:)/

An Earth 3 Joseph Wilson   Para || Semi-Selective || Indie

[speakwithviolence-blog]

tcrminates‌:

slade is perfectly aware of what billy is telling him in that strange voice of his. he’s heard most of villain’s theories. the man does love them. slade sometimes suspects he took him on not just for the money but for a chance to get a good, up-close look at slade’s physiology - non-invasive, of course. he takes in the pills out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t need to really check when he hears the words pops spill out of billy’s mouth.

jo had better be alright. slade taps at his shoulder, wondering at a way to get him out of danger. he wonders where villain went - dead, maybe. isn’t that the fate of everyone slade knows? villain should have known better. slade should have known better.

pops. now that was something slade hadn’t expected. another joey, this one possessing wintergreen and out to hurt him. he doesn’t have time to wonder at it. he still doesn’t move, swirling what’s left of the whiskey in the glass, as one might do with wine, for flavor.

‘and will he recover?’

Wintergreen- Joseph huffs a little laugh but he nods. “Don’t look so solemn, he’ll be fine,” he assures. “I’m not looking to take another son from you. I just needed some insurance.” This guy might not be his dad but he’s dangerous like him and Joseph already knows this one is willing to actually use it. He wasn’t going to come playing the pity card and expecting that to turn out for him. 

“Maybe some headaches, maybe some dizziness for a few weeks,” Joseph says nonchalantly as he finished off his whiskey. “As long as I’m around to put him right, anyways. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck with a vegetable for a kid. Oh, and this one, too. I thought Billy would put up more of a fight but I guess he mistook me for that one.” 

“I’ll cut to the chase, pops; I need your help. Well, more specifically, I need your resources.” 

[speakwithviolence-blog]

tcrminates‌:

‘i know what this is,’ slade insists. he looks sideways at wintergreen, still enjoying his alcohol. he remembers that it would dull things, before, take the edge off of the worry over joseph. but now he lives with his feelings, like he has for so long. ‘the kid can take a black eye,’ he protests, too, and tries to pretend that it hadn’t been at least a figment in his mind. maybe a slap will take him out of it.

slade’s fingers clench a little too hard around the glass. he has to keep himself from smashing it, and he doesn’t think that he’s had to consciously control himself like this in a long while. he brings it with him to the next room, the little there is left, steps seeming loud in the silence that joey’s unconscious body brings.

billy’s explained most of what he needs to know. ‘villain have any theories?’ he asks, leaning over him.

‘dammit, jo.’

“Whatever you say, Slade,” he replies, painfully dry. Wintergreen leans against the door frame leisurely and looks down into his glass as Slade approaches his kid. Joey, of course, doesn’t move, doesn’t budge, barely seems to be breathing even- but he’s not injured. 

“He does,” he assures. “Villain had some interesting theories about Joey’s meta gene, you know. And yours and Rose’s by extension, of course. He theorizes that you passed on your meta gene in the form of heightened thought process. In Rose, it manifested as ‘precognition’- an accelerated ability to process receiving information and act on it.” Wintergreen reaches into his shirt pocket and fishes out a little bag of pills. 

“In Joey, it manifested as this- ability to override another person’s nervous system as if it were his own,” he goes on, popping a pill in his mouth and downing it with a drink of whiskey. “Villain was under the impression that because you and Rose had heightened processes as well, Joey would be unable to possess either of you.” Wintergreen smiles, unnatural looking on his face. 

“His nervous system is having small, epileptic fits from his consciousness reverberating around inside his own brain. He’s in neural shock, pops.” 

[deadravager]

Joseph really isn’t worried about Grant getting very far even if he does do something stupid to get out of his binds. The Titan’s tower isn’t easy to get into; and down right impossible to get out of. A honey trap, of sorts. He takes a drink from the bottle before pouring some into a shot glass.

“That’s not very nice,” Joseph signs but it’s amused, of course. There’s really only one body snatcher here- well, depending on one’s definition. Hard to imagine Slade taking on the Titans- or winning, for that matter. He pulls a chair up to sit across from him. Joseph laughs as he feels the scar on his throat.

