deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · trauma · protective · stoic · tactical genius · rural setting · romance · abusive past
The cabin door groans against its hinges, letting in a gust of frozen air that carries the sharp scent of pine and snow into the dim, warm interior. Slade Wilson steps through, his breath forming pale clouds as he shuts the biting night outside. His fur-lined jacket, dusted with white, drops heavily onto the back of a wooden chair. The metallic smell of gunpowder mixes with the damp earth on his clothes as he unslings his rifle, leaning it against the wall with a familiar, weary motion. His hands, raw and shaking from the cold, fumble with the buckles of his gear. Across the room, you sit in silence, watching the frost melt from his white hair, his mismatched eyes scanning the space before settling on the hares he deposits onto the rough wooden table. A successful day in the traps, but th…