Title: Of Nightmares and Ravens
Chapter Title: A Red Smile
Rating: T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes
Disclaimer: I don't own this or else Slade and Raven would have been ruling the Teen Titans Universe and there would have been a crossover episode with Justice League Unlimited during the animated series run. Oh, and there would have been a 6th Season.
Notes: I apologize for the OOCness in advance. Also, in this universe, Raven decided to allow Trigon to take over and construct countermeasures against him instead of just trying to avoid being the portal. She's going to be a little less introverted and more manipulative due to this. Raven might also be more prone to emotional outbursts because she would try to focus her powers and improve her combat skills in order to fight her father.
Have fun with a very unreliable narrator.
Italics means the story's in the past. Normal font means it's part of the present.
Please enjoy!
He remembers her—not like this, not like this innocent, sleeping angel before him, not like a Teen Titan foiling his plans, not like a teenager that was more woman than girl—but like this. Dark. Snarky. Powerful. His.
What had happened? When had this thing gone so wrong?
When he looked at her before, he had thought that nothing could stop the two of them.
Now, he looks at her and his heart breaks.
It's the story of his life, the story of them or whatever they had been. It suits them, he notes ruefully, suits whatever twisted beings they had been.
She stirs and opens her eyes finally and he can barely breathe. Her purple eyes are wide when they meet his, her voice soft as feathers as she says...
"Who are you?"
What's left of his heart shatters.
—
—
"I'm Wilson."
(With two little words, they are back to square one.)
She looks at her medical sheet before answering. "Call me Rae."
(Let's begin again.)
IIIIIIII
"Hello."
Well that was new. Slade didn't remember leaving a Teen Titan in his favorite chair. The violet-haired girl appearing before him was a surprise. He hadn't expected Jump City's geek squad to find him so easily—much less her. Slade had only just sent those three blundering buffoons to the Titans a few days ago.
"You know," he said smoothly, "if you're going to confront me at my base, you might as well make the introduction more interesting. You know, so it actually sounds like it belongs in a Saturday cartoon."
"Fine. How's this: Slade, do want to help me fuck Destiny?"
"Not bad." Slade nodded appreciatively. (Although that phrase probably wouldn't make it past the censors.) "And the answer to the question depends on what Destiny actually is. If it's a hooker, then no."
"It's actual Destiny." Raven strode up to him. Each step had a certain confident swagger that she didn't have on the battlefield or with her friends. It was always the quiet ones… "Look, I need your help."
That alone made him not activate the defense mechanisms inside of his base to kill her.
"Do you?" Slade leaned back in his chair, his eyes sweeping up and down the girl approaching him.
"Yes. I do. You see, I'm building a team that can take on Trigon, a demon that will conquer the galaxy and make the entire universe burn."
Slade scoffed "I suggest you look at the Justice League. Your little team of disorganized teenagers lacks the power levels to handle me, much less some demonic entity you keep jabbering on about."
"I know that," Raven snarled. "But the Justice League won't trust me, won't help me. I need to build my own team."
"And what makes you think that I'll help you?"
She just grinned to reveal pointy teeth. "Oh, I'm sure I could convince you," she said as her eyes began to glow a crimson red.
Slade instinctively began to back up very, very slowly…
—
He ended up agreeing to her little demands for training and strengthening her friends. Yes, such an agreement would prevent him from destroying the Titans for a while. Yes, he was training someone who kind likely kill him at any time. Nonetheless, Slade may have been a proud, egotistical, ruthless, and violent villain and/or mercenary, but he wasn't suicidal. He rather liked all appendages attached to their proper places.
There was no way he ever wanted to see those four red eyes ever again.
IIIIIII
Memory loss, the doctors explain. Hard to tell if it would ever come back. Probably not. Ever.
She'll survive, the doctors say. But she'll be different.
They tell him that she's out of critical condition, that she's going to be just fine now, but he still stays by her side, hovering without being too intrusive, present but torn between what's right and what he wants more than anything in the world.
She senses his hesitation, his inner darkness. (It's not hard to—even the doctors instinctively shirk back from him.) That didn't help matters much—never helped them at all.
"How can I trust you?" she asks softly. "I don't even know you."
"You will," he murmurs, his hand running through her hair. "In time, I suppose."
She rolls her eyes like she would have back then, the ghost of what she once was flitting over her features. "You're awfully presumptuous."
"Everyone has their sins."
She fixes him with a familiar look. "I know."
And he knows she knows. Or at least used to.
IIIIIII
Only idiots would challenge him in a hand to hand combat match. Only fools would fight without any powers.
It would take a complete and utter moron to ask to fight him without any powers and with his attack style more like his previous reincarnation Deathstroke's rather than Slade's.
