Chapter Text
After Slade was sure Peter was sleeping he immediately headed to the floor below the apartment—a space where he kept his weapons and suit. No one else lived in the building, and as far as the world was concerned, it was just another abandoned complex on the outskirts of Crime Alley. The perfect place to train his new apprentice.
Now to get the suit.
He already knew which one he wanted to give Peter: the Red X suit. He could’ve gone with the old apprentice uniform—the one Robin used to wear—but it would be far more satisfying to see the look on Nightwing’s face when he realized something he helped create had come back to haunt him.
Besides, the Red X suit offered more facial coverage. No one would be able to recognize Peter beneath it.
When he made Robin his apprentice, he wanted people to know who he was. But this time? Red X needed to stay anonymous.
After suiting up himself, Slade made his way to a warehouse by the docks. He had discovered it almost a month ago and had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Normally, he’d loop the cameras, clear the place out, and sell the haul to the highest bidder. But not this time. This time, he wanted the Bats to know something had been taken.
So he left the cameras running.
He didn’t touch anything—except the suit.
Breaking in was almost laughably easy. I guess the Bats didn’t think anyone would be bold enough to try, he thought, moving through the warehouse in under ten minutes. Then, just before leaving, he tripped a silent alarm—on purpose. And slashed his signature S in the floor.
Let them panic, he smirked to himself as he made his way back to the apartment.
———————-
When Slade got back to the apartment, he realized he really needed a game plan.
How was he going to introduce Peter to the idea of being a “villain”
Well, he could just not tell Peter he was the villain. He could twist things, shift the narrative—make the boy believe he was the hero. That Batman was the real problem. The one hurting people.
The truth doesn’t matter. Only perception. And if I can control what Peter sees… I can control what Peter becomes.
It would take time to earn the boy’s full trust—time and careful planning. Slade knew the Bats would come sniffing around eventually. He had to get into Peter’s head before they did.
He wasn’t going to try and rush it like he did with Richard, this time every choice would be calculated
He needs to believe in me first, above all else. Before Bruce gets a chance to feed him lies. Before he sees the cracks.
Slade mulled it over, then nodded to himself. He’d start the mental training tomorrow. Planting seeds. Physical training could come later—once those injuries were fully healed. Which, he reminded himself, ‘ I still need to check.’
Peter would learn to trust him. Maybe even look up to him. That kind of loyalty, that kind of emotional bond—it was more valuable than any weapon.
Who knows… maybe I’ll be more than a mentor. Maybe a father figure. If I play this right, he’ll come to me before anyone else. He’ll fight for me.
Slade grinned inwardly.
This was going to be fun.
He went to bed with a rare sense of satisfaction.
Tomorrow, the real game begins.
⸻
Dick Grayson was having a good day.
The drive into Gotham took only 20 minutes—no traffic, no accidents. When he stopped at his favorite coffee place, someone paid it forward and covered his order. Even the sky was clear.
Maybe the universe is giving me a break, he thought, sipping his coffee. About damn time.
More than half the rogues were in Arkham, which meant a quiet night of patrol. Maybe even early sleep.
Or so he thought…
When Dick arrived at the cave, he spotted Tim slouched at the computer, dark circles under his eyes, surrounded by a graveyard of empty Monster cans littered about the cave.
“Hey, Tim-Tam, what’s up?” Dick said with a light tone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? It’s a school night, and most of the rogues are locked up.”
His arms instinctively opened, ready to pull his brother into a hug and coax him into bed.
But Tim turned slowly, face pale and expression grim.
“Tim? What’s wrong?” Dick’s voice dropped to something steady but worried.
“It’s Deathstroke,” Tim said.
That name alone hit like a punch to the chest.
“He’s back in Gotham… and he stole the old Red X suit from the warehouse.”
Dick froze. Just for a moment—but long enough.
No. Not that suit. Not again.
Tim was watching him closely. He knew what that suit meant to Dick—what it symbolized.
“Wha—how? Why? How did he even find out about the warehouse?” Dick asked, trying to keep his voice calm, but it cracked at the end anyway.
“I don’t know,” Tim said. “Bruce and Damian are already there, moving the rest of the gear back to the cave. But do you want to know the weirdest part?”
Dick blinked, his thoughts swirling. There’s more?
“What?”
“He only took the Red X suit. That’s it. There were so many other dangerous weapons in that warehouse—but he chose that old mask.”
Why just the suit? Why that one? What the hell is he planning?
“Are you sure it was him?” Dick asked, trying to steady his breath.
“Yes. The cameras caught him. And he slashed an ‘S’ into the ground where the suit case was. I checked the marks—they match his old crime scenes. It’s definitely him.”
Damn it, Slade. He wasn’t just back—he was sending a message. A personal one.
“Okay… Thanks, Timmy. I’m gonna go meet up with Bruce and Dami—after I change.”
Tim hesitated. “Are you sure, Dick? You don’t have to do this alone. I know that time in your life wasn’t… easy. And facing it again—”
“I’ve got this, Tim. I need to.”
I can’t let anyone else deal with the fallout of my mistakes. I wore that mask. That legacy is mine to fix.
“Okay, Wing. If you say so. But we’re still going to help you.”
Dick forced a smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
But I don’t want them anywhere near Slade. Not if he’s targeting me again. I won’t let them get caught in this.
I started this. I’ll finish it.