Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All copyright and credit goes to the original creators of the Teen Titans, Batman, and the DC Universe. This is for entertainment purposes only! I do not own any of the characters!

A/N: Hello again! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Glad to know yall are still with me!

This chapter is on the shorter side of what I normally post. I wanted to get it posted before I get completely buried under finals agghhhhh...:( Good luck to anyone taking them this month!

Anyways! Hope yall enjoy!

Chapter 25

Too Long

The fiery liquid gushed down his throat with a burn that reached into his stomach. Slade leaned back as the contents of the bottle drenched his mouth and temporarily drowned out the thoughts that clawed in his brain.

How in the hell had everything gotten to this point?

Very simple… a voice whispered into his head.

You've been played.

He drained the bottle in a final gulp and spun in his chair, chucking the glass container at the wall and watching in an annoyed satisfaction as bits of glass rained down onto the ground. Slade clenched his hands together, wishing to feel the warm blood of the Joker's head drip through his hands and rain down just as those shards had done moments before. He wished he had the power to make the Joker feel as he was feeling now.

Defeated.

Slade closed his eye as he dropped his head down at the table. He was mad. Dammit, he was furious. His eye drifted over the shattered remains of the bottle, and the man snorted as he shifted bitterly in his chair.

He couldn't even have the luxury of wasting away his problems in a drunken haze.

A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead which the man wiped away with a curse.

His body treated alcohol much like any other toxic substance he had been afflicted with. Within seconds his heightened immune system, expelled it from his body.

So instead of becoming blissfully drunk, he just became a sweaty, revolting mess.

The man inhaled a long, deep breath letting his inner thoughts settle into a dull, thumping hum. Sometimes having an enhanced brain was both an asset and a curse. There were moments in his life where Slade wished he could stop thinking. He wished he could turn his brain off and fall away into a blissful ignorance.

Now was one of those moments.

But his brain couldn't stop. It charged ahead, calculating, recalculating, evaluating, analyzing, and examining every minute detail that could have possibly led to his failure. Because Deathstroke didn't fail. The assassin had a famed record around the villain community that he had painstakingly built up over the years, and it certainly did not involve failure.

The man growled as his mind replayed the events over and over in his head. Too many mistakes and a case, as Wintergreen would say, of bad luck. But Slade didn't believe in any luck – good or bad. He hadn't built his criminal empire on simply luck. No, he had built himself on ruthless actions and a fostered, cultivated fear he endlessly worked to spread with his enigmatic black and orange mask.

He pressed his fingers into his temples as the image of Robin rose up in his mind. The boy hunched over with blood running down his leg and into his hands. The powerlessness Slade had felt, unable to stop the poison from rushing into the boy's veins, leeching into his body and tainting and consuming his mind. The utter frustration he felt for the boy's safety. The distraction Robin had been to his mind and his thoughts.

The haunting fear of the past repeating itself.

Every action he had made on that rooftop had been made to protect the boy. Every thought that crossed his mind had been with Robin in mind. Yet he had still failed. He still failed to keep Robin safe and protect from the psychotic madness the Joker released to those around him.

Perhaps he had let Slade Wilson get in the way of this mission.

Perhaps this was a job for Deathstroke.

Perhaps he should just take Robin out of the picture…

He allowed the thought to ruminate in his head for a few moments. The boy would be furious if he went off and left him behind – Slade had no doubt in his mind about that. It was a possibility. If he left Robin locked away in his confined medical room, he could keep the boy safe and finish the objective at hand. In the process however, he would betray every shred of trust he had built with Robin over the past few days and completely revert their relationship back to square one. The boy would never forgive him.

A heavy sigh bled through Slade's lips. He never thought he could actually call what was between him and the boy a relationship. Normally he would simply rate on a scale how much Robin hated him. Now…

Now he didn't quite know how to define their relationship.

Slade growled, shifting his thoughts. Now all he wanted to do was get up and murder that blasted clown. His hands hovered over the mask on his desk. It wouldn't take long. In fact, he was sure if he worked hard enough, he could finish the task before Robin even woke back up. A quick, clean killing – something Deathstroke was infamous for.

All it would take was one bullet, a well-aimed shot–

The man shook his head, trying to clear his haunting thoughts. He needed to stop, and he needed to stop this now. He had once had these same thoughts before…a long time ago…and look where that had gotten him – a man who had the sorry propensity to lose everything he cared about.

