no ownership

Slade would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed.

The boy was more talented than he'd originally anticipated. He stood out among his neophyte teammates like a god, despite the disadvantages of his age and size. Slade had seen the boy's biological father, and it was obvious the lad would grow to be much taller, much stronger.

As for age, the child - because that's really what he was, at barely thirteen - compensated for his short lifetime with five years of experience (more than a good part of the Justice League), a deadly aim, a piercing wit, and maturity that made a grown man look like a toddler. Not to mention the sense of humor. But best of all, the boy was young enough to still be influenced.

To still be molded into something greater than a tight-wearing crime fighter.

The child also had a not-so-subtle grace to him, like every action was part of a performance. The moves should have been impossible to pull off - he'd been under the impression that no one could do a quintuple or even a quadruple flip, no one alive anyway - but were executed perfectly. Fluid, but disciplined.

Such potential in that tiny, lithe body.

In fact, he considered abandoning his plan of taking the boy now in favor of more observation, but brushed the idea off. Now was the best time to act, and he knew the boy's moves well enough to analyze his every twitch. Besides, Deathstroke had already implemented a. . . situation in Gotham that would hold the Caped Crusader's attention for at the least, a few hours.

By the time Batman noticed the absence of the Boy Wonder, it would be too late. Robin wouldn't be his protégé anymore.

Of course, Deathstoke wasn't the only one to want the little bird. In fact, almost all, of the criminals or organizations Robin had fought against had taken a special interest in him. Kobra, the League of Shadows, the Court of Owls, even the scum of Gotham City had plans to recruit the boy. Deathstroke was just the first.

He slunk down from the shadowed perch where he'd been watching the battle between his robots the Team (as though their loose association warranted the title, especially with their lack of coordination).

The leader, Kaldur'ahm was proving himself a fierce warrior, one that would make his father proud, but obviously held back, for fear of hurting the onslaught of ninjas hurtling at him. Sportsmater's girl had yet to take down her fourth robot. Her father certainly wouldn't be proud. She had clearly grown dependent on her long range weapons. The speedster had succeeded only in getting injured an in the way. He was unconscious, but had only taken on two of his lackeys. The Martian was trying - and failing, obviously - to read the minds of their attackers. Really, hadn't any of them realized the robot detail yet?

The Superboy didn't look as though he cared either way, hurling the ninjas through the thick walls of the warehouse.

But his future protégé had noticed. He felt a little surprised at the rush of pride he felt at the title as the pile of goons to Robin's side grew steadily. The boy wasted no more than five moves on any of them before they were debilitated, shut down for good.

Slade kept in the shadows as he glided behind his new apprentice. Robin took down the final robot with a savage kick to the head, which went flying off through one of the many holes Superboy had caused, leaving just the jungle of rainbow wire sticking out of metal shoulders. There were a good 35 "men" lying in a heap.

He couldn't help the grin that crept onto his hidden face as the thirteen year old whirled around, resting the end of his bō staff on Slade's throat.

"Hello there, Robin," Slade said, extracting his own bō staff.

The boy's fighting prowess was incredible, but it really wasn't a fair fight. Slade pushed him back to the entrance of the warehouse, using his enhanced strength to emphasize his hits. Nonetheless, the child managed to land more than a few impressive hits.

Slade took a swipe at the lad's feet, but the boy took it as an entrance, somehow using the staff as leverage to vault over the Terminator, landing on the roof.

Perfect.

He discarded the useless staff, snatching his katana.

The roof was coated in even more snow than the ground they'd been on before, and would probably muffle the sounds of their fight from that rookie Team, giving Slade another advantage.

He stood behind the Boy Wonder, debating whether to beat the boy into submission, or just neutralize his alliances to the Justice League. No, no, he wanted the boy to keep that fierce determination for his cause. He would show the child the Light, just as the Batman had shown him the Dark.

The Batman carried a whole other set of issues; they clearly were father and son (maybe not by blood, but still by bond, the way Robin and he would grow to be) and he was sure Batman would stop at nothing to find his precious little bird.

A strong kick to the chest beat him out of his thoughts. The boy had managed to land another hit. Admirable.

The real battle began. Slade slashed Robin across the chest, cutting through the layers of armor, and leaving the boy a deep bloody gash. He didn't even seem to notice as he pounded on Deathstroke with his escrima sticks.

"No way you're one of those robots," Robin said as he leapt over a high kick. "You're probably in charge of the shipment, but who are you?"

"Hasn't the big, bad, Bat told you about me?"

"He tells me lots of things. That doesn't mean I always listen- ah," the boy barely even cried out as Slade snapped his left ankle. Pain tolerance was acceptable, but there was always room for improvement.

He managed to parry a blow to his head, but left his chest open for attack. The Terminator swung the blunt face of his sword into the child's chest, nodding at the satisfying cracks that followed. The boy still managed to send an escrima stick at his jaw with enough strength that even with his thick metal mask on, his jaw cracked.

"Then listening will be the first thing we work on."

The boy looked excited by his advancement, and fought with renewed vigor, actually managing to pop his future master's shoulder out of socket. Slade quickly relocated it, torn between pride and exasperation.

He pushed the boy to the edge of the roof, so that Robin's toes and supreme balance were the only thing keeping him from falling the 26 feet to the ground. With his ankle and ribs splintered like that, he surely couldn't land on his feet or even do a somersault, and Slade was rather interested in what he'd do.

They kept the battle on even at the brim, staffs still meeting the blade in the air between them. The assassin managed to get his blade into his future protégé's right shoulder. The whites of the mask widened comically, and Robin lost his balance as soon as the sword was retracted, tumbling off the side.

The boy tucked in in himself, somehow managing - just one - a somersault before he extended a hand as he reached the ground. He extracted his other palm, propelling himself forward on the ground, and performed a rudimentary cartwheel.

"Good," Slade said, once again impressed by Robin's skill. "For a moment there, I worried you wouldn't make it."

The boy was breathing hard, but the whites of his mask narrowed dangerously in a glare. How cute.

He charged as best he could at the master assassin, anger clearly substituting his better judgement.

Deathstroke continued to push him away from the warehouse, intending to further isolate the boy so he could finally make his proposal. Not that Robin could say no.

But the falling incident fueled Robin's warrior spirit, and his skills seemed to have grown exponentially, not enough to beat him however.

When they were a good hundred yards off of the warehouse, Slade stopped, deciding Robin wouldn't let himself get any further from his 'friends'.

He grabbed Robin's arm, the right one - the side in which he'd been stabbed in the shoulder, and bent it back at an angle that should have been impossible.

He pulled harder on the arm when Robin didn't cry out.

"What do you want?" Robin hissed.

"Why," Slade began. "I want you, little Robin. As my apprentice."

Robin went rigid. "Never."

Slade shook his head.

"Tt. If you won't do it for me, perhaps you'll do it for your little friends. You see, if I press this little button, that entire warehouse will explode, along with everything in it."

To his credit, the boy barely whimpered as he pulled his arm even harder, until finally a loud pop sounded. "Y-you wouldn't. Then your shipment would be-"

"That little exchange? Only to attract your attention, little bird. And of course, to inject your friends with nanoscopic probes, for a little extra . . . incentive."

The lad said nothing, so Slade yanked on the injured limb. Hard. This time the boy cried out. "And the probes, if injected into the bloodstream, could kill, but only if activated. And only I can activate and deactivate them. So what do you say, Robin?"

"I-I-" Robin stuttered.

"Tick Tock, little bird."

"I'll do it," the boy whispered, sounding defeated.

Slade grinned. He did so like to win.