#william wintergreen

[ev-arrested]

Pet Names

#you fell for one of the classic blunders #your honor i hate them so much #dick grayson #nightwing #richard grayson #slade wilson #deathstroke #sladick #billy wintergreen #william wintergreen #ev-arrested #ev-arrested art #dc comics #dc fanart #sladewing #sladedick

[wilsondick-winterexchange]

Sign-ups open with a surprise for all of us! 😍 Feast upon the wonderful WilsonDick fanart @zeroducks-2 created for this event!

SIGN-UPS ARE NOW OPEN ON AO3.

Please see our How to sign-up form and reach out to us if you have any questions!

💠Timeline💠

Sign-ups Open: NOW

Sign-ups Close: September 30th

Assignments: October 4th

Check-In: November 4th

Fanworks Deadline: November 27th

Posting Fanworks: December 4th to 6th

Creators Revealed & Celebration:  December 11

We encourage you to sign up and create new content for Dick's relationships with the various members of the Wilson family in any platonic, monogamous, and polyamorous forms and flavors.

Dick Grayson may be paired up with the following Wilsons: Slade Wilson, Joey Wilson, Rose Wilson, Grant Wilson, Adeline Kane, William Randolph Wintergreen, Lillian Worth

Please like, reblog, and share with folks who enjoy these pairings!

#wilsondick #sladick #joeydick #dickrose #dickgrant #addiedick #billydick #lilydick #dick grayson #slade wilson #joey wilson #rose wilson #adeline kane #william wintergreen #lillian worth

[scarletlunarosa]

My version of the Wilson Family

#bfkcarts #dc comics #Deathstroke #slade wilson #renegade #nightwing #dick grayson #sladick #adeline kane #william wintergreen #ravager #grant wilson #ravager rose #rose wilson #jericho #joey wilson #respawn #respawn dc #wilson family

[flames-in-ice]

#slade wilson #william wintergreen #deathstroke #always these two

[romanyeva]

Been seeing a bit about of the MAwS version of Deathstroke on my feed recently with not a little outrage at his twunkiness or not-dilfness or something and that he might be a little bit pathetic.

Well!

Comics Slade Wilson can be VERY MUCH a pathetic wet meow meow of a man. Here he is in the series end of his latest title, Deathstroke vol. 4 # 50 (2016-2020):

This takes place after his showdown with an alternate Slade Wilson from the Dark Multiverse. He's reconciling with his ex-wife - you know, the one who shot his eye out - and cooking Christmas Eve dinner for the family. Of which, William "Billy" Wintergreen is an honorary member. Just look at Slade's little purple house slippers!

More scans from this series end under the cut:

Rose and Joseph, Slade's kids, and Adeline also greet Wintergreen. So domestic! And look at Joey using wifi to speak through his mom's house speakers. Yes, Joseph Wilson aka Jericho - canonically bisexual - is very much alive in DC Rebirth (and his story is wild and dramatic, tragic and uplifting)! [If something awful happened to Jericho after this issue, let me know.]

Then Slade and Billy go down to the basement to have a little chat.

Looking at the basement, Slade is definitely settled in for the long haul. He has his 'man-cave', need I remind you, in the basement. He's definitely playing nice with the ex no matter how many knife fights they get into with each other. And here he explains to Wintergreen, that he was going to play dead because it would be best for everyone - meaning his family. He may be absolutely sure of his deadly abilities, but his personal ones? Not so much. He's a dangerous guy! It's bad for the kids!

But he's still retired, just not in hiding anymore. He's going to be a responsible partner and father, darn it!

Take a long look at his famous Deathstroke sword, placed in retired honor on the wall, because it will be important in a bit.

You heard the man, Billy, Deathstroke is done! And they still have Christmas dinner to take care of!

Aw, look at this picture of domestic bliss. Adeline and Wintergreen are talking shop; Rose and Joey are playing a video game and being very sibling. But, OH NO, look at Slade and his body language. He's sitting pressed against the corner of the sofa, still in his little purple house slippers, just absolutely slumped and not having a good time. SLADE! SLADE WILSON! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!

His family's chatter just becomes noise in the background as he replays - from earlier in the issue - darker Slade's words in his head. And darker Slade said these same words to him TWICE. Telling him that he - our Slade Wilson - ruined all the good things in his life, that he did it to himself.

So he goes to get the turkey out of the oven.

More domestic stuff, aww 🧡 But where's our man Slade? Billy goes to check.

Turkey abandoned. Back door open. And the infamous Deathstroke sword RIPPED OFF THE WALL AND OUT OF RETIREMENT.

And there he is folks, Deathstroke, back in the shadows. Slade Wilson abandoned his family AGAIN! Slade Wilson, you pathetic wet meow meow of a man! You just cannot - absolutely CANNOT - allow yourself to be happy.

I would say that he isn't doomed by the narrative, but that he dooms himself; but if we were talking CLASSIC TRAGEDY, he has this absolutely fatal flaw that dooms him to be alone. And in a metatextual sense, that's also true, because he's become one of DC's banner villains. They will not let him retire, become anything but a morally dark gray character, so they gave him this ironclad flaw:

What can you take from a man who has nothing? Give him something first.

And Slade Wilson would rather have nothing because he's already lost too much.

#slade wilson #deathstroke #he's a complicated guy #the most dangerous person #and also a pathetic wet meow meow of a man #william wintergreen #adeline kane #rose wilson #joseph wilson

[ontheropesss]

Billy hesitated, then brushed back her hair from her cheek. “He sees too much of himself in you, dear.”

Rose laughed, tacky and thick. “Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”

“Not for Slade.”

#slade wilson #rose wilson #william wintergreen #emotional baggage #cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon #my writing

[chief-of-restless-hearts]

Chapter 24: Lapse

. . .

‘An accident’.

Dick had said those words so easily, so distantly, that Wintergreen knew Slade would echo the same excuse. Unevenly chopped hair poorly disguised Dick’s unnaturally shaped ear, bound tightly with tape, or the faint shadows of blood smudged against the lad’s neck and shoulder.

Dick’s frightened-rabbit stare had fixed on anything but Wintergreen ever since the disheveled pair had stepped into the house, and Slade’s gaze evaded Wintergreen’s face with practiced efficiency until the man stalked off to shut himself behind the study door.