That was practically asking to be beaten to bloody pulp.
But then again, that reality check was probably what she needed. That she was a weakling, that she was absolutely nothing, without her powers. (Or maybe it was preparation for something else—it's not like she told him anything. They may have had a deal, but that didn't mean they were allies.)
Looking at the injured girl dangling from his arms, Slade was a little disappointed that Raven looked nothing like pulp even after an hour of this. Perhaps he should mess with her more. Make her hurt more. Considering that the warehouse they were using as a meeting area was practically destroyed at this point, Slade supposed he had to get more creative than using blunt force trauma. Would giving her some penetrating trauma be more creative? Nah. That would be a pain in the butt. Take too much out of her to heal.
Still, he had to hand it to Raven. She was quite the fighter—even without her powers. She may not have the same skill in hand to hand as Robin, but she did have an equal if not greater determination and will to kick his ass. Her body may have been battered and pushed to the brink of exhaustion, but her eyes—oh those determined eyes of hers—never lost that desire to win.
Oh he was going to enjoy training her very much.
"Do you want this to stop?" Slade cooed in her ear and easily leaned back to avoid a swipe by Raven. "Or maybe you can use Daddy's powers to help you now."
"Never!" Raven tried to lunge for him, but he caught her waist. His foot connected with her abdomen with a sickening crunch. He might have accidentally broken a few of her ribs—oh well. All's fair in love and war, after all.
"You want to defeat your father like this?" Another kick to the gut. Another muffled scream. Raven went flying before she slammed against the wall, her point of impact creating a crater. "You're weak. Too weak to even match against me."
He picked her up by the collar of her cloak, forced her to his eye level.
"Look at you. You may be able to steal from—" He caught her leg before she can even try to kick him. "—the Justice League, but that means nothing when you're fighting against a trained assassin. Do you want to give up, little girl?"
Behind the mask, Slade was smiling. This was positively delightful—now the fun could really begin. He was crushing her both mentally and physically so he could build her back up, stronger and smarter than before.
Or perhaps not.
The fire from her eyes still doesn't leave.
"I'll fucking kill you if you say that again," Raven hissed as blood began to dribble down the corner of her mouth. Amused, Slade looked down at her. Would she be getting her proverbial second wind?
"Do tell, Raven. Or, do your broken ribs make it hard to speak?"
"Shut up!" she roared. "Shut up!"
"That doesn't look like that'll happen anytime soo—" Slade inadvertently followed her orders when her other leg connects to his abdomen. He coughed as her foot connects near his solar plexus. Winded, he stumbled back. Pain began to cloud his vision and he began to see stars. Shit. Ignoring his body's desire to crouch down, Slade forced himself into an upright position, put his arms back up in time to block Raven's fist from connecting with his face.
He grabbed her wrists and slammed her to the ground. Spinning her around, Slade used his body weight to push her up against the warehouse's floor.
"Had enough, little bird?" he asked. God that hurt. Slade would be fine in a few seconds, but still… Hmph. Perhaps taking her on as an apprentice-like associate would be even better than he had anticipated.
"No," she snarled from underneath him. "Again."
Slade compliantly rolled off of her. "As you wish." He pushed himself up and watched her clean up. Raven's hands glowed green as she began to heal the damage. With every touch, the cuts and beginnings of bruises faded to nothing. He had a feeling that those broken ribs of hers are all fine and dandy now. Who knows? Maybe it would have helped heal up that ego.
He offered his hand. Raven glared at it for a moment before she reluctantly took it.
"You did better at the end," Slade conceded. He sneaked a glance at the half-demon to see the way her lips curled and her eyes sparkled with irritation, anger, and something much, much darker. And he felt his breath just catch in his throat as he saw an even more warped up version of his younger self. "All in all, not bad." Slade paused, allowed her to catch her breath and steady herself. "Are you all healed up now?"
Raven assumed an offensive stance. "Yes."
"Good." Slade turned away from her, his eye trained on her like a hawk. "Now let's begin again."
IIIIIII
For all her mistrust of him, she obviously doesn't seem to mind him. She could have kicked him out every time he came to her at the dead of night, but she never does. She'll complain a bit about being woken up, yes, and yet, he gets to stay.
On one of those evenings, her fingers trace over the silver raven on the back of his hand. "Why do you only have one raven on your hand?" she asks.
"Well, it would be an unkindness to have a whole flock."
"Funny." She laughs. Her expression sobers as she turns that violet gaze of hers back on him. "So how did I know you?"
"We were…" The ring she had given her just before it happened digs into his flesh. "We were… friends."
"Good friends?"
"The best." On a good day. He smiles ruefully. "You're the reason why I got the tattoo, you know."
