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Slade never likes staying in Gotham. It’s why he charges double for any job that brings him into this shit town. As if having to deal with Batman and company weren’t enough, he also has to deal with all the psycho maniacs that could be running around on any given day, instead of locked up in Arkham Asylum where they belong (and that's not even mentioning the fact that the institute is a joke all by itself). So, he likes his Gotham jobs short and sweet: get in, get out, no distractions.
Which is why, when he comes home one day to find a body busy dying on his doorstep he’s less than pleased. His first thought is to toss it into the nearest dumpster and be done with it. He kicks it over with his toe and the thing rolls onto its back, and Slade finally sees the trouble. The man had his throat slit.
And, suddenly, Slade’s filled with thoughts of his son Joey and how he couldn’t save him. How Joey had to struggle for weeks and months to learn how to communicate again. And how Slade was noticeably absent for all of it, too guilty to look his son in the eyes.
It’s stupid, Slade knows. This man isn’t Joey. And nothing he does for this man is going to make up for all the things he didn’t do for his son. But he also knows he can’t go through the guilt of turning his back a second time, regardless of how illogical the entire thing is.
So, he picks the unconscious stranger up, dumps him on his couch, stitches up and wraps his throat, and prepares to nurse him back to health.
It’s a dumb idea. He doesn’t know this man, and Slade’s no caretaker. And, yet, here he is, unable to do anything else.
It’s when the man wakes that Slade’s able to confirm exactly how much of a dumb idea this has been. Because the stranger doesn’t wake up like a normal person; he wakes up like someone who’s used to being held captive. His breathing and heart rate change, but nothing else. He’s lying there, pretending to sleep, as he tries to blindly categorize his environment.
“I know you’re awake,” Slade accuses. He’s pulled up a chair from the kitchen to draw it close to the couch and watch him sleep. Creepy? Maybe. But Slade doesn’t want this man running off until he gets some answers. He also doesn’t want him dying on his couch.
The man, at least, doesn't keep pretending. He opens his eyes, surprise showing clear on his face when he sees Slade. There’s recognition there; he knows who Slade is. He runs his hand up his face and through his hair. Feeling for a mask, Slade can guess, but there isn’t one there and hadn’t been when Slade had found him: just some ripped-up clothing and empty guns. Of course, the man’s a mask. Slade should have already guessed. This is Gotham, after all. Slade hopes he’s working for one of the psycho maniacs as opposed to working for Batman; he doesn’t need bat trouble on top of everything else.
“Captured,” the man says, his voice coming out in a croak.
It looked like it hurt, but he can still talk, which is better than Joey got.
“Nah, kid, I didn’t capture you,” Slade answers. “You came to me.”
The man struggles to sit up from the couch, but he does eventually manage it, even if he’s breathing hard and has a wince on his face by the end. “Why?”
“Hell if I know,” Slade replies. “I can only assume you were trying to get somewhere else and ended up here. You remember where you were trying to go?” Slade’s more than happy to make the man someone else’s problem.
The stranger shrugs, looking at the floor. “No where.” He waves his hand as if brushing away a fly. “No place.”
‘… for me.’
Slade can hear it, even though the man doesn’t say it. “You can crash on my couch if you want. For a bit.” It’s a stupid offer, but he says it without even thinking about it.
The man’s eyes widen and, fuck, he looks young. Slade wonders how old he is in comparison to Joey. Is Joey older than this man … this kid? Or is he younger?
“No money,” the man croaks. He shuffles his feet off the couch, and he looks like he’s about to try to stand, but Slade’s glare freezes him in place.
“Didn’t ask for money, did I, kid?” Slade’s ready to shove the kid back onto the couch the second he tries to get up. “What’s your name?”
The man blinks at him. He eventually relaxes back down, but his feet are still on the floor instead of back on the couch. “Jay.”
“Jay,” Slade repeats. “And how old are you, Jay?”
“Enough.”
Slade snorts. “Yeah, gonna need a number there, kid.”
“Eighteen.”
Younger than Joey then. And that’s if he’s telling the truth. Eighteen could mean eighteen or it could mean anything younger than that. Slade shouldn’t have asked. It just makes him feel worse. “You got parents?”
Jay shakes his head. “Dead.”
