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To be honest, Deathstroke took his job very seriously. And he took being considered the best among mercenaries especially seriously. He worked hard for it. You know, so he could casually drop a phrase about his schedule being booked for six months in advance.
Everyone knew that mercenary work was a good social ladder. But few knew that among mercenaries, there were also their own categories and «prestigious» assignments.
So, if you had been invited by the League of Assassins for ten years to guard the heir's son during her business trips and meetings, that was prestigious. That was the shit. But if you weren't invited for the eleventh year, it was very upsetting.
Slade was angry, grumbled, and constantly complained to his kids and ex-wife. Adeline told him to go to hell. Joey was glad because every trip his father took to the League added more gray hairs to him and his mother. Rosie thought the League was missing out by hiring some no-names and ignoring him, but they could also go to hell if they couldn't see their own good fortune.
And the man agreed with all of it. But how infuriating it was! As if to spite him, the number of orders had decreased. No, there were still plenty, but the waiting list was no longer six months – only three. And all because of a mysterious mercenary in red who had suddenly appeared in the League.
The guy was clearly young, judging by the rumors circulating in mercenary circles, but built like a bipedal bear and excellently trained. There was literally no information about him. No one knew where he came from, who trained him, or even if he grew up in the League or joined them later.
Gossip from various sources differed drastically. Some said the newbie was from the League, secretly trained all these years, or a new recruit previously trained by monks of a secret order, or a newly emerged meta kidnapped by the League. Some believed he was either one of Talia's few surviving brothers, or her eldest son, or her young lover.
Slade didn't believe any of these rumors, but he knew only one thing for sure – the kid was clearly the bodyguard of Talia's son, because since his very first appearance, they were constantly seen together in public. And that meant he was also a top notch master. The League's heir never skimped on her son's safety.
***
The irresistible desire to have a full-fledged sniper duel with that League bastard grew exponentially with each passing day.
The kid had poached some of his clients, not to mention that the League no longer hired outsiders. Now the Red – yes, the rookie lacked imagination, naming himself after what he wore – was confidently climbing the ranks of successful mercenaries, which incredibly pissed Slade off.
It wasn't that he envied the youngster's success or feared for his own position, but there was something wildly irritating about it.
***
Deathstroke was putting his rifle in its case after another completed contract when he spotted the Red out of the corner of his eye. He was calmly sitting on a neighboring roof, hidden in the shadows. Either scoping out his target or spying for the League.
The man frowned. There was something suspiciously familiar about this guy's movements. As if they'd met somewhere before. Slade had definitely seen someone who, before setting up a rifle on a tripod, would sway it side to side a few times.
Suddenly, the Red shifted towards the edge of the shadows, raised his hand, and... waved at him. That little bastard waved at him!
How dare he?! Some third-rate League of Assassins whelp waved at him, Deathstroke the Terminator, like an old acquaintance! Slade swore he wouldn't let this slide!
***
And the man indeed did not let it slide.
First, he tried to find out more about the mysterious League mercenary himself. But, alas, the more Slade tried to dig up the truth, the more improbable the gossip became. Deathstroke wasn't about to believe that Ra's al Ghul drank tea with the Red on each Friday and shared memories about his wild youth.
The attempt to corner the kid on a mission and have a little chat also ended in failure. The first three times, the Red managed to evade him, and on the fourth, he was met by Talia asking: what did he want from the League?
Realizing he'd achieve nothing this way and only will find more trouble, the man stopped spying and reluctantly abandoned the plan to simply shoot the annoying competitor off.
***
Rosie ran away from him a week later, calling him an unbearable whiny twerp. Joey ran a couple of days later – left an eloquent bottle of antidepressant pills on the table. Adeline blocked his number.
The world was so damn unfair.
***
Slade was in the kitchen when he heard the gravel on the driveway start crunching under motorcycle wheels, along with the quiet rumble of a muffled engine. It was a sudden and very unpleasant sound.
Actually, only four people knew about this house's existence: himself, Adeline, Joey, and Rosie. Considering the kids, who had deigned to return yesterday, and he were in the house, and his ex-wife had gone to the other end of the country for work, the situation was intriguing.
The man grabbed a knife from the counter, took a pistol from the cabinet, and went to greet his guests.
***
The first thing Deathstroke saw was the color. The motorcycle parked on the driveway was such a bright red that it completely overshadowed the person riding it.
Until now, the man had never seen the Red in person without his gear, only hearing from others about what he looked like or might look like, because goggles and a half-mask hid his face completely.
The guy had matured. Grown significantly taller and broader in the shoulders. Put on muscle. But his facial features, even sharpened by adulthood and covered with scars, were still the same.
"You little brat," Slade whispered in astonishment, approaching the suddenly alive and well Jason and wrapping him in a bear hug. "I thought you were dead."
"I was, Uncle Slade, I was," the guy replied with a laugh, unsuccessfully trying to break free from the mercenary's strong grip. "Are you still renting out assistants? Mother said you were so zealously searching for information about me that you even alarmed Grandfather. So I came to say hello and send regards to Rose and Jo."
"Well, no, it's not going to work like that," Slade laughed and, with one motion, turned the hug into a hold. "You're kidnapped and taken prisoner for at least a week! Until Ra's himself comes for you, I won't even let you out of my sight."
"Don't let me out, then," the former Robin replied calmly. "Consider me on vacation and ready for adventures. Shall we go hunting, like in the good old days? I finally learned how to hold a rifle properly."