She asks to hear the entire story. He gives her half-truths and outright lies, makes the story seem so much sweeter than it actually is.
(She doesn't need to know the real story; idyllic fantasies are always better than cruel reality.)
—
And oh, how cruel reality had been to the two of them.
IIIIIII
As apprentices went, Slade was quite pleased with what he had gotten from this deal. Raven was a fast learner; whatever she lacked in skill, she made up with sheer will power. Every Saturday, they beat each other six ways to Sunday before breakfast—and now, Slade was also on the receiving end of some beatdowns.
The only problem, unfortunately, lay within her mental psyche.
She wasn't like Robin, who would succumb to his mind games easily, or his other apprentices before him, who were devoid of the same cutting drive and mental strength.
No, Raven was good. For every mind game he threw at her, she threw two more right back. She would fuck with his mind as much as he tried to fuck with hers. Normally, he would relish the challenge, love the thrill of the power struggle as they tore their claws into each other's throats.
This time, though, it was far too personal for his liking.
Slade had to keep reminding himself that they weren't friends, that they weren't allies, that they—or whatever they had—was nothing, that he was just using her.
(Because, as much as he loathed to admit, Slade kind of liked having her around.)
When had they become like this? When had the emotional manipulation and all the acting become real?
Perhaps it was this:
She returned from one of her solo missions badly injured, her body teetering dangerously as her hand was scrambling where a bullet firmly lodged itself, the stolen object clutched in a death grip in her other. He was by her side in less than a heartbeat. Slade caught her before she hit the floor, his hands surprisingly gentle, as he began to examine her.
"Keep still," he ordered. "You'll only hurt yourself if you keep moving."
"You're being nice to me?" she asked, her voice shaky but still snarky. Evidently nearly bleeding to death hadn't managed to scare the snark out of her. "That's a shocker."
"A dead apprentice is a useless apprentice." He said coldly. "You're worth more to me alive than dead." Slade busied himself tending to her wounds. She opened her mouth for a snappy retort but thought better of it and snapped it shut.
—
They don't say anything more.
—
"Take the rest of the day off." She stared at him like he had three heads. When she didn't do the happy little hop and skip dance he had expected her to, he snapped. "That's an order."
Raven uncertainly looked at him. "Yes, sir."
She teleported back home, back to Titans Tower, back to right where she belonged. Meanwhile, he sent a message to the criminal underworld that no one could attack the geek squad for a week. That ought to give her enough time to fully recover.
He told himself that it was all part of the plan. Manipulate her. Make her think that he's her friend. Make her reveal all of the Titans' secrets, all of their weaknesses. When the threat of Trigon would be over, he would force her to kneel before him or at least allow him to control her.
"A dead apprentice is a useless apprentice, after all," Slade murmured to himself. "The living are always worth more than the dead."
Or perhaps it was this:
After a particularly brutal training session, Raven collapsed on his sofa. When she finally woke up later that evening, he leaned over her and asked, "Coffee?"
She gave him that look. "I prefer tea."
"Of course you do."
—
For some mysterious reason, the base always has tea on hand after that.
—
"That doesn't mean we're friends," she said after a successful theft from Wayne Industries. "Giving me tea, I mean. Being nice to me… This changes nothing. We're still enemies."
"I never expected it to," Slade replied coolly, his lips curling into a small smile behind his mask. "Now let's begin again."
Or this:
Raven was pissed off when she teleported back into the base and slammed the stolen weaponry in front of Slade. "You deliberately led me into a trap!"
"That you easily got out of," Slade coolly replied.
"It nearly got me killed!"
Slade shook his head. "It wouldn't have. It was merely a test."
"A test! A test!" She bared her teeth at him. "Bullshit."
"Watch the language, Raven, or else I'll have to cut out your tongue."
"Why don't I cut out yours?" She actually pulled out a knife this time.
Slade blinked. Once. Twice. Well, that was rather unexpected. He always thought she didn't have it in her. Maybe he would expand her mission repertoire…
And she wasn't even done yet. "I'm sick of you holding all of the cards and leaving me in the dark. I'm sick of everything always coming down to you. Why don't you tell me everything?" Raven demanded. "Don't you trust me?"
He began to examine the newly acquired weaponry and prayed to some divine entity that she'll just let accept his bullshit for once. "I trust you enough," Slade admitted slowly, patiently. (You always had to be gentle with her or else insert pained shrieks here.) "Telling someone too much makes them quite vulnerable to—"
"Don't." Raven was seething with pure, unadulterated rage. "Don't you dare say that to me. After all this time, after all of our success as a team, are you really going to say that to me? Are you serious? Are you serious? I am your master, Slade! I let you call the shots for now, but at the end of the day, I. Am. Stronger!"