And that’s … well, that’s the way of the world, isn’t it? Slade can’t help it that the world sucks.
“I'm staying in town a couple more days,” he hears himself lie. “So crash on the couch until I leave.”
The kid looks at him with wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and a slightly open mouth. He's got questions, Slade knows, but he doesn't ask any of them. He just nods, croaks out a, “Thanks,” and slowly lays back down, turning his body away from Slade.
Giving his back to a mercenary. Slade doesn’t know whether to be insulted or worried that the kid’s suicidal.
But if the kid’s suicidal it’s not his problem. He'll be gone soon enough. It's fine.
It's fine until that night when the nightmares start. Screams sound particularly painful coming from a slit throat. But everyone's got nightmares and everyone's gotta get through 'em. And Slade’s not good at comfort anyway, so it's best if he just keeps out of it.
Then the kid starts begging his dad for mercy and Slade really can't stand to listen anymore. He's out of bed and in the living room in the next second.
The kid's curled up on the floor, tear tracks on his cheeks, as he whines and tries to convince his dad not to kill him.
Slade wakes him up by kicking him in the ribs.
The kid, to his credit, doesn't complain. He just quiets and then stiffens, staring up at Slade like now it's Slade who's about to murder him.
“Back to bed,” Slade says before sliding one hand underneath the kid's knees and another at his back. He lifts up and goes to dump the kid on the couch, but the kid clings.
And Slade’s too tired for the fight right now. So he sits on the couch and lets the kid stay in his lap, and they fall asleep like that.
Slade wakes up with a crick in his neck and a kid that will no longer look him in the eye.
Which is fine. The kid's only going to be here for a couple more days. There's no reason for Slade to expend the energy to ease the awkwardness. He cooks him breakfast, shoves it in his face, and leaves the apartment for the rest of the day.
If he scours the city trying to figure out what happened to the kid, that's his own business.
He's treated to a repeat performance the following night. The kid wails and whines. Slade hears the thump this time, when the kid falls from the couch. If the continued pleading is any indication, he doesn't wake up from the fall this time either.
Slade sighs, drags himself out of bed, and kicks the kid in the ribs again.
The kid reacts the same way he did the first night. He suddenly quiets and blinks up at him.
“I'm not sleeping on the couch again,” Slade tells him before picking him up and walking back to his bedroom.
The kid thrashes as soon as the bed’s in sight. “Wait.” The voice comes out scratchy and painful and panicked. “Don't. I'm not-”
Slade dumps him on the bed. “Shut up and sleep,” he commands before walking around to the other side and lying down facing the wall.
The kid quiets then, but doesn't make any movements. He seems to sleep in the exact position that Slade had dumped him in.
The next night Slade wakes up to the same whining and pleading. When Slade comes out to the living room, the kid’s on the floor again, and Slade kicks him in the ribs again. He doesn't struggle this time when Slade carries him to bed. He does, after several minutes, snuggle into Slade’s side.
Slade doesn't deter it.
The following night they skip the couch altogether and crawl into bed together. The kid sleeps on Slade’s chest and doesn't wake him up with any nightmares.
The kid's been staying with him for a week before he finally says something unprompted.
“I should get outta your hair.”
He says it over breakfast and it sends Slade into a mild panic. It's true the kid’s better now. His voice comes out stronger, less scratchy, even though he still doesn't talk unless he’s answering a question. And his stitches are out. The wound on his neck is now just a solid pink line.
But Slade doesn't want him to leave. He still doesn't know what happened. And he doesn't want him going back to whoever the fuck did this to him in the first place. The kid already said he didn't have anywhere else to go. Said his parents were dead, except he seems to be terrified of a father who’s willing to kill him.
“You can stay a couple more days,” Slade says instead of voicing any of those concerns. “My contract was extended, so I'm in town for a bit longer,” he lies.
The kid swallows and nods. He looks down at his breakfast. “Okay then,” he finally says quietly. “A few more days.”
A few more days turns into a few more weeks, and Slade really needs to pick up a contract soon if he doesn’t want people to start talking about his absence. Except every time he talks about letting the kid stay in his condo without him, the kid talks about leaving. So, Slade keeps turning down contracts as Wintergreen gets more and more irritated with him.
