Titans: Rise of Talon

Sensitive Senses and a Concerned Kidnapper

A/N: If you guessed Lazarus Island or St. John's Island, then you are correct! Lazarus Island is just off the coast of St. John's and both are located near Singapore. Since they are so close, that's why I'd accept either answer. But congrats to those who guessed! 

As always, don't forget to review!
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10:15 SST
The Island
December 1st
.....

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The rhythmic beat of heavy footsteps was the first thing Richard was aware of as he began to stir from the short doze he had fallen into. The strides sounded like they were still a good ways away from his room, but even so, it was enough to wake him.

The scent of disinfectant hit him next, forcing his face to contort in a grimace as he lifted a hand to cover his nose and mouth. His breathing became ragged as he tried to clear his mind and focus on what was happening.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Richard could hear his own heart thundering in his ears, but it did nothing to dispel the extra noise—the beeping of the machines regulating his vitals or the footsteps outside his room. He threw a hand out and accidentally knocked over the monitors, the sounds of their crash echoing in his ears. The noise must have alerted someone, since the footsteps began to move faster.

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap.

But he didn't care. His brain was going into overload. His vision swam as he tried to make sense of the swirling colors that was supposed to be the recovery room. The door slammed open, sounding more like a gunshot, and streaks of white, black, and orange joined the mirage of colors.

   Richard closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing heart. The footsteps were a lot louder now, but they were slow. Two gloved hands grabbed his shoulders, and he became acutely aware of the individual grooves in the man's Kevlar as well as the tiny pulse in his fingertips. The smell of disinfectant was covered by the scent of the man's cologne, sweat, and the distinct tinge of gunpowder, but thankfully there was no scent of blood.

    "Richard," Slade's voice whispered, "Richard, speak to me."

    "Too much," he croaked, throat dry from lack of water, and he spastically waved his hands near his ears and face, "Everything's too much."

"Sensory overload," Slade hummed factually and squeezed the boy's too-skinny shoulders, "Richard, I want you to focus on breathing, and only that, okay?"

This shouldn't be happening, was the first thing that registered in Dick's mind. He shouldn't be freaking out over waking up. His worst enemy wasn't supposed to be the one trying to placate him. He shouldn't be relying on Slade's grip to pull himself back to reality. And he wasn't supposed to find comfort in it.

"Stop thinking," Slade ordered, "It will only stress yourself out more."

Richard wasn't sure why he felt that he could rely his arch-rival. He never had before. But for some reason, he felt tiny shreds of trust towards the man. However, like Slade himself said, trust was difficult to build, and he wouldn't be giving in so easily.

He must have continued overthinking too long, because Slade's grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to grab his attention.

"Richard, breathe," Slade ordered, his voice low but stern and soothing to his sensitive hearing. After a few seconds of the teen trying to regain his breath, Slade continued, "It is clear this room is no longer suitable for recovery. I'm going to move you, okay? Just focus on breathing steady."

He didn't even bother to ask if he could walk. Slade simply looped one of Richard's arms around his neck and slid one arm under his knees and the other on his back. It took almost no effort to pick the teen up.

"Good night, boy! Do you ever eat?"

"I eat," he mumbled lamely as he locked his fingers together. The action forced him to lay his head on the man's chest, and Slade's steady heartbeat consumed his hearing, which served as a better distraction than focusing on his breathing. He could feel his own chest expand and contract in sync with the constant drum pounding against his ear. Richard closed his eyes as they grew heavier with each step Slade took until sleep claimed him.

   Slade looked down when he felt the boy go limp in his arms. Richard's head was propped against his chest, mouth partly open and breathes slow but relaxed. His eyes were closed but not scrunched up. In all honesty, the boy looked five years younger when asleep and genuinely comfortable.

The assassin took great care to keep his steps light and silent as he trekked down the halls to the soundproof bedroom he had Wintergreen set up the night before. The teen wonder didn't stir, even when a trio of soldiers passed by them. Then again, the men were most likely stunned into silence by watching their boss ghost down the hall with a literal child in his arms.

Wintergreen was just exiting the boy's new room when Slade arrived, and the old Brit raised an eyebrow at his comrade.

"Sensory overload and exhaustion," Slade answered the silent question.

Will took a step closer and examined Richard's small frame, "You may want to add malnourishment to that list. Did he eat at all while he was in that tower?"

"I've seen the concoctions those children make in the kitchen. I'm surprised they've survived their own cooking for as long as they have."

Wintergreen frowned but said nothing else on the matter. He instead cocked his head and opened the door to Richard's new bedroom and pulled back the blankets on the bed.

"I took another glance at those letters from John and figured I'd add a few extra layers," Will explained as Slade set the boy down.

Unfortunately, it seemed the sleep-deprived teen didn't want to let go, much to the assassin's surprise and Wintergreen's amusement. Slade set Richard's lower body on the bed and reached up to untangle the boy's arms around his neck, but the teen only curled closer.

"Tata, na~," the boy whined almost childishly. Slade froze. Only for a few seconds, but it still felt like an eternity before he continued moving his hands to unlatch the clearly hallucinating teen from himself.

With lightning fast reflexes, the mercenary had the boy free from his person and safely tucked into his new bed. Slade absently brushed the loose strands of ebony hair out of the boy's face before he and Wintergreen left the room.

The old butler couldn't help but chuckle at the scene he had just beheld. Not only had his friend expressed obvious concern for another human being, but that one child was able to disarm Deathstroke the Terminator with only two words spoken in a drowsy haze. The whole idea was hilarious to him.

"What's put you in such a good mood?" Slade grouched.

Wintergreen smirked knowingly and patted his longtime friend on the shoulder, "Oh, it's nothing."

"Sure seems like it," he bit back sarcastically.

  Will, in a rare act of mercy, decided not to tease the poor man further.

Perhaps some good may come out of this after all, he mused and clapped his hands twice.

   "It's settled. I am going to go prepare a sturdy meal for the boy when he wakes up. I don't care which side of the law either of you are on, but I will not be having a starving child on this island for as long as I can help it!" he declared and strode off to the kitchen.

   Slade watched him go and shook his head ruefully, "Crazy old coot."

    "I heard that!"
....
And that's a wrap for this chap! Please let me know what you think so far! Thank you for your patience; I really appreciate it!

Also, I'm considering updating the cover for this book, but I'm not sure. What do y'all think?

Anyways, have a good day/night!