He gazed up at the irate girl breathing down on him.
That didn't look good.
"Sorry?" he tried.
—
—
Well, that was obviously the wrong answer.
—
(Let's just say he was very, very sore in both mind and body after that.)
—
After proceeding to give him a curb stomp mental beat down and pointing out everything wrong with his plan and designing a much better one, Raven stormed out of his hideout in a huff.
He started keeping her much more informed after that.
Pragmatic reasons, of course.
Or this:
"Stalking teenagers, making all of these robotic henchmen... It seems a little excessive, considering you really don't even care if you take over Jump City," Raven said as she moved a pawn forward. It was what she declared as "chess night" for the two of them, a night that involved many chess games, ice cream, and more heart to heart discussions than either of them would particularly want or care for. (Though they would both admit it was something they both needed. But only occasionally.) "You're just a little creepy, you know."
He moved his rook up to capture one of her knights, scoffing. "And you're any better?"
"I'm not creepy…" She protested. And he knew he has just hit a very vulnerable button. (And was that a twinge of guilt?) "I'm just… different."
Different. In the same way superheroes and supervillains are different. The way smarter, better people are different. The way he became different from the rest of the world. They're both different in a way that isolated you, made you into a lonely puzzle piece, and transformed you into a round peg desperately trying to fit into a square hole.
"Sorry," he murmured quietly. Slade's hand instinctively reached out to cover hers. "I'm different too."
She didn't pull away.
—
—
They don't say anything after that.
Or this:
"You did good, my apprentice," he said, affectionately tousling her hair.
She huffed irritably. "Did well," Raven corrected. "I did well. You won't be able to take over the world if you can't even construct a sentence properly."
He laughed. Said something with even worse sentence construction and grammar.
Raven groaned. She kept hitting him over and over again, her eyes sparkling.
Or this:
"A suit?" Slade resisted the urge face palm. For the love of God, at least make sure it's Kevlar and not some overly expensive Italian brand… "What kind of self-respecting villain wears a suit?"
"A classy one," Raven deadpanned. She began to admire herself in the mirror as the new persona Slade had ordered her to create. Her gem was gone, her face was different, her short purple hair replaced with long, black tresses, purple eyes exchanged for brown, her gray skin traded for a more common skin color, and her normal costume swapped with a black suit and an orange tie. "I like it. I think I'll call myself… Nightmare."
Momentarily forgetting his disapproval, Slade couldn't help but chuckle. It wasn't a bad name, but… "There's only one problem with that, apprentice."
"What?"
He tucked his hand underneath her chin and forced her to look up at his single eye. "You look too beautiful to be a nightmare."
Pulling away from his grip, she flushed scarlet. "That's not funny, Slade!"
—
—
He was surprised to realize that he had actually meant it.
Or this:
"A scythe." First the suit, now the scythe… What was with this girl and her distasteful choice in villain hardware?
"Yes, a scythe. Isn't it appropriate?" Raven twirled it in the silver weapon in her hands. "It's from Azarath. Look! It can split into two and be connected by a chain and it can shoot fireballs and—"
Slade continued to gape at her. "Who uses a bloody scythe?"
"Well, who acts like a pedophile?"
"Don't change the subject. You're not going to use a scythe. They're bulky, highly ineffective, and—"
"Just humor me," she snapped. "I didn't say a single word when you made me steal that stupid cat god statue that turned out to be a fake."
"I don't say anything when you deliberately let the shit get beaten out of you as a Titan!"
"I don't say anything when you act like an arrogant megalomaniac!"
"That's a lie! You do too!"
"Not in a way that would actually hurt."
Reluctantly, Slade backed down. She had a point. "Fine. Keep the stupid scythe." He expected a joyous declaration before Raven sprinted out of the room to do whatever she liked to do—he didn't expect her to hug him first.
"Thanks, Slade!" she chirped before doing the expected.
His eyes followed her as she made her way out.
—
Women.
Or this:
Slade was backed into a corner. As the four titans and one shadow self clone began to approach him, a bright flash suddenly blinded them. The billowing cape in front immediately tipped him off to who it was.
Seeing her in front of him had never been so relieving.
"Hello, Titans," Nightmare said with a wicked smile. "Unfortunately, I can't let you have Slade yet. I've got bills to pay and I need this guy to pay 'em."
"Cut the dramatics," he growled. "Let's get out of here."
"But that's the fun part of being a part-time villain!" she pouted. "I wanted to say something about staying away or becoming their worst nightmare!"
"That's far too cliché!"
"And you're not?"
"Come back here!" Robin demanded. He surged forward, but Nightmare dropped a smoke bomb. When the smoke finally cleared, Slade and Nightmare were already long gone.
