(A/N) Disclaimer. I don't own Arrow. Obviously. So read, maybe enjoy? I don't know. Thanks for reading!
A gaping hole takes the place where Billy's eye used to be. Slade remembers plunging his sword into Billy's eye with great satisfaction. "What are you doing here? I seem to remember killing you."
"I seem to remember Shado dying also, bud."
The old nickname stings. The reminder even more. More so than any punch Wintergreen could have thrown. Red fills Slade's vision and he howls with rage, striking out at his old friend blindly. Brothers. They always betrayed you. Always turned their backs on you when you needed them most. "I already killed you once…I'll take great satisfaction in doing so again."
And so they fight. Around the cell. Slade has the upper hand. He always was the better fighter. But Billy fights like a demon. And he won't go down. No matter how many times Slade punches him in the face. Kicks him in the stomach and groin.
Slade is relentless. Constantly pushing forward, heedless of the ugly bruises forming on his hands as his knuckles start to bleed. But then, suddenly, illogically, impossibly, the tide of battle turns. Slade finds himself losing ground. "You're not real!"
Wintergreen only smiles smugly, his one good eye piercing into Slade's soul. "Real enough." And proceeds to slam Slade against the floor, the bars, until Slade finally falls to the ground, staring weakly up into Billy's face.
"So this is how the great Slade Wilson finally falls. Beaten by his own mind."
"Shut up!" Slade finds a strength inside of him he didn't know still existed, his leg hooking with Billy's sending him tumbling to the ground. He crouches over Wintergreen, the taste of victory sweet on his lips. "I always was better than you Wintergreen."
Billy Wintergreen sneers. "You fool. You're no better than I am. You ARE me!"
Slade watches in horror as Wintergreen's face melts and reforms again, skin stretching and pulling, until finally he's staring into his own eye.
Slade does not remember much of what happened later, the shock becoming too much. He does remember waking up, much later. His mattress thrown around his cell, and every bone and muscle in his body aching.
…
Time passes, as it always does. But instead of Shado, the taunting voice of Wintergreen haunts him. Where Slade once found pain and regret, he now finds anger, and a new emotion. One that he finds both strange and uncommon, yet familiar.
It takes him days to puzzle it out, but when he does, he laughs bitterly. Shame? He has nothing to be ashamed of. It's Oliver's fault!
"And here I thought you knew better than to let yourself give into denial bud. Ah, who am I kidding? You've been in denial this entire time."
The voice of Wintergreen pounds into his head. And he screams. No more! No more…
…
"How the mighty have fallen."
"An eye for an eye bud. Kind of ironic when you think about it."
"Have you even seen you're kid Slade? All those years off the island. I bet you didn't visit him once."
And then the laughing. Oh the laughing. It's all up in his ears. Crawling into his head like spiders. Images of Shado, Sara, Billy, and Ivo, all flashing before his eyes. Once the laughing starts, it never stops. Slade curls up into a ball on his beaten bed. How the mighty have fallen indeed.
…
"Traitor." The word hisses around him. Going deep into his soul and twisting. Dark and senseless. It settles in his stomach. A dark little demon, gnawing at his ribs. Its foul little paws cold and unforgiving, it's tail reaching up to encircle his heart. "Traitor."
One word, so powerful, that it actually leaves Slade in a cold sweat, and for a moment, he sees Oliver's pain-stricken accusing eyes. And he remembers how it felt to plunge the blade into Moria's body.
It had been easy. Not unlike stabbing a knife into butter. There had been a little resistance, even with his Mirakuru enhanced strength, before it slipped through and out her back.
"Traitor."
…
He dreams. Not uncommon. But lately he is remembering happier times. Times on the island.
Oliver. Tied to a chair. Dislocating his thumb to punch Slade in the face. Perhaps the first time the kid ever showed any promise.
Sparring with Shado. Keeping his technique up. He fell in love at some point. Although he didn't remember feeling bitter. Jealous perhaps. Definitely jealous. But he wouldn't have tried to come between her and Oliver.
…Wait...
A handshake. A promise. To get off the island. Sparring. Sharing a drink. Brothers. A bright spot, in all the darkness.
No!
Slade had always liked the see how far he could push the kid. Putting him into the fire, and watching him come out the other side. Or just watching him make a fool out of himself. And Oliver's chagrined look whenever Slade revealed his hand.
He killed Shado! It was his fault!
Dreams becoming nightmares.
Blood streaks from his eyes as he see Shado dead on the ground. Oliver and Sara lying next to her in tears. The rage he felt as he tore into Ivo's men. Ending their cruel lives. But the pain didn't stop.
"Look at you."
Slade opens his eyes. Dreams and nightmares melting away. Melting or coalescing into a new shape. He stares at himself, standing over him. Two eyes.
"Look at what you've done to us."
Slade cannot help but laugh. "So. I've finally become crazy enough that I'm talking to myself?"
His past self smirks, settling into a ready fighting position. "You tell me."
Slade is only too happy to oblige. He moves, faster than he has since he got put in this accursed place. Hands and feet a blur. They clash. Later on, Slade will wonder how such a thing was possible. How could these fights have felt so real?
This was not a fight Slade could win. He felt himself being detached his body, and watched the fight as an observer. Deathstroke fighting a losing battle against Slade. Or was that Billy fighting a losing battle?
"When we first tried to get off this island, it was as strangers. Now, it's as brothers." A last moment of sanity. And it almost seems like Deathstroke could win. But Slade ducked under the punch, and drew his sword, shoving it into Deathstroke's eye.
Suddenly Slade was not observing, and Deathstroke fell onto the bed clutching his eye in agony. Slade stood over him, his face set in hard lines, his eyes burning with hatred. "At least you succeeded in royally pissing me off. You failed at everything else. Being a father. A friend. A brother."
Deathstroke's breathing comes in harsh gasps. He screams. His voice echoing off the walls.
"Scream all you like. No one cares."
Slade vanished. Back into the past. In time, the agony faded. His daily meal came, and he took it without complaint. Time passed, and some semblance of life went on.
"Traitor."
Deathstroke regretted nothing.
"Traitor."
Nothing…