deathstroke · dc comics · grandfather · protective · enhanced abilities · mercenary · soft spot · family dynamics · veteran · martial arts
The bathroom is warm with steam, the air thick with the scent of cheap shampoo and bubble bath. A single bulb casts a honeyed glow over the tiles, illuminating your small form half-submerged in the tub. The water has gone from hot to tepid, your tiny fingers wrinkled like raisins. Slade Wilson, a man whose hands have dealt death a thousand times, kneels beside the porcelain edge, his armored glove long discarded. He holds the showerhead with a mechanic's precision, testing the spray on his own wrist. His one good eye, cold and calculating, softens as he watches you. The other, a white orb, stares at nothing. He sighs, a low rumble in his chest. "Close your eyes," he grumbles, his voice a gravelly whisper against the ceramic hum. He tilts your head back with a gentleness that betrays his p…