Disclaimer: don't own
Summary: A wounded Nightwing isn't sure if the man who helps him is his father or someone else.

This could have gone better, thought the wounded hero with a hand on his bleeding stomach.
The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth while he tried to stay focused on his surroundings, an old warehouse in Gotham filled with a pack of hyenas who lay knocked out around him.
Surprised by the hungry predators on what was supposed to be a normal patrol, he had taken in a few good hits before he had defeated them.
Nightwing had to inform his father about it once he arrived here, noted the young man mentally while he fought against the urge to sleep.
The Joker wouldn't have left his pets, who laughed about his jokes and ruthlessly attacked his enemies, just anywhere would he?
Something had to be hidden here, something important.
He had pressed the emergency button on his communicator hadn't he?
Blood dripped through his gloved fingers as the colors around him started to blur.
Stay awake, he reprimanded himself, Batman would need a report once he arrived here.
Disorientated he felt the world around him move as his knees painfully hit the ground.
The sudden movement forced droops of blood from his mouth on his lips and on the dirty floor.
Stay awake, he reprimanded himself, again.

A shipment of nitrous oxide, which was commonly known as the not toxic laughing gas, usually didn't trouble anyone.
However if you added Harley Quinn, her knowledge of medicinal drugs and desire to impress the Joker, then there might be a few concerned citizens who decided to hire a little extra protection.
Deathstroke hadn't had decided how he should execute the job.
The shipment had been guarded by a pack of hyenas, most likely meant to protect it until the clown or his girlfriend could use it.
If he had killed the hyenas, it would have most likely alerted one of them.
The mercenary hadn't wanted to needlessly agonize the mad couple and had been pleasantly surprised when the solution came in form of his favorite hero.
Once his little bird informed the Bat about the laughing gas protected by hyenas, the older hero would handle the Joker.
Nobody had to know Slade had even been here, expect for his employs who would believe he had made sure that the Batman had gotten the information, without revealing who the concerned citizens had been.
He had watched from the shadows as the graceful figure fought against the rabid beasts.
As expected, the young vigilante had won, but had received a few wounds.
None of them seemed live threatening, the speed of the blood flow was slow which indicated that no main artery had been damaged.
Furthermore he couldn't see any inner organs, any injury should be treated within the next few hours, they had time ...

Slade Wilson was a disciplined man, each day he had to train to stay in shape.
He couldn't drink too much wine or whiskey, it might give an enemy the opportunity to strike.
Food prepared by strangers could always contain a poison, aimed to defeat the self-healing effect of the military experiment.
The bliss of an orgasm always left a man or woman vulnerable for an attack.
A cigar once in a while was fine, yet there were always limits.

The picture of the hero below him was a feast for his starved senses.
His eye saw the object of his obsession on his knees but still fighting.
He heard the young mans desperate attempts to keep his breathing even.
He inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of blood teased him like the scent of an expensive wine.
Yet he wanted more, he needed more.
Did the blood taste as good as the scent promised?
Would he be able to feel the every muscle of his hero tremble while he struggled to stay awake and
waited for his daddy like the good little boy he was?
The hunger gnawed at his sanity.
Just a little taste and he would be satisfied, he would have an answer.
Not knowing forced you to image, it could drive you insane because you always thought about how it might be.
Just a little taste and he would be satisfied …

Carefully he moved towards his prey outside of his view. The hyenas were still knocked out and would remain so for at least a few hours.

Bruce?

Nightwing felt dazed as he heard steps approaching him from behind.
It sounded like a heavy person who moved with the grace of a fighter or perhaps a dancer.
His hackles rose and his body tensed, his body was ready to flee.
The stranger knelt with spreed legs behind him and embraced his own cowering form as the huge upper body leaned over his body, as if to shield it from the world.
He relaxed into the protective hold, his father was a rather stoic man, but in moments like this Dick knew that he was loved.
Those life and death situations the job as a vigilante brought were more than worth it.
A strong arm moved around his middle and kept him in a secure grip.
Dick prepared himself to be forced to stand up, so the two could leave towards the safety of the Batmobile.
Yet they remained were they where, confused he tried to turn his head towards his father.
Suddenly the grip on him tightened and something moist touched the sensitive skin on his neck.
A wave of fear surged through him, the stranger couldn't be his father.

Slade felt the last remains of his self-restraint crumble as Dick twitched in his grasp.
The feeling of Nightwing welcoming his touch had been pleasant.
It had affected something raw, deeply buried and protected from the world. inside the battle-worn mercenary
With the boys resistance his own hunger had returned.
He used his free hand to rise his mask and finally tasted the unprotected skin on his preys neck.
The smell of blood was even stronger with the lack of distance between them.
Yet he wasn't a vulture, he couldn't just devour the blood someone else had drawn, he needed to hurt the beautiful creature in his arms and leave a mark of his own.
That knowledge that an angry Batman could use the remains of his saliva to hunt him down was easily pushed away.
He licked the delicate skin below him, his tastebuds sang in pleasure as they finally got their prize.
He inhaled, as deeply as the mask allowed it, freshly washed hair, blood, slight sweat and the boys own unique scent.
Nightwing struggled in his hold and Slade needed to use his other arm to keep him in his place.
The weak attempt to defend himself only fueled his hunger.
He bit into the skin and was rewarded with a small stream of blood.
Greedily he drunk the liquid and continued to lick the skin, even though he knew that the high percentage of antibacterial agents could help to prevent a possible scar.

"Shh, I got you", cooed the mercenary into his captives ear and kissed it softly.
The small fight had further damaged the heros wounded stomach and he wouldn't allow him to end their game by slipping into unconsciousness.

"Daddy tought you better than this, didn't he?", mocked the mercenary in the same tone and the younger man went rigid in his arms.

"Such a good boy", praised Slade with a hint of ire, if he had found the boy after his parents death, the blind loyalty would be directed at him and not the Bat.
Yet Dick, starved for recognition from his father and still somewhat disoriented, took it like a starving man and relaxed slightly.
Praise had always been such an easy and rewarding way to manipulate him, it was a shame that he usually didn't want it from the lips of a murderer.

"Dad", said the young hero and looked towards a spot above them.
Had he been so lost in their game that he hadn't noticed newcomer?
He looked around, but didn't see anyone, yet a small light on Nightwings communicator caught his interest.
A dot was very close to their warehouse and moved with a high speed towards them.
Slade carefully untangled himself from his prey and watched from the shadows as Batman lifted his protege bridal style and carried him outside building.

Forty minutes later a group of policemen confiscated the nitrous oxide for safety reasons and he considered his job done.