The lad stood facing that wooden barrier for far too long, Ace whimpering unattended at his feet. In time he retreated ghostlike up the stairs to his room, the pup trotting after his heels.

‘An accident’.

Wintergreen stood alone in the hall, and wished he was a fool. He wished he was capable of mistaking what he’d seen in that lad’s face for anything aside from fear—which Wintergreen had not seen in him before, not even when the lad had been at his closest to falling apart. Something terrible had happened in that forest.

No—Slade had done something terrible in that forest.

Wintergreen rubbed an icy hand against his jaw, his gaze drawn as though by magnetic force toward the study door. He was wrong. He had to be. Slade had been doing better. Even the lad’s condition had improved.

Slade’s sense of obligation toward the Batman’s ward would run its course, just as had his previous phases of grief—of that Wintergreen was still convinced—but in the meantime...he had options. Ways to expedite the process, get the boy back to his people, and get Slade’s head back on straight. Adeline, if told, would surely intervene—

No sooner had the treacherous thought crossed his mind than icy horror gripped him. Wintergreen let out a shuddering sigh and rubbed at his forehead. No. Whatever had happened in the forest, wherever the blame lay, Slade was guaranteed to blame himself, and Wintergreen would do his friend no favors by jumping to unfounded conclusions.

The lad himself had called it an accident; it was entirely probable that the mistake, in one manner or another, had been his own.

Slade was healing. Wintergreen had seen it, and known better than to rush it.

He’d only hoped Slade would forgive himself by now. Slade had done all he could for Joey and Grant, and every day he failed to recognize that brought him closer to falling apart at the seams. If Slade were to add Dick to his list of perceived failures…

Wintergreen shuddered at the prospect. Some partner he had proved himself, so nearly betraying the one man he owed his life to. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d spent too much time apart from his friend. It was compromising his judgment.

So resolved, he pushed through the study door. Slade was standing to the right of the fireplace by an open window that whisked the smoke away from his newly lit cigar. As Wintergreen entered, Slade's shoulders, which were turned toward the window, tensed. Wintergreen’s heart sank at Slade’s apparent anticipation of criticism.

“Smoking without me?” he said lightly as he approached the mantlepiece where he’d secreted his personal stash. “Well, as I’ve been saving these for a special occasion, now is as fitting a time as any.”

He selected a cigar for himself and lit it with the lighter he’d never stopped keeping in his breast pocket. With one more glance at Slade, who had his attention fixed pointedly out the window, Wintergreen stooped to remove the lowest stone from the base of the hearth.

“Brace yourself, Slade,” he began as he pulled the box of documents from its place, “for the product of leaving me with too much time and insufficient action to fill it. Tell me: how would you like to spend your weekend—business?” He drew out a sheaf of paper and offered it to Slade with a raised eyebrow. “Pleasure?”

Finally, Slade stepped away from the window. His attention betrayed only marginal interest in the documents in Wintergreen’s hand, but the hint of relaxation in his posture was satisfying enough. “Business,” he answered.

Wintergreen hadn’t failed to notice Slade’s gaze too-pointedly avoiding the brandy bottle Wintergreen had failed to remove from its usual place on the mantle. Promptly, Wintergreen turned to set out two glasses and poured a generous helping of the amber liquid into both. He offered one to Slade with a grin. “Both it is, then.”

Slade’s gaze rose from the pages, surprise flickering across his features. There could be no mistake: he recognized the extended olive branch that was the glass in Wintergreen’s hand. Following long moments that passed between them with a look on Slade’s face that Wintergreen couldn’t decipher, Slade reached to accept it.

    + - + - + - +

    Dick’s backpack waited, still packed, where he’d left it beside his bed the previous morning. He slung it over his shoulder. The frosty glow outside the window that was creeping steadily over the treeline signaled that the night was over—Slade might already be at the door with his own bags.

Slade hadn’t looked at him a single time since. Not a single glance; not a single word.

Dick wheeled toward the door, but balked at the tool-desk mirror. A strange face was staring back at him. He blinked at his reflection’s ghoulish expression only an instant before noticing its asymmetry. His fingers, darting toward his belt on instinct, brushed the hilt of his knife. His entire body recoiled from the contact, the shivering persisting even as he fumbled for the desk drawer.

Somehow among the jumbled collection of miscellaneous bolts and tools, his groping hands found the rubbery finger grip of an old pair of scissors. He ran a tentative finger along the business ends of the twin blades. They were blunt. Trembling hands lifted the scissors above his ear. I can fix this. He fished out uneven locks to cut, exposing a bare patch of scalp in the process. And his ear. I can fix this. He dropped the shears and tugged at the hair, fluffing it out into a black mass that covered his right ear almost completely.

He cropped the other side just slightly to match. A choppy job. He shuddered every time the shears brushed his scalp, but by the time he was finished he could look into the reflection and almost-almost believe nothing was missing.

Good enough.

He stationed himself beside his backpack against the bars of the cherrywood railing, out of the way, but with an unobstructed glimpse of the front door, which would be important if he couldn’t—if Slade moved too quietly. Slade was nowhere in sight.

Crouched tightly at his post, he waited. He waited for a sound, a stir, a call. He waited, ignoring the ringing-throbbing-ringing right side of his head, and Ace, whining beside him, licked unnoticed wetness from his cheeks.

Slade hadn’t looked at him, not even once.

  . . .

  As the trip to the new contract wore on, Wintergreen’s chatter from the driver’s seat mingled with the static buzz in Dick’s mind whenever the vehicle strayed too close to a sheer sea-cliff or cityscape.

Slade’s face, as impenetrable as any cliff face, never shifted from the windshield.

Eventually night demanded rest, if only for the sun-beaten car. From where Dick had stretched out across the back (with his arm as a pillow under the left side of his head, never, never his right), he stared at Slade’s dark shape in the reclined passenger seat. He stared, waited.

Two nights passed, and Slade never turned.

The contract demanded steady hands to grip the barge railing that was Renegade’s assigned vantage point. It demanded legs poised to spring into action, without bone-deep clamminess locking them at the joints.

The contract demanded that he listen, without twisting his head back and forth until his vision swam.

He shook himself to fend off the strange sluggishness, but the erratic hammering against his ribs wouldn’t ease.

He was afraid.

He wasn’t sure of what, but the reason, a strangled, suffocated thing that filled him from the inside out, was far too familiar—familiar in a way he had never wanted to feel again, and hadn’t expected to. It was supposed to be over. That, at least that, was supposed to be over.