Wintergreen clearly knows something’s going on, but he doesn’t know what yet. He knows Slade’s still in Gotham, knows Slade’s been asking about an explosion that occurred near Crime Alley, but, thanks to the kid not setting foot outside the condo, he’s got no idea of Slade’s new roommate. Which is good, because Slade wouldn’t hear the end of it if he did.
Slade, for his part, still has no idea what happened. Some sort of showdown between The Joker and Batman as far as he can tell. It doesn’t explain what the kid has to do with any of it. Slade had thought, for a second, that he might be hosting a Robin, but he’s been watching: all Robins are accounted for. Grayson’s in Bludhaven, Drake’s in Jump, and Gordon’s still female and in a wheelchair.
His kid doesn’t have the build of any of the Robins anyway. And Batman doesn’t have any other associates that Slade knows about, unless the kid’s from the Justice League, which he seriously doubts. He will admit though, that Justice League members are notoriously hard to account for: never know which of them are off-world or jumping dimensions or whatever other crazy shit those hero types get up to. But if the kid's a meta, he hasn't shown any powers yet, and he definitely doesn't have any enhanced healing, so that’s most of the Justice League members out anyway.
And no one in any of his circles is reporting an absence of any mask: hero, villain, or other. Slade’s starting to think maybe he got it wrong, and the kid’s just an ordinary civilian.
Slade still doesn’t ask. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to get involved, even though he spends his days seeking out answers. The kid doesn’t speak unless asked a direct question. He spends most of his days staring at walls, which is mildly concerning. He’ll eat and drink whatever Slade puts in front of him, but never asks for food or drink. It’s another concern.
Slade does eventually break and ask the kid what happened to his neck. The kid just rubs at the scar and tells Slade that it’s about time he left. Slade has a very strong feeling that if the kid leaves he’s never going to see him again. So, he lets it drop. Tells the kid it doesn’t matter, and he can stay a little longer, because Slade’s contract got extended a few more days, so he might as well.
He wonders if the kid knows it’s a lie by now.
It’s several weeks into the kid’s stay when Slade gets proof that the kid is definitely not an ordinary civilian. The kid’s on the couch, staring at a blank TV like it’s actually showing him something. It’s normal enough for the kid at this point. Slade grabs his shoulder, ready to try, yet again, to get the kid to give him some sort of opinion on the food he likes to eat, because Slade’s growing more and more annoyed at having to keep guessing.
One second his hand’s on the kid’s shoulder, the next second Slade’s on his back staring up at the ceiling and the kid’s terrified face.
“Sorry,” the kid sputters. He blinks rapidly. “Sorry. I thought- Sorry.” He steps away and escapes Slade’s vision.
And Slade stays on the floor, working the air back into his lungs and wondering when the last time he was so caught off guard was. Then he hears a door open and slam closed, and Slade’s forcing himself up and after the kid who had just run away.
Slade runs after him. The kid can’t have had more than a thirty-second head start, but Slade can’t find him. The kid’s gone.
Not that Slade’s going to let him go so easily. Slade’s a tracker, after all. And even if the kid has had what he can only assume is League Training (the last person to put him on his back like that was Lady Shiva, and he recognizes the move now that he’s had the time to think about it), it’s not going to be enough to hide from Slade. So he spans the city in a grid pattern, making sure to pay special attention to any abandoned buildings and hidey holes.
Turns out, the kid’s not hiding. Slade finds him on the street twenty minutes later, staring at a TV set through a storefront window. This TV is at least on , and the kid’s not looking at this one with a comatose look on his face. His face is a blotchy red and there are tear tracks on his cheeks, even though he no longer looks like he’s crying. No, he’s glaring at the newscaster. Slade realizes he’s never actually seen the kid angry before.
Slade approaches from the side this time, instead of from behind him, because he is capable of learning lessons. And he studies the TV, trying to figure out what’s got the kid so angry. The Joker’s escaped Arkham again. It’s typical for Gotham, although it’s a quick turnaround time. The clown had just been placed back into Arkham maybe a month ago. “Clown’s always escaping,” Slade grumbles out, alerting the kid to his presence.
