Redemption is only an illusion

by Willofhounds

Summary:

After Jason Todd died, Dick Grayson disappeared from the eyes of the public. It takes six months for the hero community to realize. By the time they do, he's gone, disappeared into the shadows. Within weeks of his dissappearance, villains notice that their favorite (tolerated) vigilante is gone. But they don't have any better luck at finding him. No matter where they look he's gone.

Almost a decade later, a contract goes out. A former agent with the CIA has a price on his head. The bounty is higher to bring him in alive but dead is acceptable. All of the usual suspects, and a few unusuals, take the contract. Deadshot, Cheshire, Sportsmaster, Deathstroke, and others all begin hunting the man known as Delta, the most elusive ghost of the Medusa Program. They know his code name and very little else.

Deathstroke aka Slade Wilson, comes across him by chance in Spain. Only to meet a familiar face if colder for what he's done.

Notes:

• For Quinis.

Chapter 1

...

It shouldn't have happened. Jason should not be in that coffin dead. He was going to fucking kill that Clown! Dick's fists balles at his sides. This should not have happened!

But this wasn't on him. Bruce had been the one to send Jason on the mission. Bruce was the one that sent Jason to die. He would never forgive Bruce for this. Never.

The card in the front pocket of his jacket burned. It came with a promise. To teach him to kill and give him the resources to do so. All he had to do was call the number on the back of the card. And all of his rage would be directed on the clown. He would pay for killing Dick's brother.

He should not have died.

"Dick," said Bruce but Dick didn't give him the chance to keep going.

"This is your fault," hissed Dick angrily, "Jason is dead because of you! You don't get to talk to me!"

Bruce looked at the teen surprised, "I didn't mean-."

"Shut up!" shouted Dick, "You will LISTEN! Jason is DEAD. He died on YOUR watch. You never learn from your mistakes. NEVER! Fucking Ra's Al Ghul learns from his mistakes better than you do! And he's 600 years old!"

"Dick," said Clark softly, "Maybe you should calm down. You're angry, hurting-."

"And you're a hypocrite too," snapped Dick, "If it was Lois or Connor tell me you wouldn't react the same way!"

Clark flinched and stepped back. Dick was right, and he knew it. If it had been either of the two of them, then Clark would have killed the Joker without hesitation. And in the end, it wasn't Bruce that had held him back from doing so. It had been the fact that someone else had gotten to the clown first. That was the only reason that the man was alive in Arkham Asylum at that very moment.

One day. One day he swore, the Joker would die by his hand.

Dick shoved past Clark and Bruce. He thought he felt someone reach for his shoulder. But they were smart enough to pull their hand away. His rage was at the boiling point. They probably were thinking to let him cool off. But there was no cooling off from this. Jason was gone and that was it.

And in the next breath, the card in his pocket would finally make its use. He pressed a hand to the pocket. Making sure the piece of paper was still there. It was.

...

Garfield was the first to notice that Robin never came back to Jump. He didn't think anything of it at first. Maybe Batman needed him. Or something had come up. So, Gar asked Raven to check the news in Gotham. Just in case the city had needed its Dynamic Duo. But no. Nothing had happened in the last month that warranted their attention. Nor did it look like they had made an appearance together. Which was weird. Very weird.

The Titans all felt the dread in the pit of their stomachs. This wasn't like their leader. He always checked in. Always. Even when his "father" didn't want him around. Contacting the Justice League only got then platitudes. Saying that everything was fine. That nothing had happened. And that Robin was in a dark place. And that the JL didn't know where he was. But not to worry.

That was the exact opposite of what the Teen Titans wanted to hear. The last time he went missing like this, Robin was in Slade's hands.

When they tried to bring this up, Superman gave them a curt, "He is fine. Go home Titans. When he's ready he'll come back."

They listened. By the time they realized their mistake it was too late.

...

Slade frowned at his computer. It was a week since Todd's funeral. The second Robin had been killed by the Joker. If he was honest he was surprised he didn't get an 'anonymous' contract for the Clown. Grayson knew of ways to contact him.

Using a computer program he tried to search for where the boy was. No luck. It was almost as if the boy had completely disappeared. Which, while possible, was suspicious. The kid was good with computers but bot that good.

"Something's not right," he murmured, narrowing his eye, "Someone should have heard from him."

Perhaps the League of Assassins? The Demon's Head was said to have a soft spot for the boy.

