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Priceless artifacts and unique pieces of art fill the Drake mansion; this, combined with its vastness, makes the place feel more like a museum than a home. Still, Tim knows every inch of the mansion like the back of his hand and finds comfort in its solitude.
That’s why when he finds a little girl covered in dried blood in his kitchen, he’s understandably upset.
“Who are you?” Tim asks, one foot out the door.
“I’m Rose, and you have my father,” the girl informs him. Her shocking white hair frames her face in shadow, and there’s a combat knife in her hand that looks like it’s seen use. Tim is pretty sure he’s staring down a serial killer.
“I don’t?” Tim tilts his head, desperately trying to remember which of Mr. Dosletter’s stun traps are active. “There’s only me here.”
He knows the moment the girl with the combat knife decides he’s given her the wrong answer: he only has a split second to move out of the way before she lunges with wild eyes.
Well, shoot.
Mr. Dosletter’s training kicks in and Tim sprints towards the pantry, barely dodging the knife attacks aimed at his back. He’s hitting the emergency stun trap on the pantry door, body on autopilot and mind frantically blank.
Two small bumps on the door just big enough for him to nestle between light up, and the high volt electricity that shoots out swerves around him in a parody of a hug before spready outward. One of the bolts hit its target dead on, and the girl goes down with a shriek.
While he waits for the stun trap to turn off by itself, he takes deep, even breaths to calm his racing heart.
Mr. Dosletter appears the moment the stun trap turns off, having been alerted to its use. He takes one look at Tim to confirm his state of aliveness and turns to look at the intruder lying knocked out on the floor.
And promptly closes his one eye and sighs deeply.
“Go to your room. I’ll take of this,” is all he says to Tim before shoving him out of the kitchen. 10 years old and knowing better than to linger, Tim goes to his bedroom.
After an hour of sitting on his bed in silence, Tim pokes his head cautiously into the kitchen; there is no trace of the girl or his babysitter. When it becomes clear that Mr. Dosletter is not coming back, Tim makes sure all house alarms are on and watches cartoons for the rest of the day.
When Mr. Dosletter wakes Tim to start him on his morning workout, he doesn’t even acknowledge the serial killer girl until Tim asks about her.
“Rose?” Mr. Dosletter quirks one white eyebrow. “She’s my daughter.”
Which, of course, means that if Mr. Dosletter has a daughter, then Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke the Terminator, has one.
“You spawned?” Tim asks his babysitter in horror.
“People do that,” is Mr. Dosletter’s dry answer. “Don’t worry about Rose. She’s not coming back. Now get back to doing pushups—real ones, this time.”
Except Tim’s babysitter is a liar who lies, and Tim is an idiot for trusting him.
“Where—stop screaming, what are you, an animal—where is he?” Rose demands while climbing through his bedroom window.
Tim closes his mouth with a click before he can point out the animal in the room certainly isn’t him. A miracle, Mr. Dosletter would have pointed out had he known, considering Tim doesn’t appear to have survival instincts.
“Where is who?” Tim asks before realizing. “Oh, you mean him .” The memories of the girl waving a knife at him are still fresh in his mind. “He’s gone.”
Fifteen minutes earlier, Mr. Dosletter had checked his phone and declared he was going to the store. It's a normal excuse he makes when he needs to take a sudden contract. Usually he stays gone for the rest of the day, so Tim intended to take advantage of his absence to eat junk food and read comics in his bed.
Then a serial killer pried his window open.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” The girl demands, opening his closet and rummaging through it like her father might be hiding in it.
“Mr. Dosletter doesn’t stick around when he’s got work.” Tim subtly uses the blanket on his bed to hide his comics in case the girl is feeling angry. His first editions deserve better than to be ripped apart.
“You do know that’s not his real name?” Rose holds up one of his jackets with a considering look. Tim hopes she steals it. The inside material is scratchy on his skin.
“That’s the name on the contract my parents signed,” he says.