Or this:
"You saved me." He looked at the smoking gun to the now dead man on the floor.
Raven reloaded the gun and calmly shot another incoming mook through the neck. "I did." She didn't seem at all fazed by the man desperately clawing his neck.
"Why?"
"I felt like it." She shrugged. "I just don't mind having you around."
—
It surprised him that he didn't mind her either.
Or this:
Raven spun her silver scythe around and sliced off Cyborg's robotic arms. As they dropped to the floor with a clang, she went after Starfire. She dodged a few starbolts before leaping into the air. Raven split her scythe in half and threw it at the alien girl. The blunt part of the weapon caught Starfire in the stomach. She cried out in pain as she dropped to the floor completely winded.
Pulling on the chain that connected the two halves of her scythe, Raven launched that scythe at the rampaging Dinosaur coming straight for her. She jumped out of the way just in time as the Tyrannosaurs Rex tried to chomp her off. The poor little green changeling never saw that piece coming when it conked him on the head.
Roaring in pain, Beast Boy knocked into the wall and created a very convenient escape route.
"I told you the scythe would be useful!" Raven called to Slade.
Okay, so maybe a scythe was highly effective in her hands. He would give her that. (Not that he would ever say it aloud.)
"You made your point." Slade didn't know whether or not to be angry or amused. "Let's go."
—
—
He didn't bother looking back as he made his escape.
He knew she would follow.
Or this:
"So, how'd I do?" she asked, her face lit up in the afterglow of the explosion of a rival villain's lair. Raven looked so alluring in the lurid light cast by the flames, so beautiful…
"You did wonderfully." Slade couldn't keep the pride from his voice and mentally kicked himself. Damn it.
"What can I say?" Raven grinned. "I learned from the best."
—
(Why had that meant the world?)
"Shit," Slade groaned. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be treating her like his partner, like his equal, like his ally. She wasn't that. Everything he had seen had to be a lie, an act to make him drop his guard and let him be carted off to prison for her sense of justice and honor.
(It was hard to believe that when everything they had done together said otherwise.)
No. No. NO! He needed to get her out of his head, out of his base. Maybe he wouldn't call her for weeks, find someone new, and convince himself that everything was a lie and that he didn't just let her make him care about her.
He refused to lose to her. If there was anything he hated doing, it was losing.
Slade would definitely come out of this…thing on top.
IIIIIII
She isn't her, will never be her without her memories.
(Yet he won't leave.)
She may not be her, but she's close enough for him to protect her if only to protect his former partner by extension.
He's still the one who is there for her as she's haunted by fire and stone, reddened skies and a cackling, four eyed demon that dances around in her nightmares. He's still the one who wakes her when she screams and claws the sheets from the visions that plague her. He's still the one who is by her side, like clockwork, to wake her up.
"It's all right," he whispers. "It's all right. I'm here."
She'll be nearly inconsolable after every nightmare. He can't blame her; her night terrors would drive anyone insane. He tries to distract her with the classics—milk, cookies, counting sheep. Nothing seems to work.
So he goes on his usual fallback option. (It had worked with his sons when he still had them, hadn't it?) He tells her stories. Of dragons and demons. Of sorcerers and aliens and boy wonders and a plucky green boy that served as comic relief and a cyborg. She loves it, nestles up to his chest whenever he begins weaving a tale, so he forgets that the woman he loved isn't in his arms. He's holding a complete stranger, caring for her simply because they share the same face, the same voice, the same heart.
"Do you trust me now?" he murmurs in her ear.
Lacing her fingers with his, she closes her tired eyes. "I trust you enough."
It's an ironic echo to be sure, a twisted inversion that makes him smile. "Good. Good night, dear."
His hands find familiar spots on her waist and he brings her to his chest, waits for her breathing to slow and for his body to relax in his arms. Then, he promises himself, he'll let her go, disappear into the night.
Even after she falls asleep, he stays like this for a long time.
—
—
She's just a child, he tells himself, just a plaything with her face. He doesn't dwell on the matter much—it reminds him too much of Terra.
IIIIIII
Terra had been the perfect play thing. He used her, abused her…and she kept coming back. Oh what humans will do to be loved, to feel wanted. So many nights of listening to her scream in both pain and pleasure, watching her submit to him in a way she would never, could never, and forgetting everything that they once shared and he once had.
It would have been the perfect arrangement except for the fact that the she continued to persist in the back of his mind.
Now was the time watch her complete humiliation. He had already sent Terra out to eliminate the Titans, and Slade watched her defeat in amusement. Naturally, she would let herself be defeated by Terra to prevent any suspicion, but she would escape death easily enough.
And he would now finish her off. Kill these feelings. Kill her. He'd win the moment her body became just another corpse.
