Adult-FanFiction.org : Comics

Silent Birdsong	By : SladinForever Category: DC Verse Cartoons - Teen Titans > AU/AR > Slash Views: 1488 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, Batman, or its characters. I make no money off fics rolls away

Chapter List
- 1-Silent Birdsong Chapter 1
- 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, Batman, or its characters. I make no money off fics, though it’d be cool if I did! *rolls away*
Title: Silent Birdsong
Summary: —Alternate Universe— Silence isn't always golden. Especially when that silence is forced onto someone else; someone who WANTS their voice to be heard. Follow a poor boy's journey from Hell and back, and learn just how important it is to sing a song
Notes: This story was inspired by a yaoi mangacap I saw on my Tumblr Dash a while back, where it looked like the young character had a scar across his throat. I made the assumption this character was mute—I couldn't find the manga the cap was from, so I don't know if he is or not—and immediately thought up this fan fic idea. This story will be tragic and depressing. It will contain dark themes. If you'd like to know warnings beforehand, PM me
SladinForever

The call came at five in the morning. His employer was discreet and careful in his instructions. Getting an exact location was like trying to pull out teeth with tweezers rather than dental extraction forceps. Lastly, he was told he would be paid a great sum of money and then the call ended abruptly. It was annoying when people did that. He didn't even get the chance to ask what he was specifically needed for. The more detail, the better. Oh well. So long as he got paid, it hardly mattered now. That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.
"We are nearing the end of the road, sir," an older male, upper class, English voice announced from the driver's seat.
There was a click as something metallic was put into place in the back.
"Thank you, Wintergreen. You may stop here."
A simple, carbon black Buick LaCrosse car slowly came to a stop on a wet, dirt road. It had rained the last week, almost non-stop. It was gloomy and semi-dark that day. When the car simply hummed softly, a gray-gloved hand grabbed the back seat door handle and pulled on it to open the door. A man, dressed in a peculiar outfit, stepped his leg out and proceeded to stand. He wore a half black, half orange mask that covered his entire face. He looked at his driver one last time.
"Return to the safe house. I don't know how long I will be. When I'm finished, I will contact you."
"Of course, sir."
With a curt nod, the masked man finally stepped onto the road and closed the door behind him. As Wintergreen backed up to turn and leave, the man reached into a pouch on his right hip and pulled out a round, black device with a screen on it. He placed his thumb in the center and waited, ignoring the car driving away. The screen flared to life in two seconds and then a robotic, female voice came from it.
Good evening, Deathstroke.
Not saying a solitary word, Deathstroke tapped the screen with his fingertip and a menu appeared. He flicked it upward and watched the key items sail by. Once he found an icon that looked like a world map, he pressed it and lifted the device to the slits in his mask.
"Destination: Anthony Zucco."
Deathstroke lowered the device and watched a grid appear next. At the center was a plus sign with a flashing red dot centered on it. The mercenary zoomed out until he found a green dot to the left. A number flashed on screen: 6km. Quickly memorizing his route, Deathstroke turned off the communication's device, put it away, and then started on his way. Leaves and twigs crunched under his heavily booted feet. A bird screeched overhead. The further into the forest, the darker it became. Even though he only had one eye, Deathstroke could see just fine. It helped that his mask adjusted depending on darkness and brightness.
For almost an hour and a half, he walked in silence. The trees were dense and tall the farther along he went. Deathstroke had to change direction twice to be heading in the right direction. Soon, he came out into a large clearing. Fifty feet away was a building that spanned from one side to the other. There was a long garage on the right that was opened, revealing a few black SUVs and cars. A dirt path led up to it and the building. Deathstroke wondered how the vehicles could enter there. After glancing at the main building, he went to the path and saw that trees had been cleared down the way. He walked it for a few minutes, to see how open the path still was. It seemed possible that it opened to the main road. If he had known this information sooner, he wouldn't have had to walk so long.
Sighing, Deathstroke turned back around and headed back the way he came. Reaching the clearing again, he walked towards the garage and the side of the building, where a door led into the main. Stopping in front of it, the mercenary knocked three times and then began the waiting game. Nothing seemed to happen for a good few minutes before the sound of a lock came open and the door inched open. Standing behind the door was a tall, muscular, black club bouncer-looking man, eying Deathstroke with disdain. The mercenary didn't seem to care about the look.
"I'm here to see your boss," he said calmly.
The black man stared at him for a few more seconds before pulling the door open more and stepping aside. "He will see you shortly," he said in a very deep voice.
