AN: Content warning for possible graphic violence, major character death, threats of extreme emotional abuse
So I absolutely love this chapter. It's got awkward dinner conversations, light stabbings (okay maybe not so light) and Dick being a BAMF. There's also a healthy dose of angst, some very important and dramatic things happening plot-wise, along with some major changes to the status quo. (Probably unrelated and definitely not a spoiler warning, but Slade was fun, wasn't he?)
I hope you guys like it as much as I do.
Selina Kyle
The Batcave
Sunday, June 9th, 2013
"No, the Riddler's been quiet lately but this isn't his usual style," Bruce shook his head. Jason leaned over the table to get a closer look at holographic map of the crime scene the GCPD had discovered.
"Maybe he's switching it up," Jason shrugged.
"Believe me, we tried to get Eddie to ditch the question marks and it did not work," Selina commented as she leaned back in her chair, watching her boys work. Jason had thrown himself into the detective side of vigilantism and even if Bruce wasn't going to admit it, he appreciated having a second set of eyes. "Bruce is right, this is something else."
"We'll start near the docks tonight," Bruce decided, and Jason nodded along seriously, "Some of the fibers found on the scene matched the ropes that Nautilus uses for their cargo transport."
"Nautilus is a… shipping company?" Jason's face scrunched up as he tried to remember something Bruce had told him before and Selina hid a smile at how adorable he was. But before Bruce could answer, the cave's speakers let out a loud clang.
Batman froze.
"What was that?" Selina asked sharply, whirling around to follow as Bruce lunged for the Batcomputer.
"Perimeter alert for one of my safehouses," Bruce answered as his fingers flew over the keyboard and he pulled up a set of images on the screens, "After Dick… after the Watchtower, I reinforced security at all of my bases and other properties in case anyone tried to access them. I thought there might be a chance…"
Bruce trailed off as he typed and a few seconds later, the Batcomputer's screens were filled with videos and a GPS map. A red circle appeared on the map, shrinking and narrowing in on a location until they were looking at a satellite image of a neighborhood.
Selina heard little footsteps before a tiny hand grabbed hers. She looked down to see Tim's eyes riveted to the screen, his mouth moving silently as he read the security details scrolling along the farthest screen. Stephanie climbed into Bruce's lap and he shifted his grip to hug her tightly around the waist as he searched through the feeds.
Dread settled over Selina like a shroud; the kids had a sixth-sense for trouble and now even Cassie was toddling through the cave with Donna hot on her heels. That meant nothing good was coming next.
She squeezed Tim's hand and wasn't completely sure which of them she was trying to comfort. Donna picked Cassie up off the ground and came to stand next to Selina, a worried frown set on her face. Selina nodded at the Amazon before her eyes glued themselves back to the screen.
Bruce muttered the address to himself as a set of surveillance feeds loaded. The left side of the screen was filled with images of a white house, capturing the front and the sides and the patio in the back to everything in between. The right side had the interior.
They all held their breath as the rooms appeared on screen; a living room from three angles, an open kitchen with all white cabinets and countertops, three bedrooms with big closets and oceanside views. It was a lovely middle-class home; utterly unassuming and perfect for hiding in plain sight. And on the other side… a red car turned into the driveway, pulling up to the house and gliding to a stop in front of the two-car garage. Selina felt her heart stop as the door opened and Dick stepped out.
Stephanie gasped and Tim's grip on Selina's hand tightened.
Even from the grainy picture quality, she could see that he looked exhausted. It was hard to tell, but he looked taller and a bit skinnier. But as he closed the door and headed for the house, Selina noticed something much more important.
He was alone.
"Where's Wilson?" she asked, her heartbeat speeding up. Bruce leaned closer to the screen.
"There's no sign of him."
Dick pulled something out of his pocket and picked the lock so smoothly Selina almost thought he was using a key. He picked the package up off the ground and carried it inside.
The second he went into the house, Bruce was on his feet, League communicator in his left hand and private cell phone in the other. He turned to Selina and said, "Have Wayne One ready as soon as possible, we'll meet them at the air strip in twenty minutes."
Selina let go of Tim's hand to make the arrangements, barely able to take her eyes off the screen as Dick moved around the safehouse like a man on a mission. Meanwhile, Bruce's call connected.
"Clark, get to the address I just sent you as fast as you can. Dick is in one of my safehouses, he's alone. There's no sign of Wilson."
"What's he doing?!" Jason demanded. Cassie had one fist in her mouth, the other hand clutching Donna's hair in a death grip. On the screens showing the living room, Dick ran a knife along the tape before pulling open the box and taking whatever was inside. He gathered up his prizes; a thick handful of cash from one of the drawers, a jug of grain alcohol stashed in one of the kitchen cabinets, and the contents of the mysterious package.
"What do you mean he's not there?!" Bruce demanded and Selina's heart stopped. Bruce set the call to speaker so they could all hear Clark's answer.
"It's empty. There's no one here."
Horror filled the Batcave.
"There should be a red Ford out front," Bruce somehow managed to say.
"There's nothing here. Someone was in the house, it looks like they were in a hurry, but they're gone."
"But he's right there!" Stephanie exclaimed, her eyes fixed on the screens.
"He hacked the security system," Bruce let out a sharp exhale, closing his eyes and Selina knew he was trying to ride out the crushing wave of disappointment, "He put a delay on the camera feeds."
"How much of a delay?"
When Bruce finished his calculations, his shoulders tensed and his hands clenched into fists. The answer was bad.
"Three weeks."
One of the cameras shifted suddenly, a hand reaching down to block the video display. A few seconds later, Dick set it down on the table.
He looked at the wall, looked down at his hands, and then sat down so he was perfectly positioned in front of the screen. He let out a breath and leaned his elbows on the table, putting his head in his hands. When he looked up again, they all got a clear view of his face.
Dick looked exhausted. Utterly exhausted and lonely and miserable and it broke Selina's heart to see him like that. The bags under his eyes were dark purple and his skin had a sickly paleness to it, like it had been a long time since he'd gotten any sunlight at all. Selina's stomach clenched.
Knowing Wilson, there was a very real chance that Dick had spent those missing months locked up in a bunker just like the one Bruce had discovered in Gotham. The thought of Dick trapped in a windowless box for weeks and weeks on end, no one around but the master manipulator who'd kidnapped him after years of invisible abuse… no. She couldn't lose it in front of the kids, they needed her to be strong right now. Dick needed her to be strong because if they all fell apart, they might miss something that would help save him.
When Dick finally spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"Hey, Bruce… I'm doing something really, really stupid. I know it's dangerous but if it works… promise me you won't waste it. Please."
There was a pause. Dick's lower lip trembled but he fought the tears back before they could fall.
"I know you hate me and I know that as soon as you find out about this, you're going to be on the way here. I'll be long gone by then and you're not going to find me. After everything I've done, I know I should turn myself in. I should face justice for what I've done and I know the last thing I should do is go back to him, but… I can't fight him anymore. I just want you to know… and… tell Jason I didn't… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything."
Dick Grayson
New York City
Thursday, June 20th, 2013
I hit the ground for the millionth time in the last nine days, letting out a groan as the bruises on my back slam against the mat. The sole of Slade's boot lands on my chest, pressing down on my diaphragm as a warning to stay down. Which is fine with me since he's not really putting any weight on it and we've been in the gym for hours and I'm exhausted.
Slade lifts his foot before helping me up.
"Good work today," he nods and the praise makes my chest feel warm. A second later, he hands me the package wrapped in brown paper that he put down on the bench when he first came into the training room.
