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After the invasion, where Renegade took care of a job that no hero could, he stuck with Slade for about a week. He went on a much needed vacation.
Was this vacation just a wild goose chase to make the Justice League and Batman in particular think that Deathstroke didn’t want to return Renegade yet? Yes.
Was it just that? No. Dick took the time to secretly meet up with Wally. The two of them spent an entire day on a deserted island.
Was Renegade spotted during this time helping Deathstroke take down a human trafficking ring in Egypt? Yes.
Was the failed assassination attempted on a free speaker of clean energy seen? No, but Renegade is just as good at disabling Deathstroke's jobs as he is at enabling them.
Dick was actually quite proud of stopping that attempt. Even though he knows that someone else might very well pick up the job later, there is a significantly better security team with them now.
Now though, the vacation is officially over. Renegade is standing at the top of a high tower, looking through the scope of a sniper at a senator. Deathstroke lounges against the side of the building, arms crossed in front of him.
“Your superhero friends are taking much too long,” Deathstroke drawls. He tilts his head and cracks his neck. He turns languidly and looks at the building across the way. “At this point, I’m about to have you pull the trigger to get them here a little faster.”
“Slade.” Dick’s voice growls through Deathstroke’s comms, warningly.
Deathstroke huffs. “Relax, kid.” Deathstroke smirks, “Though to keep your cover, I’d say you’d have to take the shot. Not like the man doesn’t deserve it. He works for the American government.”
A few more tense moments pass, Renegade’s finger hovers over the trigger of his gun. One move and the man at the other end will drop dead. Renegade keeps his breath even. Suddenly, a bright orange streak flashes across the street and the senator is gone from view.
Ever so slightly, Dick lets out a relieved breath.
Hurriedly, in a fluid and practiced motion, Renegade starts breaking apart the sniper and puts it into its case.
Is he supposed to be caught today? Yes.
Will he make it easy on them? Hell no. If Batman wants to catch him today, he will actually have to catch him.
“Move.” Deathstroke orders, hauling Renegade up with a bruising grip by his arm. Renegade grabs his case and slings it over his shoulder. Taking off into a sprint, Renegade jumps to the next roof, Slade keeping step. A shadow drops down in front of the two as the make the next jump. Deathstroke puts a fist in the air to order Renegade to stop.
As naturally as breathing, Renegade drops the sniper case to the side and drops into a fighting crouch. Batman and Red Hood stand in front of the two mercenaries.
“Deathstroke,” Batman growls. His hand grips a batarang, his hand tightening on the batarang. His foot shifts ever so slightly. Red Hood’s hands dance over his holster, anticipating drawing his guns.
Under his mask, Slade smirks. “Ah, Batman, it took you a while to find us. Were you busy with other things?” He scoffs and sarcastically laughs. “The bastard son is not worth your full attention?”
To Dick, all of Bruce’s little ministrations screamed what his next move would be. Renegades' calculating eye sees Batman’s muscles tense, sees the slight clench of the jaw. As Batman starts to move, with a growl and throwing a batarang, and lunging forward, Renegade is already swiftly moved in between Deathstroke and Batman, meeting Batman’s blows.
“Nightwing,” Batman commands, his arm pushing against Renegade’s, “Stop. Come to your senses.”
Renegade stays silent, pushing Batman’s arm up and side stepping him. Without making any noise, Renegade continues to fight Batman, pushing Batman to the defensive. Logically, Dick can tell that Bruce is holding himself back from full on fighting him, which warms his heart a little. But also, he isn’t currently Nightwing or Dick. He’s Renegade. With that mindset, Renegade drops down, swinging his legs out. Batman moves out of the way of the legs, landing to be met with a knife flying at him.
Catching one knife, Batman is unable to stop as another knife slices at his stomach, tearing his suit. Which, Dick holds back a smirk from that knife being able to do damage to the Batsuit, but he is just a little bit proud of it. Batman kicks Renegade’s arm, sending that particular knife flying, not like Renegade doesn’t have a dozen more hidden around his body.
Rolling his shoulders, Renegade kicks it up a gear, not pulling his punches. He bops around Batman in a way that is reminiscent of Nightwing, but with the brute force behind it that Nightwing never uses. Renegade dances around Batman, trying to keep him on the defense.
Behind him, Renegade can hear a gunshot firing and knows from the sound alone that it’s Jason’s gun not Slade’s. Internally sighing, Renegade bends backwards, dodging Batman, taking the opportunity to throw a knife at Jason.
“Fuck.” Jason curses, as the knife slashes at his hand. Deathstroke takes the opportunity to knock the gun out of Jason’s hand from where he is standing at the edge of the building.
Jason growls at Slade, taking a step towards him.
Slade tsks and waves a finger at Jason. “Ah, ah, wouldn’t want to get too close and force my hand.” Slade releases a laugh like breath, “There are a lot of little codes built into your brother’s mind.”
Under his mask, Jason rolls his eyes, but pauses nonetheless. Sure, Dick said he knew he was Renegade a few months back, but he refused to talk to Jason about it once he was sober. What if Dick knew he was Renegade but was still being brainwashed to do worse than what he knew? Jason growls, but doesn’t move closer to Deathstroke.