“Your parents are training you to be an assassin?” The amount of derision in Rose’s voice is downright offensive.
“No, he’s just my babysitter.” He’s pretty sure his parents thought they were hiring a retired government agent with a degree in child psychology, but he can’t be completely certain. It's possible his parents think being watched over by an assassin is the height of wealth.
Rose tosses the jacket back into the closet and shuts the door with a threatening slam. Dark eyes rove around the room as if cataloging every possible weapon and weakness she can use. Those frightening eyes stop on him.
“I’m going to be a mercenary just like him.” Rose states. “Teach me what he teaches you, or I'll have to get rid of his distraction.”
And oh, Tim is in real, actual danger if he doesn’t say the right thing. He can feel it the same way people feel lightning before it strikes.
“He doesn’t really teach me anything. He’s contractually obligated not to do anything more than show me how to kill things,” Tim says after careful consideration.
“Then tell me everything you know.” Dark eyes narrow, and Tim’s feeling of danger intensifies. He thinks quickly.
“Have you ever fought against a supervillain? A real mercenary is able to take one down with their bare hands even if they’re a meta.” Tim wills himself to believe every stupid word coming out of his mouth with every fiber of his being. “Your dad likes to,” Tim pauses, “make examples out of them.”
Tim can feel the sweat rolling down his neck as Rose stares a hole into his face.
“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Rose says decisively before heading for the window.
“Good luck,” Tim calls out, feeling not an ounce of guilt at his lie to get the scary girl out of his house.
“Thanks.”
Tim doesn’t say a word about the visit to Mr. Dosletter, believing foolishly that this will be the last time he’ll see Rose.
He’s proven wrong a few weeks later when, upon opening the door to his bedroom, Tim finds Rose in a black tactical outfit, sitting on the floor by his bed and leaning against it. She fidgets with a black piece of fabric instead of looking up at him. Tim considers making a run for it.
“Your dad’s not here,” he says instead.
Rose doesn’t say anything. Just stares at the fabric in her hands. Tim puts one foot out of the room.
“I killed my uncle,” she says before he can disappear.
And, well. Tim has always been too curious for his own good. He shuts the door and slides down it until he’s sitting on the floor as well.
“…would you like a hug?” Tim asks with uncertainty once the silence drags on too long.
“Touch me, and I’ll stab you,” Rose says with no hesitation.
Despite her harsh words, she tosses the fabric she was fidgeting with at him. Warily, he picks it up only to freeze as eyes stare back at him. No, not eyes, it’s–
It’s a mask, Tim realizes as his fingertips circle around white eye lenses. A superhero’s?
Or a supervillain’s.
“He killed my mom. Sword to the heart. Pinned her with it like a bug. Wanted to do the same to me but Dad came to my rescue,” Rose tells him as if she isn’t dropping trauma bombs left and right. “That piece of shit called himself Ravager. Figured killing him would be satisfying. I get to be like Dad, and I get to avenge Mom and myself.”
Oh, he thinks. This must be her uncle’s mask. The one she killed.
“And it felt hollow?” Tim asks, dropping the mask like it’s on fire but morbidly curious despite himself.
He probably shouldn’t be prodding, but he wants to know if revenge really is as meaningless as his television shows like to say.
“Hell no, it felt good. Real good,” Rose’s downcast expression—no, not downcast, Tim realizes, it’s a thoughtful expression—turns into one of dangerous glee. “I think I’ve found my calling. Going to take up the family business.” Rose’s smile is as sharp as the knives she hides in her pockets. “Only thing is, where do I go from here? Who’s my next target?”
And Tim. Well, he needs to get the potentially dangerous psychopath out of his bedroom. Down the road and out of the state preferably.
“Well, I mean, it’s obvious,” Tim says, racking his brain for what that obvious is.
“Okay, Einstein,” Rose rolls her eyes, “if you’re so smart, then you tell me what I’m supposed to be doing. I killed a supervillain, so what now?”