"Shower and get changed, we're leaving in thirty minutes."
With that, he leaves the gym. Inside the package is a button-down shirt, slacks, a pair of brown loafers, and glasses with bright blue frames. My stomach tightens.
Is this for a meeting? A mission? It's not a contract, right? He would tell me if it was. He would.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can worry about that later. For now, I'm on a timer.
Twenty-eight minutes later, I'm standing in the lobby of the apartment building dressed in my new disguise. Slade is wearing a faded jacket with gray elbow patches, his eye patch replaced with a glass eye that's so convincing it takes me a second to realize that he didn't spontaneously grow a new eye. If he's armed, the weapons are so well concealed I can't tell.
For a second, I can't move. I've never seen Slade try to disguise himself before and it's dizzying. Everything about him is different, from the fake eye to the mustache and beard to the way his posture is just a little bit off. Slade always looks like a threat. Except right now, he looks like an old librarian or a professor or just… someone's grandpa.
Slade glances at my disguise and nods once before heading out the door without a single word. There's nothing to do but follow him. It's all I can do to keep up with him and not get caught up people-watching or freaking out over the fact that there's a nationwide manhunt for the two of us and not a single one of the hundreds of people we've passed has so much as glanced in our direction. After a few blocks, Slade leads me into a fancy steakhouse and gives the hostess a name that apparently has a table reserved and ready.
The hostess gestures to the booth, setting down a pair of menus. Slade sits first, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the bench next to him. I hesitate before sliding into the seat across from him. The dining room is big and loud and filled with people but all I can think about is the bustling little diner in the middle of nowhere, Slade sitting across from me in the booth with rage radiating off him, ready to massacre the entire town if that's what it took to drag me back.
I let out a shaky breath, grabbing my menu and hoping Slade doesn't notice. My eyes skim slowly across the page while I force my shoulders to relax, settling into the role of inconspicuous teenager out to dinner with his grandpa.
Slade hasn't said anything about the target, so he must be expecting me to figure it out. I counted eight separate groups of businessmen in the dining room, but the groups sitting at the priority tables are clearly having casual dinners, not clandestine meetings or after-hours deals with shady clients. None of them are doing anything important enough for Slade's notice.
So if we're not here for any corporate sabotage, it must be one of the other patrons. But if it is, I can't tell which one. It can't be any of the families with kids, because Slade would have given me some kind of warning about that. Especially now.
It could be one of the couples. There's a lot of money in the room, from the flashy watches and the gratuitous jewelry, to the thousands of dollars in fine food and wine being racked up on the bill without a second thought. But unless we're here to just rob some people and ruin their night out… I have no idea what Slade is planning.
"Something on your mind?" Slade's voice pulls me out of my head. He doesn't sound angry or upset, but there's a little too much weight behind the words.
I swallow. Things are different now. He's not going to get mad at me for admitting that I don't know what he's thinking. I can ask him what's going on if I want to, I don't have to just keep my mouth shut and try not to rock the boat.
"What are we doing here?" I hate that my voice sounds shaky. For a second, Slade just looks at me, his eyebrows rising.
"Eating dinner," he answers slowly. Now it's my turn to stare at him.
"What?"
"Do you have an issue with the choice of restaurant?" he asks, and I'm just too confused to even begin to figure out what he's thinking.
"No, I just… why are we here?"
"Why are we at a restaurant?" Slade asks. I nod. "Because I didn't particularly feel like cooking and this venue comes very highly rated."
"I could've made something," I say, hating that I feel so off-balance. Is this a reward for having come back? Or is it another test, to drag me out in public and see how much I meant it when I promised to do anything and everything he said? But Slade looks too calm for either of those. There's no smug satisfaction lying under the surface, no sharpness in his eye that means he's locked in on his target. He's just… he's just sitting there.
Slade doesn't answer that. Instead, he reaches over to push my discarded menu back over to me. That's as clear an order as any.
I look over the steakhouse menu, trying to focus on the dishes but my heart is pounding too fast and my hands are starting to tremble and it doesn't do any good to remind myself that things are different now. That's the whole problem! This whole game is new and unfamiliar and I can't figure out what he wants me to do.
"I can't do this!" I finally snap, dropping the menu back on the table. It takes all the self-control I have to keep my voice at a quiet hiss to make sure I don't accidentally blow our cover. "I have no idea what you want from me. Please just tell me what's going on! What are we doing here?"
Slade looks up at me and finally notices how freaked out I am. He frowns.
"Relax, Richard. Take a breath."
The last part comes out as an order and that's more of a relief than anything after being thrown into a new situation with no instructions of any kind. After I've taken a few breaths, Slade nods approvingly.
"Good. This is not a contract, or a test, or anything else you've convinced yourself it might be. We are here to eat, nothing more."
My jaw falls open.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"But… but why?"
"Because I trust you and you've chosen to be here. That means I can do nice things for you without you assuming that it's a tactic to manipulate you."
I blink. I didn't think he was manipulating me, I just didn't know—wait. Is he talking about…
"Are you're saying that's not the reason you bought me Dunkin' Donuts?" I demand.
Slade smirks.
"I never said you didn't have a good reason to assume that. Of course, in that case, you needed something to distract you from whatever nonsense Alec said."
I wince at the reminder of that conversation and Hardison putting the final nail in the coffin that the League wasn't coming for me. My brain seizes the thought, desperate to get back to familiar territory and not think about anything else that Slade just said.
"I actually…" I pause, not sure how to ask. Slade leans forward, crossing his arms on the table to show he's listening.
"Yes?"
"Can I start up with Hardison again? I really liked… I mean, I learned a lot coding with him."
Slade frowns.
"No."
"What? Why not?! I'm not going to—"
"It has nothing to do with you," Slade cuts me off, "Hardison is compromised."
That stops my brain dead in its tracks.
"He's what?"
"His team caught wind of his history with me and they were none too happy about it. I expect they're working with the League by now to discover our location. Fortunately, I expected that might happen at some point, and prepared accordingly."
"He has a team?" I ask, and maybe that shouldn't be what my brain catches on but it's better than dealing with the crushing disappointment that I've lost one more good thing in my life. Hardison was brilliant and a super good teacher and fun to talk to, but more than that, he was a person in my life besides Slade. And now he's gone too.
But Slade just shrugs.
"There's a whole world of conmen and thieves out there. Maybe I'll loan you out to a crew at some point; there's plenty of useful skills for you to pick up."
I have no idea what to say to that, especially because he sounds like he's just thinking out loud, so instead I reach for my menu again. This still feels fake, but even if it is a trick, Slade usually lets me have a reward for going along with what he wants. And for whatever reason, he wants us to act like we're just two people eating dinner at a nice restaurant.
"Um…" I wrack my brain for something to say because I can't take another second sitting here in silence. "Have you been here before?"
"No," Slade answers, not looking up from his menu.
"What should I get?"
"Order whatever you'd like. Enjoy yourself."
The hum of people around us fills the silence.
On every level, this is nice. It's a beautiful restaurant, there's no mission hanging over my head, and absolutely nobody has any idea who we are. But my heart won't stop pounding against my chest and my hands feel clammy and I want to make a break for the door so badly that I dig my hands into the seat to stop myself from doing something insanely stupid.
It feels like forever by the time the waiter approaches the table and sets down a basket of fresh rolls. They smell incredible and my chest tightens at the reminder of how long it's been since I had really good food. The food at the diner definitely wasn't bad, but even the cinnamon rolls at the motel had nothing on Alfred's cooking.
No. Don't think about Alfred. Think about literally anything else.