“Pops saved me, too,” he assures. “After the fact. Then I took his eye out.” He tosses the shot back. “You know; family stuff.”

“He got you killed here, you know,” Joseph explains. “Made you think you were a hero in his stupid fucking campaign against the Justice League. Then he used the footage of Ultraman throwing your dead body on the White House lawn to get himself re-elected. Good man, pops.”

grant eyes the shot jealously. he could use some alcohol right about now. then again, it feels like he always could. he’s still processing, trying to come to terms with the joey and front of him. here or there. grant would put it off as a dream, but he knows when he’s dreaming. his dreams aren’t this COZY. he doesn’t need jo’s translator - he knows sign already. but he doesn’t say so. he’s seen that trope before.

who the hell is anyone? ultraman? but there’s one thing that catches grant’s attention as he sputters a bit.

‘re-elected? pops ran for office? twice? and got elected - to - to the presidency?’ what kind of crazy fucking world is this? grant half expects the colors he sees to be inverted. ‘what the fuck,’ grant mumbles. slade? with the charisma of a cat with rabies? just the words president deathstroke make him slightly ill to hear.

‘let me guess,’ grant says, ‘he didn’t beat me black and blue for mouthing off neither.’ what the fuck. pops, a defender of the public good? 

[speakwithviolence-blog]

Joseph barks a laugh: a nasty sound with his ruined throat. "I think I like your pops more," he signs. "Maybe if he'd hit you around some, you wouldn't have looked up to him so much you martyred yourself for his inane cause." He looks at Grant's chest, his heart specifically, as he digs into his pocket for a few pills and tosses them back with the shot.

"But no," he goes on after tossing the glass aside. "Pops never would have raised a hand to us- let alone daddy's boy. Not that you ever gave him a reason, you little boot licker." Joseph pushes a foot against the bottom bar of Grant's chair to tip him back precariously.

"Break your finger to get out of your cuffs and I'll break your leg next," he warns. "But pops served his two back to back terms, realised all it did was get his family hurt, mom divorced him, and now he's out running around playing hero or whatever. Guess they're going to use you to draw him and his team out of hiding. I mean, he left me to get my throat slit, but I guess they figure he'll come for you."

[speakwithviolence-blog]

tcrminates‌:

‘this kid isn’t my son,’ slade tells him. he downs half the glass in one GULP, feeling the short, small warmth in his body before it inevitably fades into nothingness and he swallows again. sometimes, slade wishes he still had the ability to get at least a LITTLE drunk. but mostly, it’s an aspect of mortality he just doesn’t miss that much. it just makes him less effective.

and efficiency is one of the most important things in his line of work.

‘i know my own damn son,’ slade says. ‘and i know what he damn well isn’t.’ he can handle adeline. he handled adeline for years. she’s going to blame him, they’ll get in a fight, maybe he’ll get a rough fuck out of it. probably not. those days … are long gone.

slade savors the taste of the rest of the glass. ‘where is he? i want to see him.’

“I should have picked a bigger glass,” Wintergreen murmurs, shaking his head tiredly as he downs a good bit of his own drink just the same. “Jesus Christ, Slade, I don’t know if you’ve fully lost your fucking mind or you’re finally disowning your son before he can disown you.” 

With a small gesture of the head, he motions for Slade to follow him down the hall. 

“Yeah, well, right now what he is is in a coma,” Wintergreen explains. “Seemingly, at least. Do me a favour, and probably him and you actually, and don’t try to wake him. The last thing that boy needs is you giving him a black eye on top of whatever’s happening to him.” He gestures into the room with no sign of the doctor but Joey laid out peacefully on the bed. 

“He’s in there, Slade. He’s not- he’s not ‘out having a stroll’. His boyfriend says he’s been like this since last night. Thought the same thing.” 

[speakwithviolence-blog]

deadravager‌:

grant rattles the handcuffs, working at them methodically behind his back. he’d go for the key, but he’s stuck to the chair. he prepares himself to break his finger if he has to. these people plan on killing him. not really … new … for grant, the danger seems somewhat more pressing here, with all these people who look like people he knows but … aren’t.

