Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no money. :( Wah.

This little ficlit is a 'what if?' I roughly based Slade on his comic incarnation. For those who don't know, Slade Wilson was in the army, got superpowers, became a mercenary. Inevitably, one of his sons was kidnapped, the dodo hit the fan, son became mute, other sons died. Wife shot him and that's how he lost his eye. So I injected this little insight into Slade's animated character, and I (in my humble opinion) think it worked well. In the show Slade just has a velvety menace I love. What a hot voice. Goo Slade:D

Note: this story is a little (okay, VERY) ambiguous if you've never seen the end pt. II where Raven's father takes over the world and so on and so fourth.

Spoiler warning! If you haven't seen the reckoning or the end, this may spoil some things, or at the least, you won't really understand what's going on. Oh well. An excuse to go watch more TTs.

The Children

By Ansuz

I stare at you and you, in your turn, stare at me. How odd it would all come down to this. The end of my existence, the end of the world, and the end of preconceived ideas. Even as I make ready to take my own path, you defy my reasoning. I have led you here, fought at your side, and I come no closer to understanding you. Though I, many years your senior, should have been able to pick clean your mind within moments of laying eyes upon you. Oh Robin, what things you could have done under my apprenticeship. All wasted now.

You stand your ground, deliberating. It is a rare look for you, to be calculating something so nakedly, weapon sheathed on your belt. I find it…odd. But this day brings its own measures doesn't it? When the dead can walk without fear of death and the world burns red and empty. All wasted now.

You decide. "Will you ever change?" It seems a step back from your earlier statement. You are aware of it, how it shadows this small little olive branch. My dear boy, the world has ended. Philosophical conversation can do little to alter things. Though, by my own reasoning, how can it hurt?

I decide to answer, though I did not intend to be so honest. "I think not. Will you?" I would smile if I had the flesh to do so. To catch you off-guard gives me a petty pleasure, and villain that I am, I savour this little victory though it paints me in a small-minded light. I feel the urge laugh, but by force of habit, I suppress it. Who would know? Deep beneath the surface, in the smouldering hush of this place, such things are superfluous. I am dead and Robin will be soon.

"Maybe," you murmur and half-turn, clearly unfinished, "but there is one thing I've always meant to ask."

I tilt my head. You know I am curious, and I am, though I know I should be wary. "Ask."

"Tell me, was it because of the children that you take on apprentices?" Your face is hard but receptive. Something only a child could do; to doubt without bitterness. I am, to my own surprise, not so resilient.

"That is not a question you have any right to." I turn away, with better things to seek.

"But I've asked nonetheless."

I keep walking. "So you have," I mutter over my shoulder, but your expression stops me. "And yes, though it is not your concern. Now I have my own question—why did you ask?"

"It makes killing you easier, more humane." You say it all so bluntly, though you are but a child. I might have felt pity for you once, long ago, that someone so young should know such a thing.

"Does it come so easily?" I turn to face you again, curiosity greater than impatience. Yes, only a child would force me to pause in my quest for flesh and blood. "Now that you know me a little better, can you ready your staff and strike down a father to three dead children?" Ah, yes. You flinch at that. Good, dear child, it would do you well to know your place. Now you have fully received all you asked for. Nothing demanded of me comes without a price. I am what the world is.

"It didn't stop you from striking an orphan." I have hit a soft spot. A pity, in another time and in another place, I would enjoy this weakness in you. Yet the world does no man's bidding. The moment is poisoned by something in your face, something I saw long ago in someone else, both stronger and weaker than you, dear child. Someone who cost me an eye. It is disappointment and hate, mixed with something more, I think. The last time I saw such a thing, it was enough to pull the trigger of a gun. I watch, I wait. But you always defy expectation, Robin, and instead of reaching for a weapon, you merely shake your head. I have failed you somehow, though I do not know how this could be so. Who has been a better adversary than I?

Ahh, and then I understand. Experienced as I am, you have blinded me yet a second time in so many minutes. I am the man with no children and you the child with no parents. In a perfect world things would heal nicely, flawlessly. But this is no perfect world even at its best. For wounds heal wrongly, the potential for so much can lie untapped and scorned. Fathers bury sons and wives cripple husbands and those who should protect you end up letting you down. Oh dear child, if only I had the time to twist this knife with the cruelty it deserves.

"So presumptuous, Robin, so soft a thought." I straighten and look towards the towering doors behind me. "But I must reclaim what is owed to me." But he would not allow this victory. I knew he would not countenance such an insult.

That smirk of yours is back, so very very brittle. "I was your apprentice once, remember? I saw what you're looking for, really."

He has an uncanny way of turning me from my goals. Though no more than that, and such a thing becomes an annoyance soon enough.

At my silence your smirk disappears. "You're better then this, you know that." It looks hard for you to say such a thing, but you meet my stare unflinchingly. "So was all this worth it, Slade? Did all this power finally bring the absolution you were looking for?"

Oh, dear brutal child, you have undone me. This sort of honesty should be beyond you. I remember once, when I had taken those you loved as hostages, how pitiful you seemed. How utterly defenceless you became when your affections were brought to bear. Now, though, now child you have outmanoeuvred me yet again and I feel I am worse off, for I never anticipated such a thing still remained in me. I had willed such a thing not to remain. The small faith you have in what I might yet be is corrosive. I am revolted.

"When have I ever shown you mercy?" I ask softly. "When have I ever deserved such a label?"

"What you show and deserve is very different from what you are and want." It is a cryptic reply, too insightful for my tastes. Have I taught you too well? And, though it is unbearable my dear child, you are right. I am old enough to admit that to myself, but you seem to know it too. That is intolerable.

"When next we meet, I will show you none of the leniency I have shown here." I intended to be detached, to feel detached, but children always have a way of grounding me. It is an unpleasant experience. I sound defensive and it gives me great displeasure when you take solace in this one, small, unintended mercy. This will shape things to come, in a wholly unexpected fashion. If one can believe a future can be grasped from this end of days.

You look towards the ascending path and your footsteps are slow and without hesitation. "You won't find any with us either." You lock gazed with me for a second time, defiant as you always have been. "And whatever you're looking for now, you're going the wrong way." So simple and presumptuous you are, as every child is.

Then you are gone, devoured by the earthy shadows of this place, and suddenly that no longer matters. I turn towards my own goal, for the third and final time. I have been many things in my life, a husband and mercenary, and now I am a villain. My lot in this world is of my own choosing and I am satisfied doing what I do, inflicting what I inflict.

Ah, my dear child, but here at the end of the world you saw something I could not, and I was honest in my replies, though I did not intend to be. You have bent me, as effortlessly as you might have bent a spoon, and it is difficult to grasp my original disposition. Is it possible to be as I had been before this conversation? I look back at where you have vanished, knowing you would not be there, but staring nonetheless.

Children. It is always children. It is always you, Robin.

So, did you like it? Please R+R and tell me what you think. This is my first TT fic, so any pointers would be much appreciated. I always like complicated characters and I think Slade and Robin both carry a lot of baggage. In the episode they're suspicious of each other, but I wanted to bring out some of the possibilities between them, while preserving that distrust. Slade came out really eerie, hopefully true to form. Enjoy it, whatever 'it' is.