"Something wrong, Slade?" Asked Will as he brought him a cup of coffee.

"I cannot seem to locate Richard," admitted Slade, "I believe something is wrong."

"Richard," questioned William, confused, "As in Wayne?"

"He was never adopted by Wayne," corrected Slade, "But yes. I've searched through the police databases. He isn't listed anywhere. Not in his apartment. Not even on the Watch Tower. It's like the boy just fell off the face of the Earth."

"You're worried," noted his friend, "That's unlike you. Didn't he just lose a brother? I remember when you lost Grant. It's only been a week. Give the kid time."

"Will," sighed Slade, pointing at the screen, "This isn't that simple. I've seen the CIA do a less thorough job on destroying traces of their operatives."

Will's gaze searched his for a moment before he let out a defeated breath. Then he began his own searches using his computer. Using a different one, Slade put out an information request with his sources.

...

Richard had been missing for over a week now. He expected the boyto avoid Wayne that was to be expected. However avoiding his team wasn't within his normal behavior. Nor was it to disappear. Ra's hid a frown as Namir finished his report.

"There is nothing to indicate that the detective would have done anything to him," explained his loyal servant, "I checked in with Sayad before returning. Al Zala left after the funeral and never returned."

"And the man that caused the death of young Jason Todd?" Asked Ra's, a dark undertone in his voice.

"Alive," answered Namir, "Wayne returned him to Arkham Asylum. Unconscious. One would think after nearly killing one son and killing the other, Wayne would break his no killing rule."

There was an undercurrent of anger in Namir's voice. Namir was close to Al Zala. So it wasn't a surprise that he disapproved of Wayne's 'mercy'. Had Ra's been in his position, he would not have shown such mercy. The Joker would have already paid the price for his actions years ago. But that was neither here nor there.

"Find him," ordered Ra's, "I will not have him hurt or lost. Is that understood?"

"Yes Master," bowed Namir before turning to leave.

Ra's watched him leave with a frown. Something was not right. Where did you go, Richard?

Chapter 2

...

"Focus!" snapped the older man, "If you want to join Medusa, you have to be better than this!"

Dick was tired, hungry, and could feel the bruises littered across his skin. His instructors didn't care that he was a seventeen-year-old kid. Or that he was the youngest to ever try to qualify. David Abbott wanted him trained just like the others and they would see him trained. Or else he would flunk out of the program. And that was the last thing he wanted to do. They were training him to be better.

"Again," ordered his instructor.

Alexander 'Alex' Conklin was the instructor assigned to him personally. He was also the main handler of the entire program. Alex had been the most reluctant to train him. He didn't agree with Abbott's decision to bring in a teenager to this program. Especially not a kid. At least, that was what Alex had said to his face. Dick didn't mind. The guy wasn't wrong. This wasn't a place for a child. Dick hadn't been a kid since he took the oaths to be a hero.

Still, why couldn't he bring himself to make the kill shots? It was a necessary skill if he was going to kill the Joker personally. That was what he demanded in agreement for joining Medusa. That they would give him the training necessary to get revenge for Jason. And that was what the instructors were teaching him. But every time, when the time came to practice his aim, he couldn't pull the trigger. Body shots were as easy as breathing now. It was only headshot that he struggled with.

"Conklin, take a walk," ordered the calm voice of Abbott, "Let me talk with our young friend."

Alex nodded, giving a salute. Then he turned and limped away away. He'd lost his foot about a year prior. It had gotten caught on a land mine and was blown to bits. Now he walked with a prosthetic. It kept him from returning to field work but he could still train new agents and operatives. Hence why the higher-ups decided to have him train Dick.

"Grayson," said Abbott and tilted his head towards the water coolers, "Walk with me."

Dick followed him silently. He was in trouble and was fully aware of that. This training was nothing like he was used to. Batman and Slade's were both brutal but not on the level that was expected of him. Here he was the weakest link. The others were men and women that were only attending the program in order to get out of jail time. Most of them would have served decades in federal prison. They didn't have a lot to lose by agreeing to become a ghost. Joining Medusa meant your very existence was erased from the records. No family to visit. Nothing to show that you had even existed. If you survived you'd be given a new life.

A big if...

"What are we doing Mr. Grayson?" asked the older man, his tone harsh, "What is the point of being here, if you can't kill? If you can't do what we are asking then you need to go home. I will not have a liability on my team."

