Summary: A mind controlled Slade almost kills Dick while they're on a mission together.

He gasped for breath, slowly healing side aching and dripping bloody onto the grimy Moroccan rooftop, as he stared up at the gleaming blade held by his soon to be killer. The mission hadn't started like this. When Dick Grayson and Slade Wilson had arrived in Tangier, the streets bustling with people, their goal had been simple. A mob boss with an interest in keeping a certain drug out of certain markets, two of which being Bludhaven and Gotham City strangely enough, had offered to pay Slade close to two million dollars to cripple his competition. After some deliberation, the mercenary had agreed and called Dick in as backup. That was when they'd run into the magic user.

She was some sort of spirit on a vengeance kick and somehow she'd ended up attached to the mob Slade and Dick were supposed to be crippling. In retaliation for their actions, she'd placed some kind of spell on Slade. Dick wasn't sure of specifics but he was fighting for his life so he thought that could be excused.

He stared up at the bloodstained blade gleaming just above his throat, trying to figure out a way out of this. The Court of Owls had trained him extremely well but no matter how hard he tried, Slade was always better. The man had more experience and, due to the serum running through his veins with blood, he could overpower Dick if necessary. Normally when the pair sparred, Slade held back. Under the magical influence of whatever spirit they'd unintentionally made angry he had come at Dick with everything in his arsenal.

"Slade," the young assassin croaked out, not daring to move for fear that it would provoke the man. "Shake it off." The man's grey eye was terrifyingly blank behind his mask. His grip on the sword tightened and Dick swallowed hard. He hadn't been this close to death since he'd escaped the Court. "Slade," he pleaded as the tip of the blade pressed against his throat, not yet drawing blood.

The boy bit down a whimper. Few things frightened him, but being killed by someone he cared for was one of them. It was an ultimate betrayal in his mind, a sign that he wasn't really cared for, and despite the fact that he knew Slade was being controlled, logic was not winning. He didn't dare move for fear that it would provoke the mercenary to strike. The last thing he wanted was for his head to be removed. There was no coming back from that.

His mind whirled frantically, searching for a way out of this. Besting Slade was not an option. Even under mind control, the mercenary was more than capable of taking the former talon down. That meant he needed to use other tactics just to get a chance to run. Had the surface beneath him been glass, he would have shattered it. Dick's one advantage was that his healing factor worked just a little bit faster than the mercenary's. Unfortunately, he was lying on concrete.

A shift of the sword had his mind swirling away from escape attempts and insisting this was the end. That was when the spirit appeared. She was smirking over Slade's shoulder, and that was the instant Dick's terror faded away to be replaced by white hot rage. This was the reason why he was cowering in fear underneath the blade of someone who had become family to him. It was not something he appreciated.

A low, thrumming growl vibrated in Dick's chest and she startled when he lunged upwards, allowing Slade's blade to slice through his throat like butter. It hurt, the pain rushing through him in a single wave that would have been crippling to anyone normal, and he couldn't breathe but it wouldn't kill him. He jerked back, the sword sliding out of him, and stood, ignoring his mind controlled friend for a moment to focus on the real problem.

"You," he mouthed, unable to speak at the moment, and her eyes widened. A moment later fury overtook her childish features and Slade lunged forward. Dick barely twisted out of the way, throat healing up fully with an audible click. "You're going to regret this," he snarled at the spirit before Slade slammed him up against the wall.

"I am not," she countered, speaking in English for the first time since they had encountered her. When she had ensorcered Slade, she had spoken in a language Dick vaguely recognized as a dialect of Celtic. He only knew this because one of the other talons, Aisling, had still remembered how to speak it. He hadn't learned any of the words but he had recognized a few. "I am Glaistig. Vengeance is my duty."

Dick let out a choked noise when Slade wrapped a hand around his throat, squeezing, and the girl giggled. He squirmed, trying to find some way to break free, and the hand tightened. He went limp, unable to fight without any air. The girl seemed to glow brighter, body solidifying and he could see now that she was older than he had thought. "You're dying now," she said, eyes bright, and Dick realized suddenly that she had the lower half of a goat. The world was whirling around him now, his body struggling to shut itself down but the electrum refused to let him. He couldn't die. Not like this. It wasn't possible. "Feel the life draining out of your body," she continued. She made an almost absent gesture and Slade crushed his throat before releasing him.