‘what is this, invasion of the fucking body snatchers?’ grant sneers. invasion of the grant snatchers. but this place seems different, strange. it’s not like this is normal for him, either. the most grant does is a HIT or two on some scumbag, not … whatever the fuck this is.

the question leveled at him could have a flippant answer. but grant somehow knows exactly what he’s asking - he remembers slade, dragging him to the hospital, a man with lightning in his eyes and much, much older than grant knew he was. ‘pops saved me,’ he admits. ‘why are you alive?’

Joseph really isn’t worried about Grant getting very far even if he does do something stupid to get out of his binds. The Titan’s tower isn’t easy to get into; and down right impossible to get out of. A honey trap, of sorts. He takes a drink from the bottle before pouring some into a shot glass. 

“That’s not very nice,” Joseph signs but it’s amused, of course. There’s really only one body snatcher here- well, depending on one’s definition.  Hard to imagine Slade taking on the Titans- or winning, for that matter. He pulls a chair up to sit across from him. Joseph laughs as he feels the scar on his throat.

“Pops saved me, too,” he assures. “After the fact. Then I took his eye out.” He tosses the shot back. “You know; family stuff.” 

“He got you killed here, you know,” Joseph explains. “Made you think you were a hero in his stupid fucking campaign against the Justice League. Then he used the footage of Ultraman throwing your dead body on the White House lawn to get himself re-elected. Good man, pops.” 

[speakwithviolence-blog]

deadravager‌:

grant DOES bite. in fact, he’s doing his damndest to get at the fingers dancing around him before he’s shoved straight into the face of his brother. he can’t help the double-take - joey is … joey, as always, but there’s something different about him. something that grant can’t quite place, the way he imagines joey’s twin might look. he eyes the keys dangerously, eye flicking between them and the man that he recognizes but doesn’t. he doesn’t understand the words, either, only Wilson, and -

President Deathstroke?

grant thinks that might be, genuinely, the most horrifying concept he’s ever heard. either way, this means that he has to get out of - wherever this is. some kind of illusion, maybe? he remembers being grabbed by someone who looked like an owl, maybe the owlman or whoever.

all of this is giving him a massive headache.

‘who the fuck are you? where the fuck is this?’

It does look exactly like his brother. Joseph hasn’t seen him in a while, sure, since he died and all but he definitely knows his brother anywhere. This Grant seems smaller, though, or maybe Joseph’s just gotten bigger. Joseph reaches up to click his speaker on before signing back. 

“I’m Joseph Wilson,” he introduces himself though it does feel weird to have to introduce himself to his brother of all people. Joseph finally gets to his feet, tucking the key in his pocket and walking a wide circle around Grant to get to the kitchen counter. This is so weird. 

“This is-” he begins, pulling the cap off a bottle of whisky. “Weird. Very, very weird. Pop’s going to have a fucking heart attack.” Joseph smiles and huffs a broken little noise. “Isn’t that just poetic justice.” 

“Why are you still alive, Grant?” 

[speakwithviolence-blog]

@deadravager ||

“Joey~ Wake up, sweetheart.” 

Joseph grunts distantly in response, vaguely lifting his head to see who’s speaking. When he doesn’t respond fast enough, Dick grabs his face roughly and yanks him up off his stomach. 

“Wake the hell up, Joseph,” he sneers. “You worthless oxy junkie. Get up.” Joseph swats him away angrily with a disgruntled noise and pushes himself up into a sitting position. He makes a started noise at the face that meets him. Grant? 

“Say hello to your dead brother, Joseph,” Dick murmurs, gesturing to him. “Owlman snatched him from his timeline for some insurance against President Deathstroke. He’s not quite our Grant, I’m pretty sure this one bites, but Wilson doesn’t know that. You’re playing captive here. Owlman wants him alive until we have Wilson’s location.” Joseph’s thrown the keys, presumably to this Grant’s handcuffs, before Dick walks off. 