"How are you doing tonight? My name is Gavin and I'll be taking care of you this evening. Can I get you folks started with some drinks? Any appetizers?"
Slade orders a wine off the list of house specials and I just get a water.
The waiter disappears and I stare at the bread basket, watching steam drift up into the air. Slade is staring at me, a strange look on his face. After a couple of very awkward, very silents moments, he gestures at the bread. But it's not him giving me permission to eat, it's almost like… it's like he's making fun of me for having waited.
My face burns bright red and I grab a piece of bread just to have something besides Slade to look at.
I was right; it's amazing.
I eat the roll slowly; carefully ripping off pieces to work from the outside in, dipping every piece into the plate of olive oil on the table, and savoring every bite as long as I can.
It fills the time until Gavin the waiter comes back with Slade's wine and a notepad to take our orders.
"What can I get you to eat?"
Oh, no. I never really even looked at the menu. Slade starts to order and I glance down at the menu, panic building in my chest when I see that every single entrée is going to be fifty dollars minimum. But Slade told me to get whatever I wanted…
"And for you?" The waiter asks pleasantly and my brain goes completely blank. I order a steak off the menu at random and when the waiter asks what sides I want with that, I just pick the first two on the list.
When the waiter is gone, I feel like I can breathe again, but then the awkward silence is back. Slade drinks his wine, looking perfectly at ease. I reach for another piece of bread.
I eat as slowly as I can, but eventually all the bread is gone and the awkward silence hasn't gone anywhere.
What is there to say?
The thought hits me like a freight train and suddenly it's all I can do to stop myself from bursting out into tragically hysterical laughter. I've known Slade for four years and for the last couple months, he's been the only person in my life. And in all that time, I have never had a normal conversation with him.
No, now I'm sitting across from him and desperately trying to think of something to say and there's just… nothing. I mean, what do I possibly say?
The silence stretches on. Slade seems content to study the drink menu and enjoy the time away from his work. But it's so horribly awkward and the harder I try to come up with something to say, the more uncomfortable it gets. I would give all the money in the world to have my cell phone back right now.
…wait. Things are different now, aren't they? It can't hurt to ask, and even if it can, I would rather take a punishment than sit here in horrible, painful silence for another second.
"Can I have a phone?" I ask suddenly.
Slade stills.
"I don't think that's a good idea," he says after a moment of consideration, "given that I fail to see why you'd need one and the temptation to misuse it may be too difficult to resist, even if it's not your intention."
"Well, what if we need to stay in contact?"
"You already know that we use communication devices on missions."
"Okay well… what if it gets broken? Or we're going to be out of range?"
"If we're on a job where I believe it will be necessary to have secondary means of communication, you'll be issued a burner for the duration."
"Okay but what if—"
"I said no," Slade cuts me off sharply and the irritation sends a chill through my stomach, "It's a bad idea and you know it. Why are you asking?"
"Because…"
My hand taps against the bread basket, and I wish the waiter would come back to refill it so I can have something to do with myself.
"Because?" Slade prompts when I trail off. I exhale through my nose, shoulders slumping forwards as I lean on the table.
"I miss the internet. When I was… away… I got to used to having it again, and now that I'm back I just… I don't like being cut off from everything."
Slade considers the words.
"If you'd like to look something up, you may use my phone."
My head snaps up.
"What?"
Slade fixes me with an amused look.
"Are you serious?!" I demand.
Instead of answering that, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone. He unlocks it with a few taps and sets it down, sliding it across the table. For a second, the world spins and I feel dizzy from emotional whiplash. I start to reach for it, but I hesitate, my hand pulling back like it burned me.
"Go ahead," Slade leans back, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches me in amusement. My hand closes around the phone and I pick it up as carefully as a live bomb, splitting my focus between the device and Slade like they're both about to explode. But Slade doesn't move from where he's watching me, and the phone doesn't spontaneously burst into flames.
My brain scrambles to figure out what's happening, throwing out increasingly crazy explanations like maybe it's a fake or a burner or a dummy phone or just a well-disguised weapon, but up close there's no denying it. Slade gave me his real, unlocked phone.
I don't waste any time opening up the internet and searching for the only possible lifeline I can think of. Slade glances over a few times, but there's only the faintest bit of curiosity under the amusement. It's not long until I find what I'm looking for.
"What job would you be the worst at?" I ask. Slade looks at me and one of his eyebrows rises until it's practically at his hairline.
"What job would I what?" he repeats.
"Uh, okay, not that one," I scroll through the list, looking for a question that might actually go somewhere. Definitely not, 'what's your claim to fame,' now that's a horrible question to ask the guy that goes by 'Deathstroke the Terminator.' How about…
"What was the best book series you've ever read?"
Instead of answering, Slade reaches across the table and holds his hand out. My heart sinks and my face burns but I hand it over. He trusted me with his phone and it took me all of thirty seconds to lose the privilege. Shit.
"50 conversation starters?" Slade reads dubiously after scrolling back to the top of the page.
"What?" I shoot back, arms wrapped around my stomach defensively, "Do you have a better idea for what to talk about?"
Slade lets out a snort, but he shrugs and the corner of his mouth tugs up into something that might be a smirk.
"Alright," he says.
And then he gives me back his phone.
While I'm staring at it in shock, he prompts, "Ask away."
It's a little awkward at first, but for every slightly forced question I read off, Slade gives me an actual answer. And as we get further down the list, I realize that I already know more of the answers than I thought. Slade's biggest pet peeve is people wasting his time, he listens to classical music to unwind, his favorite author is Tolstoy and yes, it was an old copy of 'Anna Karenina' that he was reading when we were staying in the cabin in the woods. And no, I definitely don't want to think about the fact that Bruce loves that book too.
I'm not brave enough to ask any of the questions like "what's the hardest lesson you've learned," or "what's something you'd never do again" and definitely not "which of your scars has the best story behind it?" but the time is flying by and Slade seems like he's kind of enjoying himself and so I can't resist the urge to ask something that I've always wanted to know.
I almost spit-take when I get the answer.
"You're from Kentucky?!"
Slade nods once.
"I believe I just told you that."
"Do you… did you… you know… the accent?"
Slade fixes me with a look that's mostly amused.
"You've known me for four years, do you think I have the accent?"
The only answer I can give him is a sheepish shrug.
"I mean, did you ever?"
Slade rolls his eye but he still doesn't look annoyed, so I don't immediately try to take the question back.
"I reckon I can pull it out when I need it," he drawls in the thickest midwestern twang I've ever heard and it sends a full body shiver down my spine.
"Nope! Nope, no, please don't ever do that again that was horrible."
Before Slade can torment me by saying anything else, I move on to the next question.
"Do you have any siblings?" I read off the list. Slade gives a small nod.
"I have a much younger step-brother whom I've never been particularly close with."
"What does he do?" I ask curiously.
"Wade? He's a mercenary."
"Jeez. Runs in the family, huh?"
Slade actually grins at that.
"Were your parents in the military?" I ask, setting Slade's phone down on the table as the look on his face sobers. For a second, I think there's no way in hell he's going to answer. But then…
"My mother was never in the picture. For most of my life, my father was drunk and living off the state. I left home at sixteen to join the army. My father got back in contact with me a few years after that. He'd pulled himself together enough to find someone who wouldn't put up with any of his old shit. I ended up much closer to my stepmother than I'd ever been with him. My father died twenty some-odd years ago, but she and I still keep occasional contact."
Gavin the waiter picks that moment to bring our food out, cutting off the conversation before I do something insanely stupid like ask Slade about his relationship with his father, and the ribeye I ordered looks absolutely incredible. If this is a trap of some kind, it will one hundred percent be worth it just for the pile of steak fries on my plate.