Dick bit his lip and looked away. It was a question that he didn't have an answer for. What was the point? He was a vigilante, an acrobat. A hero. Heroes didn't kill. He couldn't be a hero anymore. But he didn't know how to stop.

"Do you know why you out of all of the teenager vigilantes were chosen?" questioned Abbott and Dick shook his head, "Your ability to read people and adapt. To become a completely different person on the drop of a hat. You can blend in and hide. You are a chameleon and a valuable asset. We can teach you the rest. But the killing. That is something that has to come from you. So the question is, can you kill, Mr. Grayson?"

Dick stood there staring at him. Could he? Could he end a human's life in a fight? With the Joker, yes. But this wouldn't just end with the Joker and he had to come to terms with that. He needed to decide if he could be the killer that was required of him.

"Take a walk and think," instructed his boss, "And then report back to Conklin. If the answer is yes, make the shot to kill or go home. Stop wasting our time."

"Yes sir," replied Dick and went in the opposite direction that his instructor had gone.

...

"I still think this is a waste of time, Monk," declared Alex as the two men watched the teenager walk off, "He isn't cut out for this. Not mentally. He's too much of a hero to do the dirty work. I don't know what you see in him."

David gave his subordinate a glance. Conklin was a good handler. Probably the best in the agency. However, he didn't see the potential that the young vigilante had. Robin had been a hero. Had been was key. David wasn't stupid he knew most of the names of the world's vigilantes. They did good work so as long as they didn't interfere with him he returned the courtesy. But when Grayson showed up at his door demanding that he give the boy the skills to take care of the Joker. Then the rights to kill the Clown would belong to him. He'd watched when Deathstroke took him in for a few months, two years ago. That had given him the idea but before now it just wasn't the right time.

"We will have to agree to disagree," replied David simply, "If he cannot do the job then I will have him removed from the facility and send him home. This is his final chance anyways. If he cannot pass this test, he is useless to us."

Alex didn't reply. His hands folded behind his back and returned to watching Grayson. The kid was sitting on the ground with one elbow up on a raised knee. He looked out over the lake used for laps by the trainees. The expression was solemn and thoughtful. What was he thinking?

It was an hour later that Grayson finally got to his feet and began the trek to the shooting range. Alex had returned to the range with him looking put out. The other trainees were there along the fence line watching Grayson. All of their faces had varying expressions. Some were amused and thought that the kid couldn't do the job. Others still were neutral and didn't care.

"Delta," drawled Alex as the teen stepped in front of him, "Prove that you belong here."

Grayson's face was blank. His blue eyes were almost dead. No they weren't blue. They were grey. David leaned forward a little. Was that... it was. That was the look of someone who was ready to kill. As soon as the target came up and the order was given, Grayson put two bullets into the head of the target.Perfectly done. He would be the soldier that David was looking for.

...

Returning to Gotham for the first time in three months should have made him feel something. Dick didn't feel anything however. The streets were still the same. They were still full of crime. However no one was looking for him and he was able to pass without notice. Bruce was in Metropolis on Justice League business. It meant he wouldn't be able to make it back in time to stop what was to happen tonight.

Abbott had named him, Delta. If he passed this test then he'd be given a team of his own to command. Abbott would use him just as he did with the other members of Medusa. He arranged for the Joker to escape Arkham and to be on the loose in Crime Alley. This was his last step in becoming a member of the Medusa Program and earning his name, Delta. Kill his first target unassisted. As promised, his target was the Joker.

His grip tightened on his duffle bag. Walking up to the building, he let himself in and headed for the roof. Once there, he set the duffel down and pulled out a rifle. Setting up his perch, the butt of the weapon was settled in his shoulder and his eye at the scope. Waiting. This was the best place for a sniper's nest according to the information that Abbott had given him.

It didn't take long for his target to show. Dick felt the ice creep into his veins. This was the man that had beaten his brother to death. That had tortured him. The one who had shot Dick when he was younger. The monster that had haunted his nightmares. Delta pushed aside Dick Grayson as he waited for the Joker to stop. Then the moment the clown stopped moving, he took the shot. The bullet traveled through the air and embedded itself in the man's brain. The body dropped to the ground blood pooling on the concrete where it lay.

And that was it. He did it. Jason was avenged and the world was free of a madman. Why didn't he feel any different?

"Target neutralized," whispered the dark-haired teen, "I repeat, target is neutralized. Mission accomplished."

"Good work, Delta," answered the gruff voice of Alex, "Now get to the rendezvous. We're bringing you in to meet the rest of your unit."