The man muttered to himself as he clenched his hands together, willing the world to pause time for a moment, just a few seconds, so he could think, so he could plan. Instead, the clock sitting on his desk kept ticking like a loud blaring drum.

The same clock she had given him all those years ago.

The same clock that kept ticking long after her heart had stopped loving him, long after he had lost his eye, long after he had lost his family.

His stared at the small, analog device, tucked away in the corner of his desk. Such an archaic artifact compared to the technology he used now, yet he still held onto it. After all these years, he had never gotten rid of it.

It was too painful to part with.

But in moments like these, it was also too painful to look at.

His eye glanced away.

He couldn't feel them. Her eyes were just beyond the edge of his vision, stemming from the steady beat of the clock, drilling into him, glaring at him, accusing him. Her words were just beyond the reach of his ears, the same words he heard every time he traveled down this path. It was always the same. The same eyes, the same words, the same memories and the same ending. He had never truly moved on. And somehow Slade knew, she had never either.

Dim lighting reflected off the shards of glass on the floor.

She would be disappointed in him.

The man rose from his desk and leaned over. His hands rested on the small ticking clock and with a sigh, flipped it face down. His hand lingered there for a moment, before he moved away. But she wasn't here right now.

He had to remember that.

Slade sighed as he got up and opened the door of his office, shutting it with a deafening thud and silencing the ticking. He pushed away the dregs of the noise that remained and blocked it out of his mind.

Learn from the past and move on.

Wintergreen had said those words to him a long time ago, yet Slade had never quite understood them until now. He couldn't let the past repeat itself. Not again. He had lost Grant out of his own selfish and rash actions, but the same wouldn't happen with Robin.

That damn clown would just have to wait.

With a sign Slade marched down the hall, his feet thudding against the carpet. A new noise filtered into his ears – the low, ominous, steady beep of a monitor. Each step, brought a wave of exhaustion over his body and when he reached the doorway, Slade didn't know if he still had the energy to enter. Beyond the door was the single source of all the chaos that surrounded him. Every single problem stemmed from the obstinate boy whose mind was lying within inches of insanity. Slade took a single step forward and leaned against the open doorway, looking into the bright, white room.

Robin laid on the simple bed in the medical room. The boy was in a deep sleep at the moment, partially from the sedative in the anti-bodies Slade had injected him with and partially from sheer mental and physical exhaustion. Wintergreen had been keeping watch over the boy in case any residual problems should arise from the toxin and had fallen asleep in his chair, his book dangling from his lax hands. Slade was fairly certain all the poison had been removed from the boy's body at this point, but it never hurt to be overly cautious.

The man quietly entered the room, taking a few steps forward. His eye examined Wintergreen's peaceful body for a few moments, watching the steady rise and fall of the older man's chest. He could easily lift the man up and move him into his bedroom – God knows Wintergreen would wake up with a nasty crick in his neck if Slade didn't.

But he decided against it, not wanting to take the chance to wake the man or Robin, for that matter. Once the boy woke back up, Slade wouldn't be able to avoid the questions that were bound to come. So instead Slade gently lifted Wintergreen's book out of the older man's withered hands and placed it on the table next to him. Grabbing a spare blanket from the counter, he wrapped it around the small form. The older man didn't even notice.

Slade wasn't surprised. It had been a long night for both of them.

Gradually his eyes were pulled away from Wintergreen and drifted to the small form, laying blissfully unaware on the plush bed.

I let my parents die, Slade…

The older man closed his eye, recounting the haunting words. It hadn't taken long once they had gotten back to the haunt, to inject Robin with the proper anti-bodies. All it took was a swab of Robins blood, a quick analysis, and the correct mixture of chemicals to reverse the toxin. Slade was fast, in fact what had taken him minutes, would have taken any other scientist hours to figure out.

Still, the man wondered if he had been fast enough.

His hand reached out and pushed a few strands of black hair out of the boy's eyes. After all the explosions, chaos, and madness the boy's domino mask still stubbornly clung to his dirt covered face. Slade allowed himself a grim smile. The boy's mask mirrored Robin's stubborn personality.

The man's smile slowly died as he quickly pulled his hand back and turned away.

As fast as Slade was, however, it still had taken a while for the drugs to knock Robin out.

How long had he sat there, listening to the boy's shrieks, screams and finally tears? How long had he kept his arms around the boy, willing his pain to be over, knowing the same feeling all too well.

The man wiped a bead of sweat from his face.

The feeling of watching someone you love die.

Slade shook his head, walking out of the room, walking away from the source of his problems.