The conversation fades out as we both focus our attention on eating dinner. The food is just as amazing as it looks and while we eat together in comfortable silence, I realize that I'm enjoying myself. This is… this is great. It's been a long, long time since I was this relaxed.
"How did you pick this place?" I ask.
"I think I've answered more than my share of questions," Slade comments lightly, "Why don't you take a turn?"
I blink.
"Um… sure. But don't you already know everything?" I shrug, ignoring the way my stomach tightens when Slade nods at me.
The questions are… not what I expected. Slade asks about my interests, my favorite places I've been, and things I remember about growing up in the circus.
And honestly, it feels good to talk about it. I tell him about riding around on Zitka the elephant, helping Carlotta feed the lions, the constant parade of new acts, the other families that would tour with us for a while and how exciting it was every time there were new kids my age. I miss it all. I miss how exciting everything was, how everything was constantly changing and still somehow exactly the same, and more than all of that, I miss performing for an audience.
Slade listens attentively to all of it, an unreadable expression on his face. He waits until I finish my story to say, "You haven't mentioned your family much."
I snort.
"Well, my whole family's dead, but you already knew that. Except my uncle."
"You have an uncle?" Slade asks curiously and the question hits like a slap to the face.
"You didn't know that?" The words come out as something between a shocked laugh and an angry snarl, "I thought you knew literally everything about me."
Slade picks up his wine glass, swirling it once before taking a sip. There's nothing weird about the motion, but there's nothing in the universe that could convince me it's not his way of stalling for time while he thinks about how to answer.
"I wasn't under the impression that you had any surviving family members," he finally says. I scowl, stabbing my fork into the steak with enough force to rattle the table. I grab my knife, ignoring the way that Slade's posture tightens, his eye tracking the motion of the blade while I hack the meat into pieces.
"Surviving is a strong word."
Slade doesn't say anything in response to that and the pointed silence is as much a question as any words would be.
"He's been in a coma for six years, he's not waking up," my voice is bitter even though the pain is an old, familiar one, "And even if he could, there's not much left for him. I mean, would you want to wake up and find out your whole family's dead? Except me, but it's not like I'm in any position to be there for him."
After a pause, I add, "Oh, and there's my great aunt Harriet. I remember we visited her once in Bulgaria when I was five. But you know, she was the oldest person I'd ever seen and that was a long time ago, so… you know."
Slade offers a small nod and doesn't ask anything after that. We go back to eating in silence until I can't help myself. After all, he pried first.
"Were you ever married?"
Slade inhales sharply, his fork hovering in the air as he pauses. My stomach twists and suddenly I know that I went too far. I reach for my water, taking a long drink and looking away while I try to figure out how to diffuse the situation. Maybe if I stay quiet for long enough, Slade will just drop it and I'll know that I should absolutely never ask about it again.
"Addie and I were married for nineteen years," Slade finally answers, "She was one of the squad leaders on the strike team I was assigned to."
"What happened?"
"She blamed me for Grant's death and tried to kill me."
"She tried to kill you?"
"She shot me," Slade gestures at his face, and it takes me a second to realize what he's really saying.
"That's how you lost your eye?!"
Instead of answering that, Slade continues, "When that didn't work, she took Joseph and told me in no uncertain terms I was never to contact either of them again."
"…who's Joseph?"
"Our youngest son."
I swallow, my mouth as dry as a desert. My heart pounds inside my chest, disbelief at the fact that Slade is telling me any of this.
"Is he…still…"
"He's alive. He's majoring in visual arts at a college in Rhode Island."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"I'm sorry, I… shouldn't have asked."
"It's alright," Slade answers, but there's something weird in the way he's holding himself and he might be in a good mood, but that doesn't explain why he let me push so far. Or why he decided to take me out to a nice restaurant for no reason. There's something he's not telling me and I think I know exactly what it is.
I tap my fork against the plate, trying to figure out how to ask.
"The day we got back, you said something about getting ready for next weekend."
Slade stiffens and the faraway look in his eye is gone. I swallow my nerves. Or at least, I try to.
"What's happening this weekend?" I repeat.
"There's plenty of time to discuss business later," Slade answers evasively.
"But I'm asking now."
"Tomorrow," Slade promises. "I'll explain everything you need to know and anything you want to ask. But for now, we're off the clock."
Dick Grayson
Friday, June 21st, 2013
"Have a seat," Slade gestures to the desk. "There's a lot of things you need to know."
I sit down, and almost as soon as I do, Slade launches into the briefing.
"As you know, the Light is a coalition of power consisting of seven of the most dangerous criminals, supervillains and dictators in the world. At its inception, its members included Vandal Savage, Klarion, the Brain, Lex Luthor, Queen Bee, Ocean Master, and of course, Ra's al Ghul. For several years now, they have been orchestrating acts of chaos and exerting their influence, developing technology and weapons in pursuit of a singular goal. However, their alliance is not forgiving. Ocean Master made a failed bid for power."
I barely remember that. I know Aqualad got called back to Atlantis suddenly but I was so busy trying to figure out how to get Bruce to listen to me about Selina being the mole I barely noticed. And then afterwards, when Kaldur was dealing with the aftermath, all I had room for was guilt that I couldn't do anything for him.
"Aquaman had been content to allow Prince Orm to rule in his stead while he played hero on the surface world and when Ocean Master overplayed his hand, he cost the Light their stronghold over Atlantis. After his mistake, the other members of the Light unanimously voted to replace him."
"I know," I nod, "Ra's told me all of that when we were in Nanda Parbat. But I thought… the mission we went on, it worked, right? You said it was a success."
"It was. That mission secured my nomination. But there's still the matter of the final challenge," the look that passes over Slade's face could almost be called a grin, "The Light doesn't believe in doing things halfway. If I want Ocean Master's position, I have to defeat him in combat."
"Sure. Makes sense. I mean, how can you have an evil secret cabal trying to take over the world and not include fights to the death in the recruitment process?"
"Take this seriously, Richard," Slade snaps.
"I am," I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest, "But you have to admit, this entire thing is insane."
The corner of Slade's mouth ticks up.
"I don't disagree. Which brings me to the first and most important point," Slade leans forward and looks me right in the eye, "Should I lose, you are to swear fealty to Ra's al Ghul."
I freeze, my back tensing.
"What?! No!"
"Listen to me, Richard. If I lose, you along with all of my known assets will become the Light's property. Ocean Master will be within his rights to demand your head in retribution for my challenge."
Nausea rises in my stomach and my heart crawls up my throat.
"The odds that the Light would allow this are low, but under no circumstances will I allow that chance. Ra's will keep you alive."
"Slade, you don't… you don't understand what… the offer he made, that's not…" I take a deep breath, trying to steady my hands, "If I choose the Shadows, that's one thing but… if he owns me… that's worse than…"
"Then you understand the stakes," Slade says in a voice like steel when I can't finish the thought, "We are not going to lose tomorrow."
"Are you going to kill him?" I ask quietly.
"If that's what it takes," Slade answers. "It will not be a fair fight, but that won't matter. Savage has insisted on tradition, which means that Ocean Master will be out of his depth by virtue of fighting on dry land. One on one, he is still an incredibly dangerous opponent, but he knows as well as I do that he will lose a fair fight. This fight serves one purpose."
"What is that?"
"Convincing Orm's forces that it's time to serve a new leader."