“Oh, and don’t get too attached,” he adds in. “Even if Owlman doesn’t kill him, who knows how long he’ll survive with his heart condition. Have fun~” 

Joseph blinks owlishly. He’s definitely not high enough for this. 

[speakwithviolence-blog]

@tcrminates ||

Wintergreen uncaps a partially full bottle of bourbon from the shelf and gives it a curious whiff. The quality if obviously lacking some and he makes a face but nevertheless, pulls down a glass to pour himself some. Hearing the door behind him, Wintergreen glances back minutely and makes that two glasses.

"Welcome home, Slade," he greets dryly as he fills each one. "Glad you could make it, hm? And here I thought you'd find a reason to be too busy for your own son." He sighs deeply as he approaches, though, and hands Slade a glass.

"The doctor's here already," he explains. "Hopefully he'll have some answers for both of us. It's a good thing Joseph's boyfriend called Rose first, heavens knows what Adeline is going to do to you when she finds out about this." He shakes his head.

"Better yet," Wintergreen says, taking a drink. "Maybe he'll actually wake up."

[speakwithviolence-blog]

~ ` starter call ! ‘ ~

[speakwithviolence-blog]

gunpowdergaze‌:

Slade sets down another few dollars for the coffee he had, and the coffee Joseph poured, but never drank. If he’s not feeling well, he can’t say he blames him. He stands up, nodding to the doors to the diner to let his son out of the booth before he follows along after him.

Out in the street, he takes the lead, winding the short way through back alleys until they come to a set of wooden steps to a door. There’s a potted plant on the railing with vines that reach halfway to the pavement.

Fishing out a set of keys from the pocket on the inside of his jacket, Slade unlocks the door and lets the two of them into the apartment. It’s not very big, but it’s a little more than a studio would be. There’s still only two doors, a bedroom and a bathroom.

He locks the door behind them, a keypad with a thumb reader, the door looks wooden on the outside, but it’s actually metal. A couch, recliner, trunk behind the chair, a tv stand. The kitchen has a rickety table with a rifle taken apart on it.

Crossing to the kitchen, Slade returns with a glass of water for Joey, handing it over as he shrugs off his own jacket.

Joseph follows along- silently as if he has any say in the matter. The layout of this city is almost identical to his own but there’s little nuances that only further draw his interest. In fact, it looks like this city is mostly old building- the recent reconstruction hasn’t been necessary. 

Curious. 

He slips into the apartment past Slade and has a look around. This isn’t a place he’s seen before in person but he’s well aware of it. This is one of the hideouts his father would hide Markov in. Joseph huffs an annoyed noise as he cautiously peers around for any ‘visitors’. He turns back to Slade. 

“Thanks,” he replies, taking the water to sip. He sits, setting it down to free up his hands, and rubs his arms nervously. “The similarities are- unsettling, I guess. Can I ask you something? About, uh, your Joseph? And what happened to him?” 

[gunpowdergaze-blog]

speakwithviolence‌:

Huh. Joseph supposes Grant always was a mama’s boy but hearing his father speak of him in such a way is- odd. He looks back down into his coffee. The way Slade speaks about it so casually, this Grant has to have been dead a while.

Did he kill this earth’s Joseph? Alarming.

“Uh,” he signs sheepishly and rubs the back of his head. “No. I don’t even know how I got here, to be honest. I’m sure if I back track to where I was there might be some clues but-” he sighs and drops his head some. “I feel sick to my stomach, pop. I don’t think the travel was good on me.”

Seeing his son, if not his son, alive and well, has Slade weak in his grief. 

What a fool.

❝ I have a safe space to stay, if you trust it. You’ve come a long way, and things are different here. ❞ Slade signs, explaining, his expression somewhat soft,  ❝ But there’s a place not far. ❞

[speakwithviolence-blog]

Things are different in a way Joseph wasn't fully expecting. This is going to take some getting used to, sure, but if Slade's going to be this helpful, Joseph doesn't see that being too difficult.

"I trust you, pops," Joseph signs with a small nod. "Even if you're not quite him, I guess." Unfortunately, he really is painfully nauseous and growing worse by the second. That's a side effect he isn't fond of. "Can we go? I'd like to hear more when we get there but I need to lie down ASAP."