The kid doesn’t so much as even flinch. “Yeah.” He clenches his teeth and continues glaring at the TV. Slade just stands next to him. Waiting. “I’m going to go kill him,” the kid finally announces. “Either that, or I’m going to make him finish what he started.”
That’s concerning on multiple different levels. Is the kid in bed with The Joker? Some sort of stockholm syndrome like Harley Quinn? But then Harley has never threatened The Joker’s life, as far as Slade’s aware.
But the kid’s already disappeared by the time Slade’s thought of anything to ask. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he looks up this time, and sees the kid swinging from the roof of one building to another, heading for Amusement Mile. And where did the kid even get a grapple?
Slade does his best to follow after him, even though he has no equipment to get him up on the rooftops with him. It’s because the kid’s running across rooftops and Slade’s stuck on the streets that the kid meets The Joker first. And Slade doesn’t know why he does it, but he doesn’t run in immediately after the kid. He listens at the door instead.
“You're more of a cockroach than a little bird, aren't you, little birdie?” The Joker laughs. “Or is it that when you break a bird's wing it comes back as a cockroach? Some sort of metamorphosis? It would certainly explain why Daddy Bats doesn't want you anymore. He only collects birds, not cockroaches.” He laughs again, high and grating.
It's a telling rant. Slade remembers a Robin, between Grayson and Drake. He hadn't been around long and Slade hadn't been around Gotham during his run. He hadn't even learned the Robin’s name before he'd been killed. And Slade hadn't given him two thoughts since. It was Batman's problem. Batman's trauma. Except Batman's trauma somehow found his way to Slade’s front door. And Shade has somehow become attached.
A gunshot goes off, and for a second Slade’s sure the kid's done it and The Joker's dead. But then The Joker's laughter rings clear.
“What's the matter, little birdie? You told me before you had good aim. Did you lose it when your daddy slashed your throat open? Or do you secretly not really want to kill me? We've had good times together, haven't we? First, we got to watch your mommy betray you. Then, years later, your daddy. If those aren't bonding experiences I don't know what are.”
The kid doesn't say anything. He doesn't deny it. He doesn't scream about it. And Slade’s heart might break a little bit. He might be a piece of shit, absentee father, but at least his kids always had their mother.
And that's putting aside the fact that Batman is supposed to be a hero while Slade's the villain. Slade’s the one who's supposed to be leaving his kids for dead (not that he ever actually would). Batman is supposed to be the hero who tries to save everyone. Surely that would extend to his kid sidekicks the most.
There's another gunshot and The Joker laughs again. “If you're looking for a new daddy, I can oblige. I don't mind that you're a disgusting little cockroach. I can make you something better than you are now. I can be the person that wants you.”
Slade’s spent every second since meeting Jay being stupid: letting the kid stay at his place, turning down contracts so he can stay in Gotham of all places, asking around about an explosion the Bat caused, and risking drawing attention to himself. None of that compares to the next stupid thing he does.
“I want him,” he announces loud enough to be heard over The Joker's laughter. He crosses into the room, making his presence known and not even having the forethought to draw a gun first. You know, because he's an idiot.
Jay looks like a mess. His eyes are red, his face is even splotchier than the last time Slade had seen him. Tears are actively rolling down his face and his bottom lip is bitten bright red. He's also crumbled on the floor, half crouched, half sitting, hugging his knees with one arm extended out aiming a gun (badly) at The Joker. He does not, luckily, look injured.
“Oh yeah?” The Joker answers, his smirk widening. “He does look good, all messed up like that, doesn't he? You should see him when he bleeds . Absolutely lickable .”
The gun goes off again, but it lands in the wall instead of The Joker's head. “Shut up,” Jay demands through clenched teeth. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up .” He clutches his head with the hand not holding the gun. “You're a fucking maniac. Why are you better than me?” His voice cracks. “What makes you worth saving?” He bites his lip again. It looks painful.
“He's not better than you,” Slade replies. And it's stupid that he's here getting involved in the first place. So what's the difference if he keeps digging the hole? “And he's not worth saving. Batman's opinion isn't the only one that matters.”
Jay jerks at that and fixes wide eyes on Slade. Whether he's surprised that Slade knew this was about Batman or he's surprised to learn there are more opinions in the world than just Batman's, Slade can't say.