“Think about it. You take down a villain, but heroes take down villains all the time. So?” Tim mentally pats himself on the back for his quick wit.
“You’re saying I need to defeat a hero?” Rose asks in disbelief.
“Yes.” Tim nods knowingly.
“Fine.” Rose shrugs before getting to her feet. She grabs the mask from where Tim dropped it and heads for the window. “See you later.”
“How about never?” Tim asks hopefully.
Rose laughs before sliding through the open window. She doesn’t bother putting the bug screen back or even closing it behind her. Tim watches her disappear into the darkness with a heavy heart.
“Bye, Rose,” Tim says sadly.
The visits, much to his sorrow, continue. She always chooses to let herself in through his bedroom window for some reason. Sometimes Rose wants updates on her father, sometimes she brags about all the terrible things she’s learning to do. Sometimes she uses Tim as a practice dummy.
It doesn’t take long to realize that Mr. Dosletter always seems to be gone just as Rose shows up. That she always manages to miss him by an hour or two. Rose takes it out on Tim by playing games that are very much not games.
“She likes money, if you want to send her an early birthday gift,” Tim tells Mr. Dosletter after spending much too long dodging knives. “Or you know, a card would be just as good to let her know you’re alive at all.”
“I see you’ve been talking with Rose,” Mr. Dosletter’s one eye narrows.
“If you’d stop running from her, then you could do the same,” Tim quips. Considering he is in a horse stance, balancing on cement blocks, it’s probably not the wisest thing he could have done.
“That mouth is going to get you in trouble,” Mr. Dosletter says mildly before pushing him over. “Now, what have you been talking about?”
That is a very dangerous tone of voice, and Tim is uncomfortably reminded of the fact that even someone like The Terminator can be concerned over their offspring.
“Just telling her what you put me through,” Tim says. He’s actually kind of glad his face is in the dirt. Makes it easier to lie to someone like Deathstroke and get away with it.
Mr. Dosletter considers that for a moment.
“Good enough,” he decides. “Now get back on the blocks and balance correctly.”
This is how the years pass. Rose comes by to learn how to get stronger, and Tim gives answers that grow more and more absurd. He assumes one day Rose will grow tired of trying to keep up, but nothing seems to stop her. She only grows more and more determined.
No matter how hard Tim tries, Rose keeps coming back.
Over
“Your dad made sure to be in the best human shape possible before getting cybernetic enhancements.”
and
“Your dad is a master of all weapons and vehicles and martial arts. It’ll take years, best get started.”
over
“Your dad likes to test his skills against the supernatural. Have you ever tried killing a zombie?”
and
“I think you’re lying to me,” Rose confesses one day, only having enough energy to drag her sore and beaten body through the front door like a normal person.
“I would never,” Tim lies. “By the way, your dad told me he’s been practicing fighting aliens.”
over
“Did you know that the Greek Gods are real? Your dad climbs Mount Olympus like normal people jog.”
again.
Tim doesn’t realize what he’s done until the program he and Mr. Dosletter are watching is interrupted by a breaking newscast of Wonder Woman battling Ares, God of War. Such a sudden video is exciting and unexpected, but not unusual. Normally Tim would be on the edge of his seat, cheering his little heart out.
Not this time.
This time, Tim’s attention is solely on the little girl fighting beside Ares. She dual wields two Greek swords and wears a terrifying grin. The girl wears a mask, but Tim knows who it is right away. The white hair and black and orange suit is a dead giveaway.
Rose Wilson is on tv, fighting alongside Ares, God of War, against Wonder Woman. Rose is losing, of course, but it’s not by a long shot as it should be.
“Tim.” It’s a single syllable, and the tone mild, but coming from an utterly blank-faced Deathstroke, it’s the scariest thing he’s ever heard.
Tim knows exactly what to do.
“I’ll be in my room! Bye, Mr. Dosletter! Have fun with Wonder Woman!” Tim yells as he runs for the stairs.