Nightwing One Shots

you know it's bad when no one but your enemy cares.

The door to his apartment burst open and Deathstroke strode in, swords blazing, hungry for blood.

Dick jumped slightly, breath hitching, but his shoulders sagged and he dropped his head.

"I was wondering when you'd find me, Slade."

Deathstroke said nothing and continued to stalk towards him, like a tiger hunting its prey.

Dick turned his back to him and pulled two cans of beer from the fridge. "Can I offer you any refreshments? I know it's the shitty kind of beer but it's all I got right now."

Deathstroke paused when he realised something wasn't quite right. Dick seemed resigned, tired, his posture no longer upright and graceful like an acrobat. Usually, they would be engaged in thrilling combat by now, Nightwing's escrima sticks clanging against the steel of Deathstroke's swords. Or perhaps they'd exchange some one-sided quips and teases. But nope. Dick was offering him a beer.

Dick slid into a stool by the kitchen island and turned back to face Deathstroke. "Go on then, Slade. I give up. You can kill me, torture me, I don't care. My body is yours for the taking."

That was when Slade noticed the purplish, almost black, circles beneath Dick's usually bright eyes. He noticed the grease and grime in his dark curls, which were even more unkempt than usual. He spotted a couple of bloodstains on the younger's t-shirt, which clearly hadn't been washed in days.

He approached Dick, sword raised menacingly, but the latter didn't even flinch.

Slade halted with the sword raised. He seemed unsure on what to do.

Dick gave a soft smile. "Here. I'll help you." He grabbed the blade with his bare hand and directed it right in front of his chest, ready to pierce his heart.

Okay. This was too much. Slade sheathed his sword and slid into the stool next to Dick. He pulled off his mask so he could get a better look at the young man.

"What happened?"

Dick's tired eyes remained on his beer. "I fucked up, that's what happened. Jason's dead, Tim and Dami hate me, Kori and the Titans are gone, and Bruce and I... we could no longer pretend to like each other."

Slade remained silent as the younger seemed to deflate as he spoke, as if all his built-up emotions were being lifted from his chest. 

"So I ran away. I panicked and I ran, like a fucking coward. But I didn't know what else to do. I have no one left. Wally's gone, I haven't seen Roy in years. I wanted to get away from Gotham and Blüdhaven and everything else. This is as far as I got." He gestured round at his apartment, which, as Slade now noticed, was a total shithole.

"I'm so tired," Dick admitted and Slade's heart twisted to hear the pain and sadness in the young man's voice. "I can't keep doing this anymore. And I know I deserve it. I deserve the worst of it."

They were both silent for a while. Then Slade's hoarse, rocky voice spoke up. 

"Son, I know what it's like to have everyone you love abandon you. My own children hated me."

Dick finally looked at him, face screwed up in confusion.

"And now it's just you and me, kid," Deathstroke continued. "I swear I won't abandon you like those people. They do not deserve you, and you do not deserve this." He wrapped a protective arm around Dick's shoulder.

After a moment of hesitation, Dick lay his head down on the older man's shoulder.

A soft smile played on Slade's lips. "Let me show you how we deal with people who abandon us."