With an imperceptible forward tilt of his head, Deathstroke stepped over the threshold and entered casually. The bouncer closed and locked the door. Inside was a large empty space with a few doors here and there. Men were walking around or standing along the walls, talking. At the end of the room, there was a large steel door. The bouncer waited behind Deathstroke. There was a hollow clanging knock coming from the steel door. A tall Italian man with groomed-back brown hair pulled a key chain off his jean loop at his hip, grabbed a brass key, and inserted it underneath the steel handle. With a clockwise turn of his wrist, he unlocked the door, took the key out, and then opened it. Beyond the door was a short hallway and a medium-height man. He had a balding head with some grey hair slicked back. He had a prominent chin and sunken cheeks. His eyes were blue with a slight purple tint to them. Reaching into his black pants pocket with his left hand, the man walked out while pulling out a box of toothpicks. He opened the lid with his thumb and shook one out. Grabbing it with his teeth, the man maneuvered it to the left corner of his mouth, closed the container, and put it back in his pocket. He stopped a few feet in front of Deathstroke, looking him up and down for a second before looking at his masked face.
"I do apologize for our short-lived conversation over the phone. I didn't want outsiders tracing the call. I am Anthony Zucco, though you probably knew that." Deathstroke blinked, not caring in the slightest. "Anyway, your job is simple. There's someone I need you to get a reaction from. My men aren't devious enough to brutally torture someone and I don't have enough strength to do it myself. Hence why I hired you." Deathstroke didn't say anything. Grabbing the end of his toothpick, Zucco turned back the way he came. "Follow me."
When he was almost fifteen feet from Deathstroke, the mercenary followed behind, already considering his method of torture. They entered the hallway, walked to the door at the end, and entered a large room after a guard opened it for them. Deathstroke was the last to enter before the door closed behind them. Zucco headed for the far end of the room, heading right for someone small huddled against the wall. When they got closer, Deathstroke started making out an appearance. It was male and his head was hanging over his chest. Scraggly, black hair hung like a sheet of vines from a willow tree towards his legs. He was sitting on the floor, his arms shackled above on the wall on either side of his head, completely unmoving. He was bare-chested and wore not-so-loose boxers. The mercenary's eye narrowed slightly when they were fifteen feet away and he could see him more clearly. He was covered in bruises and faded brown marks on his neck and collarbones, possibly bruises or cigarette burns, Deathstroke was unsure which. There were a few scars and cuts on him as well.
Stopping to the left in front of the teenage boy, Zucco let go of his toothpick, crouched to his level, and grabbed a fistful of hair. He lifted the boy's head and pulled it back until his knuckles brushed the wall. When he could fully see his face, the boy's sky blue eyes were almost closed and he looked exhausted and broken. Deathstroke continued to be silent, waiting for Zucco to say something. The boy barely noticed the mercenary standing there, not daring to tear his gaze away from the mob boss. Zucco smirked.
"I'm glad you are still conscious, my pet. I have a special gift for you. Do you want it?" The boy didn't do anything. Zucco waited a few seconds before letting go of his messy hair while shoving his head away and standing back up. Stepping to the side, he turned to Deathstroke. "As you can see, my pet hasn't been very obedient lately. I do not like being ignored. Do whatever it is you have to do to make him react. Just don't kill him." There was a long bout of silence as Deathstroke stared at them both. Slowly, he turned his solitary gaze to the teen, who was looking at him now, his breathing becoming loud and hard. Deathstroke could easily sense he was trying to stay strong, even though his entire body was trying to make him just let it all go and cry. "Need I remind you, I'm paying you forty grand for this job," Zucco piped in. "If you don't start soon, I'll dock it down by half."
Deathstroke's face had turned neutral the longer he stared at this broken boy before him. Blinking, he looked at Zucco again. "You know, this is exactly why I require very detailed information on who I'm dealing with and what I'm asked to do."
Zucco's brow furrowed in question. "And what is the problem?"
Folding his arms over his chest, Deathstroke answered, "I don't deal with children."
Zucco snorted while grabbing his toothpick. "He's sixteen." Deathstroke's eye narrowed in disapproval. This man was getting on his last nerve. Getting annoyed at the refusing look, Zucco stepped towards him. "Either you do what I've asked, or I will call in all of my men to make you." Zucco stopped in front of the mercenary and shoved his pointer finger into his chest. Deathstroke looked down at it. "Now do as I sa—"
Like a viper, Deathstroke grabbed around Zucco's knuckles and yanked his finger back, breaking it. The mobster cried out in immense pain, his toothpick flying from the corner of his mouth. The mercenary threw his arm to the side and then grabbed around his throat with his free hand. Pulling Zucco forward, he squeezed his neck hard and pulled him close to his Halloween mask. Zucco's right eye slowly opened. When he saw the penetrating gaze, fear gripped him and he began to sweat. Deathstroke squeezed his neck a little harder, making his next breath hitch.
"Your first mistake was to hire me to hurt a child." Closing his eyes tight, Zucco gasped for breath. Deathstroke lifted him until his toes barely brushed the floor. "And I don't take kindly to threats."
