Title: Masks and Men
Chapter Title: Answer
Rating: T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes
Disclaimer: I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.
Author Notes:
Just a heads up: I know that we've seen Raven's mind in the TV series, but I feel like it's the kiddified version. Yes, there are different aspects of her personality, but the part that makes Raven Raven should have its own space i.e. her memories, etc... You wouldn't go to Nevermore to destroy her—you'd go there. I tried exploring that in this chapter. Also, Slade's past is explored a little more. I tried to keep it faithful to his originalish origin story.
Please enjoy!
"The light shines in the darkness and the darkness can never extinguish it."
—John 1:5
He had never thought much of Raven—at first. She was superfluous. She wasn't as strong as Starfire, wasn't as intelligent as Cyborg, wasn't as welcoming as Beast Boy, and could never, ever hold a candle to Robin.
She was weak. (And Slade had no use for weaklings.) She was uncontrolled. Mistrustful. Sarcastic. Moody. Prone to sub-psychotic outbursts of rage.
She was boring, really. Slade had her figured out on day one—or at least, that's what he thought.
He was wrong.
Slade could have never envisioned that she would have been like this. As he journeys into her mind, he can't help but feel a little afraid.
She is dark, too dark. Even for a creature that enjoys darkness, Raven's is too much.
Raven's mind is nothing like the stoic façade she wears on the surface. She is like an iceberg, cold at the very tip, but underneath, she is much, much colder. Small on the surface, deep down below.
The entire place is organized chaos, scattered pictures and relics thrown every which way with some semblance of order that's kept together with a tenuous thread. There are shattered frames with photographs that are torn apart, faces furiously crossed out in permanent marker. Some portraits are set apart and used as dartboards. He notices that Terra is one of them.
There are none of herself in any of them.
Broken mirrors with shattered glass are sprinkled throughout and topped with extra helpings of self-loathing, broken dreams, and discarded hope.
He finds nothing but despair.
He wanders further until he comes to a hall of portraits that line the walls. Her friends are here, looking happier than ever, but then he takes a step into the room, and suddenly their eyes are all trained on him. Their eyes stare accusingly down at him.
He ignores them and continues on. At the end of the hall is a picture of a woman all in white. She has flowing purple hair and Raven's face but none of her burning fire in her eyes. From the looks of it, this is her mother? He touches the portrait, but it dissolves into ash at his very ash. Another picture is next to where her mother's once stood, a city overflowing with light and a spiraling temple in the distance. Azarath, most likely. He touches that picture, and inside the painting, the city erupts into flames.
He watches it burn.
He continues to walk through the shifting hallways until he finds an imposing wrought iron door. It is rusted from disuse, bound by thick steel chains and locks, runes and everything in between. It is sealed away from the rest of the mind, a doorway that is superfluous, unwanted, alone. It towers over everything else in her mind, a door of gray against the backdrop of black. Banging can be heard from behind the gate with cries of Rage, of Pain, of Sorrow, of Fury.
Grunting with effort, Slade tries to force his way through the door. Even with Trigon's powers and blessings, the door refuses to budge even an inch.
No point in staying here any longer. Slade continues on.
Finally, Slade opens a door and all of a sudden, there is light. A flash of blinding light spills into the corridor outside. Raven's darkness seems to ebb away with every step he takes toward the door.
The room itself is unimpressive. It's empty, save for the lonely crystal raven in the center. There are no shadows here, the darkness from outside is drowned out by the raven's very radiance. Delicately sculpted, the crystal raven takes flight toward the sky with a goal to fly higher than anyone else could have imagined.
So that's what her soul looked like. Light caged in by the shadows.
If he cared at all, he might have thought it beautiful.
But he doesn't. Deathstroke doesn't care. (But Slade Wilson does.)
Reaching out, he grasps the raven in his hands. Deathstroke's fingers wrap around the raven's neck, grips it hard enough to make the crystal begin to crack.
He has orders to break her—completely. Leave her an empty shell, an empty vessel made for Trigon's ascent. This would do the trick.
But Slade Wilson makes him hesitate. His fingers loosen just slightly.
It's enough. That moment of weakness is enough.
All of a sudden, the crystal blasts him with this brilliance. It nails him in the chest. Slade feels himself being thrown back into the wall with a nasty crack. Snapping his bones back into place, Slade watches Raven emerge from the crystal raven's depths.
"What are you doing here?" she demands. Her eyes begin to be filled with crimson red. The room begins to darken as red runes begin creeping up the walls. "Get out!"
"Sorry, birthday girl, but I have a message from dear old dad." He lunges for her again. Slade presses up to her, leans down to whisper throatily in her ear, "You don't need your soul anymore."
Her eyes snap back to meet his cold blue one. He can see the horror, the fear written on her face, but unlike on the tower, unlike the rest of her mind, her face doesn't give into despair.
"GET OUT!" she roars.
A pulsing pain in his temples is trying to tear his mind apart. Screaming, Slade falls to his knees as he sees everything he doesn't want to.
He hears Raven's taunting, demonic laugh echo in his head. Why did you ever think you could forget about the past, Slade?
"Shu—" Slade feels a tugging on his navel, and suddenly, he's falling down… down… down… deeper and deeper into the darkness.
