A/N: Just finished a 12 hour workday and then this chapter. Bam. Fuck you... uh... workload. Yeah.
"You have a daughter?" were Robin's first words.
"Don't look so shocked," the man replied with an almost smirk. "I suppose now I should expect a quip about how you can't imagine that anyone would sleep with me."
"No, I get that," the hero blurted out without much thought, not even catching the possible implication behind it. "But the idea of you having a family… that seems crazy."
"Does it?" Slade asked in a low, dangerous purr. "What's so crazy about that?"
"Oh, you know. Trying to take over the world. Threatening a bunch of teenagers with torture and death. Forcing one into slavery. You're probably the worst dad ever – no offense."
"Ouch," Slade's mouth curled lightly at the edges, but it was a forced smile that didn't dare reach his eyes.
"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Robin shrugged and nearly rolled his eyes. He was shaking off the last of the drugs, but he still hadn't mastered complete control over his body, which left his gestures relatively exaggerated.
The villain gave a short, quiet huff and plunged his fork into the packet. "No, I suppose that's right. I tried to be a good father, but in the end I loved myself and my reputation more than I loved my kids and wife. That destroyed them. It destroyed us."
"You said kids. Plural."
Slade almost seemed to hesitate. "My boys. Grant and Joe. Both dead. Long before this mess ever started… my wife always blamed me… Can't really fault her for that. I blame myself, too."
"Oh," Robin said quietly, freezing in place and staring dumbly at Slade. He wasn't quite sure what to say to that. There was an obvious curiosity that begged to know just how Slade was to blame for the death of his sons, but there was also the deep and mournful understanding of what it felt like to re-live the death of your loved ones with each and every explanation. On some level, he understood exactly what the man felt, regardless of the cause of his grief… and he definitely could see the grief on Slade's face. "Sorry, I guess..." he mumbled.
"Don't be," Slade shrugged and continued eating. "Sorry never helped me any."
They ate in silence for several minutes, but the pensive look on the teen's face was starting to bother his companion.
"What?" Slade asked and Robin looked up from staring at the rooftop.
"I wish I could detach like you can," he said quietly.
"I don't detach," Slade countered. "I'm never far from the memories, or the pain. It just never changed anything. I take in every tragedy and meditate on my place within it, my guilt from it. I never stop trying to learn from the past… but I never to go back. Some things just cannot be undone or fixed."
The silence returned and lasted until the end of their meal when Slade gathered the packets and leaned down to check on the teen.
"How are feeling?" he asked, reaching out to check the teen's pulse.
"I'm fine," Robin muttered. "Still tired."
"Let's get you back in the tent," Slade said as he lifted the teen once again and carried him to the squatty shelter. "We'll start preparations in the morning."
"Oh, joy. Why do I somehow feel like you're going to turn this into a training session?"
"Because you have good instincts," the villain smirked and somewhat gently pushed the teen inside the tent.
Robin muttered something indistinguishable as Slade crawled into the tent beside him, but the man only chuckled and took it was a compliment.
They adjusted themselves on opposite sides of the tent, settling in to forming warm spots and preparing to sleep, but their eyes remained open in the dark as thoughts and memories swam around them.
"Your daughter, Rose," Robin turned to Slade and watched him in the darkness. "Is she immune like you?"
"Don't know, and I can't risk finding an answer." The man answered, staring at the top of their tent.
They went quiet again for a small moment, but now that he was awake, Robin couldn't seem to get his mind to stay silent. "So, you just meditate on your past tragedies all the time, right? God, that's depressing. No wonder you're an asshole sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" Slade chuckled. "Why, Robin, that's practically a compliment."
"I guess I used to do the same," the teen sighed.
"Yeah?" Slade hummed and closed his eye, only half interested in the teen's words. "What changed? You and your team start having group therapy sessions?"
"I guess you could call it that," Robin said nonchalantly. "But, really, we were just fucking each other."
A/N: He's probably joking.