"You?" I don't mean for it to sound as skeptical as it does, but Kaldur has told me a lot about life in Atlantis. The traditionalists hate the surface world, they want to see Atlantis as the center of power and their rightful king on the throne ruling over all domains. Aquaman has a hard enough time keeping the ones that do recognize his sovereignty in check, but Ocean Master's followers? They'll never support an outsider. No matter how dangerous and powerful they are.
"No," Slade's mouth pulls into something almost like a smile, "You're not the only one who had a busy month."
I flinch at the reminder of the absolutely insane stunt I pulled but Slade is already moving on.
"Black Manta has steadily climbed his way through the ranks, it's only a matter of time before he makes a bid for control. He and I have come to an understanding."
"If you beat Ocean Master, Black Manta declares an alliance with you and all the rest of Ocean Master's forces either back him or get…" I swallow, trying not to think about the fact that if Slade loses, this is what happens to me, "a death sentence."
"Precisely."
Don't think about it. Don't think about the fact that Slade could lose and I'll end up property of Ra's al Ghul.
"What if you lose?" my throat is tight and my palms are clammy, "I don't… Slade, I can't… I'm not going. If you win, then everything's fine but if you lose then I have time to disappear before—"
Slade cuts me off with a hand on my shoulder.
"You're coming."
The words are final with absolutely no room for argument. My mouth drops open but there's no words willing to come out.
"I need my apprentice by my side. Because together, you and I are an unstoppable force."
A shiver runs down my back but Slade isn't done.
"This is crucially important, Richard, so listen carefully. If you see an opening, take it. Do not hesitate. If the opportunity comes for you to end the battle, end it."
"But… I thought…" I trail off, trying to figure out how to ask the question, "This is your fight. You versus Ocean Master. Doesn't it have to be… just you against him?"
"Until he breaks the terms of engagement, you will stay on the sideline. But once he does, there are no rules. You will fight and you will not hesitate. Do you understand?"
I swallow, but underneath how fast my heart is pounding, I do understand. Slade must see it on my face because he nods and leans forward to put a hand on my shoulder.
"Good. Get your gear together, bring your whole arsenal and anything you need for the plane. I suggest you bring your iPod, it's going to be a long flight tomorrow and I won't be able to entertain you."
I swallow and I definitely, one hundred percent do not trust myself to speak. I ask it anyways.
"Where is it?"
"Your iPod?" Slade asks. I shiver.
"No. The fight."
"It's on an island belonging to Vandal Savage, I don't know the exact coordinates."
Bruce Wayne
The Batcave
Saturday, June 22nd, 2013
Bruce stared down at the device in his hands, hands shaking as though he were holding a bomb. Of course, a bomb would be a blessing in comparison to the danger the thing was capable of. The words written on the accompanying note ran over and over in his head in an infinite loop.
"I'm so sorry for everything. This is the best I could do. It's one-way only link from my iPod, so I won't know if you get any of my messages and everything will get wiped at midnight. Please don't let anyone know about this; he will kill me if he finds out. I hope this helps. Please stay safe and tell everyone I miss them."
"I can't tell them," Wally forced a lopsided grin onto his face, "Obviously."
The speedster took a deep breath that didn't do much to stop him from vibrating with nervous energy.
"What happened with Jason was… I don't know what Wilson has done to him over the last few months, but that wasn't Dick. This is. This is Dick. Risking his life again to try to help."
"We can't use this," Bruce frowned. His fingers tightened into fists, knuckles going white as the skin stretched taught against muscle and bone, "We can't use any of this."
"Do you think it's a trap?" Wally's voice was tight.
"No. I don't. But I do believe that he is putting himself in immense danger to try to pass along information, and I will not… I can't use it. If Wilson finds out…"
"There's a new message!" Wally said, cutting Bruce off as he grabbed at the device. Bruce looked down and his stomach dropped through the ground in terror.
"Nottingham private airport to island seven hours, twenty-one minutes south east. Fight to the death. Hurry."
Dick Grayson
Vandal Savage's Ancient Island Fortress
"Ocean Master," Vandal Savage booms, his voice echoing through the darkness, "Deathstroke. You both stand in the ancient Chamber of Trial, the grounds where countless challenges have been decided through the ages. Tonight will determine not only your fates, but the fate of the greatest power alliance in centuries. The fate of the Light."
With those words, bright lights snap on, filling the entire arena and illuminating the figures standing on either side of Savage. Luthor stands directly to his left, staring down at us with a sneer. Klarion is on Savage's right, Teekl perched atop his shoulders. The demon cat lets out a hiss at the sudden brightness, the yowl echoing through the massive arena. Queen Bee is next to Luthor, with Ra's standing a few feet away as though the proceedings couldn't interest him any less. All the way on the other side, the Brain is dwarfed by the giant gorilla behind him.
I've never had to fight Mallah, and as bad as things are right now, that's a great reminder that they really, really could be worse.
"Ocean Master," Savage booms, his voice filled with the power of an angry god as he turns back to the Atlantean. At least, I'm sure that's what he thinks he sounds like. Honestly, he just sounds loud and also incredibly self-important and my tongue is going to start bleeding from how hard I'm biting it to stop myself from saying something stupid. I didn't realize how much I relied on cracking jokes to get through insane situations until doing that would be an instant death sentence. "Orm, disgraced prince of Atlantis. You were invited to join our alliance for your political power and the loyalty you commanded from your subjects. Through your own foolish actions, you have been banished and crippled your own supporters. As one of our own, we have given you the opportunity to redeem yourself and you have fallen short. Your failures have become too numerous and costly to ignore."
Ocean Master snarls, gnashing his teeth together as rage spills out from underneath his ornate helmet. But he doesn't say anything. Nobody does. The entire arena is silent as Savage turns to Slade.
"Deathstroke the Terminator," the words hang in the air, the weight of Slade's full title weighing down on me like a crushing weight, "Slade Wilson. You offer strategic expertise and an extraordinary record for never failing to deliver on your promises."
I can't see under the mask, but I know Slade is smirking at that, just like I can feel the confidence and superiority radiating off of him. Across from him, Ocean Master is just a pillar of rage that grows more and more furious every time he looks at Slade. But that's the point. The angrier he is, the more desperate he will be, and the more Slade will be able to unbalance him before the fight even starts.
"The victor will secure his place among us. But in this moment, nothing has been decided. And so, I speak to all of us, as equals. The nature of our alliance is ever-changing; none of us is ever safe from the consequences of failure. Ocean Master, today you stand before us, tomorrow you may once again be among us. But the next challenge, any of us could be in your place. I advise you all to stay cognizant of that."
I can't help myself from staring up at them. Ra's is wearing his traditional robes, the kind of ceremonial garments that are probably thousands of years old and serve as a reminder to everyone that he has lived for millennia and seen countless trials just like this one. And that he'll live to see thousands more.
Ra's turns suddenly and catches me looking at him. He meets my eyes and gives me a smile that's as predatory as it is smug. My stomach flips over itself and I almost throw up the protein bars Slade made me eat. If Slade loses—if we lose— then Ra's owns me. Just thinking about it makes me feel dizzy and cold.
"Klarion?" Vandal asks, and I realize I've missed everything else the immortal said in his terrifying and creepy speech. The Lord of Chaos snaps his fingers and a wall of red flames erupts out of the ground, neatly cutting the field in two.
"The flames will part in exactly three minutes and the challenge will begin. Gentlemen…" Savage's voice breaks through the sudden roar, "May the better man win."
Slade turns his back to the wall of flames, angling himself so he's blocking anyone that might want to eavesdrop. My heart is in my throat and I can't breathe with the nausea and the terror clawing at my chest.