But Slade still hadn’t looked at him.

What he would find in Slade’s face was unanswerable. A desperate wish had turned to dread, to a chill bleeding into his limbs until he shivered.

He had a job to do.

But his head...the shadow slipped across his vision an instant before his eyes cleared again, cutting unsteadily through the pitch black night.

The right side of his head burned, and rang—all silence and sound, unbalanced weights on a scale, on a wire.

The boat had been flushed out of hiding and was coming closer, he needed to time the jump just right…

  . . .

  Ice water hit his lungs before the crack to his skull had a chance to throb. Needle-sharp, gut deep, the all-encompassing blanket crushed him from every side. His limbs thrashed wildly, panic drowning his mind first.

Idiot, barked a voice in his mind with gravelly disgust. They’ll get away, you’re pathetic, you’re failing, you’re Dying—

His limbs ceased thrashing, years of training kicking in. He opened his eyes, righted himself.

No sooner had he glimpsed a flicker of light than a shadow eclipsed it. A vise, warm and unyielding, clamped around his right forearm, yanked—

The drag threw ice-hot pain between his arm and shoulder, rushing water against his face, doubling pressure against the icy blanket until it ended in a sudden burst. His face struck wind that felt even colder, and his entire body slammed down against splintered wood. He lay staring up at an empty sky, so empty he almost doubted he was gazing upward, gaping like a fish until that same vise grip flipped him onto his chest with enough force to knock the entire river out of his lungs.

He retched until he could suck in a desperately ragged breath, even as he pushed himself up from the dock-wood slats with rubbery limbs.

Pathetic.

The voice, he knew that voice—and the shadow loomed closer, reached for him—

He scrambled backward, a strangled, half-drowned sound jumping from his throat as he stumbled over his own limbs. Slade was a mountain towering over him and he’d be crushed underneath as it fell. It was falling, crumbling, all of it before his eyes, it was all his fault he’d failed and it wasn’t over it had never would never be over—

“Please,” he choked out.

His chest ached, bone-deep, in a way it hadn't for months. It was going to happen again. Aching ribs, darkness, nauseous hunger—fragments flickered in and out of his mind, swift as the howling wind, sharp as fractured bone, harsher than they’d felt since...since when? When had he forgotten? It was going to happen again. It would—Slade’s hand would come down hard, his lenience long since spent, but worst of all by far, Slade’s face would twist into a mask of hatred, and anything else Dick had ever thought he’d seen in it would be proven just a dream.

“Please,” he whispered, the word carried by a sob, “I—I’m sorry, sir, don’t...don’t...”

The shadow stilled. That could be dangerous, deadly dangerous, the slow uncoiling of anger before it struck. But Dick was shuddering, shaking, rendered all but immobile by the sound that tore from his throat, dragging his chest further into the ground with every helpless half-breath. Still, his entire body flinched as Slade reached for him again.

The shadow kneeled, but didn’t touch him.

“Kid,” the murmur drifted to his ear, graveled and low, yet somehow diminished, “...kid...”

Emptiness stretched between them, punctuated only by Dick’s thudding heart and sobs that tore themselves from his throat in rolling waves.

  . . .

  Dick wrapped his hands more tightly around the steaming paper cup of hot chocolate. Shifting on the slippery leather of the passenger seat, he pulled his knees up closer to his chest. A rough travel blanket covered the dry t-shirt and jeans he distantly remembered fishing out of his bag.

Dawn was creeping along the edges of the horizon, a ghostly glow through dew-beaded windows, but he couldn’t stop shivering.

He could still taste salt-water between his teeth.

He was taking care to avoid looking over at Slade in the driver’s seat. There was no sign of Wintergreen. Slade had parked them behind a small coffee shop, facing a briar-ridden strip of woods. The radio was mumbling a recent pop hit for the fifth time that day. Slade was flipping through the same sheafs of paperwork he’d been studying since they’d first parked.

Dick braved a tiny sip of the scalding liquid in his cup and tried to savor it. It tasted more syrupy sweet than he remembered it being, but he didn’t mind at all. The heat slipped down his throat into his gut, and slowly spread into his limbs.

His fear had spent itself on the dock.

At some point Slade had guided him away from the waterfront, mute and frozen stiff as though his spell had wrung every drop of sensation out of him, body and soul.

It couldn’t have happened—not the way he remembered—but the damp that still clung to his bones removed any trace of doubt: it hadn’t been a dream.

And if the ice was still ebbing from his core, the shame hadn’t even begun to.

He’d left fragments of himself embedded in the dock-wood, hindsight’s proof of the intricate webwork of hairline splinters that he’d been so certain had mended until he shattered under a feather-touch.

Under nothing.

Nothing at all.

But he’d been so terrified of Slade in that moment. And as for his team—his friends? They couldn’t have been further from his mind. In that moment there had been only himself, Slade, and that crushing, crushing shame.

Was that all this was to him, now?

Was he really that selfish?

    + - + - + - +

    The boy was sleeping, nocturnal creature that he was, stretched out in the back of the car even as the sun climbed high in the sky. Slade studied it from across the parking lot, where he leaned against the brick rear-side wall of the ramshackle coffee shop. In the hours since they’d first arrived, he’d traded the taste of coffee for tobacco smoke. His exhale mingled with the morning mists that still clung to the damp asphalt beneath his feet.

He rubbed the familiar texture of the cigar between his fingers. An old friend’s vice.

With his free hand he drew the secure line from his coat pocket. Wintergreen would know what to do. Slade lifted the comm to his ear. One press of a button and he would hear his old friend’s voice in his ear, advising him, reassuring him, absolving him—

The last tendrils of mist were dissipating; a cyclical surrender to the day. With his gaze still fixed on the car’s dew-beaded window, Slade let the comm slip back into his pocket.

    + - + - + - +

    The old map was nearly frayed through along the quartered folds where someone had folded and refolded it before tacking it against the motel office wall. From where his fingertips had settled on the map’s ‘you are here’ sticker, Dick’s fingers walked two steps north to tap where Slade’s base sat nestled against the bay. Two finger-steps south of the sticker, and he touched Gotham.

Two steps to home.

The door bell jangled, signaling Slade’s return from the payphone outside. “Apologies for the wait,” he said to the man behind the desk. “I needed to call ahead. Our hosts hadn’t expected us so soon.”