Too long, a voice whispered in his mind.

Too long.

Ding

Slade blearily opened his eye.

Clang

A mug was placed down in front of him and Slade looked up to meet a pair of concerned eyes.

Wintergreen shrugged, pushing the coffee towards him.

"Morning."

Dark bags rimmed the man's eyes as he took a seat across from Slade. His withered hands moved up and down his neck, massaging the sore and sift muscles.

"I've got the worst crick in my neck," the older man commented with a grunt.

Slade shook his head, hiding a grim smile.

Wintergreen leaned back in his chair, chuckling softly. "I suppose you should know since you didn't bother moving me."

Slade shrugged his shoulders as he pushed himself up off the table. "Didn't want to wake you."

"Didn't want to wake me, or were you more afraid of waking up Robin?"

Slade hesitated in his movements as he locked eyes with Wintergreen. "The sedative in the anti-body will keep him knocked out for a few more hours, Will," Slade said as he examined the scattered files he had fallen asleep on.

Wintergreen shrugged, leaning back into his chair. "Ahhhh, of course," the man said, though sounding unconvinced. "So what exactly are you going to do when-"

"What time is it?" Slade quickly asked, knowing where the question was heading. He pushed the files back into the folder as he muttered a few obscenities under his breath. It was odd for him to have just passed out as he had when he had so much work to do. He remembered going into the kitchen with his file folder, opening it, reading through a few papers and then…

"About five in the morning right now," Wintergreen said with a thin frown, his eyes lingering on the papers Slade was tucking away.

Slade grunted at the comment and shook his head. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep," he said as the comforting aroma of coffee drifted towards his nose.

Steam rose up and brushed against his face.

Wintergreen rolled his eyes, "Yes and dying of sleep exhaustion is just a great way to go."

Slade paused in his movements but said nothing, not willing to argue with the man on the long disputed topic.

"How's the hand –"

Before the older man could finish his question, Slade had already unraveled and dropped the bloody bandage onto the table. He flexed his fist, the tendons, ligaments, and shattered bones already fully knitted and fused together. A fresh layer of skin covered the gash, hiding any remnants of the wound. Not even a scar remained.

"I'm fine," Slade began as he took a long swig of the coffee. The warm liquid filtered down his raw throat.

"Robin on the other hand…" Wintergreen began as he leaned forward in his chair. A long silence sat between the two men as Slade's gray eye glanced away. Wintergreen reached out and lightly touched Slade's hand with his own.

"I'm not mad at you," the older man said as his brow furrowed in concern.

Slade sighed as he pulled away from Wintergreen's grip. A dark look crossed the man's features as he stared into the blank wall. "It's my fault, you know," he said after a short pause. "If you hadn't come when you did, Will…"

Wintergreen brushed away the statement. "You would have done the same for me." The tone in his voice put an end to the topic and caused Slade to further shift away. Wintergreen let out a heavy sigh as he watched the man before him. He had seen that look before, and it was always a battle to beat it down.

"He's not dead."

The words caused Slade to stiffen.

Wintergreen sighed. "He's not Grant."

"He could have been."

"But he's not," Wintergreen persisted with an obstinate defiance. "And he won't be if you don't give up."

"I-" Slade began but paused as he shut his gray eye. He looked back over to the older man, a faded softness to his features. "This is a job for Deathstroke, not me."

Wintergreen shook his head at the statement. "Slade, that's the type of thinking that got Grant killed."

A fiery anger flashed over Slade's face as he pushed himself up from his chair. "That's the only way I know how to think, Will." He slammed his hand down on the table as a heavy breath leaked from his body.

"I'm trying to help you learn a new way."

"I'm beyond helping, Will," Slade continued bitterly, the anger draining from his face. "You know this."

"I believe," Wintergreen said as he leaned forward in his chair, "a certain boy would think otherwise, else why would he have bothered you for help?"

"Some help I've provided," Slade muttered as he lowered himself back down into his chair. The man trailed off, refusing to look at his friend.

"What happened?"

Those two words caused Slade to close his gray eye.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, an unfamiliar feeling running through him. He wasn't used to being in this position. It was an odd notion to him, for once to be on the losing side.

Because he had lost after all, hadn't he?

The Joker had beaten him at every twist and turn, and now Robin's mental sanity had deteriorated.

What had happened, indeed?

"Well," Wintergreen shifted in his chair and leaned back, "Let's start with something else then, will Robin be okay?"

