Harry Wilson the son of Deathstroke
The sun was finally setting after the unbearably hot day of the 24th of July and Slade Wilson sat at a laptop on the fifth floor of a modern apartment flat in Gotham City.
He had just accepted another contract and the creeping edge of guilt was gradually starting to worm its way into his mind, though he would never admit it. After all, hadn't he promised himself that he would refrain from being Deathstroke?
Its not like he was desperate for the money, his new company, Wilson Industries, was doing rather well under the watchful eye of his best -and only- friend, William Wintergreen.
However, a little extra certainly wouldn't hurt, what with all his kids being there for the summer after school broke up two days ago.
His sons, 11 year old Grant and 8 year old Joseph lived with him every other week due to the joint custody arrangement he had with Adeline.
Of course, she was less than willing to let him see either of them after the ...unfortunate incident with Joseph, which is why he felt all the more uncomfortable with his acceptance of this job, since he had promised child support, as well as making sure neither of his sons were associated with Deathstroke in any way.
The first promise he had fulfilled with no difficulty. The other... well, not so much.
'To be fair', he thought, 'It's not like they know that I'm doing this. I think.'
He really hoped that was true, for both of them. Grant had idolised him, and his persona, and it was getting a little worrying with how violent he was becoming. Sure, with two ex-military parents, some interest in guns and fighting was expected, but he certainly didn't want the boy to end up like him - heavens know he was seriously messed up.
In terms of Joseph, he wasn't worried about that. He was calmer, and preferred piano and music over shooting, something that Grant constantly teased him for, calling him girly. No, he was anxious that his son would hate him for continuing to do this.
Although Joey had frequently reminded his father that he still loved him the few times he even fleetingly mentioned the incident, Slade couldn't help but tense, his mind raging a vengeful war with itself where his conflicted feelings battled each other about the choices he made on the night that ultimately ended in his son losing his voice.
He still wasn't sure whether or not he did the right thing now as he was then, but it felt like a betrayal, almost like sacrilege, to carry on with this, despite the consequences it had, and the ones he knew it could have.
All the time, especially the first year after he returned from hospital, whenever Joseph used sign language, or opened his mouth in a futile, half-forgotten attempt to say something, it felt like a stab in Slade's chest; not deadly with his enhanced healing, but repeated constantly it left a lasting scar, that was reopened again and again and again.
At least Rose was normal. For now, anyway. Hey, with a family like this you can never know.
Rose, Slade's only daughter and youngest child, had just turned seven years old and therefore by his jugdement still had the potential to grow up just fine, into an ordinary, not-murderous, functioning member of society.
Only if Slade didn't mess this kid up as well, of course.
Nonetheless, Slade was doing his best, which could be classed as abysmal in other parents' books but you certainly can't blame him for not trying.
Rose was born after a short lived relationship with a Cambodian woman named Lillian Worth when he was sent with a team of soldiers to escort her to Thailand safely.
He only found out about his daughter around half a year ago, after Lili decided that Rose should have the chance to have a relationship with her father if he so wished, as long as he didn't put being a mercenary over his parental duties, mind you.
Kind of too late for that to be honest, oh wait, she meant Rose, never mind.
He only saw Rose occasionally, during allocated times he agreed on with Lili, mainly a few hours during the weekend, but they had decided that she could stay with him for the duration of the summer holidays, coincidentally at the same time that Grant and Joseph would also do so.
The two boys had met their half-sister some months ago with varying degrees of success. It must have been a big change for Rose, who had grown up an only child so far, but Joey was positively delighted at the prospect of a new 'baby' sister. Rose, on the other hand, definitely was way less sentimental and joyful, and seemed much more interested in Grant, with his FPS games and knowledge of weapons. Oh crap. Not again.
Grant hadn't taken the news that his father had had another child too well and mainly stayed out of Rose's way, but after he got over the initial shock - and annoyance that he now had to share a room with his brother when she stayed over - he was fairly alright, and remarked that people would have probably realized she was his kid even if Slade didn't find out.
He was right, as Rose was the only Wilson kid to have been unfortunate enough to inherit his features. Joseph had curly blond hair and Grant had blue eyes, like Slade had before becoming a metahuman, and then Grant's brown hair and Joseph's bright green eyes came from Adeline.
Rose was his spitting image with white hair and cold, penetrating blue eyes, the only difference really being differing genders, a few features and her darker skin tone, being half asian.
Needless to say, Slade had his hands full currently being a single dad of three for the next month and two weeks, and, after triple-checking that they were all asleep, felt confident that they would remain so until he returned, or at least wouldn't notice he was gone too long.
The contract was for a British middle-class family living near London, a married couple in their late twenties with a young son, about Rose's age. Apparently the husband had been embezzeling funds from his firm, and the new CEO wasn't taking it.