He lies about his age when he joins the army. He's young and hopeful and still looking to make a difference. He's sixteen. He's sixteen when he kills a man for the first time. The blood stains his hands and it takes him hours to until his hands are clean-
Captain Adeline Kane floors him the first time she fights him. Rubbing his jaw gingerly, he can't help but grin at the brunette that just kicked his ass. "Can we go again?" -
He gets down on one knee. For a man that has gone into battle, knows countless fighting forms and strategies, he is unprepared for this one. Opening the box, he looks up at Addie with clear blue eyes and prays to God that she says yes-
He kisses her. She is his now, as much as he is hers. And he promises to love her until his dying day-
The army calls. He goes. He doesn't have a choice. She keeps his photograph in her ripped jeans. He keeps a photograph of their wedding day in his breast pocket, right over his heart-
Is he going to die? Here? It's too soon… Too soon… Out of ammo, out of luck, the last thought he thinks he will ever have is of her-
His savior is standing over him. "Hey, kid. Let's go. We've got a war to win." That's how he meets William Wintergreen, on the battlefield, and he says to the God of Death 'Not today.'-
He comes home to Addie, all smiles and joy. He rubs her belly gently, feels the kick from their unborn son. She's next to him, her fingers interlacing with his, and he's the happiest man in the world-
They're asking for a man brave enough to become America's next supersoldier. He thinks of the boy that volunteered for the army. He raises his hand-
Whoever said "With great power comes great responsibility" is wrong. With great power comes great pain. The experiments make him feel like his entire body is on fire, every cell is radiating with agony. But it stops, it is like he has been reborn anew—better, faster, stronger-
He's there when Grant is born, and he thinks his heart will burst out of his chest. Holding the wiggling baby in his hands, he promises to himself that he will always protect him, always love him-
What good is power if you can't use it to protect the ones you love? Orders be damned. Slade goes after Wintergreen without a second thought. Puts on a mask and just runs-
Relief. Will. His best friend. His partner. Safe and sound. They're both okay. Thank God. Thank God-
The dishonorable discharge is no badge of shame, more like a badge of honor, but it does make it difficult to get a job and live legitimately. Addie is expecting. Another boy, he notes with a smile. Grant is ecstatic at having a little brother. No matter. He'll just make do-
The orange mask stares back at him. It's nicer than the one he used to save Wintergreen. Putting it over his face, for the first time since leaving the army, Slade feels complete-
Grant vaults onto his shoulders. "Daddy! Piggy back ride!" Slade laughs and complies. All thoughts of business are gone as he and his son careen around the house, Addie looking on with amusement with Joey in her arms-
Unlike Grant, who tries so hard to be like him, Joey goes his own way. He has a beautiful voice. As he learns music, Slade always takes the time to listen to his son as he sings. Joey's voice is the thing that drives the demons away-
It's getting harder and harder to discard the mask. He's starting to revel in the violence, and it frightens him that he has an unsuspecting family back at home. He wants to quit but he can't. He has been Deathstroke for too long and he's addicted-
A knife is pressed up against Joey's throat. There are shouts, a threat to kill his son if he doesn't give up the name of his employer. Like hell he'd let that happen. No one would ever touch his child. Ever. Slade fires. The man drops dead, but Joey drops with him, blood spurting from his throat. No… No!-
He spends sleepless nights at the hospital until he hears Joey will be okay. His son will never speak again, but at least he's alive. He wants to cry out in relief, but Deathstroke doesn't cry-
"We'll talk about this later when I get back." Heading for the door, he trusts Addie with his back. She thanks him by shooting his eye out. She also shoots his heart out in the process-
He loses himself in the killing, in the contracts. It's all a blur. Wintergreen stays with him, and he says he's fine, but his remaining eye can't help but linger on happy families in the street-
He would be Slade. For the first time in years he'd be Slade. The new two-toned mask is ready, and Jump City is ripe for the taking. He drops a lit match to the ground and watches his past burn away, the smiling faces of his family going up in smoke-
He wants what he can't have. He is a selfish, petty creature. In Robin, he sees what he could have had in Grant. In Terra, he not only sees a tool but also a daughter-
"You're being foolish," Wintergreen says with a disapproving stare. "They won't ever be yours."-
He should have listened. He's falling into the darkness, into the burning flames of hell. So this is what death looks like. But he wants to live. How ironic that his last thoughts are of Addie, Joey, and Grant…-
He is broken. His mind is a mess. Everything is wrong.
In the center of the swirling chaos, he can see his soul. It's a blur. It shifts from a familiar two-toned mask to something else he can't make out. He seems to be at war with himself, and the darkness is winning.
The light in him is fading until he's left with nothing but himself. He's drowning in memories, in regrets, and in forgotten dreams. Deathstroke's mask keeps staring at him, laughing. He is being consumed by orange and black, strangled from within.
It's dark… so dark…
A gentle hand grabs his and begins tugging him out of the depths of this black hell. He hangs on for dear life. He feels someone's touch fixing him, reorganizing his mind as returning everything back into place.
For the first time, he looks at his savior.
In the darkness, Slade Wilson stares at her; Raven stares back.
—
He recognizes that look in those amethyst eyes of hers.
It's a look of pity.
—
He forgot that the creatures that cast the darkest shadows also have the brightest light.
Thank you for reading!
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