(And winning was everything.)
Slade felt the adrenaline pump through him as he smashed his fist inches from her head. "Hello, dear. Miss me?"
"What the hell?" Raven's fists began to glow black. "What are you doing, Slade?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Slade tilted his head. "Trying to kill you."
Raven rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers. Immediately, black tendrils of energy surrounded him and prevented any movement. "You'll do that after I'm done with you."
"Well then?" he purred. "What ever do you plan to do, Raven?"
"Why the hell do you have a new apprentice, Slade?" Raven demanded. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that she almost sounded… hurt. "That wasn't part of our plan!"
Slade laughed, knowing full well that it would infuriate her even more. "You're just a toy, my dear. Did you really think you were my partner? That we were friends? How awfully naïve, Raven. There was never a we in whatever thing we had, only me."
"Fuck you! You don't call me for weeks, you move all of our bases, you change your number, and then to add insult to injury, you just discard me for some…some half-rate geomancer that can't even properly control her own powers!" The bonds surrounding him trembled in tandem with her fluctuating emotions. "What are you playing at?"
"Why are you so upset, my little Raven?" he cooed. "Don't tell me you actually have come to care about our little arrangement."
"Don't act like you don't care too!" she snapped. "Because you care just as much!"
"I never did! You were just a tool to be used and discarded! Terra is everything I need. I never needed you! Never!"
"Don't lie to me!" The air became alive, tingling with barely suppressed power. He tried to wiggle out of this situation, but his restraints held firm. "You did, Slade! I'm an empath! I sensed that you cared!"
"Just an illusion." He grinned with self-satisfaction behind his mask. "I'm better actor than I thought."
Letting out a scream of rage, Raven ripped the mask from his face. "You liar!" He ignored his brain screaming to cover the right side of his face; he was too busy one-upping her to care about the vicious scars that were now exposed.
"And you're not?"
Blue eyes met violet ones. They were both breathing hard. Sweat was dripping off their faces. The air between them could have been cut with a knife.
And for a second, he thought she was going to kiss him.
(And maybe he wanted her to. Just so he could hurt her more.)
"I'm a demon," she finally snarled, "and demons never lie."
"No! They just tell you half-truths."
She chuckled. Four red eyes now bored into his soul. "The benefits of being half-demon, I suppose."
"Makes your constant mind games with me easier, doesn't it?" he sneered. "All those half-truths and lies coming together so I don't know up from down. All those mind games so I believe your lies."
He glared at her, and he saw the burning anger and hate dying in her now amethyst eyes. The inferno of emotion that had seized her disappeared; all that was left were some measly embers.
"Who says they were all mind games?" she asked quietly. "What if they weren't all mind games?"
Silence. He didn't trust himself to speak. (He thought that she's just fucking with him some more as a parting gift, but the part of him, the small part of him that made him still human, knew that it was true.)
"Slade… What if I actually care?" She reached out to touch him, reassure him…
It was all too much. Too hard to deal with, too much to contain.
"You're lying," he hissed. "You're nothing more than just a manipulative demon who's trying to fool me and convince me to help her! You're not just different; you're creepy! You're a freak that no one would ever want! Not even your Titan friends like you!"
He knew he would be haunted by that betrayed look on her face later, but his taunts had the desired effect. The bonds surrounding him slackened. Seizing the opportunity, Slade broke free from his temporary prison. He leapt forward and tackled her into a wall.
There was no strategy now.
Just a singular, instinctual drive—cause her as much pain as possible.
—
—
She didn't fight back.
(But that didn't make it any easier.)
IIIIIII
By the time he thinks it's appropriate to leave, the first rays of light are peeking out from behind the horizon line. It's early enough that there are few people to disturb him or wonder why he's been in her room the entire evening. Unfortunately, it's not early enough to mean he won't have company. It was best to lay low, for now. No need to get into a meaningless fight for nothing other than personal satisfaction.
He touches her forehead tenderly before he turns away.
"Wait." Her fingers are tugging at his sleeve, trying to pull him back. "Don't go."
"I have to."
"You always leave before my friends come." She pats the space on the bed beside her. "You can stay. I mean… I… I want you to stay."
He feels nothing—no burning, no pain. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And he knows now that she isn't her and will never be her. The girl in the hospital bed is not the one who eclipses, predominates her gender, and kindles him, heaps of ashes that he is, into a fire.
"Tempting," he says, smiling in spite of himself. He doesn't need to tell her that her four friends would probably kill him on sight. "But I have to go."
"You'll come back tonight, right?" she asks quietly.
He swoops down, kisses her on the forehead. (Idiot girls like Terra always liked that, didn't they?) "Always."