A hand lands on each of my shoulders and I look up at Slade on instinct. He's still wearing his mask and as I stare at the emotionless black and orange I suddenly realize this is the first time I've ever been scared for Slade. But I'm not just scared for him, I'm terrified.
If this goes wrong… if he loses… Slade will die. And if I don't drop to the floor at Ra's al Ghul's feet, they'll kill me too.
"Slade—"
"This is what I've trained you for," Slade says calmly.
My stomach is flipping over and over and I feel like I'm standing on the edge of the platform before a show, ready to leap into the air and grab the trapeze bar with nothing to keep me from plummeting to my death. Except there is a safety net this time; Slade wouldn't put himself on the line unless he was positive he'd win. And if the worst happens, Ra's won't let them kill me.
Somehow that feels worse than knowing there's no net at all.
I should say something. If this goes wrong, Slade could die and this might be my very last chance. Instead, my mouth stays shut and the only thing I can do is stare at Slade and let the grip he has on my shoulders keep me grounded.
Finally, Slade nods at me before he pulls his sword out of its sheath and points it at the ground, stepping forward to face the wall of flames.
One of Ocean Master's men hands him a trident; the polished metal gleams in the bright lights of the arena, casting beads of golden light out in every direction. The reflections off the trident almost make the stands look like they're underwater.
Right now, it's so hard to breathe that I might as well be underwater.
The wall of fire slowly burns down to nothing and as the flames shrink, Ocean Master meets Deathstroke's gaze in fury. For one beat, two beats, three beats, there's silence on top of the quiet crackle of the magical fire. Black Manta's arms are crossed over his chest while he stands as still as a statue on the opposite side of the arena, directly across from my position on this side. The red eyes of his helmet focus on me and he lowers his head like he's nodding. But I can't even begin to think about what that means because there's too much on the line and the enchanted flames are dying out and there's no time left. The fire burns out and the arena is as silent as death; I hold my breath like I'm made of stone.
And then Ocean Master moves, his trident stabbing forward like lightning and Slade's broadsword redirects the blow just as fast.
The fight is like nothing I've ever seen. Slade said that Ocean Master would be out of his depth on land, but the trident in his hand is a golden blur of death and he's fast. And there's nothing I can do. I have to just stand here and watch as Slade fights for both of our lives.
They fight, Ocean Master using every move to drive Slade backwards and my heart is in my throat because Slade is letting him do it. There's a shimmer of gold surrounding Ocean Master and the trident seems to move too well; it swings in an impossibly fast arc and pulls back and parries and thrusts and twists like it weighs nothing and the physics of it shouldn't be possible, especially not with the obvious force behind every blow.
But the answer is just as obvious.
Orm was the chief sorcerer of Atlantis for many, many years before Queen Mera took over the role. Years ago, Kaldur used to tell me stories about his favorite teacher, how powerful Prince Orm was and how cleverly he wielded his gifts to bend the world to his will. Aquaman wasn't the only person devastated by the discovery of Ocean Master's identity.
But magic is the answer. Orm has enchanted himself to gain the speed and strength and power he needs to survive against Deathstroke; it's golden magic that swings the trident in deadly arcs and counters every blow Slade strikes.
It won't be enough though. Slade is still being pushed back, but even from this far away, it's crystal clear that Slade is letting Ocean Master tire himself out. He's allowing Orm to maneuver him backwards so that Ocean Master has to keep chasing and keep pressing and exhaust all his energy.
But Orm is smarter than that. There's no way his only plan is to use magic to try and beat Slade in a fair fight.
I sneak a glance over at the members of the Light, watching them from my spot on the sidelines as they observe the fight. Savage looks as calm and unperturbed as ever, Luthor and Ra's look bored, Queen Bee is fixed on the fight, and the Brain is literally a brain in a jar so there's nothing for me to go on there. But Klarion… he isn't looking at any of that. He's grinning manically, scanning across the entire floor of the arena in delight, his eyes flicking from one thing to the next that I can't see.
And that's it.
Now that I'm looking, I can see the golden haze settled across the entire arena; it's not just the reflections of light off the trident that are filling the arena with gold, it's the faintest tendrils of magic drifting across everything.
And when I look back at the fight, watching Slade let Ocean Master push him backwards, I realize that my eyes are drifting. The arena is filled with spots my eyes don't want to look at, and the harder I try to focus on any of them the more quickly my gaze slips away.
Ocean Master is cloaking his men. And judging by how impossibly hard it is to focus, the arena is filled with them.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I look up to see that Ra's is smirking at me, a mixture of satisfaction and approval on his face. I tear my eyes away from him and let out a breath. I can't get distracted now.
It's a good thing I do because a second later, Orm raises his trident and slams the end of it against the floor, sending a shimmering gold wave of magic out in every direction. The world seems to shift and suddenly Slade is surrounded by Ocean Master's men. And I'm ready.
"As soon as he breaks the terms of engagement, there are no rules."
My bo staff crackles with electricity as I spring forward, slamming the end into the nearest enemy before shoving another out of the way and taking down the last man standing between me and Slade. And then I'm standing at Slade's back, the two of us against Ocean Master's army.
I've fought with Slade before. As in, I've fought against him more times than I can even remember. And for the most part, those were sparring matches and training sessions, but I fought against him for real that night at S.T.A.R. Labs when he took a contract from Luthor to hurt my friends.
But I've never fought at his side like this. He said we did that night against the Pokolistanis when we rescued those scientists, but I got knocked out before the fight was over and I still can't remember what it was like. It feels like being psychic, or maybe like being in two places at once.
Slade moves and I know exactly where he's going and what I need to do next. He makes a lunge that leaves his off-side open and I'm already in the right spot to cover him. Two of Ocean Master's men rush at me, one with a sword and one with a blaster. I jab the end of my staff into the underside of the closer one's chin before ducking under the bolt of red light that shoots out the end of the muzzle. I see a third enemy trying to catch my offside and Slade dispatches him with a brutal swipe of his broadsword while I take out the man with the blaster.
Everywhere I move, Slade is right there with me. He's watching my back as we fight together, movements merging together seamlessly.
I look up and it hits me that Ocean Master is all the way on the other side of the arena, watching triumphantly from behind a dozen lines of his troops with more surrounding us on all sides. Slade was right. He knows he can't beat us in a fair fight, so his plan is to outnumber us until the odds are insane.
My brain takes a half-second to register the fact that Black Manta still hasn't moved from his spot on the sidelines before Ocean Master snaps his fingers and the arena is suddenly blasting with red light. Slade's sword whips into the air to deflect the first bolt and I dive to the side before the next one catches me in the chest. No matter where I turn, there's more of them. I can count a dozen more on the edges of the arena aiming their blasters at us. Slade's sword is a blur of silver as he deflects everything that gets near us and I stay at his back to cover him and to lock in on their positions.
With Slade covering me, all I have to worry about is taking the guns out. It takes a half-second to swap out my bo staff for the S-shaped projectiles and if I run out, my throwing knives will be next. They're not nearly as good as batarangs, but when I throw them, it doesn't matter. Every one lands where I send them; jamming triggers, impaling power cores, blocking the muzzle at the exact moment the weapon fires and causing a massive backfire that knocks a dozen of them off their feet.
I know I hit the last weapon before the projectile lands because Slade's defensive stance turns into a charge as he rushes at the wall of enemies surrounding us. I follow him, striking the nearest guard in the chest followed by a spinning kick to the head. The next enemy is in range before my foot hits the ground and I lean into the momentum, thrusting out my hand to grab his arm and pull myself onto his shoulders.