“Want me to prove it?” Which is a dumb question prompted by a dumb idea. But Jay nods so Slade takes out his own pistol and shoots The Joker in the head.
They can't stay in Gotham after that. Luckily, Jay also becomes a lot more clingy after that. He doesn't talk about leaving anymore. Always follows Slade so they're in the eyeline of each other unless Slade gives him explicit instructions to be somewhere else.
So, Slade gives him gear and weapons and starts taking him on jobs. The kid takes direction without question and he's highly capable. Slade can see the Bat training, but there's also plenty of League training in him, which suits him well.
The kid still doesn't talk.
But it's fine because it's not as if Slade's a talker himself.
The kid still doesn't ask for anything, but that's fine too, because whatever Slade gives himself he gives the kid. Slade eats; Jay eats. Slade sleeps; Jay sleeps. Simple. Easy.
They still share a bed, which is not a problem, regardless of how Wintergreen feels.
They don't step foot in Gotham anymore.
They do, however, several months later, accept a job in Bludhaven. Slade likes to think of it as a calculated risk. The Bat has every reason to believe Jay’s dead. Slade's been regularly seen with what everyone assumes is his apprentice (Jay scoffs at the word when they're alone, but he's never corrected anyone), so no hero is going to be surprised to see them together. It’s a quick job: he just has to put a bullet through a particular man’s head, and then they can leave again. It won’t take longer than a single night. And recent intel suggests that Nightwing is currently helping out in Gotham.
It turns out that recent intel is incorrect.
“Slade,” Nightwing growls as they're about half a mile away from a newly dead body courtesy of one Deathstroke and Partner. “What do you think you're doing in my city?”
He comes up from behind them, and Slade can try to run. He should try to run. Except he's never really been much of a runner. He turns to face him instead and Jay mimics his movements. “Just doing some cleanup,” Slade answers. “You're welcome.”
“I don't want your kind of cleanup,” Grayson replies. He takes a step forward just to freeze and turn to Slade’s shadow. “And you. I thought Slade getting himself an apprentice was just a rumor. Do you know what kind of man you're working for?”
Jay nods his head but doesn't vocalize an answer.
“You sure about that?” Grayson asks. And maybe Slade should intervene, but he doesn't. He's, admittedly, maybe a little curious if Grayson can get Jay to speak more then one-syllable sentences. “This man is more likely to leave you for dead than help you.”
And Jay takes direction; he doesn't act on his own. Or, apparently, that was the status quo until tonight. Because tonight he pounces with no prompting from Slade.
He aims a kick at Grayson’s knees and even though Grayson spins out of the way Slade can tell it hit. And Jay follows, with no hesitation. He's brutal in a way that Slade’s never seen him before.
Slade also realizes at that moment that he's never given Jay a name to go with his mask. ‘Slade’s shadow' is what people normally call him, but Slade has never called him anything. He can just direct him with a head tilt because he's always watching Slade. Except he's not watching Slade now.
And the brutal way he's going after Grayson is going to leave a permanent injury, and then they'll have bats on their tail.
“Shadow!” Slade tries even though he's never used the name before. Jay doesn't slow.
Grayson falls on his back and Slade knows, just knows Jason's about to go for his throat. And he knows he's not going to miss. And Slade doesn't want to watch this shit play out for a third time. He doesn’t want to see another throat get slit.
“Jay! Stop!”
And Jay does, miraculously, stop. He freezes in a crouch, having been ready to jump onto Grayson, daggers in both hands. He looks at Slade and straightens back up. Then he walks back over to Slade so he's standing behind his right shoulder again, like nothing ever happened.
Grayson looks between the two as he bounces up from the ground, a frown on his face. “That's quite a loyal dog you've got there,” he says slowly.
Jay doesn't move, but Slade unsheathes his sword. “Call him a dog again and you'll learn exactly how easy I've been going on you for all these years,” he growls.
Grayson's hands immediately fly up in surrender. “Okay. Fair enough.” He turns to look over Slade's shoulder. “He said your name is Jay?”
Jay doesn't even nod this time.
Slade crosses his arms but also doesn't say anything. Either Grayson will finish making his threats and leave or they'll fight. It's the way interactions between them work.