Slade's gaze drifted up and towards the hallway that held the medical room.

"Physically, he's been through worse. The bullet did little damage thanks to the armor, and the cuts and scrapes are all superficial wounds. Mentally…" Slade trailed off as he pulled his thoughts together. His eye flickered over to Wintergreen and then back to the door. "That poison of the Joker did a number on him. Had we waited any longer with the antidote, I fear he would have gone mad." Slade paused as his words soaked in.

"The anti-bodies will keep him knocked out for a few more hours. It will give his mind a chance to repair itself. He should be fine, given enough rest and time to sort out reality from his hallucinations. Some things happened that could leave him emotionally…" Slade paused, searching for the word, "…fragile for a while. But for now-"

"What things?"

The question stabbed through Slade as he glanced back at his old friend. There was no malice in Wintergreen's words, only a deep concern that washed over Slade.

"Do you want the long or short version?"

"Short for now, details can come later."

"You won't like what you're about to hear."

"I'm certain I can handle it."

"I know you can, but Robin…"

"What happened?"

Slade clenched his hands around the mug as he leaned forward, his gray eye dug deep into the older man's green eyes.

"The Joker showed up. Batman shot Robin. I called you and almost killed Batman."

The older man let out a long exhale as he leaned back in his chair. His brows sunk over his eyes as he mentally poured over the heavy words.

"I'm afraid I am going to need the details."

Slade mirrored the man's heavy sigh and while shaking his head said, "I thought as much."

Wintergreen hummed thoughtfully, spinning the coffee around in his mug. "Batman shot him?"

"Yes."

The dark liquid licked the edges of the rim of the mug. "And then you tried to kill Batman?" the older man continued.

"Yes."

Wintergreen cocked his head as his lips stretched into a thin line. "Wasn't the whole point to try and rescue Batman, not kill the man?"

The question caused Slade to hesitate in his answer. The man's gray eye flickered away as he pensively fixed his gaze on his the table. Moments passed in silence as Slade's hand rhythmically clenched and unclenched his coffee mug. Finally, the single syllable fell from the man's lips.

"Yes."

Hardly a breath of air passed the older man's mouth before his second question spewed out.

"Then why on bloody earth did you-"

"I'm positive it wasn't Batman."

Wintergreen recoiled at the words, acting as if they had physically struck him across the face. A deep, red flush came over his features as he considered the statement.

"Then who-" he started but was sharply cut off as Slade rose from his chair and began pacing the confines of the living area.

"A very convincing portrayal of Batman, but not Batman," the man started as his feet thumped rhythmically on the floor.

"And you know this because…."

Slade paused in his step as his hands clenched reflexively.

"A hunch."

Wintergreen raised his eyebrows as a slight chuckle escaped his lips. He pushed his mug away from him, shaking his head at the statement.

"And a hunch is enough to kill a man?" he asked, watching as Slade walked back toward the table.

The man shook his head. "No, but evidence to back up that hunch is," Slade said as he pushed the file folder toward Wintergreen. The papers slid to a stop before the man, and Wintergreen looked down at them as a heavy silence fell over the pair.

"I found this in the Joker's hideout," Slade closed his eye, pushing himself away from the table and pacing toward the doorway to the hallway. His eye lingered on the door to the medical room, before he looked away. "If my suspicions are correct, that wasn't Batman out on the rooftop."

Wintergreen eyes never left Slade as he slowly gripped the corner of the file and gradually peeled it opened. His eyes briefly scanned through it, reading over the print with a deep growing dread. Slade watched at the older man's hands scrunched the edges of the file before quickly setting them down. His green eyes shot up as he quickly rose from the table.

"How did – who – where…I thought you had killed them all…"

Slade shook his head as he leaned against the doorway, his eye becoming unfocused.

"I never was able to track him down," the man started. "His lead went cold long after I had disposed of the others. In my carelessness, I thought someone else may have finished the job for me. Looks like I was too optimistic."

"So if this is true then…"

Slade signed as his eye flickered over to the door that held Robin behind it. He could have prevented all of this. He could have stopped it all from happening. But he hadn't. And now once again, it was all his fault.

"The Joker played me from the very beginning," Slade said softly.

Wintergreen looked up, his eyes following the man's line of sight. His words had a hollow ring to them as the older man spoke them into the heavy silence that hung in the room.

"I'm afraid so."

A/N: Let me know what you think. I'm at a crossroads as to where I want to go with this, so I'm going to have to think the next chapter out...

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!