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Leaning over the edge of the building, Dick peered down into the darkening street below. He glares down at the puddles in the empty road, bored out of his mind.
There is a bird screeching nearby and despite being Robin for six years and then changing to a different bird themed hero, Dick has absolutely no clue what it is. His eyes scan the street below, but he tilts his head, listening.
He scrunches his face in concentration. “An owl?” he mutters. “No. I know that one. Maybe a crow. Definitely not a bat. Maybe it’s a-”
“Renegade.” Slade’s voice growls in Dick’s ear, cutting him off. Dick sighs and presses his commlink. “Are you listing different types of birds?”
Rolling his eyes, Dick responds, “I listed a bat in there. They aren’t birds.”
Dick can imagine the blank look that Slade would be giving him right now. Dick continues, “There’s some bird making noise, and I can’t figure out what it is.”
Slade sighs, dejectedly, most likely tapping his sword, deciding if today is the day he should finally just cut his losses. “It’s a little raven.”
Renegade pushes himself into a crouch as he sees movement across the way. He starts to silently sneak forward. “I see movement up ahead. Looks to be the target, heading your way.”
“Got him.” Deathstroke responds immediately.
Renegade glides forward, closing a gap from one roof to the next. “How do you know how big the raven is?”
There is silence for a few moments on the comms. “What?”
“The raven, you said it was little. How do you know that? Are you bird watching instead of people watching, Deathstroke?” Renegade asks jokingly. He stops on an edge of a building, watching the man below him strut down the road without a care in the world. “Also, visual is confirmed for our target.”
“Perfect.” There is no gunshot to be heard, but Renegade watches as the man below him falls backwards. There is a steady pile of blood growing around him. Dick waits thirty seconds for any movement. The man is not a meta according to all of their findings, and Deathstroke doesn’t miss his shots. But this is a man who was actively trafficking children and Dick wanted to make sure he stays dead.
As the man doesn’t move and no help crawls out of the woodwork, Renegade continues across the rooftops to Slade’s location. When he arrives with a silent tuck and rolls across the rooftops, Deathstroke is already waiting for him, his rifle packed up and ready to leave.
Without a word, Deathstroke nods at Renegade and starts to run. Renegade follows.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Kid,” Deathstroke growls, “You are the only person I know that has to make an assassination into a social event.”
Renegade huffs, “You usually work alone or with stick in the muds. I bring life to your otherwise grueling life.”
“You make my life more miserable and sometimes I think about just cutting you loose the day the clown drops.” Deathstroke stops at the edge of a roof and points across the road to a luxury car. “That’s our ride.”
“Is that our ride? Or is that going to be our ride?” Dick asks.
Deathstroke doesn’t respond, dropping off the roof and walking to the car. Dick watches as he opens it with ease. Dick shrugs. He hops down and opens his own door. Slade has already thrown all of his gear in the back seat, including his mask. Dick leaves his own mask on for identity reasons.
“So, the bird? Come on, are you a bird enthusiast?” Dick asks as Deathstroke pulls away. “Is that why you were so obsessed with me?”
Deathstroke pinches the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t obsessed with you.” Dick scoffs at that. “And no, I’m not a bird enthusiast. The name of the bird is little raven. It’s a type of raven here in Australia.” Deathstroke paused for a moment. His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “Grant was a real bird enthusiast when he was a kid. He would beg me to record different bird sounds on my travels and then play them when I got home. He would always try to guess what type they were. I had to know what kind they were so that he knew if he was right or not.”
“Awe, that’s sweet.” Dick coos, tilting his head towards Slade. Dick wiggles his fingers, motion at Slade. “Look at that, you do have a heart under all of that brooding and murder vibes.”
“They are not vibes. Why do you insist on everything being a vibe?”
Dick shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just too old.”
“I’m only 45.” Deathstroke argues.
Fake gagging in his mask, Dick groans, “Like I said, old.”
Dick laughs at Slade’s lack of a response and pulls out his phone. It’s a burner phone that he changes out a minimum of once a week since he doesn’t want to be found. He only uses it to play Temple Run and text Wally, but that is still two very valid reasons to have a phone.
The rest of the drive is spent in silence. Deathstroke refuses to have the radio playing because it is a distraction that could end up getting them killed. Dick thinks that in another life Slade and Bruce were twins separated at birth, because those two thought way too similar when it came to their paranoia.
Eventually, Slade comes to a stop, parking the car. Dick looks up to see them at a familiar landing strip. A small plane is waiting for them. Slade and Dick both grab their belongings out of the back of the car and carry them towards the plane. Wintergreen is waiting at the top of the stares.
“I find it the mission was a success?” Wintergreen asks as the two men climb into the airplane. Dick drops his stuff unceremoniously onto the ground in the back.
He grins at Wintergreen as he pulls off his Renegade helmet. “Yup, went off without a hitch. One less human trafficking ring to worry about.”
“Perfect.” Wintergreen responds, giving Dick a tight smile. Dick raises an eyebrow at Wintergreen.
“What?”
The older gentleman grimaces and licks his lips. “Have you by chance seen news from Gotham from last week?”
Dick’s stomach drops. “No. Why? What happened?”
Wintergreen sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and typing something in. Dick’s own phone dings a moment later.
Dick pulls out his phone and starts reading the article, his face dropping.
“It seems that there is a new Robin in Gotham.”
Slade laughs from behind Wintergreen, leaning against the frame to the cockpit. “How in the everliving world did Bruce Wayne find another kid to make into a soldier?”
Dick shoots Slade a look.
“We’re moving up our time frame.”
Slade grins, “Yeah, I figured.” Slade straightens and turns around, rapping his knuckles against the door frame. “Text that boy toy of yours that you’re coming home.”
Usually Dick would correct Slade’s language for his boyfriend, but right now, he barely hears Slade’s words. He has bigger things to think about at the moment that Slade’s snide comments.
“I suggest you buckle,” Wintergreen says to Dick before following Slade into the cockpit.
Biting his lip, Dick sits down in a seat, pulling a tray down, and buckling. He pulls his bag close to him and starts pulling out notebooks of information. Information that will soon be used and then burned.