But Grayson just keeps asking his annoying questions instead, acting like Slade isn’t even there. “And how did you get wrapped up in Slade, Jay?”
“What's with the twenty questions, Grayson?” Slade snaps, and the other man immediately stiffens at the name. Right, because it's supposed to be a secret. And Grayson doesn't know Jay used to be a bat.
“He helped me when my old mentor left me for dead,” Jay answers, his voice flat.
Grayson stiffens more at that, but he doesn't let it deter him. “Oh. So you have a type then?”
“Why? You trying to ask me out?”
It catches Slade off guard. Jay isn't open to banter or discussion. He hardly answers direct questions. If anyone deserves this side of Jay it's Slade. Certainly Grayson doesn't deserve it. Why the fuck had Grayson been when Jay was bleeding on Slade's doorstep? Slade had checked; no one had ever looked for Jay, Grayson included. He belatedly realizes that he's growling.
Jay glances over at him, but he turns back to Grayson as soon as the embarrassing growling stops. “I'm not interested, since I'm obviously already taken.” He nods his head at Slade.
And they aren't like that. Or, at least, they never have been before. But the easy way Jay accepts it makes something possessive grow in Slade’s chest.
Grayson glares at Slade. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised, since that's how you manipulate everyone. First, you tried it on me. When that didn't work you went after Tara. Now this guy. There's no stopping you, is there?”
Jay asks the first question Slade ever remembers him asking. “Tried what on you?”
“Tried to flirt with me so I'd agree to be his apprentice. Tried all sorts of shit after that too, when his first attempt didn't work. But seducing is definitely his normal move.” Grayson tilts his head at Jay. “Sound familiar to you?”
“You and I are nothing alike,” Jay growls.
Slade hasn't seen him angry since The Joker. He wants to see him without the mask, so he knows what the kid looks like angry without the tear tracks running down his face. He wants to ask why he’s angry at Grayson, when it had been the Bat that had betrayed him. But he can't without giving everything away. He doesn't know whether Grayson will be happy or upset to learn his brother is not dead, but he does know that he'll tell the Bat. And the Bat’s possessive. If nothing else, he'd come for his kid, whether it's welcome or not. And like hell Slade's giving the kid up.
Grayson doesn't seem to know that he's walking dangerous ground. “You sure about that? He used to try and direct me with head nods too, you know. And when that didn't work he commanded me around like a dog. But there are better mentors out there, if that's what you're looking for.”
“It's not,” Jay snaps, his voice hard. “And you don't know me, so stop acting like you do. You know nothing about what I want.”
“Okay,” Grayson agrees easily. It's a typical move of his: act like he has someone’s best interest at heart so he can learn their motivations and weak points. Then he'll exploit them.
And Slade should interrupt. He should stop this from going further. But Jay knows his brother. He knows how he manipulates people. Jay won't fall for it, so Slade doesn't need to intervene.
“Why don't you tell me what you want then?” Grayson continues, setting the perfect trap for anyone looking for a friend.
Unfortunately for Grayson, Jay has no interest in such a thing.
“Why? If I tell you, are you going to help me?” Jay scoffs.
It's not an opening into their lives, but it's not an outright rejection either. It makes Slade tense. Jay doesn’t act on his own. It makes this interaction too unpredictable. Still, Slade doesn't say anything.
“Maybe,” Grayson offers with a shrug. “If I think you have a good reason for wanting it then I will.”
“I want Slade to be happy,” Jay declares. “Are you planning to help me with that?”
It's news to Grayson, obviously. He stands there for a few seconds, his mouth hanging open, before he seems to gather himself back together.
It's news to Slade too, and it takes a lot longer for him to put himself back together.
“There's no reason for you to serve a man like Slade,” Grayson tries to argue. “You don't owe him anything.”
“You know nothing ,” Jay snaps, snarling. “He saved my life. League rule dictates that my life is now his.”
And that's … Slade didn’t know that. Everything suddenly feels … off. Does he not talk because he thinks Slade doesn't want him to? Does he not ask for anything because he thinks he doesn't deserve it? Is he only doing jobs with Slade because he feels obligated to?
“League?” Grayson asks. He takes a step closer and Jay growls. Grayson freezes, his hands coming back up in surrender. “I just want to understand.”