“Aw, no trouble, no trouble at all,” the man rattled off genially. “I heard all about your fishin’ trip plans from your grandson here.”

Still facing the map, Dick sensed rather than saw the man gesture toward him, and the irritated look from Slade that followed it. Dick allowed himself a tight-lipped smile.

“Been long years since I last headed off into the boonies with my cousins,” the man rattled on. “Been a while since I got out from behind this desk to be honest—”

“Right,” Slade interrupted. Dick turned his head to see Slade toss a few twenties onto the desk and snatch up the room key. “Me and my son,” Slade said with a pointed look in Dick’s direction, “—who thinks he has a sense of humor—had best get some sleep.”

Dick’s mouth pressed into a grimace that Slade didn’t see.

Already trailing after Slade through the door, Dick tapped the brim of his baseball cap in a final salute to the motel manager. The man’s startled farewell was all but drowned out by the jangling bell and the wind gust that immediately tried its hand at whistling the cap off Dick’s head.

Dick yanked it down further even as the rough denim scraped the sensitive, still-taped portion of his ear. It kept his hair pinned securely against the right side of his head, and with his hand still gripping the brim he hurried after Slade, who was already carrying their baggage through an ajar motel room door.

By the time Dick drew close enough to glimpse the very comfortable-looking beds inside, Slade was shutting the door and turning the key in the lock.

Slade turned on his heel and strode past their car down the road, waving for Dick to follow. With one last, longing glance in the direction of his would-be bed, Dick jogged after him.

Slade’s long, brisk strides might have been taken as an attempt to leave Dick behind if not for the man’s distinctly absent stare that was directed only in the general direction of the road ahead. The silence stretched on until Dick was provoked to ask a few basic questions.

Where were they going? ‘The gas station’, Slade supplied helpfully. Further inquiry prompted the response of ‘dinner’.

The ensuing awkwardness was not in Dicks imagination, he was sure, but not minding the wind-swept silence, he let the night claim his attention. The breeze was warm but stiff, rattling the newly budding branches on either side of the close-hedged road and sweeping the sky clean and bright.

Not yet beneath the smoggy night glow that enshrouded the city, he could just make out a few distinct pinpricks of light.

“Plan on returning to us mere mortals anytime soon?”

Dick dropped his gaze to see an intent expression on Slade’s face, as though he had been watching him for some time.

“Anything interesting up there?” Slade asked, turning away.

So Slade did want to talk. In that case… “What’s with the motel? We’re within like fifty minutes of you-know-where.” The street was empty of cars, the intermittent streetlights camera-free. Still, Dick somehow couldn’t bring himself to use their usual terms when they were out in the open, pretending to be normal people who didn’t have knives hidden in their boots.

“Homesick, are we?”

Rubbing a weary hand over his face, Dick just shook his head. If Slade didn’t want to answer him, then that was that. He’d figure out why soon enough. And that, at least, was reason enough to stay alert.

They rounded a bend in the road, and the fluorescent glare of the two-pump gas station they had passed on the way to the hotel beckoned them closer.

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Slade continued abruptly. “We’ll stop by the place for the necessities before we head out.”

At the flippant half-answer, Dick gave him a sharp look. But Slade wasn’t finished.

“Where would you go next?”

Dick felt his mouth twist skeptically. “You’re asking me?”

“I’m thinking Canada,” Slade mused, as though he hadn’t heard. “How does that sound?”

“Aren’t you wanted up there for espionage?”

“Nothing like an outstanding warrant or two to liven things up.” He looked at Dick for a few long moments, and his grin faded. He looked away. “We’ll figure it out, kid.”

They stepped over the curb, and passed the pumps to approach the station’s tiny shop. Pausing just outside the door, Slade gestured for Dick to wait outside.

He didn’t need to explain. So close to home, Dick’s face was a liability.

Slade disappeared inside, trampling a puddle just outside the swinging glass door in the process. Dick leaned beside the door and watched the shallow pool ripple in Slade’s wake until it again reflected the sky as clearly as a mirror. Dick gazed into it until he could almost mistake it for a pane of glass instead.

Slade reappeared to thrust a plastic bag into Dick’s hands.

“Go on ahead,” Slade said as Dick accepted it. “I need to make another call.”

Dick peeked into the bag, noting the gallon of milk that would do well to reach the motel mini fridge as soon as possible, even if between the two of them they were likely to down it all by morning.

“Business?” he asked, glancing up.

“Always.” Slade flashed a grin, pressed the motel key into Dick’s hand, and strode toward the shadowed face of the station before Dick could ask if he was calling Wintergreen.

Dick hadn’t had a chance to wish Ace goodbye, not even before that contract. His mind had been somewhere far away. But he was back, now. He suddenly wondered whether he’d ever see Ace again. Whether he would ever see Wintergreen. Slade, as far as Dick could tell, had left Wintergreen in the lurch. Something about Slade was changing again, and only time would tell whether it would prove to be for better or for worse.

But Dick would be ready, whatever happened. The wind seemed to curl around his back, carrying him onward as a foreign lightness swelled in his chest. He was still tied to Slade as surely as if by a physical chain, hemmed in by invisible bars as he followed Slade’s orders even while the man was nowhere within sight. But now, finally, he could see those bars again.

He was glad. He was grateful. Because how could he have escaped a cage he’d forgotten existed?

And he had forgotten.

So much. And so many people. So many promises.

I promised I’d wait. I’m sorry.

The shame welled up behind his eyes, filling his throat. He blinked to clear his view of the slick pavement beneath his feet, suddenly unable to raise his eyes to what he couldn’t even pretend was an empty sky anymore. It never had been empty, had it?

I was looking for a reason to keep going, a reason behind all of this, and then I stopped—because I started looking for it in Slade. He scrubbed a rough cotton sleeve over his eyes. I thought I was getting better. Maybe I just forgot.

Safety nets, falling away one by one. Wishing that X were there, until he remembered why he shouldn’t. Wishing it about all of them, until he didn’t, again and again and again until he found he didn’t wish for anything anymore.

He might have gone on forever, forgetting—if not for what had happened in the forest. His hand drifted up to feel the shapeless mass of tape where his ear was supposed to be. His lips twitched faintly. Well, that’s one way to get my attention.

