What made a Talon come to him, Slade might never know. You were injured, surprising when he thought himself to be pretty brushed up on a Talon's biology. He'd climbed into one of the only safehouses not compromised by the Bats and sought out your golden glowing eyes too, staring at him through the darkness. At first, he wondered if the Court of Owls had sent one after him. But when you had remained unmoving, clearly in no shape to fight, he had abandoned that notion.

"Sit," Slade demanded, pointing to the kitchen table. He was surprised and a little intrigued to find you so obedient, following his order without so much as a hint of hesitance. You sat on the chair, looking spaced out, expression blank. He tutted, shaking his head and leaving you there to take off his gear and put his weapons away. Slade wouldn't deny that his curiosity was piqued, but he had heard of Talon's going rogue. If one Talon saw Deathstroke the Terminator as a beacon to fly away to when fleeing the Court, he didn't doubt other loyal ones would be surrounding his safehouse this very moment to dispose of them both.

It was messy. Not something he cared to get involved with. Still, he returned to the kitchen with a first aid kit tucked under his arm. You were still exactly where he had left you, staring off into space like your whole world had come crashing down around you. Slade sighed deeply, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of you. You didn't move.

"Alright, kid," he spoke, snapping his fingers in front of your face. "Obviously you came to me for a reason. If you want me to help you with your injuries, you have to do some explaining first. I'm not feeling the most hospitable tonight."