#redstroke

😌Slade: “Here , taste this.”

😯Jason: “Mmm, that’s even better than mine. What did you add?”

😐Slade: “Lov-”

Merry Christmas 2022  :)

I hope every pony have a lovely holiday! 2022 was a wild, eventful ride! 

Special THANK YOU to my Patreon Supporters~!   

“Ok, I have eyes on him. Give it 10, then proceed as plan- Wait…is that,”

“Hood, what is it?”

“…uck! It’s-”

The ground shook – a thundering eruption cracked in his ear – almost muffling the pained scream over the coms.

“Hood!”

Stuck watching from the rooftop of another as the warehouse crumbled in on itself.

The silence that followed for minutes as-

Slade rubbed aggressively at his eye, efforts futile in banishing the reminiscing his wondering brain kept strolling back too. He pulled his attention back to the contract. One he found himself increasingly and uncommonly stressed about.

He and Jason were working this one together, and on a notably rare occasions one of his source's intel was incorrect.

Unfortunately, that fuck-up resulted in an unanticipated explosion and collapsing building with Jason’s leg getting a rain of shrapnel, a broken fibula, a river of bruises to his side, and probable concussion with how hard his head cracked against the cement floor. Fortunately, he had his helmet or Slade doubted highly he’d be walking away with a mild case of the dizzies.

If he would have walked away at all.

Slade’s fingernails dug into his eyebrows and the skin directly below it. The pressure in his head building.

Plus, it was a very large setback in the contract’s time frame. The setback is what had him so on edge right now, obviously.

He had to locate his target again, find a new reliable source, and reevaluate the plan’s whole execution now that he was one man short. All without the assistance of Red Hood. Two years ago this would have been no fucking issue but after two years of dating, and three of working together so closely, Slade started to depend on Red Hood as his second more than he even realized. The kid’s resources, smarts, and vast background experiences gave him different ways of looking at problems even Slade fell short of. Turns out when you mix street smarts, bat teachings, hero training, and Al Ghul brainwashing you get an interesting ass mix. One helpful with planning and even more so in the direct heat of the field.

That being said, he was still getting Red Hood’s “perspective” on the case as short of sedating him for the next 96 hours, Jason wasn’t stepping completely back from the contract nor from worming his way into the details of the case. After threats of sedation Jason finally, begrudgingly, relented and camped out on the couch to get some rest.

Still, it leaves the issue that Slade was a body and two skilled hands shorter than he anticipated being. It’s fine. No issue. He’s Deathstroke, not just some mercenary, but the mercenary who always completed his contracts. All’s well and his head is screwed on just fine, thank you very much Wintergreen.

He let out another breath, fingers now pinching the bridge between his eyes. Starting to go a little over 76 hours with no sleep, he was stretching his three-day limit thin, but still aware he was too wired to actually accomplish any rest even if he tried.

A low, “hey,” drifted his way from the couch.

“Hm,” he answered back without looking from the blueprints he had in hand.

“Slade, come over ‘ere”

“I’m busy,” Slade gruffed back, the lack of sleep making his voice a tinge more gravelly. His brows furrowed when he shuffled through the piles of paper, not finding the damn shipping list times. His finger burrowed into his left temple like he was trying to physically push the steady aching thrum away. The dull electrical buzz from the dining room’s shitty hanging lamp seemed to be growing louder with every damn minute.

“…Slade”

And what the hell was Billy doing? He said he would contact Lenardo. He owed Deathstroke one and if he was giving Billy any shit collecting-

“Slade”

“Enough,” he slammed the papers he had in hand down, the table’s wood creaking under the sudden angry pressure. “I don’t have time to fuck around,” he spit out, turning his head just enough to snarl at the others direction, voice growing louder with every word. “If someone didn’t run recklessly ahead than I wouldn’t be pulling some half-ass solution from the thin fucking air to patch up this monumental fuck-up.”

His voice carried and filled the safe house dining room and echoed down the halls; the yell sounded towering in the small apartment. But the silence afterwards seemed even heavier, pressing into every nook and cranny in an almost suffocating way. The tension felt like a physical weight on Slade’s stomach.

Fuck. That was….he didn’t mean….