He let his head drop back and took in the glittering field of stars.

Thank you.

“Those weren’t there yesterday,” he mused.

“Oh, yes they were, Dickie.”

His mother’s warm chuckle from so long ago that he could still fit in her arms might have been tickling his ear even now. Its freshly ragged shape throbbed under that phantom breath.

“Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

His mother’s twinkling eyes disappear behind her hands for a startling instant before they part again to fully reveal her smiling face.

Dick giggles, and casts his gaze back up to the sky only to sigh a disappointed ‘oh’.

A fresh wave of smoky black was rolling over the gleaming pinpricks, dousing their tiny lights as surely as it doused the elation in his chest.

“Just be patient, Dickie. You’ll see them again.”

He grimaces. “Don’t like waiting.”

Her arms encircle him, squeezing briefly. “Ooh, tough luck mister. Some things are out of our hands.”

“…and in the end, that’s for the best,” Dick finished, exhaling his mother’s words into the wind.

Crossing an island of grass to the motel parking lot, he used his free hand to dig through his pocket for the key Slade had handed him. His hand was still in his pocket when he noticed them.

Two shapes, silhouetted by the amber streetlight’s glow: a man’s stocky frame barely disguised by his too-bulky coat; a woman’s long dark hair pulled out by the wind. Her flickering mane was the only motion between the shapes that could otherwise have been mistaken for statues.

Dick ducked left. As his back slammed flat against the far wall of the motel, his racing thoughts caught up with his instincts. He had recognized the unnatural stillness in those two shadows in a way that only a fellow hunter could. And he recognized them.

Sportsmaster and Cheshire had traveled a long way for this to be a chance encounter.

Cautiously, he leaned to peek around the corner. They hadn’t moved. Hadn’t noticed him. He could run back, warn Slade, and the two would never even notice. They were still lingering on the far end of the parking lot, talking. And then Cheshire turned to stride toward the office.

Dick’s blood ran cold. They didn’t know which room Slade had taken. And once the manager told her what she needed to know—

Cheshire wasn’t famous for her compassion.

Dick thought quickly. No microphone-rigged suit, no mask camera. He was on his own. His equipment was in the motel—but there was no time. Cheshire was just a few steps away from that office door.

Which left him no choice at all.

Snatching a knife out of his right boot, Dick slipped it under his sleeve, yanked his cap further down over his face, and swung around the corner.

“Hey!” he yelled loud enough to be heard above the wind.

Cheshire halted, a bare step from the door. The two shadows turned, slowly.

“You fellas lost?” Dick drawled, with a lazy tilt of his head. “‘Cause the freeway’s down thataway.”

Silent, with that deadly stillness, they measured him.

Dick shuffled in place idly, the milk bag still hanging from his hand, and waited. It was dark. They had met him only once. And if the two mercs hoped to catch Deathstroke off guard, they were unlikely to risk shooting first, asking questions later. He was betting his life on that.

“You seen an old man ‘round here, boy?” Sportsmaster called. “Silver-haired, built like a truck?”

Dick scrunched his face into a thoughtful expression, lingering for precious moments. “Can’t say for sure, Mister. Lotsa folks come an’ go this way.”

“How’s about a kid? Dark-haired, annoyin’ punk.” Pausing, the man took a single step closer. “‘Bout your age.”

The wind whipped loose strands into Dick’s eyes, fluttered over the plastic bag. He exhaled a breath into the wind, soft and slow as a prayer, and tipped back his head, letting the streetlight illuminate the needle-sharp smile that they would remember well. “You callin’ me a punk, Mister?”

The wind’s distant moan rolled across the space between them, between the moments that passed like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass.

It was his bravado that made them hesitate. They would wonder if Renegade was a distraction, if Deathstroke the Terminator was even now behind them, poised to spring. Uncertainty bought time.

Sand slipped down the hourglass, grain by precious grain.

“He’s stalling!” Cheshire barked, lunging in the same instant that Dick wheeled to bolt for the shrubbery.

A fight in the parking lot would mean a death sentence for the man in the office, whose only hope of surviving the night depended on Dick ensuring that whatever ugliness was about to happen took place far out of his eye and earshot. He couldn’t survive becoming a loose end to all parties involved.

So Dick didn’t hurl the milk in the direction of his pursuers until they were surrounded on all sides by dark tangles of brush and trees. Sportsmaster knocked it aside with the gun in his hand—it looked like a gun—faltering barely a fraction. Cheshire was faster.

Her arm snapped out to throw and Dick dropped into a roll to evade the—

The net?

The gas station suddenly felt miles away.

Claws snatched under his cap into his hair, yanking him off his feet. Dick twisted to bury his knife in Cheshire’s thigh. Her grip slackened with a hiss, and Dick tugged to free the blade.

It held fast.

Teeth bared in a pain-crazed grin, Cheshire clung to the knife with a death-grip. Left with no choice, Dick released his only weapon and lunged toward a denser patch of growth in the direction of the road. Too late to regain that instant of lost ground.

Pain slammed into his shoulder-blade.

Suddenly, strangely breathless, Dick stumbled. Two shuddering half-steps later, he dropped. Mud-soaked leaves prickled against his cheek, and he stayed there, flat against the damp earth, staring wide-eyed at knotted tangles of roots like shadowy snakes. And realizing that it hadn’t hurt the way it should have.

It hadn’t been a bullet. It hadn’t been Cheshire’s poison.

Footsteps crushed twigs and soggy stems on either side of his body. He felt the tremors through the earth only faintly, distantly, even as Sportsmaster’s mud-caked boots stopped a handbreadth from his face. The sinking, dimming sensation of a tranquilizer muted Dick’s hammering heart and spinning mind only slightly. It didn’t dull the sensation of the dart being yanked out, or of a boot’s rough, filthy tread rolling him onto his back.

Dick could stare up into both their faces now, even as dark spots began to blot them out.

They started talking to each other as though he wasn’t there. And he wasn’t. The mumbling words came from miles away, and fear drifted off with them.

He wasn’t what they wanted, not really. He wasn’t even a person. He was a worm. A worm on a fish hook. And as even the dimness faded, all Dick could think of was a boy from long ago, who used to sing.