With that, he heads out of the hospital.
—
—
He doesn't look back.
—
He doesn't have the time to babysit a mere child. (The woman she had once been, after all, was a woman through and through.)
IIIIIII
Raven groaned as he threw her to the floor. In the sewer, the old sounds were her ragged breathing and the dripping of water. She was bleeding, not too badly but badly enough to hurt. Slade stalked over to her side, menacingly stood over her.
She didn't get up. She just lay there, as if waiting for him to just kill her.
Excellent.
He had won. He won.
"Good bye, Raven."
Now he could be free from her and her influence! Free! Free to pursue the Titans! Free to destroy everything in his path! Free! His mind kept screaming for him to kill her. Kill her! Kill her! And yet…
The fists he had been planning to crush her skull with slammed into the floor beside her. "Why can't I kill you?" he demanded. "Why?" He reached out to rip out her windpipe. His fingers trembled as he just stopped in front of her throat. Slade tried again, tried to break her by smashing her head into a wall.
He couldn't.
"What did you do to me?" he roared. "I should be able to destroy you!"
"Doesn't mean you will," she muttered.
"I should be free from your influence!"
"Like I should be free from yours?" Raven laughed quietly. She ran a finger up his mask, and it took everything in him not to lean into her touch. "Emotional manipulation is a two way street, Slade."
"You care about me," she said matter-of-factly.
"No! I hate you," he seethed. The rage he was feeling welled up in the pit of his stomach before it traveled like hellfire through his entire body and seared his entire soul.
His fingers were tearing apart the ground, stone…anything he could get his hands on. Slade wanted to wrap his hands around her beautiful neck, wanted to let his fingers trail down the side of her cheek, wanted to nuzzle up and whisper—
No! No! No! He tried to force those thoughts from his mind.
"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you," he murmured through clenched teeth. It was his mantra; if he said it enough, maybe it would be true. "I hate you. I hate you."
"You don't." Raven shook her head. "Just like I don't hate you."
"Shut up!"
"I suppose it's easy to flip the coin—hate is so similar to love."
"Bullshit!"
"Slade, the reality of the situation is that you care about me as much as I care about you—a whole damn lot."
"Stop!"
"You love me." Her hands wound their way to his chin. She leaned up to whisper throatily in his ear, "And you know it."
"No!"
"You created this entire incident because you were afraid, Slade. You were terrified of what I was doing to you, terrified of those emotions and attachments that these feelings provided." She traced the terrible scar down his eye. "Am I right?"
Slade tried to push her off, but she faster. In a heartbeat, Raven had pinned him to the floor. He flailed around in vain until he resigned himself to the fact that he was completely at her mercy.
"Answer the question, Slade." There was a calm hardness in her voice there brooked no argument.
"You're right, okay? So I admit I care… Now what? What do you want from me now?" he croaked. "Money? Power?"
"Nothing so mundane." Raven laughed. "I want your loyalty."
"You betrayed me, Slade, because you were weak." She squeezed his hand gently. "And now, I'll make sure you will never betray me again."
It took everything in his power not to scream. As Deathstroke, he had suffered every pain imaginable—bullets holes, swords slashes, being set aflame…—but nothing compared to this. He could feel the runes creeping up from his hand to his right arm. Everywhere they touched burned and burned and burned.
"Fuck," he groaned with gritted teeth.
It's like dying slowly while his right arm is slowly being sawed off. Electricity was flooding his system, pain was overloading it, and this constant burning sensation was driving him slowly insane.
And then it was all gone as soon as it came. Vanished like it was just an illusion.
The only thing that anchored the burning sensation to reality was an ornate silver raven taking flight on the back of his right hand. Through his blurred vision, he noticed his own personal emblem on the back of her left hand.
"You're now mine," she murmured. "Understand, Slade? Mine. All mine. To your very soul."
"Go to hell," he spat. Slade immediately regretted that as he felt the familiar searing pain shoot through his system. He was left gasping desperately for breath. Slade looked up and saw her violet eyes roving over him, like they were examining and re-examining every part of him.
"Well, hell's coming awfully soon," Raven mused absently. "I can make your life a living one, if you continue to misbehave."
"I highly—" Slade snapped his mouth shut at the glare she shot him.
"You are to be loyal to me, Slade. Knowing you, that shouldn't be too hard." She grinned. "Disobey me again and all the pain you felt getting that little mark will pale in comparison. Understood?"
He bared his teeth behind his mask. "Understood."
"Good." Raven kissed his cheek before leaving him there on the cold, hard earth. (And he pretended that he didn't lean in to her lips, didn't lean in a bit.)
"Now, up Slade." Her laugh was high and ringing in the sewers, half-mad, half-something else. "There's work to be doing."