“Let him go, Deathstroke.” Jason growls.
“Well since you asked so nicely, I suppose I could. If only to show just how much power I have over him. Even if you think that you fix him. He will always be mine.” Deathstroke chuckles and commands. “Renegade.”
Internally, Dick rolls his eyes. Externally, Renegade drops into a roll and lurches away from Batman. He is halfway to Deathstroke when he is signaled to freeze. He stops in the middle of the rooftop, keenly aware of Batman predatorily stalking behind him.
“Little birds are so pretty when they sing.” Deathstroke says with a smile on his lips, loving teasing the bat family. From one breath to the next, Renegade drops down to his knees, his breath ragged as gloves hands clasp around his helmet and yank it off. A domino sits on Dick’s face comfortably.
Dick whips his head around, the helmet dropping from his hands. “What? What happened?” Dick’s frantically searches for something to lock onto, freezing as Jason walks into his view. “Ja- Hood?” Dick reaches his hands out at his brother, needing anything to grab onto, ground himself with. Dick’s chest heaves as he asks, “What happened?”
Jason crouches down in front of Dick, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Deathstroke had you.”
Scrunching his face in confusion, Dick minutely shakes his head, “Deathstroke? No. No. That was years ago. That was…” Dick puts a hand to his hair, grabbing a handful and curling his body forward in agony. “No. No.”
Dick shakes, trying to clear his scrambled thoughts. Jason’s hand stays on his shoulder, grounding him to the present.
He shudders as he feels a defined breeze next to him as Batman stalks past him, cape cascading over Dick’s shoulder as he moves.
“Slade.” Batman growls.
Dick looks up startled as though he wasn’t actually expecting Deathstroke to be there as Deathstroke responds, “Ah, are we using real names now, Br-”
He cuts himself off with a huff as he sidesteps a batarang.
Scrambling to his feet, his feet unbalanced sliding out from under him, practically putting all of his weight onto Jason, Dick gasps, “Slade?”
Unsteadily, Dick pushes himself forward, Jason standing close behind him, his hands hovering minutely to Dick’s side. Dick puts a hand out onto Batman’s shoulder, leaning into it. Dick knows that Bruce must hate it, forcing even a fraction of the time that it will take to catch Deathstroke spent on making sure Dick doesn’t fall when he moves forward. But, that is Dick’s purpose. He’s the reason that Slade is here. He’s going to at least subtly help the other man get away.
With a slight cock of his head, Deathstroke evaluates the scene in front of him, before he tsks, “Sorry, kid.”
“What?” Dick asks, genuinely confused before he hears the bang of a gun.
Shit.
There is a moment of peace. No one seems to move around Dick. There is no noise. It’s just Dick looking at Deathstroke, gun in his hand. As sudden as that moment starts, it ends with Dick gasping in pain, falling to the ground.
From the amount of times that Dick has gotten shot and the amount of injuries he’s had over the years, especially from Deathstroke, Dick knows logically, that he won’t die from this. Bruce won’t let him die over this. Slade wouldn’t kill him like this, but in the actual moment of pain pulsating through Dick’s leg, he doesn’t actually care about the logic of it.
“Fuck,” Dick gasps, his own body spasms unwillingly from the pain. He forces himself to roll his head to look at Deathstroke.
The older man mockingly salutes at Dick and says, “Be glad I only nicked the femoral artery. Based on his normal rate of blood flow,” which, creepy to know, “you have about 6 minutes at most before it’s critical, Batman.”
With that, Deathstroke turns and drops off the side of the building.
Closing his eyes, Dick breathes through the pain. Until he feels something press against his leg and tries to pull it away, gasping. Dick opens his eyes and tries to sit up only to have Jason be leaning over him and lightly press him back down. Dick can make out Jason’s mouth moving, but his actual words are going in and out of focus as blood rushes in Dick’s ears.
“-bird… way… feelin’?” Dick squints at Jason, trying to make it so there is only one brother looming over him. Damn, Dick hates blood loss.
Dick blinks a few times and licks at his lips before finally muttering, “Ouch.”
“Ha, ha.” Jason deadpans before he shakes his head looking down at Dick, forcing Dick to close his own eyes from the nauseating motion. Jason taps Dick’s face a few times, which Dick pointedly ignores, not wanting to go through the trouble of opening his eyes again.
There is a gust of wind as more hands grab at Dick’s body. Dick mutters at that, grumbling, something along the lines of a bastard. He feels his body in a dreamlike motion be pulled up. Logically, Dick knows that this is bad. This shouldn’t feel dreamlike. He knows this is blood loss. But he can’t find it in himself to actually start worrying again. Distantly, he feels the abnormally warm body heat that he knows to be Wally’s against him.
And Dick cracks an eye open to see a blur of bright orange assaulting his eyes and knows that Wally is holding him now. He can make out the blur of Wally’s lips moving too fast to make out what they're saying, but right now that’s not Dick’s problem. Right now, Dick is perfectly content laying his head on what he is assuming is Wally’s chest and thinking of ways that he’ll be able to be a nuisance to Slade.
Yeah, Dick’s pretty sure that he’ll be fine. But if he’s not, he’s going to be one hell of a ghost to both Slade and Bruce.