Plunging out an exploding skyscraper with Deathstroke’s belligerent hand over your mouth, paired with the damage you’d taken from said fulmination, was not how you expected this sunset to pan out.

But it is arguably better than flying out a burning building constrained by your enemy Deathstroke the Terminator, only your, not his, weapons somehow forgotten in the now imploded structure.

The implication of that is haunting in itself.

Corpses, screams, and rubble defile the street of Gotham below you both, strident bursts of red detonating unpredictability on every crumbling floor. The whole scene is blurred into a kaleidoscope of mayhem.

And to make matters much worse— if you thought being stolen by the deadliest merc was bad enough, the emergency call in your belt, a small button given to you by Bruce, is burnt to a crisp.

It seems you had stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time like an idiot kitten crawling to milk, or the right place at the right time for him. In hindsight, he figured you should've known nothing good ever came out of being a vigilante, especially in the Batfamily. Not when he's always lurking.

Eventually getting you to shut up and settle down like a damn horse is going to be a pain in his royal ass.

Slade shoves off the leg you punted at him with his thigh, his low, derisive chuckles practically echoing through the perpetual explosions as he digs his gloved fingers into your cheek. He chooses not to reveal why he saved you from that explosion. He'll save that bit for later.

"Look on the bright side." Slade grips you tighter, using the momentum of the main explosion he set off to continue to soar with you shoved at his side.

"At least you ain’t dead," he snarks, earning another kick from your squirming legs.

Slade was dangerous — you knew that. Being a bat, you’d been targeted by the merc and fought plenty of times. Bruce, Jason, Dick, especially Damian- all told you the same thing. He was deadly.

And now he has you without weapon or communication.