He wanted to finish him after giving unsuccessful chances by dropping several hints that he knew, and wanted to make an example of this Dursley guy by 'uncovering' the embezzeling after the family's dreadful demise to tarnish their perfect suburban family image to boot.
Slade normally didn't take out of country contracts but he was being offered a very nice sum of money and free transport on a private jet to make it quick so he wasn't about to complain.
line break line break line break
A car pulled up on Privet Drive just past midnight and a solitary man stepped out onto the dimly lit street. Not all of the streets lamps were working, and one was flickering often, causing the area to be much darker than it would usually be.
He strode past the line of identical houses with neatly trimmed lawns and cars washed so vigorously that they were shining enough for people passing by to see their reflections in them, stopping at number four, with the neatest lawn and shiniest, brand new expensive car. 'Probably came from the stolen money', thought Slade. All the lights were off so Deathstroke invited himself in by busting the door down.
He looked around the dark hallway, just about making out stairs and doors leading to other rooms. It was clearly visible that the owners of the house took pride in cleanliness as even in the gloom, he could see that the hallway was immaculate, despite the house being inhabited by a seven year old. He was just about to go upstairs, where he presumed the bedrooms with the inhabitants to be when he heard a dull *thump*
Deathstroke froze, silently anticipating someone to come out of a room or downstairs, perhaps woken up by his dramatic entrance. It sounded like it was close by.
*thump*
This one was slightly quieter as though the person responsible for it had realised they were being too loud. He thought he could now pinpoint where it was coming from... The cupboard under the stairs?
Oh well, he's seen a lot of weird schist, this couldn't be too bad. Maybe his overreactive hypersenses were playing with him.
Still, it was best to check so Slade advanced and tried the handle of the cupboard, and yanked it open after finding it unlocked.
Years of his academy training couldn't have prepared him for what he saw next.
It was a child, probably a boy. It was hard for him to determine the age as the boy was so scrawny and small, with clothes that looked three sizes too big for him. The round glasses perched on his bony nose, obscuring emerald green eyes, were covered in a thick roll of sellotape in several places, most notably on the bridge, and the boy's jet black hair was dirty and messy, as though he had never seen a hairbrush in his life.
Understandably, the boy immediately jumped back onto an old bed with rattling, broken springs as soon as he saw the huge creepy guy in a strange costume (which is what Deathstroke assumed he must have looked like to him) practically rip the door off its hinges.
'Wh-who are y-you?' The boy stammered.
Slade contemplated his answer.
'Deathstroke.' He finally replied, knowing that the name will most likely not mean anything to him and that he couldn't just give out his real name while in costume.
'What's your name?'
'Harry P-potter. But uncle calls me 'freak' or 'boy' when he's angry at me. Which is all the time, really.' Came the reply after a moment of hesitation.
He supposed the kid wasn't expecting the guy who breaks into his house to ask him his name, but more importantly, what kind of person says that to a kid?
Slade thought for a moment. The contract had definitely stated 'Dudley Dursley' as the name of the kid. Nothing about a Harry living with them.
'Do you know a Dudley Dursley then?' Slade.asked, 'Or a Vernon or Petunia? They're supposed to live here.'
If it turns out that he was given the wrong address for whatever reason, the buyer was going to be the one finding Deathstroke in his house tonight, and it wouldn't be a very pleasant visit for him.
'Y-yes. Dudley's my cousin and they are my aunt and uncle. They're upstairs.' Said Harry, uncertainly.
'Wait, do you live with them? Why are you here in a cupboard?'
There was a sinking feeling in his chest as he was fairly certain that he already knew the answer, what with the boy's appearance and what he revealed about his uncle, as well as the bed he was currently sitting on, which Slade had initially dismissed as being there because its old and broken so they put it in the cupboard.
'I sleep here... Sir. I've lived with my aunt and uncle ever since my parents died in a car crash when I was a baby.'
Indeed, Slade could see a chest of drawers with clothes hanging out and a couple of damaged toys on the shelf with detergents, as the cupboard was lit by a dim lightbulb hanging from the low, dusty ceiling. He decided to ask a final question to confirm his suspicions.
'How old are you, Harry?'
'Seven next week, Sir.'
Slade was, for lack of a better word, appalled, and even that couldn't accurately sum up his current emotional state. Sure, maybe he wasn't the dad of the year or anything, but at least his kids weren't malnourished or berated. He had thought that Harry was four at most due to how small he was, and he couldn't have possibly been eating properly to look like that.
'Wait here, kid.' Slade ordered, and before Harry knew it, he was hit by a long-lasting tranquilizer dart and fell fast asleep.