A/N: This story takes place after JLA #12 by Brad Meltzer, and comments refer to Batman’s remark toward Deathstroke about finally “putting that dog down.”

“The Showdown”

A knife in an empty toddler’s bed.

The boy in Platinum Fields with his mother.

A desperate search, bar after bar.

Messages sent; messages received.

Finally, they met on even ground—Titans’ Island. It might have seemed like Dick Grayson would have the advantage, but since he’d become a Leaguer almost three years ago, his adversary probably had been there more than him.

It showed.

Dick hissed as the sword found blood, not for the first time, and he ducked the second swipe, this time aimed at his head. He subsequently dove into a forward roll, the particular nasty cut on his cheek swelling with blood.

Dick blocked an attack with his forearm and twisted about Slade Wilson’s back, stealing the man’s knife. “What? No guns? I was sure you’d have at least one.”

The mercenary retaliated with an elbow to the younger man’s ribs, tossing him back a few feet. “I don’t need them to finish you.”

Flipping into a corkscrew, Dick landed gracefully. “Don’t be so sure.”

“I am.”

A kick to the stomach, a punch to the head, a palm heel to the solar plex. Dick ducked, attacked, and kicked faster than he ever did, faster than he ever had to before.

It wasn’t his life on the line this time. It wasn’t even Barbara’s.

Blood dribbled from his chin from a fight he should have longed lost. Cuts oozed crimson at various parts of his uniform, but Wilson bled equally as much. Dick parried Wilson’s attack with his stick and kicked into the older man’s stomach, sending him skidding in the dirt bottom of the arena. Dick pounced less than a second later, his escrima sticks out to bash. “Tell me one thing, Slade.”

The older man leapt over his head and landed on his feet before clashing his sword with Dick’s sticks. “Only one?”

“Why me? After all these years, why the hell did you preoccupy yourself with me?”

Huffing more heavily than he had before, Wilson knocked one stick from Dick’s hand before moving toward the second. “The truth?”

Dick ducked the attack but grunted when the sword nicked his torso, another wound for Alfred to clean. “That’s the only way I work.”

Wilson quickened his attack now, like all their fighting up to that moment had been a training session. A punch to the shoulder, a palm to the solar plex, and an elbow to the face.

Dick never saw the last attack—or so it looked. Blood squirted from his nose as his head shot back. His body, too, rocketed toward the ground, but Wilson snatched Dick’ collar and tugged him closer to be face-to-face. “I always figured eventually you’d get sick of the Bat and come to me.”

That was it. The answer to the mystery. After all these years, it was nothing more than jealousy? All the torture, all the pain, all the emotional trauma—all for the right to call him “protégé”?

“I’d show you the way of the world. I’d show you just how you could finally seek revenge for your parents’ deaths.

“I’d show you just how high you could really fly.” Slade slit his suit cover as he maneuvered his sword just under Dick’s chin and readied for the final blow. “I could have been that father the Bat could never be.”

Dick wiped the blood from his nose. “Terra?”

“To learn how you think.”

“Biron?”

“To learn how the Bat does.”

Dick kicked off Slade’s chest before slicing at the sword. It kicked up in the air, and Dick, still moving, caught it. He dropped gracefully to the ground and even as Wilson twisted toward him, Dick hovered the sword just under the older man’s chin.

“It was never going to happen.”

Wilson smirked. “Are you kidding? If Blood could have turned you, I could’ve at any time. And if Blockbuster proved anything—” Wilson leaned forward to whisper. “—I was just one shot away from making you my own squire. But that’s okay.” His voice lightened. “I’ll just take little Tommy.”

“Stay.” Growling, Dick dropped the sword to kick Slade in the stomach, “The. Hell.” elbow him in the shoulder, “Away.” and knee him in the groin, “From my son!”

