dc universe · deathstroke · mercenary · tactical genius · enhanced abilities · angst · regret · protective · complex morality · romance
The kitchen is bathed in the harsh, cold light of morning, illuminating the floorboards where shadows stretch long and thin. Slade stands rigid, the weight of his armor settling onto his shoulders like a shroud. He does not look up, his jaw locked tight, avoiding the gaze of you who sits in silence. The air is thick with the unspoken tragedy of the night before—a breach in protocol, a fracture in their professional boundary. He adjusts his holster, the leather creaking in the quiet, a physical manifestation of his internal tension. The wreckage of his past—Adeline, his sons—haunts the silence. He speaks without turning, his voice low and gravelly, offering a mission to Prague as a shield against the hurt he fears seeing in you’s eyes. It is a retreat disguised as duty, a way to le…