Slade let out a breath that felt bone deep while leaning back into the creaking wooden chair. He pried open his clenching fist around the now crinkled and torn papers and pushed his forehead in his other hand propped up on the armrest. He squeezed his eyes, hidden behind his hand, shut so tightly he started to see white spots.

Shit. His head wasn’t on right.

“Slade,” the voice was soft but stern, feeling weighty in the damning silence of the room.

Slade stopped being a coward and finally turned to face the other man patched up and camping out on the couch. One who’s been watching Slade run circles on the damn job for the last five hours.

Jason’s head was leaning back against the couch’s headrest, expression and body looking deceptively relaxed, but those ocean eyes pinned him. “Come here,” his voice was low and smooth, but solid. Commanding, but grounding.

Slade didn’t fight the request this time, his burning bitter words still scattered like ash on his tongue. He raised from the kitchen chair to make his way to the other man. He owes him that much at least for his piss poor temper right now.

The kids always made extra effort to be attentive on any of Slade’s contracts to prevent any careless shit exactly like this from happening. The need for Hood to check-in and supervise every move he made was banished long ago with Slade’s growing confidence in his ability and his judgement. Jason was competent and careful, and unlike the bats who like to micromanage absolutely everyone, Slade trusted his decisions. And he’s aware that Jason only went ahead to scope the warehouse’s shipment because he knew the place was clear. Was supposed to be clear. According to Slade’s debrief.

A few of Slade’s knuckles cracked under the strain of his curled fist.

They were supposed to go cave diving after this. Find a nice natural hot spring he could defile the younger man in. His gaze ran over the bulky leg cast. But with his damn injuries now, he frowned. That same weight resting heavier on his stomach.

“Hey.” A tug on his hand drew his eyes away from the cast to Jason’s softer gaze. “Come sit down with me.” He motioned to a spot next to him with his head.

“Kid, I can’t. I’m on a time crunch,” Slade’s voice miles softer than before. A whisper in comparison.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged and still haven’t made any progress. You’ll feel better if you get some rest.”

Slade shook his head. It would be pointless, he’s still too wired. He felt like he was gonna crawl out of his damn skin. No way would his mind settle enough to sleep.

“I’m too wired.”

“Just a bit,” Jason’s voice lulled and hand tugged down lightly on Slade’s.

“Jason,” Slade breathed out, tired.

The other man in response tried to sit up but winced from the wound on his side. Slade was propped on the edge of the couch by his side in an instant. He lifted the shirt Jason pilfered from his duffle bag and inspected the bandages for any pulled stitches. “What hurts?” he demanded. Maybe he did break or crack a rib. They said it should have only been some deep bruising, but-

“My poor feelings, asshole. Now lay down with me.”

Slade looked back up at Jason to see a smirk and self-satisfied look and not an ounce of pain. Little shit. Slade glared. He didn’t find feigning pain to be fucking amusing. Especially since it was his contract, his fucking intel that– his jaw clenched.

Jason ignored Slade’s deepening scowl and aggravation to tug on his shoulders until the bigger man was laying with his back to the younger man’s chest and between his spread legs. Between Jason’s stubbornness, the steady weight on Slade’s stomach, and the memory of Jason screaming out in pain that was playing in his head like some fucked-up background music, Slade complied a lot easier than he would any other time. Or with any other person.

But as easy as he had relented to laying back, he was still on the figurative fence about staying; his body still tense, playing at the idea of getting up and back to the damn contract.

Yet with every passing moment enclosed in Jason’s arms, warm and solid, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against Slade’s back, and those nimble fingers of his running through Slade’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, his body started to unfurl bit by bit. Not realizing he was subconsciously matching his breath to Jason’s until the younger man breathed in another slow, deep, steadying breath and Slade followed, then let it out at the same rate.

After about a dozen breaths like that and the continuous fingers running through his strands in a lazy, relaxing manner, he finally grumbled out a, “What are you watching?”

“Lord of the Rings.”

Slade’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. He thought Jay was bingeing that show with the obnoxiously nasally nanny with the horrible laugh. He didn’t get Jason’s amusement from the show except it functioning as a brain numbing, to the point of mind melting, way to pass the time. (Although, he did see the amusement he got from the sharp-witted butler). Still, this worked better for him. He’d much rather let his brain vegetate to the background noise of the clanking metal of swords and overdramatic war cries of some dwarf man.