I jerk backwards, tightening my legs around his back and sending us both crashing to the ground. I roll clear as the guard's bare head collides with the rocky dirt floor of the arena and knocks him out cold. There's three more on top of me by the time I'm on my feet.
I kick the first one in the chest and send him flying backwards into the flat of Slade's sword. Slade takes the one on the right and by the time he moves I'm already blocking the left one's spear, grabbing his arm and twisting under so he has no choice but to either drop the weapon or let the pressure snap his wrist.
The fight rages on. I lose track of how many of Ocean Master's forces we take down because no matter how many we fight our way through, there's always more. But the crowd is thinning and the ground of the arena slowly fills up with discarded weapons and unconscious bodies (none of them dead; Slade's deal with Manta is useless if there's no forces left for the Atlantean to assume control of).
Suddenly, there's nothing between us and Ocean Master. The opening doesn't last long; it's enough time to pull him into battle, but the next wave of men arrives too soon. Every time one of his men gets within striking distance, Slade cuts off their path to give me an opening to take them down. Or I dart behind Ocean Master to draw his attention away and give Slade room to dispatch the incoming threat.
Ocean Master is good, but even though he's holding us both off, none of his men have a chance to help him tip the scales.
He's on defense but even though Slade and I are wearing him down there's too many of his men that split our focus before we can find the opening we need.
The trident catches me across the face, the force of the blow sending me crashing backwards. My face burns and I can feel blood dripping down my cheek even as my head rings and the world spins. When it clears, I see the discarded blaster lying on the ground, inches from my hand. Slade's words ring through my head.
If I see an opening, take it.
The blaster is in my hands and I pull back to charge it up; the weapon hums in my hands and heat radiates off the muzzle. It's heavy.
There's only so many ways this can end.
There's so many of them and it's been a hard fight and no matter how many we take down, there's always more. It's been a long fight and it's not over and I'm tired and it's slowing me down and Slade can't fight off an entire army by himself. If this goes on long enough, we could lose.
And if we lose, Slade will be dead and I'll become property of Ra's al Ghul.
We can't lose.
It feels like an eternity between when I raise the blaster and when it fires, but in reality, it's less than a second. The jet of red energy hits its target dead-on, between the right sixth and seventh ribs. If he was wearing Black Manta's armor, or even the armor his men are wearing, the blast would deflect off. But Ocean Master's suit is streamlined for speed and it's no match for the weapon at full power.
A shout of agony rips its way out of Ocean Master's lungs as the blast burns through his armor, but somehow, he stays on his feet. Slade moves like lightning to take advantage of the opening, striking before Ocean Master's men have any chance to reach him. In one motion, Slade disarms him and sends the trident flying across the arena. Time slows down; I can't breathe as Slade pulls his sword back. I feel my heart beat once and then Slade lunges and buries the entire blade in Ocean Master's chest, all the way to the hilt.
The sword bleeds as Slade pulls it free. Ocean Master collapses to the ground, desperate gasps escaping his open mouth, hands clutching at the wound as if that will do anything to stop the blood. I push myself back to my feet but my eyes are glued to him and my heart is pounding with adrenaline and my hands are shaking and my brain is spinning.
He's not dead.
The wound is deep, deep enough to go all the way through, deep enough that he's not getting back up, but Slade's aim was perfect. He left him alive. Slade wanted to leave him alive. Because the point isn't to kill him, the point is to make him look weak.
He'll die if he doesn't get medical attention soon, but this doesn't have to be fatal. If someone finds him—if they find him—then we can win and I won't have his blood on my hands.
The arena is silent.
My heart pounds. I take a breath and let it out. Keep my breathing under control and I'll keep myself together because this isn't over. Not yet.
Black Manta finally steps forward from the sidelines, wrenching the trident off the ground as he approaches and spinning it around before settling into a fighting stance. Behind him, Ocean Master's forces that are still conscious tense up, waiting for the command. Ocean Master lets out a strangled gasp, fury and rage and pure hatred behind the sound. I tighten my grip on my bo staff and take a half-step in front of Slade. Maybe later I'll have time to process the fact that my instincts are to protect Slade but if Manta doesn't back down, then this isn't over.
Slade pushes past me and meets Black Manta in the center of the area, signaling to me to stay where I am. My heart is pounding so loudly that the only thing I can hear is the frantic thud-thump in my ears and my hands are dripping with sweat under my gloves. But I can't move. Slade gave me an order and the most dangerous thing I could possibly do right now is disobey him.
The entire arena is silent. Nobody moves. I sneak a glance over to the stands where the members of the Light are mesmerized by the scene. They're all looking at Slade; some with greed, some with curiosity, and some with satisfaction, and Klarion with malicious delight.
Manta raises the trident to strike, Slade's bloody broadsword is raised and ready to answer the attack. But instead, the trident is spinning through the air, and then it's resting in the palms of Manta's hands as he holds it out to Slade. There's nothing more than that; no bowing, no going down on one knee or fully dropping to the ground like I would have to do to swear fealty to Ra's al Ghul. Slade sheaths his sword and reaches out, accepting the trident. Manta nods and steps back. At his cue, all of Ocean Master's men relax, dropping their weapons to their sides.
"TRAITOR!" Ocean Master screams in a broken voice. The shout rings through the arena but even that eventually dies out and the silence returns.
"I believe we have a victor," Ra's al Ghul declares.
"Deathstroke," Vandal Savage announces, stepping forward to sweep out his hand. "Welcome to the Light."
And just like that, it's over.
Slade relaxes, stowing his broadsword back in its sheath. One hand lands on my shoulder and all I can think about is the blood soaking through his gloves and all I can smell is sea salt and iron. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer and my knees are shaking and I can't take my eyes off Ocean Master.
He's dying. He's dying and I helped kill him. He's dying and he's right there and I could save him but there's nothing I can do because they'll kill me if I try and I just shot him so that Slade would win.
I didn't kill him. But I gave Slade the opening. I made a choice, I knew what would happen and I shot him. I picked Slade's life, I picked my freedom, over Orm's. And now I have to stand here and watch him die.
I can't. I can't. I have to—
My foot moves, taking a tiny step towards him. Slade's hand tightens, the grip on my shoulder turning to iron before I can get any farther. Of course he knows what I'm thinking. Of course he won't let me ruin this now that he's won.
The assorted villains in the stands have disappeared, made themselves scarce now that the dice have settled and there's a new devil in power. And they should be worried; some of the Light's followers wanted Ocean Master to stay, and they'll have to answer to Deathstroke for that now.
Black Manta leaves, taking the remains of the army with him. I guess they're his troops now that Slade ruined Ocean Master. They gather the unconscious men with them, clearing the arena until there's just Slade, the Light, and me. And the man slowly dying on the ground beside us.
Mercy steps forwards and murmurs something into Luthor's ear.
"I believe we're about to have company," Luthor announces.
"What kind of hosts would we be if we didn't leave them something to find?" Vandal Savage muses, glancing over at the still desperately heaving man lying on the ground, "Klarion, if you would?"
Klarion snaps his fingers and a red portal blazes into existence.
One by one, the Light disappears through it. Slade squeezes my shoulder once, then strides towards the vortex of glowing light after his new allies. I take a deep breath and I can't resist the pull to look over my shoulder one last time to where Orm is gasping for air in a growing pool of his own blood and there's nothing else I can do for him.
Please. Please let them make it in time.
I follow Slade through the glowing red portal, leaving nothing behind but a deserted arena and a dying man.
Orm of Atlantis
Sunday, June 23rd, 2013
"Fate," Ocean Master spat, blood mixing with saliva, "Come to gloat?"
The fury hadn't subsided. The opposite, in fact.