[gunpowdergaze-blog]

speakwithviolence‌:

Joseph nearly laughs at the idea of his mother doing such a thing but manages to withhold. The signs are different, interestingly enough, but Joseph has already committed this Slade’s version of them to use instead.

“Grant?” he mimics the sign. “He’s- no, he’s not. He joined the Brotherhood and tried to take on the Titans. I- he just wanted to be a hero. The silver lining is, I guess he died one.”

❝ A hero? ❞ Slade can’t help the smile, shaking his head a little.  ❝ He was a bastard before he died. But he didn’t have to die. The universe seems set in her ways. ❞

He sits back at the booth to watch over the patrons of the diner before his eyes settle on his son again and he sighs through his nose, reaching to rub his good eye for a moment.

❝ Do you have leads on what you need to return home, Joseph? ❞ 

[speakwithviolence-blog]

Huh. Joseph supposes Grant always was a mama's boy but hearing his father speak of him in such a way is- odd. He looks back down into his coffee. The way Slade speaks about it so casually, this Grant has to have been dead a while.

Did he kill this earth's Joseph? Alarming.

"Uh," he signs sheepishly and rubs the back of his head. "No. I don't even know how I got here, to be honest. I'm sure if I back track to where I was there might be some clues but-" he sighs and drops his head some. "I feel sick to my stomach, pop. I don't think the travel was good on me."

[gunpowdergaze-blog]

speakwithviolence‌:

Joseph can’t imagine what else his father is good for except listening to dear ol’ mother’s every beck and command. What’s this Slade been doing? He looks into his coffee but doesn’t drink any.

“Maybe for the better,” he signs back. “It- didn’t go well for him. If you were never president, how’d you lose your eye, then?” Joseph can’t help but be interested and, besides, he might learn something actually useful- and if not, hearing how his not dad lost his eyes is still enjoyable. He wonders if Grant is still alive here, then.

❝ You were hurt, Grant was missing. Adeline blamed me, and punctuated it with a bullet to the back of my head. ❞ Slade explains. 

He spells Grant’s name, then uses a single finger to pull a salute down into a cradle for a baby. Adeline’s name too, is spelled out with one hand, and then sets his hand over his heart, and then closes his fist. His personal signs for the both of them.

❝ Is your brother still alive, Joseph? ❞

[speakwithviolence-blog]

Joseph nearly laughs at the idea of his mother doing such a thing but manages to withhold. The signs are different, interestingly enough, but Joseph has already committed this Slade's version of them to use instead.

"Grant?" he mimics the sign. "He's- no, he's not. He joined the Brotherhood and tried to take on the Titans. I- he just wanted to be a hero. The silver lining is, I guess he died one."

[gunpowdergaze-blog]

speakwithviolence‌:

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Joseph signs with lowered eyes. He’ll just save that to poke a stick in later- if he even needs to. This Slade already looks like he’s going to be far too willing to help.

“I feel bad intruding on your time of mourning but, if you don’t mind, help would be nice,” he agrees and gives a little nod. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” Power- lots and lots of power. Before that, though, he actually needs something useful to report back. Something besides a sadder version of his dad.

“Are you still the president?” Joseph asks curiously. “Where’s Rose? Is there a Rose?”

Slade nearly chokes on his coffee, but composes himself easily and wipes his mouth off before he mirrors, his expression incredulous,  ❝ President? ❞

He shakes his head, ❝ I’m not sure what your father got up to, but I was never the president. Rose though, is alive and well. ❞

Slade sits back again, blinking a little. What a wild thing for your not son to say to you. What kind of man was he in this other universe to become the president. Who decided that was a good idea?

[speakwithviolence-blog]

Joseph can't imagine what else his father is good for except listening to dear ol' mother's every beck and command. What's this Slade been doing? He looks into his coffee but doesn't drink any.

