Fruition Of Lies

We Do What We Must

"We do what we must for those we care for, even if it means sacrificing ourselves to do it." -Me

Mary Grayson was a beautiful woman. She held such a natural talent for the spotlight, that any room became her room the moment she step foot into it. Her grace was unrivaled. The slow, seductive sway of her hips as she walked, the careful distribution of weight to her feet. Unrivaled. The way she cared for her child, that unwavering gaze, filled to the brim with as much love a mother could give. Willing to give. Playing hide-and-seek around the circus tents and baking cookies. The perfect Mother.

Mary Grayson was a beautiful woman, but only on the outside. Inside, Mary Grayson could rival Lucifer himself. Her wicked and cruel nature remained hidden to most, only her husband and Pop Haley knew the whole truth. And no matter how much Mary wanted to change, to do better, the apple never really falls far from the tree, does it?

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There was something off about the way the kid moved, Deathstroke decided after they'd made it to his safe house. The kid didn't walk like some of the heroes he'd fought before. His gait held something more...predatory. Something that Slade recognized, but didn't know. It was rather frustrating, however, it wasn't the only weird thing about him.

The way he loomed over Slade's shoulders while he rushed to fix Jason was a little odd, although, he could've just been concerned. The way he tilted his head and shuffled his feet made Slade's brain scream out in warning. It's like he was always anticipating an attack. It's the little things, the tiny, minuscule details that nobody ever notices. Those are the things that can tell you everything you want to know about a person. Those are the things you need to watch out for.

Slade grabbed another wad of combat gauze as he attempted to staunch the bleeding. Jason's wound looked a lot worse than it actually was, thankfully. He nodded his head back, towards Nightwing, motioning for him to approach. He had to kick him out earlier, the kid's rapid pacing -no matter how quiet it was- had gotten rather annoying.

"Can you grab the sterile needle and thread for me? They're under the coffee table," Deathstroke half asked, half commanded.

Nightwing nodded his head after an awkward moment of staring, and grabbed the supplies as instructed. Slade held his hand out, patiently waiting, and got to work quickly after Nightwing handed him the items.

Slade glanced back when he heard the familiar shuffle- the one he'd grown to recognize these past few hours- move behind him. "Calm down kid, Jason's going to be fine. He's strong," Slade spoke and turned around, finding only that the kid was gone. Gone as in, no longer in the building. Sighing, Slade rolled his shoulders and focused back onto Jason, pulling another stitch. At least it would be quieter.

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He couldn't take it anymore, watching Deathstroke try to fix Jason. He hated how he couldn't do anything. Useless, that was it, he felt useless. Dick couldn't even think of a time when he'd been this useless. The Court always had something for him to do, to keep him busy. They were always keeping him busy, and when he wasn't busy, he was frozen. A rather simple concept to grasp.

When Deathstroke asked for something, for a second, Dick tried to reply. Tried to use his newly found voice to actually answer, but it didn't work. Instead, his throat tightened up and his mouth became as dry as a desert. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, and his breathing might've become a bit hard. Any words that he'd wanted to say died before they'd even started. He couldn't speak. And maybe he never could.