—
—
He reluctantly followed her into the darkness.
IIIIIII
He spends his waking hours doing research. Has his entire network look into every nook and cranny for the solution. Anything that can help with the matter at hand. Anything. Anything. He's had her case examined and reexamined by doctors, experts, and even other telepath superheroes (under a bit of…pressure). He's desperate, scouring the globe for a chance to snag a woman that's slowly vanishing.
He's running around, searching for a chance to see just her shadow.
He's looking, looking, looking, and there's nothing. No solution. Nothing wrong. (Only that it's not her soul in her body.) She's just gone, vanished, wiped clean like a slate. Taken. Ripped away.
(But he'll keep looking, will always keep looking.)
She's like a shadow, he thinks, eyes closed, heart broken. Like a shadow. Slipping out of his fingers and disappearing.
—
So he does the most logical thing and goes to the root of the problem.
He goes to Azarath.
—
—
"I hate that place," she had once admitted to him. "All it's good for is going up in flames."
—
Azarath is exactly how she once described it—very bright, very holy-looking, and very sanctimonious. This place is bright. Way too bright. He really doesn't like all the light; he preferred this place when it was a hell-hole—the skyscrapers smoldering and ruined and twisted black. Azarath is now pristine and beautiful, evidently restored to its former façade of beauty, its true nature once again covered up.
He wishes it all would just burn. (And he plans to do that once this place is no longer useful for his purposes.)
Azarath pisses him off less than the woman standing before him though. Arella reminds of him of her, except older, sadder, weaker…
"Hello." Arella gives him a polite smile. "It was foreseen by the monks that you would come."
God, she sounded like she was out of some clichéd fantasy movie. He had only met her for three seconds he already disliked her.
"You and…" He trails off as he remembers the first time they really talked one on one. He shakes his head. "Creative introductions apparently don't run in the family."
She arches an elegant eyebrow. "And that should matter because…?"
He shrugs. "It's more amusing that way."
She tilts her head thoughtfully. "I suppose if you look at it from a certain point of view."
He bites back a snappy retort. He really doesn't like Arella. It's like watching a gross parody of her, and it infuriates him because it just reminds him of everything he doesn't want to remember.
"Let's get down to business then." Before I lose my fucking sanity. "Did you examine her like I asked you to, Arella?" he demands.
"I did."
"And?" he prompts snappishly.
"She's exactly as you predicted—sealed away along with her demonic side."
"Do you have any idea how to get her back?"
Arella glares at him. "Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters!"
"Trigon's finally destroyed, his power is now sealed away and contained, and there is no apocalypse in sight! I hardly think that trying to recover my daughter is a worthy endeavor!"
"What kind of mother are you?" he snaps.
"One that puts the safety of the universe above her daughter!"
"No! You're the kind of mother that couldn't bring herself to love her own flesh and blood! Was it because of how she was conceived? Was it because of what she was?" He towers over her, anger pulsing from him in waves. "Arella, you threw your daughter to the wolves!"
"And you're about to throw the entire world to hell!" she spits back. "Don't act like some saint! What you're doing now isn't any different from what I did before."
"Of course it's different!" How dare she—How dare she— "I'll destroy anyone who tries to harm her!"
"Then why don't you destroy me?" Arella defiantly juts out her chin. She gasps in shock as he violently slams her up against the wall. He pins her wrists above her head and stares her down face to face.
"Don't tempt me." He smirks down at her. "I'll do that after I get everything I need from you." "You will tell me everything that you know."
"Never!"
"You will," he growls.
"What will happen if I don't listen to you then?" Arella thrusts her nose into his face. So very like her daughter. Unfortunately, she doesn't have the bite to match the very loud bark.
He grins. Imagines giving her a red smile. "I don't think you want to find out."
—
—
It was such a pity that she had to.
Thanks for reading!
Yep. If you haven't gotten it by now, the guy who's narrating the present tense is in fact Slade. I chose to make him stop referring to himself as "Slade" in the present because he's so detached from the world that he even disassociates himself from his very name. Also, the girl he's taking care of is technically Raven, but he refuses to call her by that name because to him, she's simply a replacement that's occupying Raven's body until she can finally return.
I've kind of chosen to make Slade a mix of his cartoon show and his comic book character. He's still evil, but unlike the psycho in the cartoon show, he is still capable of human emotion. Does that mean he's good at dealing with it? No. But that's what happens when you take steroids/super-serum…
Shout out to people who got the whole "red smile" thing at the end. GoT caught up, anyone? LOL. I'm so punny. Game of Thrones for the win.
So what'd you think? Creepy? Annoying? Really OOC? Confused? Got something on your mind? Go type something in the box below and drop a review!