"Yes, Sir," said Delta before packing the gun away and disappearing.

By the GCPD arrived, all that was left was a dead body. It was as though the killer was never there. They would spend days looking for the person responsible but there was nothing. Not even Batman could find a clue on who killed the Joker while he was away from the city. Nor did anyone claim the credit. It was like the Clown had been killed by a ghost.

Chapter 3

...

Six months. It should not have taken Bruce this long to realize that no one had heard or received a report from Dick. Clark had mentioned that the Teen Titans had not seen him either. Being busy with his new ward wasn't an excuse. Neither was his Justice League work. How could he have not realized that the boy had disappeared?

"Master Bruce," said Alfred, "You're frowning at the computer again. Have you lost a file again? Or perhaps, Young Master Drake moved it?"

"No," said Bruce, shaking his head, "Neither. Tim has some good ideas. No I'm looking for a trace of Richard. But the problem is that the only traces of him are the ones from just after Jason's funeral. Nothing after that."

"Perhaps the young master is trying to grieve," offered his surrogate grandfather, "He and Master Todd were very close."

"Close or not," retorted Bruce, pulling up a few files, "This isn't normal behavior. Not from him. Look at this. The Titans have reported that his phone is out of service and that they've tried to call. And that was a week after the funeral. The school he was enrolled at, no longer has any records of him. If it isn't an actual physical file, then it doesn't exist. I can't even find a record of him in the Wayne Foundation database."

Alfred frowned and looked at the data as he agreed, "That is peculiar. Targeted hacks wouldn't be so thorough. Do you think it might be, the League of Shadows or someone similar."

Bruce froze. This was true. Ra's had a soft spot for the boy. And the Demon's Head would have the ability to pull off the feat. However, this did not give off the same feeling as Ra's actions normally did. This was a deliberate attempt to erase Richard from the internet and databases. Something that Ra's had no interest in. The man would have come in person to collect the teen then left. That's how he did things in the past.

"It's a possibility," admitted the billionaire, "But this isn't Ra's style. It's a possibility though. I'll have Barbara do some digging. Her hacking skills will help her find him faster."

"And the Titans?" asked the butler, eyebrow raised, "Should we inform them of our suspicions?"

Bruce sighed and pinched his nose, "Not yet. I'll look further into it before bringing the Titans into this."

"Very well, sir," replied Alfred, turning to head to the kitchen, "I will bring the sandwiches to the cave when they are finished. Try not to stay down there too long. It sets a bad example for your ward."

Bruce nodded, not taking his eyes off of the screen. His focus was entirely on the missing teenager. Where did you go, chum?

...

Eight years would pass. Rumors of a Black Ops program would occasionally reach the ears of the Justice League but there would be no proof of its existence. Those that went searching would come up empty. It didn't help that no matter what, no one was able to get a name for the group. Only that the soldiers were referred to by codenames. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, etc. That was only known because of whispers. Whispers that the agents heard and passed on to their handlers.

All through that Bruce couldn't find a trace of his missing ward. Not a single lead. The trail was colder than the ice in Antarctica. Bruce had even gone so far as to talk with Ra's to see if he knew anything. But the man was no more knowledgeable on the topic than Bruce. It was frustrating for him and the other Justice League members.

After a year, they stopped looking. Every once in a while, a clue would come out of the shadows. Bruce would rush to seek out the clue in hopes of finding his oldest. But every time, it would prove to be a false hope. A dead-end. Eventually, it was too much and Bruce had to stop. For his sanity and so he could look after Tim then later, Damian. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, Bruce could not bring himself to give up. Occasionally he'd look things up on the batcomputer. Just in case something popped up.

It was a fool's errand and he knew it. Still, Bruce could not stop. Even eight years later. It was a wound that wouldn't heal. Jason had returned to them in his own way as Red Hood. Yet, Dick was still missing. No body, no evidence, no clues, nothing. It was a mystery that had the greatest detective in the world stumped.

"Hey B!" came the voice of Barry Allen, the Flash, as he sped into the room, "Have you seen the news lately?"

"No," growled the Dark Knight irritably, "Why would I need to watch the news when I'm on monitor duty?"

Barry winced at the harsh tone. Still he didn't stop his approach. Instead, the Speedster reached over and hit a couple of buttons to turn the large monitor on. Immediately the sound of a reporter's voice filled the air. Bruce's scowl deepened at the image. What the hell was going on?

