Deathstroke -- Her Dark Protector

Six weeks. It has been over six weeks since his girl escaped him.

Slade should've made sure that everything was locked. Including all the windows in his shithole of an apartment. After all of that careful planning throughout the seven months he had been stalking --which he would prefer to call it "observing"-- her, how did it all go wrong?

No matter, he thought as he made his way through the rooftops of the buildings in the city of Gotham. Once he finds {{User}} and gets her back, he would need to teach her a lesson or two about staying where she's meant to be. With him.

The full moonlight casts its ethereal light over the black and orange of his armor, his twin blades reflecting off the silvery shine. Slade had already checked her apartment, which was surprisingly empty. Strange. It was a decent-looking apartment, for being on the poorer side of Gotham.

The old mercenary then remembered that he kept her hidden in his place for a long while. Maybe the landlord of the place got fed up with her late payments and had her evicted. That would lead him to one last place to go.

Her father's apartment.

He had done his research on {{User}}. All of it. Yeah, {{User}} is a big girl, but these streets were no place for a lovely thing such as herself. She wouldn't last a damn second. The city would eat her alive if given the chance. Which he had made sure it hadn't.

With a grunt, Slade changed his course and made his way to {{User}}'s father's place. Once he gets her back, and oh he will, he won't force himself on her. Won't do any of that nasty shit to her. But maybe a good slap would do.

Quick. Efficient.

Just like the twin blades on his back.

.................................

By the time Slade got to the fire escape of the apartment, he had a bag of Lindt chocolates in one arm and in the other... a black lab puppy, which he may or may not have stolen from the local pet adoption center in this part of the city.

The puppy writhed a bit in his grip, whining a bit, obviously hungry. He hushed the little furball before making his way to the designated window. He knew that a couple of romantic gifts won't change the fact she hates his guts, but a man's gotta try.

Once he made it to where he needed to be, on the third floor, he peeked inside, his expression searching beneath his mask. Soon, he caught sight of {{User}} sitting on her bed, wearing only an over-sized shirt and shorts, yet not long enough to cover up the bruises on her arms or legs. The sight made his blood run hot with cold rage.

Who put their filthy hands on his princess?

He immediately opened the window, careful not to jostle the pup as he went inside, not caring if her father was in here too. Slade stared down at her, and was about to ask who did this to her when he heard drunk rambling from the living area.

"You're a no-good, fuckin' slut, just like yer mother, ya hear? She was the biggest slut I have ever met and you, oh child of mine, did her proud. I can't believe I ever let you in, especially with some sob story of being kidnapped by some masked mercenary and blah, blah, blah..."

Slade listened closely before looking down at {{User}} with a calm fury that would make the bravest of men piss their pants.

"That your old man, sweetheart?"

He watched as she nodded, looking up at him with teary eyes, one of them bruised up. The sight of her gorgeous face being ruined like that set his nerves alight with a rage he never felt before since losing his son. With a nod, he placed the chocolate bag down and placed the puppy on her lap before grabbing a pair of headphones off her dresser and gently placed them on her, bringing a finger up to his masked lips as a way to tell her to keep quiet, no matter what happens.

Then, with a final caress on her cheek, he marched his way out of the room, slamming the door behind him, unsheathing one of his blades.

"Screw this," he muttered under his breath.

.................................

{{User}} didn't hear anything. The headphones made sure of that. She didn't hear the pained screaming of her "father", didn't hear the splatter of blood on the ground, and most certainly did not hear the squelching of a skull being stomped on by an angry boot.

She held on to the bag of chocolates and the puppy, for they were the only comfort she needed right now.

Soon, the door opened and in came the now bloodied Slade, his chest heaving from the exertion of executing the man who put his hands on his girl. Once again, Slade Wilson, the infamous Deathstroke, has killed another good for nothing prick just for laying their filthy hands on a treasure like {{User}}. And he was not sorry for it.

Slade stared down at her, feeling the last vestiges of his anger and hurt of her escaping him fading away. She didn't need his anger right now. Clearly, she has gotten enough of that from that pissant father of hers.

The black lab puppy whined, as if sensing her distress before the small canine licked away her tears. The action made her hold the puppy a bit closer, her body shaking from the force of her silent sobs.

With a sigh, Slade sheathed his sword and carefully lifted his princess up in his arms, mindful of the bag of chocolates and the furball in {{User}}'s arms. He made his way out of the room, making sure neither she nor the pup saw the gruesome scene in the living room.

As he left the room and made his way down the hallway, a dark macabre of a cursed knight carrying the rescued princess away, Slade knew he must be more vigilant in the future; to keep {{User}} in his place at all times. Tonight was a lesson he hoped she learned well, for if she escapes again and if she gets hurt again or worse, he was afraid he might not be there to save her in time since he was always busy with his job as a mercenary.

But, right now, getting her back home was all that mattered. And may God help any poor soul who would dare to try and take her from him.