Slade let his eyes fall shut to the lulling feeling of soft touches and comforting scratches carting through his bangs and hair. A thumb brushing featherlight over his forehead and massaging at his temple just-so that his throbbing headache stilled for a moment.

He would indulge the kid just a bit longer, then he’ll get back to work. Just a bit. He let his mind haze and drift, and thought he felt something cover lightly over his body and tuck around his sides but didn’t bother to pay it any mind.

Slade woke to a low voice in his ear and small shake. “Slade, hey”. He blinked a few times. It was much darker than it was before. Where the previously high sun was coloring the world in golden hues, now it cast crawling shadows on everything as it sunk nearly below horizon. A slight tug to his ends tried to draw his attention again, “hey, that sounds like Wintergreen’s ringtone.”

Slade blinked twice more, then wrenched himself out of the cocoon of warmth and comfort Jason seemingly nested him in. Checking the phone, it was indeed Billy’s contact name blinking on the white screen. Slade slid the icon to the side accepting the call and seeing what intel the older man was able to find for him.

After 12 or so minutes later, and a much clearer picture of where his target Houdinied his ass to and what his new plans entailed, their conversation was wrapping up. “Hmm. Good. But Billy?” Slade bit out before the call ended.

“Yes?”

“My previous source, the one that was covering this case? Find me his location.” The unspoken intent clear through the hard words.

“Of course,” Bill said only after a second of silence, then the line cut.

That little shit almost got Jason killed with his information. Yeah. He’ll be paying him a visit.

He checked the time. About four, going on five, hours past what it was, hours of him actually achieving some sleep. He assumed it would have been more if Jason didn’t wake him for the call. Just from those few hours, he already felt loads better; clearer headed and less like he was ready to vibrate out of his skin.

Slade looked back at the other man who from the looks of it rearranged himself slightly more spread out, additional space now that he wasn’t sharing the couch with Slade’s bulk, which now that he looked he was kind of amazed that the smaller couch fit the both of them. Jason must have been squished to some extent. He frowned at the thought. If he made any of his wounds worse so Slade could have a cat nap, Slade’s going to be aggravated. This safe house unfortunately wasn’t one of their better ones, but it did in the pinch. He’ll make sure the next one is more comfortable.

Not being able to see Jay’s face, just the back of his head, but the slight tilt of its direction towards Slade’s showed he was ease-dropping in on the conversation. No surprise. Part nosy-bat, part inquisitive-brat.

As he started to make his way back to the couch, Jason’s head tilted backwards at his approach till his head almost hung off the armrest completely; an act that always compelled Slade with the desire to lean down and plant a kiss square on those teasing lips. A fact he’s almost positive the kid knew and possibly abused. Didn’t matter much though. If these last few hours alone didn’t expose Jason’s remarkable ability to read Slade, he’s not sure what would. It’s a good thing he didn’t plan on letting the brat go anytime soon, if ever, or the arresting amount of knowledge he has on Slade’s character would be fucking alarming.

But now? Now there was a strange sort of peace, of contentment, of ease, at the awareness he held. The brat made him feel a billion things. Amusement, confusion, frustration, amazement, pride, unease, disappointment, anticipation. A lust for his mind, body, and attention, and a carnal hunger so fervent he thought it would burn through his veins at times. A billion different things Slade could have seen the passionate, lively, fierce man stir in him.

But grounded and soothed would have never been near the list. Because when the hell has anyone been able to accomplish that with Slade? Well, besides Billy. Even with Addy’s attempts at comfort, it felt administrative at times.

Yet it never felt like being handled or manipulated by Jason. Like Slade was a variable one needed to manage. The anarchic, dangerous super soldier that needed to be contained…pacified…appeased.

No, in those rare moments of chaos and overwhelming consciousness, when his mind wouldn’t stop running over what had happened and what could happen. Running over every aspect and possible outcome, when it relived every sensation of each moment, even ones he’d rather gouge out of his head then remember, it was Jason that gave him a foundation to be grounded to. Like a single touch would make the world stop spinning for five fucking seconds.