“No. You want to change me.” He takes a step back and looks at Slade. “I want to leave now.”
It's the first time Jay’s admitted to wanting something since he went after the Joker.
“Fine. Let's go then.” He runs forward and kicks Grayson off the roof. The kid won't die, but it'll definitely take him some time to mentally recover. He takes Jay and they run in the opposite direction.
When they get back to their hotel room, Slade finally starts asking questions. “Were you ever going to tell me that you're here out of obligation?”
Jay removes his Deathstroke mask and blinks at him. “Does it matter why I'm here? If I'm useful, then-”
“You realize League thinking is centered around all of those freaks serving Ra’s, right?” Slade interrupts. “It's a cult. You get that?”
“What's your point?”
“That you shouldn't follow the rules of a cult,” Slade snaps.
Jay just glares at him.
Slade grits his teeth against the non-answer. If that tract doesn't work, he'll use another one. “Someone saved your life before, right? Had to have, with what the clown did to you.” Jay’s never told him what happened, but Slade had dug into it on his own. He had learned about the explosion in Ethiopia and had read the autopsy report. He tries not to feel bad when he sees Jay cringe. “So why aren’t you with them ? Don't you still owe them your life?”
“Talia,” Jay answers.
Slade doesn't know much about Talia except that she's Ra’s daughter. He can't imagine her letting a servant escape.
“After several years she decreed that she would like to see me living a life that's my own, so I left.” Jay shrugs as he looks at the floor, shoulders tense.
Easy enough then. Slade can do the same. “Fine then. I-”
“Do you want me to leave?” Jay interrupts. “Because I'm not brainwashed or anything. I wouldn't be here if- I mean …” He shifts on his feet. Bites his lip. Glares at the ground. “I thought you said you wanted me,” he whispers.
“I do want you,” Slade answers before he even thinks about it.
Jay turns his glare from the carpet to him. “Then why are you trying to send me away?”
“I'm not interested in working with someone who feels obligated to me.”
Jay raises an eyebrow. “Your history suggests differently.”
“Don't tell me you're acting like this to manipulate me,” Slade snaps. But the kid pouts, and Slade has his answer, doesn't he? “Holy fuck.” He rubs his temple. He wants to ask who messed this kid up so bad, but he already knows, doesn't he? Street kid turned Wayne kid turned vigilante turned Joker victim turned Al Ghul ward turned assassin. Slade could see where it would mess someone up. “You don't have to manipulate me to stay with me, kid. You can just say you want to stay.”
“I want to stay,” Jay says, voice even. “And I wasn't manipulating you. If I wanted to manipulate you, I would have slept with you.” He smirks when Slade’s mouth falls open. “What? You think Dick’s the only one who noticed that pattern?”
Slade wants to argue, but he’s also glad Jay’s finally talking instead of staring at the wall like a zombie, which is his normal M.O. after a job. “What if I said I was also interested in seeing you live a life that’s your own? Where would you go?”
Jay goes back to staring at the floor and shrugs. “I don’t know,” he admits softly. “The night you found me …” He bites his lip. “There were never any plans after that. I … I didn’t exactly plan to make it out.” He looks up, a stubborn look on his face. “And I like working jobs with you. Can’t this be the life I want to live now?”
Slade doesn’t know if he wants to address that suicidal streak. He’s concerned the kid was prepared to die. That he expected to. But it’s in the past now, isn’t it? And he has no idea what he’d say anyway; he’s no therapist. “Sure, kid,” he says instead. “But I do expect you to start speaking up. I need you to keep telling me what you want.”
The stubborn look falls off Jay’s face. He goes back to biting his bottom lip. “That won’t annoy you? You promise you won’t …” His gaze shoots back to the floor. He grits his teeth. “You aren’t going to kick me out if I say something you don’t like? Or if I don’t want to do something?”
Slade sighs. He wonders if that was how it was living with the Bat or with Talia. Maybe it’s the way both of them are. Or maybe the kid’s just overly cautious, since he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. “Nah, kid. We’re stuck with each other now.”
After months of living with him, Slade finally starts learning about Jay.