#I Emerge From The Google Doc Covered In Blood #batman #dick grayson #slade wilson #william wintergreen #batfam #bat family #bad company #bad company ch 24 #my writing #salt and light

[skalidra]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Grant Wilson & Slade Wilson, Joseph Wilson & Slade Wilson Characters: Slade Wilson, Joseph Wilson, Grant Wilson (DCU), William Randolph Wintergreen, Rose Wilson Additional Tags: Past Child Abuse, Family Bonding, Family Issues, What-If, Coming Out, Good Parent Slade Wilson, By his measure of 'good', Homophobia Series: Part 2 of An Extra Shot 'Verse Summary:

"An accident," Slade repeats, flatly.

Joey's lips press together. "Yes."

He doesn't have to have half the senses he does to know that's a lie. Sure, an 'accident.' The kind of accident that involves one person's fist hitting another's face; he knows the kind of bruises punches leave behind.

Someone hit his son.

**

Slade stays up all night.

Investigating the families of the boys isn't difficult, not in a town where every record about the place is stored in a single building with practically nothing in the way of security, and no family has any reason to have more than a guard dog or a single camera on their properties. He has roughly seven hours, and he doesn't even need all of it. Billy takes the school; copies the security footage, and gets every other detail they need out of the school records. It's a long night, but by the time the kids are up Slade feels… good.

This is what he excels at. Having a plan, following through, taking apart anyone that dares to get in his way. This he can do. He's awake and alive in a way he hasn't felt since he went after the Jackal; ready to show Blake exactly who he's trying to jerk around, and kneecap anyone else that has a problem with him protecting his son.

**

Read more on the Archive of Our Own!

Or start from the beginning!

#I wrote this #Slade Wilson #Joey Wilson #Grant Wilson #William Wintergreen

[ohlookitsthearkhamknight]

In honor of Pride Month I think its fair to absolutely lose it over these panels again

Everytime I get back to these panels its just so overwheming.

Over the entire series we see Slade love and be loved but it doesnt really last does it? All these women even addi but it never lasts it always dies out. They or Slade always leaves. Someone always leaves be it on purpose or not.

Except Wintergreen.

Out of all of them hell even Addi herself sometimes, Wintergreen has dealt with SO much shit from slade directly and or indirectly.

He of all people has more than enough reason to leave, turn around and never come back. He could leave him, rat him out, hell even kill him but he doesnt. Through everything he stays. Even when he has every reason even when it kills him. And thats just not something you see. I mean srsly. Show me another comic from that time period that had a man who at times could be horrible that had a bestfriend someone who stuck through everything for them. Someone who even without labeling it LOVED them. Because be honest with yourself. You dont stick with someone forever, be there for them for everything if you dont care, if you don't love them. And it could be platonic it could be more who cares. Its still insanely obvicous that Slade snd Billy cared so much about each other that even people around them, EVEN PAT WHO WAS ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED WITH SLADE AT THE TIME SAW IT.

Another thing about these 2 pages that will ALWAYS have me losing it is the conversation between pat and slade and the last 3 panels afterwards.

The conversation: Slade asks Pat to tell him about billy. Not only does he ask what kind of man he is the one question that stands out to me is "were we really that close". Then Pat answers that they were so close that it didnt even seem like just friends anymore because of how much they cared for each other. because be honest. It would have to take a lot of love to deal with what they deal with. She even adds that billy cares for him more than a friend and also says not in a fatherly way either. Even mentions if she didn't know any better she would think they were gay.

Panel 1: Slade and Pat sleep together after the entire conversation. The thing is the entire conversation leading up to them sleeping together was not about pat, its not about her and Slade, no its about Slade and WINTERGREEN. Even after everything said and done Slade doesnt talk. Pat just falls alseep after.

Panel 2: still no words are said but with a sleeping pat we see a wide awake slade. Hes obviously thinking but about what. Hes turned toward the right looking ahead deep in thought and this is where the 3rd panel rips my heart into pieces

Panel 3: Wintergreen is also wide awake in bed. Unlike slade though he isnt turned toward the right no he is turned toward the left. Almost as if he and slade are staring at each other. Still while no words are said nothing is written its very obvious this means something. It means alot. An entire conversation. Thinking about their closness. Their relationship. What they mean to each other.

And the most heartbreaking thing here. Is that Slade doesnt remember Wintergreen in this moment. When asked pat could have said something like. Oh. Bestfriend. Father figure. But no. She told the truth. She told as how everyone saw it. Wintergreen was more than just s friend. He loved slade. And however that may be taken HE LOVED SLADE. And Slade loved him.

There are so many more examples i could bring up. So many more times that showed how much there was between these 2. I wish this was something comic writers understood today. To make 2 characters and their relationship so interesting you have to show its good and bad sides. You need to show how they complete each other. How they help and mold each other. Even right here with unwritten words we see so much emotion. We see all the unwritten words. We see such a strong bond that you dont have to guess about anything. Another thing today is that this is before times were more accepting and i do truely wonder if this were to be written today what they could do with it. What would become of them. Because i think we can all agree slade is at his very best when with wintergreen. A common theme. Without wintergreen Slade just cant exist. Deathstroke can but slade needs his friend thats more than just a friend. He needs someone he loves. He needs his compass. And at this point billy doesnt just represent morals. He represents the very thing about slade. Love. Whether that be family friend whatever. How ever you look at it. Slades very thing is his love. For everyone around him. Its what makes him, him. Its what makes and breaks Slade and Deathstroke.

Anyways 3am rant over. Dont like it move on.

#i just spent 40 minutes on this lol. #arkhams slightly drunk rants #ignire typos #i put it throught auto correct a bunch i hope its good #anyways happy pride have some rants about old pirate man and his more than a friend friend #sladebilly #slade wilson #deathstroke #slade wilson and william wintergreen #william randolph wintergreen #william wintergreen #wintergreen #billy wintergreen #i know i probly psoted #this before but #i was looking again and had a lot more to say #pat trayce #viglante

[starwalker03]

In Could You Still Show Me The Light? where did Dick get the Deathstroke colored suit?

man I forgot about that lmao.

In my defense it's not a Deathstroke coloured suit per se, it's an all black suit save a copper-coloured tie. it's important to be specific lmao.

So what happened was Dick needed a new suit and didn't have time to get one, so he asked Wintergreen to grab it. And Wintergreen was looking for an actually Deathstroke coloured suit, y'know with like a jacket in the copper orange or something of that description, but all he could find was the tie.