"-in the latest on the assassination of a Japanese Diplomat," said the reporter, "A source from inside the office of the FBI has reported that an unnamed agent has been assigned the job of tracking down the assassin. Sources believe that the man was part of the same same assassin that assassinated a US Ambassador and a Russian Politician. Both incidents occurred about a month ago-."

"Do we have a description?" asked Bruce, already scanning the information on the screen, "Or a face?"

"Yeah a description," admitted Barry, "Male, mid to late twenties with black hair and grey eyes. The problem is the guy that did this was a ghost. I have an easier time tracking the League of Shadows members than this guy. Whoever did this is an expert. We have no idea of where to start. J'onn is trying to read the minds of those that have claimed to have seen him. He's not having much success though. Most of the sightings are false or they barely got a look at him."

Bruce's fingers were flying across the keyboard. His mind was focused on the details of the killings. The news wasn't exaggerating in the least. Who ever this assassin was, he was a ghost. No prints, no hairs, not a single trace. All three of the men had died in the exact same manner. A bullet to the brain. It was quick and clean. Three kills in three different countries.

"The CIA has a pretty large bounty on him," said Barry, "They want him alive. Diana's already on her way to speak to the Director. You know her, she's a diplomat first. So she's going to try gathering the information legally and without stepping on any toes first."

"That will get her nowhere," grunted the Detective, "If the assassin has done his job, and the evidence shows that he has, then the CIA isn't going to share anything with her. They will have a vested interest in keeping their secrets. And that includes not allowing the Justice League to have a hold of whatever they know."

It wasn't the first time they had to deal with the silence from the CIA. The agency did not approve of vigilantes as a whole. Nor did they trust the Justice League. There was no way they'd allow the Justice League to help.

"What would you like me to do, Bats?" Asked the scarlet speedster, "I'm assuming that you don't plan to wait on the side lines while Diana and Clark are playing nice. Right?"

"Barry," sighed Bruce but he was right.

He wouldn't standby and do nothing. Especially not when there were lives on the line. Innocent or not. He could not condone killing. No matter the reason.

"Have you talked to Oliver lately?" asked Barry not being nearly as subtle as he was attempting.

Bruce frowned and turned his attention back to the computer. He'd noticed that the archer was avoiding the Watch Tower a lot. He had been since Dick disappeared. Dick and Oliver were close. He'd treated Dick like a nephew. Now, the only time he came was to drop off paperwork or attend mandatory meetings. Other than that, the archer was rarely there.

"Why would I talk to him, Flash?" growled Batman, typing away, "Queen is an adult and can take care of himself."

"But-," tried the Speedster but was cut off.

"He can handle his problems," barked the Bat, not looking at him, "We have a job to do. Get to work."

"Fine," grumbled the blond as he sped away to the teleporters, "Be that way, Grumpy Bat."

Bruce glared at the screen but didn't respond. He did not have time for this nonsense.

...

"Slade," called Will from the computer room of the Haunt, "You might want to see this."

Said mercenary looked up from his dinner plate and sighed. Whatever it was, it would not be good. Why would it? Getting to his feet, he made his way over to stand behind his partner. It was a contract. That was to be expected. What was not, was that there were two prices. The higher price was to bring the target in alive.

"This is unusual," commented the older man, "I haven't seen a demand to have someone brought in alive in a long time. Who is it, did you manage to find out?"

Will's lips were in a firm, grim line. His normally friendly demeanor was gone. This must have been serious.

"Its one of the Medusa Program members," answered Will, "Callsign: Delta. He was last seen in Japan. According to the intel, the CIA is on his trail. But that is all that's available on the matter. They are struggling to track him."

Medusa? Slade hadn't heard of that program before. Not that it was surprising that he didn't. Government organizations liked their secrets. Especially ones that were involved in espionage and black ops. The CIA wasn't taking any chances about him not being captured either. The contract went out to everyone who would take it just for the money without any questions.

"They are desperate," mused the mercenary, "This isn't the normal way they do things. Normally the government would send their own team after him. They wouldn't hire outside help. And definitely not to this extreme. What are we missing?"

"I have no idea," replied Wintergreen, his hand on his chin, "I'm going to keep digging but Slade, something about this doesn't feel right."

"You're right, Will," agreed Slade, "Keep an eye on that. I'm going to call in some favors. See if someone is willing to talk about what they aren't saying."