Lately, mornings had become difficult.

Not because of contracts.

Not because of enemies.

Not because of the usual chaos that followed Deathstroke.

No.

It was because his wife was having a hard time.

Some days she stayed in bed longer than usual.

Some days even getting dressed seemed exhausting.

And lately, brushing her hair had become one of those things that felt impossible.

So Slade did it.

At first, he had no idea what he was doing.

He’d watched tutorials.

Bought the wrong brush twice.

Accidentally pulled too hard once and spent the rest of the morning apologizing.

Eventually, he learned.

Now it had become part of their routine.

Every morning before leaving for a contract, Slade sat behind her on the edge of the bed.

Brush in hand.

Slow.

Careful.

Patient.

The room stayed quiet.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains.

The house still half asleep.

He worked through the tangles gently, making sure not to rush.

Because there were missions waiting for him.

Flights to catch.

People expecting Deathstroke.

But this came first.

When he finished, he carefully set the brush aside.

Her hair lay neatly over her shoulders.

One less thing for her to worry about today.

Slade stood and gathered his gear.

Then paused.

Looked back at her.

For a long moment, he simply stayed there.

Because there were plenty of things in this world he could fight.

Plenty of problems he could solve.

This wasn’t one of them.

But he could do this.

He could sit with her.

Brush her hair.

Make mornings a little easier.

And somehow, that small act felt more important than any contract waiting beyond the front door.

Finally, he picked up his bag.

Then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“Back tonight.”

A simple promise.

One he intended to keep.