And then he handed it to Dick, and Dick didn't have time to go shopping for something else, and simply stared in annoyance while Wintergreen hid his laughter.

#dc comics #fanfiction #dick grayson #young justice #with morality like a polynomial #wmlp #deathstroke #william wintergreen

[alixgracchus]

Slade freaking out everytime Dick gets a cold or a flu because it's been so long since he was able to get sick on his own so he can't even remember the level of inconvenience and danger getting a little sick can provide (Dick can't stand him like that, he said he's okay, let him work) and then Slade having to deal with actually really sick Dick who fell into freezing water in the middle of winter or something like that and now he's fighting high temperature for days

Oh my god YES!

Slade is so overprotective that when Dick ACTUALLY falls sick, unable to guide Slade and tells what to do, Slade absolutely loses his shit.

*

Richard's temperature was too high. He was sweating, eyes unfocused and glassy, shivering like he was out in the snow. Slade paced by the bed, eyeing him with genuine anxiety as he prayed Wintergreen would answer.

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up...

Finally, blessedly, thankfully, his friend answered.

"I don't know what to do," he blurted out, heart hammering in his chest as he watched his lover sweat when the temperature was barely reaching 19°C in here.

"What?"

"He fell into the water, I thought he'd get over it but he started shivering non-stop and sweating! His fever is high, I–"

I can't lose him.

Slade abruptly fell silent, practically panting with nervousness. He couldn't go through this again. He couldn't lose him too. He wouldn't survive it.

"Slade, calm down. Get a grip on yourself. You can't help him if you're panicking."

Slade felt a spike of shame. Wintergreen was right. He knew better, damnit!

"Let's start by giving him some medicine. Then we should make him he stays hydrated and well nourished."

Slade breathed a little easier. No matter the circumstances, his friend was always here for him. He followed his lead as he prepared medicine, cooked a hearty soup and took care of Richard. For once, he could return the tender care his lover had always given him.

#sladick #slade wilson #deathstroke #nightwing #dick grayson #william wintergreen #dcu #mine dcu #my fanfictions

[dogmeatthedead]

Wilson Family Flowers

I could have sworn that I posted this here before but I guess I haven’t so here it is. If I missed it, then here it is

----------------------------------

Comics have a long history with naming patterns. Superman and the double L's being the most well known example. However lots of characters has similar naming patters, the one that I want to talk about today is Deathstroke. (go fig)

Slade Wilson and the flower connection

Over the past 11 years of being a Deathstroke fan I've noticed a connection between Slade Wilson and the characters around him being linked to plants or flowers. Almost all of the "main" cast of characters can be linked to flowers, and in many cases, their relationships can be represented by flowers. The only two which don't have a direct connection is Joseph and Grant, so for these two, I've chosen flowers that would represent their relationship to Slade.

All flowers are flowers that I know of. If I've missed one that would have worked better, then chances are good, I just didn't know it existed.

Rose

I chose a Orange Rose to symbolize Rose Worth-Wilson. I know that red is the standard when thinking of roses, but I'm going based of off what flowers symbolize as well as what they are named and red roses are to closely tied to romance for my liking. White roses will be used later even though that would tie with Rose and Slade's hair, but I chose Orange because it symbolizes enthusiasm and new beginnings.

Rose was Slade's second chance, she was (run dependent) excited to become a hero, thus I think that a orange rose would best represent Rose.

Wintergreen

In the rotating cast of Wilson characters, Wintergreen is known second to only maybe the Wilson kids. William Wintergreen is the lifelong best friend of Slade Wilson, known by longtime fans as Slade's anchor from insanity, the wintergreen plant is known for its bright red berries and green leaves.

When Slade and Will met which you can read about here on my tumblr, Will was saving Slade. Their friendship went on to be strengthen over the years by them trading off saving each others lives.

Like wintergreen in the real world, Will provides Slade with health care, and is likely the only thing keeping Slade's mental health in the green.

Sweet Lilly

Amazing Art is from  alegonbilldeathstroke  

Lily's are rich in symbolism and is probably my favorite to write about. Most of you most likely know that lily's are connected to purity which would seem ironic given that Lily was a single mom and ran a call girl company. However in some cultures lily's are connected to rebirth (Slade's second chance as a father) and motherhood.

I think that tiger lilies best represent Sweet Lilly though. They are connected to confidence, wealth and pride. Lilly was proud of everything that she had accomplished and was confident in both who she was and in her skill as a parent and her choice to keep Rose hidden from Slade.

Poppy

Anyone who's known me for a hot minute would know me as Poppy. It was one of many names I went by on here, named after the forgotten daughter of Deathstroke. Poppy first made her appearance in terror titans before being bought back in Deathstroke: faces of evil, and becoming a cast member in outsiders before disappearing forever. I'd written in the past about why I think that this was a huge mistake for the fates of both characters and the Wilson family as a whole. You can read about that here although be warned, its now 4 and a half years old (damn I'm getting old.)

In pop culture poppies are tied to the idea of death and sleep, however I'm opting for the lesser known classical interpretation. The poppy flower is known for its bright scarlet color which in olden times was tied to the idea of resurrection after death, and in more modern times, it is worn as a symbol of remembering tragedy.

Moving away from more traditional forms of interpretation, to some poppies may invoke a sense of childhood, or childhood fear. In the wizard of Oz, Dorthey and friends fall asleep in a field of poppies. The idea of poppies bring on sleep is tied to the drug Opium which is derived from poppies its undeniably a dark theme for a children's story, but I would argue that it represents a child companion of Deathstroke quite well.

Pat

Geranium ‘Patricia are known for being incredibly hardy, however on a broader note, geraniums are known to symbolize both friendship and romance. I think that in terms of true fits, Pat Trayce's flower is the most representative of her character.  Geraniums also symbolize foolishness, cleverness, melancholy, expected and unexpected meetings and the dried leaves can be used to treat pain.

Pat and Slade love each other deeply, yet Slade accepts that they're relationship couldn't work out as Pat wants to replace Addie and Slade understands how unhealthy that is. Pat's desire for Slade is often shown to be foolish, and she swings between morning never having Slade undivided love, and accepting it. She was originally Slade's student but that mentor/ mentee relationship ends with Pat outsmarting Slade and when they next meet, they are on even footing.

Like Wintergreen, Pat heals Slade. She helps Slade move on from his relationship, and becomes the first long term relationship. Not counting Marly who is only mentioned, although she and Slade likely would have been engaged.

