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Slade was not happy to be in Gotham. But the client was willing to pay enough money to get him into Bat territory, and the job was only supposed to last two days. And it didn’t even involve killing anyone, just guarding some cargo. Not that Slade minded killing, but he’d rather not have to deal with the Bat coming after him for breaking his precious rule.
The job, however, was extremely boring. He had no idea how the client had scraped enough money together to pay for Deathstroke when he men were so disorganized.
But, Slade reminded himself, it would be over soon. The contract expired in less than three hours and then Slade would be on his way.
Two more boring hours eked by, only about half an hour left. Then the doors to the warehouse opened and in walked one of the henchmen.
“Hey boss, look who we captured sneaking around the docks.”
Two more men followed and they were dragging Nightwing with them. The vigilante was bound and blindfolded. He stumbled as they dragged him, and Slade could see him trembling slightly.
Slade tensed.
Then the boss was striding in. The man smirked and motioned for his men to take Nightwing toward the center of the warehouse. Everyone crowded in. Slade counted them, there were ten men plus the boss.
“Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”
Slade rolled his eye.
“We gave him a taste of our newest shipment.”
“Yeah, I don’t think he likes it. Do you?” the henchman said, shoving Nightwing over so the vigilante landed hard on his side before one of the men pulled him up so he was kneeling.
The men gathered around laughed.
“We should kill him.”
“Naw, I bet we could sell him. Get a lot of money for a cape like him.”
“Or,” said one of the men, picking up a crowbar, “We could have some fun with him.”
“You’d be able to make a sizable profit if you auctioned him off. The bats are a thorn in a lot of people’s sides.” Slade said and saw Nightwing tense. Seems like the little bird recognized him. Good.
“But would we even be able to hold him? I say we just kill him now.”
Slade walked over, taking Nightwing’s chin in his hand and tilting his head from side to side. Nightwing was tense. “As long as you keep him doped up, he’ll be plenty compliant.”
“Well, in the meantime we can show him what happens to those who get in our way.” said the man who’d picked up a crowbar.
“You won’t get as much if he’s damaged.” Slade said.
“Why don’t you guard him for us, Deathstroke?” the boss said.
“If you pay me.” as if they had the money. Slade was pretty sure they had spent most of it to hire him to guard their cargo.
“We’ll pay you after we sell him.”
“I only take my money up front.”
“Come on. The money’s practically guaranteed.”
“No. And our contract’s up.”
“I’ll pay you in a bit. We have to figure out what to do with Nightwing first.”
“I’m not a very patient man. I suggest you wire over the funds now. Or do I have to persuade you?” Slade said, placing a hand on one of his guns.
“Fine.” he said through gritted teeth, pulling out his phone. “There, it’s done.”
Slade took a moment to confirm before nodding and taking out his gun, and shooting every single henchmen and then their boss. Then he walks up to Nightwing and administers a light sedative to the struggling vigilante.
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Dick wakes up in his bed to the smell of something cooking in his kitchen. It takes him a moment to remember the warehouse. Slade.
He jolts out of bed and has to lean on the wall as a wave of dizziness hits. Then Slade walks into his room.
“I wouldn’t recommend getting up. You’re still getting over the drug's effects.”
“You also drugged me.”
Slade didn't' answer.
“Slade.”
The man raised an eyebrow.
“What did you—”
“There's soup on the stove for when you’re hungry. Your pantry was appalling, so I also restocked it.”
“Soup?”
“I didn’t find any injuries, and the drug they gave you shouldn’t have any long term consequences.”
“Slade! What happened? What did you do?”
“It's not my fault you were idiotic enough to get captured by drug smugglers, I merely helped get you out. It would be a shame if people like them took out one of the few people that actually puts up a decent fight.”
“Slade.” Dick said, finally allowing himself to sit back down on his bed.
“Don’t worry, they won’t be a problem anymore.”
“You didn’t have to–”
“I'm heading out now. I already called the Bat, and I don’t feel like getting into an argument with the man about his morals.”
“Slade, wait–”
The man ignored him.
Nightwing flopped back onto his bed. A moment later his window was darkened by a familiar shadow.
Nightwing groaned, covering his face with his hands.