The former assassin crumbled to the ground. He felt disconnected from his body, almost as if he was floating above it. The girl laughed and, under the sound of her laughter, he sucked in a breath of air. That was enough for him to rise up, fast as a striking snake, and send a still Slade toppling to the ground. When the mercenary's head bounced off the rooftop, Dick was there to bounce it again, ensuring that the man was unconscious. The spirit let out a furious screech, form wavering, and Dick smiled up at her with a bloody grin.

"Good bye," he said, as her whole body filled with blinding light and then vanished. Dick breathed out a sigh of relief then and slumped tiredly down on the rooftop. A moment later he stood on shaky legs and slipped his hand underneath Slade's arms, tiredly pulling the mercenary to safety.

Slade Wilson found himself staring at the cream colored ceiling and slowly spinning ceiling fan of he and Dick's hotel room. He sat up slowly, head aching and found the kid watching him almost warily. "Slade?" he asked, sounding uncertain. The mercenary frowned then, wondering what had happened that had made the kid so nervous.

"Yeah?" he rasped out and Dick managed a half smile. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

Slade's eyes narrowed at the determined non-answer but the boy didn't falter. Slowly, the merc closed his eyes and tried to remember the events of the night before. "We took out the targets," he said at last. "But there was someone else in the room. Everything after that is a blur." And now that he thought about it, that was worrisome.

"It wasn't a someone else so much as a something else," Dick replied grimly. "A glastig. She took control of your mind for a little bit."

"And?"

"It doesn't matter," came the dismissive reply. That told Slade everything he needed to know. He'd likely tried to kill the kid while under the control of whatever creature had been protecting the people they'd killed.

"I think it does."

"I don't want to talk about it."

Slade barely resisted rolling his eyes at the immaturity of that response. "Then what do you want to talk about?" Dick scowled down at the floor but didn't respond, making the merc sigh. "Tell me about the glastig."

"Also called a Green Lady. They're Scottish spirit. I'm not sure why one was in Morocco though."

"Maybe she was attached to a person or object," Slade suggested and Dick nodded thoughtfully. Then he yawned. "Get some rest," the merc advised, knowing that Dick wasn't actually going to talk about what had happened until he had a couple nightmares. The former assassin nodded in agreement, flopping down on the couch in a way that said he was completely exhausted by the events of the day. It didn't take long for the kid to drift off to sleep.

An hour later Dick jolted awake with a strangled gasp. His eyes were wild and when Slade crossed the room to press a gentle hand against his shoulder, he was trembling slightly. "You want to talk?" The kid shook his head but he didn't close his eyes. "Fine." He stood, knowing he was playing dirty now, and headed back towards the bed. Whatever the glastig had made him do, it had drained him just as much as it had the kid.

He was just about to sit down when Dick said, "Wait." His voice was soft but Slade's hearing was sensitive enough to hear him. He turned back and settled on the arm of the couch. Dick refused to look at him.

"Tell me," Slade ordered after a full minute of silence.

"We fought," Dick said, voice rough. There was a hesitation and then he added, "You tried to kill me. If I would have been human, you would have."

Slade took a moment to absorb the information before asking, "Is that what you were dreaming about?"

"No." Dick's hands clenched into fists in the blanket covering him. "In real life, I knocked you out to win. In the dream, I had to kill you."

"I'm not going anywhere kid," Slade told him, hearing the underlying fear and doing his best to assuage it.

"Yeah?" The mercenary could hear the skepticism in Dick's voice.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Besides, you couldn't kill me even if you tried." That made the corner of Dick's mouth quirk up in a thin grin. Slade reached over and squeezed Dick's shoulder. For the first time since he'd woken, the kid looked him in the eye. "Get some rest. We have a client to deal with and we'd better be paid extra for dealing with a Scottish spirit." That comment coaxed an actual smile that, despite its frailty, was real.

"I think our client can be persuaded," the former assassin agreed, muscles relaxing some.

"No doubt," Slade agreed, amused by the implications of the statement.

"Now sleep." Dick nodded and snuggled back into the couch. Slade waited until the kid's breathing had evened out in sleep before heading over to the bed to drift off into his own dreamland.