Adeline Rosemary Wilson

This was the name that sealed the connection for me. In Rebirth, Adeline was given that middle name of Rosemary giving a concrete connection to plants. Representing love, lust, and loyalty. Mourning and remembrance. Happiness and tragedy. Rosemary is probably the most layered plant that I've named here.

Adeline loves Slade, even after everything that happened in their relationship Slade never got over Slade. And yet, she could never truly take him back since her heart would always remember the tragedy that he put her family though.

I've talked in the past about how much I dislike Adeline's character, however she truly is a tragic character, she never gets a happy ending in the same way that Slade does. And like the herb she is named for, Adeline became bitter after being though so much hell.

Joseph

I think that a white rose best represents Joseph William Wilson. Like his sister Rose's orange rose, I think that a white one has just as much symbolism. White roses represent many things: Youthfulness, hope, new beginnings, a connection between two people, humility and silence.

While some like silence appears to be self explanatory when discussing Joe, others like humility may not be. Slade learned to put down his pride after Joe was hurt, and both men would carry a visible scar which would always connect them in a shared tragedy. Joe's injury represents a new beginning for all members of the Wilson family, although it was a good beginning for precious few. Still Joe represented the hope of the Wilsons and at times his youthfully optimism still shown though.

Grant

Perhaps an odd choice, but I chose orange and yellow zinnia's to represent Grant. Mixed colored zinnia's represent thinking of an absent friend, while the yellow ones specifically deal with daily remembrance of a dead loved one. Originally from Mexico, zinnia's were a dull color that was scorned by the ruler as being an eyesore. Over years of breeding, zinnias became the flower that we know today. Zinnias are known to grow quickly and heavily but, they only last for a year and once their time is up, they will wither and die, never to grow again on their own.

Morbid perhaps but of all the Wilsons, Grant always gets the shaft. He dies once and stays dead, he might come back once or twice, but he dies again quickly. Zinnias, like Grant is rather plain at first but both can be developed into something much better. Slade carried the memory of Grant everywhere with him and it really shaped the way that Slade would carry himself and his relationship with others.

Here is a commission I had of all the flowers together. <3

#deathstroke #rose wilson #william wintergreen #Adeline Kane #Adeline Wilson #Joseph Wilson #grant Wilson #Sweet Lilly #deathstroke family #just a fun post #cant believe its been 11 year #but my math is right

[wilsondick-winterexchange]

Hey there! We’re thrilled to announce that the WilsonDick Exchange is running for the very first time this year — from September to December 2023! We know you’re excited too, so that’s why we decided to open the WilsonDick server as a safe space to talk about the relationships between the Wilson family & Dick! Come and join us as a spectator or future participant 😄

#WilsonDickExchange #SlaDick #DickRose #DickJoey #DickGrant #DickAddie #DickWintergreen #DickLily #Dick Grayson #Slade Wilson #Joey Wilson #Rose Wilson #Grant Wilson #Adeline Kane #William Wintergreen #Lillian Worth

[meekmedea]

character art pt.3

by request - here's a few more character icons. This was really fun to make, I hope you all enjoy!

not my art, they belong to their rightful creators. I used pic crew to create them. Links will be tagged at the very bottom.

(LEFT) William 'Billy' Wintergreen - Slade's right hand man in many things. In addition to that, he's the godfather to all four of the Wilson children. A veritable feat considering the chaos they get up to with and without his help.

Judging by his face, one of his godchildren is likely in the midst of explaining why he should help them with their chaos.

`

(RIGHT) Dr. Arthur Will-hane 'Villain' - A doctor for those that require discrete services- including as Deathstroke and his family's personal doctor. Currently, Medea's boss and although he seems like a grumpy man, he does have a soft spot for his doctor in residence.

Wally West - A speedster primarily operating out of Central City if he isn't tied up with League work. While operating as Flash, Medea interacts with him in two very different roles. The first is as Dr. Wilson, who is his 'unofficial' official doctor. The second, is as his 'nemesis' who has exclusive rights to the position. You know, they really should get on giving her a name though for that second role...

A core memory for both Medea and Wally - probably her tasering him when they were younger.

Conner Kent - Medea and him briefly had a relationship in their mid to late teens. They parted on good terms and remain friends. Currently part of the newest iteration of the Teen Titans in San Fransisco and operating as Superboy.

Eddie Bloomberg - Best friends with Medea since childhood. They may have started out as penpals, but they've come a long way since then. Sold his soul to Neron at age 16 for powers, but through a series of events, Eddie not only keeps his soul when he turns 20, he also discovers that he's a meta. A side effect to this was that his natural form was no longer human like. Operating as Red Devil at times and is quite close with Rose.

And last, but not least...

Lian Nguyen-Harper: Daughter to Jade Nguyen and Roy Harper, she might be the one to rival Medea in terms of their vast network to various masks – viewing Medea and her siblings as uncles and aunts, with a similar idea regarding Roy's friends. Hence Uncle Wally or Medi. She's also the only other one to call Medea, 'Medi', outside of her family.

Bonus! A current snapshot of Medea Wilson - dressed so nicely, perhaps she's on her way to meet a certain speedster?

Pic-crew links

Billy and Dr. Will-hane

Wally, Conner and Eddie

Lian

Medea

#my story is mine to write au #picrew shenanigans #william wintergreen #dr arthur villain #it's will-hane! #wally west #conner kent #eddie bloomberg #lian harper #medea wilson

[flames-in-ice]

I came across a completely normal reddit post about first and last name compatibility and didn't except to laugh so damn much

#william wintergreen #slade wilson #deathstroke #purely coincidental

[ufonaut]

Lying comes easier and easier. Telling Addie what she needs to hear. I don’t know why it took me so long to realize that this life is good. It’s a good cover. If I’m going to do this... I need to keep up outward appearances. A wife, a family, a house in the suburbs, a boring job. All a front. A mask for Slade Wilson.

Deathstroke Inc (2021) #15

#deathstroke #deathstroke inc #slade wilson #william randolph wintergreen #william wintergreen #adeline wilson #adeline kane #dc #dc comics #dcedit #comicedit #comicsedit #u can reblog #HAPPY FINALE TO THE MOST FUCKED UP COUPLE OF ALL #(AND WINTERGREEN)