His former allies, his traitorous men, the bastard who'd stolen what was rightfully Orm's, they'd all humiliated him before abandoning him to die a lowly, pitiful death. Then the Justice League had shown up in a blaze of glory, expecting a fight and only finding a dying man. They'd saved him. Those self-righteous, arrogant, despicably noble vermin that called themselves heroes had saved his life, given Orm the rescue he'd never asked for.
He hated them. He would see them brought low before him, make them pay for looking down at him, for taking the dignity out of his death.
Starting with Arthur.
The despicable coward who spent so much time on his precious surface world, ignoring the plight of the true blooded that deserved dominion over all the inferior beings who sought such ridiculous notions as peace and unity.
"You were my most promising student once," Doctor Fate said gravely. "You were born into power, understood how it corrupts the strong and the weak and accepted that as the price of your ambitions. I make you this offer again, not in the hopes that you will embrace humility but in the hope that you will balance the scales of injustice."
"I told you the first time, Naboo," Ocean Master growled. "I will not be your puppet nor anyone else's."
"We are all Fate's puppets," the Lord of Order countered, his voice grave. "You should know this. Your strings have not been kind to you."
Ocean Master bared his teeth in fury, but the damned being before him continued speaking.
"The power of three is not to be underestimated. My host gave his life for hers. And thrice now, she has borne this loss. Her mother, her father, and now her teacher—"
"You expect me to sacrifice myself for a robot—"
"Red Tornado was an autonomous being of great dignity and honor," Doctor Fate snapped, "And his destruction was an act of great cruelty, cruelty which you played a part in bringing about. You bear responsibility for this imbalance."
"And you don't, Naboo?" Ocean Master hissed. Doctor Fate regarded him coolly.
"I do. I take matters of balance more seriously than any other. When something is given, something else is owed. And now her sacrifices outnumber his; balance must be maintained. There are forces in motion greater than any you nor your former allies can comprehend. Those forces may still be in your favor."
Doctor Fate turned, fixing his borrowed eyes on Orm with an intensity that made the prince feel as small as he had all those years ago when his teacher had given him the very same offer in the halls of Atlantis' Conservatory.
"Grant the universe balance, and you will be granted what you desire. Power that will make you untouchable, infinity at your fingertips and time to study its intricacies. I will teach you all that I know, as I once promised you."
"One prison for another, then?" Ocean Master asked scornfully.
"You would prefer internment in Atlantis?" Doctor Fate responded, "The once mighty ruler, reduced so far. Your men have abandoned you, your own lieutenant betraying you to take your power for his own."
The barbs hit as forcefully as Fate knew they would.
"What say you, Orm? One last game of chess?"
Ocean Master took a moment, considering his options but it wasn't long before a cold, harsh look crossed his face.
"You will not be the last of me," Orm swore, "I will have my revenge on them all."
"Fate will have its way," Naboo promised. Orm held his gaze and didn't flinch.
Doctor Fate raised his hands to his helmet and removed it in a blaze of golden light. The man standing in his place wore a pressed magician's suit, a single rose wilting in the lapel, graying hair atop his head and green eyes filled with emotion that Ocean Master couldn't care less about.
"I will not forget this," Giovanni Zatara swore. Orm met his eyes, his anger not tempered, but quieter for just a moment. He would rebuild everything that had been taken from him, forge new alliances and grow his strength until the time came for him to destroy everything and everyone that stood against him. Starting with Deathstroke.
"Good," Orm snarled. Without hesitation, he took the helmet from the man and, pulling it over his own head, sealed his fate.
Zatanna Zatara
Mount Justice
The cave was quiet.
They should be used to this by now. The League had dropped everything to go chase a lead on the Light's activities and they'd gotten there too late. Now all there was to do was wait. Ocean Master had been badly injured, there was no guarantee he'd make it.
Nobody had said anything, but Zatanna knew they were all thinking the same thing. This had been another chance to try and save Dick and the best they could do hadn't gotten them anywhere close to him. Zatanna felt helpless and completely useless.
M'gann had disappeared a few minutes after they'd gotten back to the cave, murmuring excuses about psychic exhaustion that none of them had believed. Or called her out on. Wally hadn't come back to the cave at all.
Zatanna didn't have it in her to blame them for any of this. She knew the others were still trying to move past their anger, but Zatanna had never been mad. She felt too heavy for that. The only thing that mattered was that Dick was gone just like so many others. Zatanna was sad for him, scared for him. But a part of her that she didn't want to admit was grateful that Dick hadn't told her anything. Because if he'd confided in her too, then that just would have been one more thing to feel helpless over. Dick hadn't told her anything, and he'd spared her from having to feel guilty every single time they failed to help him.
The silence was broken by the automated chime of the zeta beam.
"Recognized: Doctor Fate, A-17."
Zatanna scowled, starting to stand up so she could make a quick escape to her room. The Lord of Order was the very last person she wanted to see right now. But the zeta beam rang out again before she could take more than a single step.
"Recognized: Zatara, A-11."
Zatanna froze.
It couldn't be. That was… that wasn't possible.
All around her, the team had bolted upright. Rocket and Bumblebee looked confused, but Green Lantern was frowning.
"Did that just…" Artemis started, looking at Kaldur uncertainly. Zatanna couldn't breathe. Artemis's hand wrapped around hers, squeezing tightly. Zatanna's fingers felt numb. So did her hand. So did everything.
She couldn't move. Not until the lone figure appeared in the doorway.
Zatanna stared up at the golden mask, nausea flooding her stomach while her face heated up.
She'd felt hope. Tears welled up in her eyes alongside anger and it was only Artemis's grip on her arm that held her quickly flaring temper in check. She didn't understand how he'd changed the zeta, probably more of his stupid, too fucking powerful magic that only served to make her life hell and—
"The debt is repaid," Doctor Fate announced, his voice even and infuriatingly calm. But Zatanna couldn't hear the words, couldn't notice the things that she would spend days, weeks kicking herself over and replaying over and over in her head because she was too FURIOUS but the room was silent and none of her teammates were moving and it wasn't until the man stepped forward that she even processed the fact that he wasn't alone.
"Zatanna…"
There was an entire lifetime of emotions behind the single word and it took two heartbeats for Zatanna to catch up and the entire world to stop.
Zatanna's jaw dropped.
A single, shocked tear rolled down her face.
"Dad!"
AN: Boom, a chapter with a happy ending. Betcha didn't see that coming. In other news, Deathstroke is officially a member of the Light and has had a chance to demonstrate just how dangerous he and Renegade are together. And I really hope that I faked at least a few of you out that Slade was gonna die in this chapter XD (Although that is one of my favorite scenarios in the what-if series I have in mind)
On an exciting note, we have finally arrived at the last phase of the story! There are only six chapters left, give or take an epilogue. The next few chapters are not exactly a time skip, but it would be fair to call it a montage over the course of several months. To vote on what you want to see during these months, click the Polls tab on my tumblr page- I'm foreverwhelmed on tumblr and AO3. (Vote as many times as you want, there is a cooldown time for the polls so if they're closed you can try again in a few days or just leave a review/ask on my tumblr page and I'll count it that way) Thank you so much to everyone who's already voted, it's super helpful to get your feedback!
Thank you for reading and thank you so so so much to everyone who's commented on the story. I would really love to be able to finish this story in the next year and you can help me do that by leaving a comment on this chapter and help motivate me. My PhD program is really demanding and stressful right now and it takes a lot of effort and energy to write a story this involved, so it would really make my day to hear that you're enjoying the story.
Thanks again and hope you enjoyed!