"Maybe for the better," he signs back. "It- didn't go well for him. If you were never president, how'd you lose your eye, then?" Joseph can't help but be interested and, besides, he might learn something actually useful- and if not, hearing how his not dad lost his eyes is still enjoyable. He wonders if Grant is still alive here, then.

[gunpowdergaze-blog]

speakwithviolence‌:

Joseph’s brows shoot up immediately. That wasn’t exactly what he was expecting to hear. Grant? Or this Earth’s him, maybe. Or even some weird new son. He blinks as he thinks about it for a moment before frowning.

“I’m sorry,” he signs. Obviously he regrets it if he’s been rendered nonverbal by it. Joseph can take advantage of that. “It was necessary, I assume?”

Slade rubs at his mouth and jaw before sitting back heavy against the booth, other hand still on the mug on the table. He watches Joey, and it really is funny how the universe loves such parts of each person. He doesn’t look like his son, not really. He’s got a lot of features that his own didn’t. But he feels like Joseph, and Slade knows, no matter the changes, the essence stays the same.

❝ Unfortunately. ❞

He raises his coffee to take a long sip. He looks tired.

When he sets it back down, he signs, ❝ Do you need help returning to your own earth, Joseph? ❞

[speakwithviolence-blog]

"I'm sorry for your loss," Joseph signs with lowered eyes. He'll just save that to poke a stick in later- if he even needs to. This Slade already looks like he's going to be far too willing to help.

"I feel bad intruding on your time of mourning but, if you don't mind, help would be nice," he agrees and gives a little nod. "I wouldn't even know where to begin." Power- lots and lots of power. Before that, though, he actually needs something useful to report back. Something besides a sadder version of his dad.

"Are you still the president?" Joseph asks curiously. "Where's Rose? Is there a Rose?"

[gunpowdergaze-blog]

speakwithviolence‌:

Recently? Joseph looks at his pseudo-father’s neck curiously but even if he had been injured, he probably wouldn’t show it. He was warned different earths could be vastly different so this is nothing unexpected. Maybe this Joseph took his throat out, too.

“Did something happen?” he asks, grimacing softly. He joins Slade at the table, across from him of course, so they can talk.

He comes in often enough that the waitresses know him enough to bring him a couple of menus, a couple of cups, and a pot of coffee for the table. He nods to her and she nods back before her eyes wander over Joseph, and then she’s back to work.

Slade considers what Joey asks as he pours himself a cup of coffee, steam rolling off the edges of the cup lazily.

His signs are simple and to the point.

❝ I murdered my son. ❞

[speakwithviolence-blog]

Joseph's brows shoot up immediately. That wasn't exactly what he was expecting to hear. Grant? Or this Earth's him, maybe. Or even some weird new son. He blinks as he thinks about it for a moment before frowning.

"I'm sorry," he signs. Obviously he regrets it if he's been rendered nonverbal by it. Joseph can take advantage of that. "It was necessary, I assume?"

[gunpowdergaze-blog]

speakwithviolence‌:

Sucker. 

“OK,” Joseph signs with a small, agreeable nod. “Thank you, pops. Sorry, Mr. Wilson.” He follows, still keeps his safe distance, but is far from actually concerned. Regardless of the version of his dad, so to say, Joseph doubts he’d be a good candidate. However, using him to find one and repair his communications is a good start. 

He waits until they stop walking to sign again. 

“Are you- nonverbal?” he asks curiously. “Or deaf?” 

Slade stops outside of the cafe he’d come out of, seeing his table is still left empty in the short time he’s been gone, and his eyes catch Joey’s movements and watch with rapt attention before he reaches up slowly to rub along his own jaw and mouth and the admittedly somewhat unkempt beard.

He glances at the gutter and the trickle of water running through it before he looks back up, signing slowly, ❝ Nonverbal. Only recently. ❞

[speakwithviolence-blog]

Recently? Joseph looks at his pseudo-father's neck curiously but even if he had been injured, he probably wouldn't show it. He was warned different earths could be vastly different so this is nothing unexpected. Maybe this Joseph took his throat out, too.

"Did something happen?" he asks, grimacing softly. He joins Slade at the table, across from him of course, so they can talk.