible to prevent. Look at what we do, the people you go up against."

Dick snorted softly, knowing it was the truth but still unable to admit it out loud. They were all covered with countless scars and burns, had each met with so many injuries. But still they kept at it, all of them believing that what they were fighting for was far more important than their own health.

Slade grunted and Dick thought he might be tiring of his pity party, but didn't know what else to say. He had been fumbling with his thoughts and words for weeks now.

"I didn't know you were so eager to take up the Bat's mantle."

Dick reared back and gaped at Slade, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "What? I'm not. Why would you—?"

Slade crossed his arms as his voice grew rougher with annoyance. "Then why are you trying to continue running this city like him?" He waved a hand out into the night. "I hate to break it to you kid, but Gotham City hasn't exactly improved much since the Bat started his crusade. You got more costumed freaks, all wanting a piece of the action. Crime is still rampant. So why not try things a little differently? Why not try them your way?"

Dick was quiet as Slade's words sunk in. He stared out at the glittering city, listened to the numerous sirens as police raced around the streets. He made a noise under his breath, wanting to hit himself for his stupidity. Slade was right. He had been trying to run Gotham as Batman had always done. In the shadows, through fear and the threat of something worse.

But that had never been his way. Even by Batman's side he had been the light and playful side to Bruce's dark and brooding nature. And when he couldn't take it anymore, he broke off, becoming Nightwing, a new kind of hero. One that had been raised and trained by the Batman, but wasn't him.

He sat quietly and allowed his thoughts to continue along this new path, one that had a light at the end of the tunnel, one that might see a city and its citizens just a little bit safer. A small smile came to his lips as the possibilities opened up to him. For once, he was actually finding himself eager to return to the Belfry later in order to try and start implementing his new ideas. Perhaps if he stopped trying to act like Batman, the others would be more open towards what they were supposed to be accomplishing in Gotham.

He nodded slowly, his words coming out measured, "You're right. Without meaning to, I've been acting like Batman. Trying to slip into boots I never wanted to wear." Dick whirled his feet back onto the roof and stood, brushing imaginary dirt off his suit. "But that ends tonight."

He tilted his head and considered Slade as he too stood and started to put his mask back on. Somewhere along the way, he had come to count on the man's ability to snap him out of his own despair. It was strange to think of how much their relationship had changed over the years. How, at the beginning, all of his thoughts of Slade had been tinged with an obsessive fervor, that had quickly turned into shaking nightmares, but had slowly evolved into something he valued as much as his relationships with his family and friends. Now he knew he could count on Slade to give him assistance in a heartbeat if he asked for it.

"Thank you for coming, for always keeping an eye on me," he said earnestly, "I guess I needed someone who was willing to listen and had no stakes in this. Someone who wasn't just seeking to console me in a time of grief."

With the mask on, Slade's expressions were hidden once more but Dick could feel the smirk being aimed at him. Then, Slade came within arm's reach and placed his hand on Dick's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Any time, little bird. Can't have you falling apart now. Who else would take my punches so well?"

A smile started across Dick's face. "Well, don't even thinking about getting up to anything in Blüdhaven just because I'm not there."

Slade chortled, "I've already received reports that Superman has been hanging around there. A bit of overkill, wouldn't you say?"

Dick's grin widened further as he shrugged, "Perks of being his favorite."

The older man shook his head skeptically, "Must take being from another world to be able to put up with you. Or perhaps it's that unending well of optimism you both drink from. It's rather sickening to stomach, you know."

"Oh don't be like that; you know you love me too," Dick teased, knowing he'd never get the mercenary to admit how deep their comradery ran, but enjoying himself all the same.

Slade merely snorted but Dick could read the humor in his eye as he made his way to the roof's edge. "You know my number. Give me a call if you need me."

Dick thanked him again and without another word Deathstroke leapt off the roof and into the night.

He stood amidst the quiet and allowed himself a few breaths of the cool night air before he spoke, "I know you're there, Little Wing."

Ultimately, he had known it would be impossible to stop his brother from rushing to his defense, despite his protests that he could handle Deathstroke. After all, hadn't he proved that he was more than capable of doing just that time and again? But Nightwing knew he had pretty much guaranteed Red Hood's presence when he had silenced his comm so the others couldn't listen in. As Slade had remarked, his family could be an overprotective bunch, though none would admit it. But he wouldn't trade them for anything.

For just a moment Nightwing thought Red Hood was going to pretend he wasn't there, but finally he moved out of the shadows of the next building and leaped across the short gap.

"I told you that I had it handled," he informed his younger brother, crossing his arms and pursing his lips.

Red Hood replaced his weapons in their holsters with as much obvious fuss as possible. Dick raised his eyes to the sky in exasperation, sighing deeply. He was sure that those pistols had been trained on Deathstroke for as long as Red Hood had watched them. He would not have doubted the younger man's willingness to shoot the mercenary, no matter how useless the gesture would have been, just because he could. "Yeah well, I've never liked the bastard."

Nightwing looked to where Deathstroke's bulky form had disappeared off into the night, feeling calmer than he had since they had first come across Bruce's burned and broken body in the wreckage of the Manor, those few short weeks ago. He knocked his shoulder into Red Hood's, "He's not so bad."

Red Hood scoffed and pushed him back. He had never liked Deathstroke's intense interest in Dick, how he always seemed to know just where to find him and what he was working on.

But more recently, Jason had become intimately aware of the history that existed between Dick and Slade, the information accidentally slipped from Dick's lips one night when he had been having a bad couple of weeks and couldn't keep his demons at bay any longer. That new knowledge had only reinforced his brother's overprotectiveness, ensuring that he would never be willing to indulge in Dick's insistence at Slade's 'good intentions'.

But he supposed that was okay. Dick didn't need Jason to believe in the depth of the messed up, hard-to-understand relationship he had with Slade Wilson. He was glad that his brother was watching out for him in case there ever was a time when Dick misread someone.

So Nightwing merely looked at his not-so-little brother and smiled, before making his own way to the roof's edge. "Come on, we still have a whole night of patrol to do."

And as Red Hood's grumbles reached his ears, he leapt off the roof and into the night.