“Wintergreen give any good new intel?” Jason’s arm was slung behind his head, gripping the armrest to give himself more leverage to hold his head back, his other hand fiddling with the tv remote.

Slade hummed a confirmation when he reached him. Leaning down to press a deeply craved kiss to those easily accessible lips. He lifted slightly; arms braced on both sides of Jason’s head to bracket his brat between them. Jason’s gaze was steady and soft - happy - but a seriousness edged into them.

“Hey,” his voice almost a whisper, but held the sureness as if he had yelled them. “I got hurt. It sucked, but it happens. We patch up, we get pissed, and then we finish what we started.” His gaze pinning once again. “So, you’re going to go out there, you’re gonna finish the job – remind them exactly why Deathstroke’s reputation is what it is – then you’re gonna come back and make it up to me.” His small smirk and voice held the sureness as if he’d seen the future and already watched it happen.

Slade wasn’t fooled. He knew the kid didn’t really hold him responsible for his injury, like he said, shit happens. But it gave Slade one more thing he had control of. Another way to get him out of his head and past and focused on the next step. Jason may bitch about Slade’s penchant for control, but these little indulgences certainly never do anything to dissuade his habits.

Slade let out a breathy chuckle and leaned down to rumble in his ear, “Then I advise you to get some sleep, Brat.” His tone low, deep, and spoke of lots of heady intentions.

He grinned at the step up in Jay’s heartbeat and the slight rise of color that tinted his cheeks. Slade’s lips brushing over the freckled and blushed skin.

“Promises, promises. Go to work, slacker,” Jason grunted playfully and nudged his head at Slade’s. He lifted his head back up, pulling his attention and eyes back to the show with the inappropriately dressed nanny and her employer bickering at each other. He’s so weird.

Slade laid one final firm kiss to the side of his cheek, making sure to drag his beard rough and forcefully across; just the way he hates.

“Ack! Slade, get off you ass,” he protested and squirmed away from the angry scratchy facial hair.

The mercenary strolled away with a smirk, smile pulling wider at the mumbled, “ornery asshole,” he heard whispered behind him, but he knew was said with a smile.

Slade cracked his neck and sat back down at the kitchen table. He’ll look into this new information Billy gave him, then in about an hour or so order them some food. The oddity he calls his partner always gets strange cravings for Chinese food when he’s benched and the egg rolls from the place down the street are pretty good. Slade glanced at the clock. Yeah, he’s got more than enough time. He’ll be fine. Red Hood may be out of commission on the field, but where it counts, Jason still gots him covered.

Slade discovered quickly that Jason couldn’t sleep if he was too overheated.

He found this out when he woke up a couple times with Jason no longer in his arms, but sprawled out on the other side of the bed, with the blankets haphazardly thrown off.

He was not a fan of this development.

So, the first time he was awake when the younger man tried to wiggle out of his arms – barely conscious and sweaty – Slade attempted to settle him down and almost got kneed in the balls for the effort. The second time, Jason growled out a “No”, and shoved at his face until he was both Slade and blanket free.

In the morning, Jason asked why Slade was sulking. He denied to answer.

After some prodding, Slade discovered that even as a kid, Jason disliked being too hot in his sleep. Now as an adult, it triggered panic attacks with memories of a blistering inferno, clouds of black smoke, and the searing smell of human flesh.

Slade didn’t push the matter anymore.

But he plotted.

The first time, was a fluke. The second time, a pattern.

However, the third time, he had a plan.

Slade will eat anything that’s put in front of him. Jason has made it his goal to figure out what foods the laconic man actually enjoys.

Slade rarely gives feedback on the meals, but Jason has learned to read the little signs. Like when he takes his time with a meal instead of just mindlessly inhaling it. Or the ingredients for a particular dish just magically show up in their fridge. Or (Jason’s favorite) when Slade gets home and the aroma of a favored meal fills the house, it’s not long until Jason feels a warm body layered against his and a kiss pressed to his neck. Slade never asks the status of the food, but Jason gives him a poke in the stomach with the wooden spoon and a shoo of, “Go wash up. Dinner will be done in 5”.