Quickly turning sideways, Deathstroke threw Zucco towards the middle of the room. The man crashed face and chest first into the ground, his stomach and legs flying diagonally into the air. He flopped over onto his back, gasping for breath. Ignoring him now, the mercenary turned around, relaxed his mind, and approached the restrained boy. Back behind him, Zucco was shakily pulling out a cell phone. He hit a number on the keys and held it above his face. Deathstroke crouched in front of the boy, pulled a compact weapon out of his belt, and touched a button. A blade came out. He hit the button again and a key that fit any padlock replaced the blade. He reached for the right shackle and stuck it in the lock. The boy slowly lifted his gaze to him, but his eyes widened slightly. Noticing the warning look, Deathstroke released the handle, placed his hands to the floor, and then kicked his leg out in a sweep as he turned.
Half of Zucco's men had arrived. One had come up behind him to kick him away from the boy, but was now on his back, his legs in the air. Getting up, Deathstroke reached into two utility belt pockets on either side of him from the back and whipped out black, steel rods. He extended them and pushed a button. One blue blade each appeared on the front ends of the bo staves, but they weren't solid. Instead, they seemed to be made of energy that rotated in a blade-like shape. Two more men jumped forward to fight him without any weapons. Big mistake.
With relative ease, Deathstroke cut the men down, the blue energy entering their bodies and attacking their organs. They screamed in pain as they fell. Another man, this one with a semi-automatic handgun, got close and aimed. He was ready to pull the trigger, but the mercenary was stealthier. With a jerk sideways with his right blade, he sliced the gun in half and then kicked him in the stomach. The man flew back, crashing into another goon as he came up behind him. They fell in a heap. In the far back, Zucco was cradling his hurt hand, ordering his men to attack with everything they had. The rest rushed Deathstroke, firing off semi-automatic handguns.
"Be careful of my toy, you morons," Zucco yelled after a bullet hit the wall, just ten feet from the boy's arm.
Pet? Toy? Deathstroke didn't like the sound of that. At all. There was something more sinister going on here, and the mercenary was going to find out what.
Easily dodging almost every bullet—those that managed to hit either grazed him or hit the metal guards on his arms and legs—Deathstroke spun the staves around in his hands as he sliced into people. But they kept coming back for more. Another big mistake. It didn't take long for the mercenary to dispatch every goon. Zucco growled in anger at how weak they were. One pushed himself up, but was quickly sliced in the neck by the blade. When the fallen goons no longer moved, Deathstroke pushed the button and the blades vanished into thin air. He pocketed the staves, turned back around, and returned to the boy's side. Gritting his teeth, Zucco reached into his inner coat pocket of his black business jacket and silently pulled out his glock while the mercenary unlocked the shackle. The boy slowly looked up at him, a shiver passing through him because of the man's mask. But, all that mattered now was that Deathstroke was saving him. After almost nine long years in this Hell, he was going to be free from it.
Deathstroke carefully lowered the boy's arm to rest beside him. Bruises covered his wrist and part of his lower arm. Blood began rushing back to his hand and fingers, but he could barely feel the stinging, buzzing sensation flow through him. After the boy's other hand was free, Deathstroke carefully lowered it. After putting the key away, he lifted his hand to the boy's head and pushed filthy bangs back from his forehead. The boy stared directly at him, his mouth partly open as he breathed. He was captivated by this strange man that looked like a monster from a nightmare. He felt a strange calmness overtake him. Almost instantly, tears fell from the corners of his eyes and trailed down his pale cheeks. Exhaling out of his nose, Deathstroke ended in a sigh before moving his hands to the boy's armpits. As he began to rise, he pulled him to his chest and placed his arm under the base of his legs. His free hand pulled his limp arm around his armored neck. When the boy was situated in his arms, Deathstroke turned around and took three steps, but stopped.
"Put him back, or I'll kill you both."
Zucco had come up behind the mercenary, his gun aimed and cocked. Deathstroke's eye narrowed at him.
"You first."
With inhuman speed, Deathstroke pulled a staff out, turned on the blade, and stepped one foot forward to thrust it. Zucco's eyes widened, too stunned to move as the blade came at his sternum.
"Hrrk!" There wasn't any blood, but there was pain. Zucco's grip on his gun slacked and it fell with a clatter at their feet. He stared up at Deathstroke in shock. The boy around his neck had tightened his hold, whimpering. Gritting his teeth, Zucco growled. "Y-You…bast-"
Deathstroke yanked the blade out and then swiftly kicked him in the stomach with the bottom of his boot. Zucco flew back, saliva flying from his mouth as he was winded. He crashed into the floor, sliding back a few inches. The mercenary lowered his leg and stood straight again. When the mob boss didn't move, he turned off the blade, retracted the staff, and then returned it to his belt before holding the boy with both arms again. The teen's body relaxed only slightly. He closed his eyes tight, tears streaming down his face. He tightened his hold around Deathstroke's neck. Sighing, the man turned slightly to the left and headed for the door. He didn't particularly want to take this kid with him, but he didn't want to leave him here either. But, despite what many would think, he still had his morals and not hurting or killing children was one of them. The moment he could, he would release the boy back into the world, to figure out his new life alone.
At least that's what Deathstroke the Terminator kept telling himself…
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Silent Birdsong