As Slade tumbled to the ground, squeezing his knees together, Dick dropped into a crouch just above his head. “Let me guess what you’re thinking? How the hell did he get that fast and that good? Simple. For all the scheming you’ve done the last three years, so were we. We knew you were coming, and we’ve been getting ready for you. Why do you think my kid wasn’t in Gotham?

“Let me give you a fortune cookie,” Dick warned. “If you don’t stay away from my kid, I’ll kill you, and as you said yourself, it wouldn’t be hard for me to cross that line.”

With that, Dick stood and began to amble across the arena, limping harder than he would have liked. Swiping his leather jacket off the ground, he turned halfway around to regard the older man. “Oh, and by the way, if this doesn’t deter you, just remember. You’re messing with the Bat’s first and currently only grandkid. You really want to push that particular button?”

Treading out, he only stopped briefly to pick up Wilson’s sword.

He was just before the door when he heard the click of a gun and felt its barrel pointed at the back of his head. When Wilson talked, his breath brushed across Dick’s neck like a chilly breeze.

“Sorry, kid. You would have made a great apprentice, but well, you’re fired.”

Dick barely moved when the shot went off and only turned to see Wilson’s surprised and subsequently frustrated face. “Yeah, I switched the clips somewhere during the fight. Didn’t even feel it, huh? You’re getting old, Slade. You deserve to finally retire to a nice little cell in Belle Reve. Let me help you get there.”

He brought back the sword and let it fly, the hilt catching Slade in the jaw. With a smug smirk, Dick watched as Slade collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Without a second thought, he turned and left the practice arena, walking just a little lighter than he had before. He felt them the moment he reached outside, his eyes looking up into the clear, welcoming sky.

“Do you ever hate being right? Seriously. You are all the time. Doesn’t that bother you just a little?”

“Constantly.”

The golden girdle glimmered in the moonlight, while the red cape stood out against the darkest night. A third figure draped in shadows jumped down from his perch upon a branch, while the first two floated to the ground.

“You all right?” Batman asked.

Dick knew his face and body were tainted crimson, and he more than likely had two black eyes and bruises abound. Still, he managed to crack a grin. “Yeah, I put him down.” He sucked in a deep inhale and handed his father the sword. “I finally understand what you felt all those times someone threatened me. I don’t like it.”

“You fought well, Richard,” Wonder Woman congratulated, drawing him into a hug. “You have honored your mentors and our teachings.”

“Well, when you work fourteen hours a day, seven days a week with the once Goddess of Truth and Princess of the Amazons, a super man, and my father, you tend to pick up something here and there.” He smiled. “Thank you for your time and effort. It really helped.”

“It showed. I fear to wage war against you in open combat.”

“Now what will you do?” Superman questioned.

Dick rubbed the back of his head; his grin turned sheepish. “Well, now that I just pissed off the deadliest mercenary on the planet who happens to know my identity and has threatened to destroy my life and teach my son all the wrong lessons, I’ll make sure he stays down like Barbara does with the Joker. Would you mind taking him to Belle Reve?”

“Consider it done.”

Before Dick could turn to his father, his comm. unit went off. He quickly hit the side of his head. “Yeah, honey. I was just thinking about you…oh, just kicking Deathstroke’s as—OW!” He dug his earpiece out the canal and held it to the side as Barbara’s scathing voice bothered even Superman’s hearing. “Um…if you’ll excuse me…?”

Superman patted him on the shoulder. “Go. Deal with your wife, but I would suggest cleaning up first. That helps Lois when she has a panic attack.”

Dick grinned his thanks and headed toward the edge of the island to teleport.

The “Trinity” stood, each one nodding in agreement.

When Slade Wilson awoke, he truly thought he was in hell with the three mightiest superheroes on the planet staring down upon him.

“You just dealt with the kid,” Superman growled.

Wonder Woman’s eyes narrowed. “Now the gloves come off.”

Slade snorted. “Please. You expect me to believe you’ll do anything? You heroes are all talk.”

Batman actually cracked a smile, which was what made Slade quiver.

“No more talking.”

The End