Jay’s favorite food is chili dogs. He’s passionate enough about this to scream at Slade when Slade makes his distaste for them known. The next day they’re on a flight to Gotham. Their first time setting foot in the shithole of a city since The Joker’s demise. Jay drags him to a very specific run-down food truck in the heart of Crime Alley for the messiest chili dogs Slade’s ever seen. It’s a stupid risk for a stupid food. But it’s the first demand Jay’s ever had, and Slade finds that he’s not able to say no. They are, admittedly, not bad.
Jay’s favorite book is Pride and Prejudice. When Slade admits that he finds the book pretentious Jay screams again and makes the second demand he’s ever made. He insists that Slade re-reads it. The book is a lot more enjoyable when read out loud in Jay’s deep, lilting voice.
He likes neapolitan ice cream. Slade is quick to learn that Jay will throw a fit if he doesn’t get all three flavors in a serving. Slade’s never been an ice cream fan, but now there’s always neapolitan ice cream in his fridge. He brings it out after they get home from every successful job. Jay still won’t eat unless Slade does, so he’s developing a taste for it.
Over time Slade learns that Jay has a knack for languages: Spanish, Japanese, French, German, Italian, and Russian have all been exceedingly helpful. It opens up their job pool drastically. Slade’s never been good at other languages, and he’s awful at accents. Normally he doesn’t waste time on things he’s bad at, but he does enjoy watching Jay try to teach him, so he’s currently learning German.
On August sixteenth Slade learns that it’s Jay’s birthday. He mentions it carelessly while they’re on a stakeout studying their newest target. Two days later Slade buys him two Twin WE Hi-Capa 5.2 K pistols, which he had learned is Jay’s favorite pistol. Jay stares at them, a confused look on his face as Slade explains they’re a late birthday present. Silent tears run down Jay’s face as he tells him he hasn’t celebrated a birthday since he was fifteen. Slade immediately marks the day on his calendar to ensure it’s never forgotten again.
Jay loves the theater. Slade learns this when one of his regular clients offers him box seats to see Wicked, and Jay absolutely flips his shit over it. Slade had only accepted them to be polite, and hadn’t intended to go. He doesn’t tell Jay this, having just watched the kid light up and go on a twenty-minute rant about how Wicked is one of the best shows in the history of theater. He prepares to sit through it while trying not to fall asleep. He ends up watching Jay’s smiling face instead of the play. It’s riveting.
Jay blushes when Slade calls him beautiful, regardless of how many times he does it. If Slade does it enough in rapid succession before Jay can get him to stop then the blush will spread down his neck and to his chest. Slade calls Jay beautiful almost every time he takes his shirt off, just to measure how far down the blush spreads.
Jay has extremely sensitive ears. He moans every time Slade pulls one of his ear lobes into his mouth to suck on it. But the upper shell of his ear is particularly sensitive. If Slade licks it he’ll get a full-body shiver each and every time. Slade can't help but be pleased every single time he does it.
Jay makes delightful little noises every time Slade picks him up now. It’s just a small, quiet ‘hmph,’ when Slade hefts him up. It doesn’t seem to matter how Slade carries him either. He can pick him up while he’s lying down and end up carrying him like a princess. Or Slade can pick him up and hold him up by the thighs, their chests pressed together. He’s even picked him up and slung him over his shoulder a few times, Jay’s ass at Slade’s eye level. He never fails to get that little noise as soon as Jay’s feet are off the ground.
Jay doesn’t like being restrained, which Slade finds out very quickly the first time he catches Jay’s wrists and holds them above his head. Jay panics and begs in a way that Slade very much does not like and thrashes against him. Slade quickly detracts and presses kisses to his face and neck in apology. They don’t have sex that night; mood successfully killed. Instead, they lie in bed, Jay on top of Slade, chests flush together, as Slade rubs his back until he falls asleep.
Jay does like it when Slade’s restrained, which is a new experience for Slade but one he’s quickly getting used to. Those are the nights Jay takes care of him, which is also a new experience for him that Slade’s quickly taken a liking to. He’ll suck his dick, demanding that Slade not move a muscle and then ride him, and all Slade has to do is watch his beautiful partner use him in whatever way he wants.
It’s nice and easy in a way Slade’s never experienced before. He can’t get enough of it. He feels so lucky that it was his doorstep that Jay had landed on that morning so many months ago.
END