Title: Masks and Men
Chapter Title: Step
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: Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! You guys are FABULOUS!:D Seriously. I wish I could personally give cookies—the edible kind—to every single one of you!
The chapters will get longer...eventually. I'm posting twice today because Chapter 5's also really short and completed and I'm writing ahead of schedule. Yay. Thank goodness for the weekend.
Please enjoy!
"Before you can see the light, you have to deal with the darkness."
—Dan Millman
He takes up her offer to "torment" her during her meditation time. With Trigon's powers, Slade gets the added bonus of sneaking in during her meditation sessions, but he respects her request and never invades her mind to that extent again.
He should be taunting her, reminding her of the destruction she will cause, and repeating the Prophecy to her over and over like a well-trained skeletal parrot…or a good demonic overlord's minion.
(He should be, but he never does.)
Their conversations are almost civil. They talk about unimportant things first. The weather. The news. Novels. Movies. Sometimes, they'll delve into matters of more emotional importance. They'll talk about family and how they miss them. She'll talk about Azarath; he'll talk about his childhood home.
Sometimes, they talk about his family. About Joey. About Grant.
"You should talk to them," she suggests. They are side by side, and he almost finds himself enjoying her companionship. Almost. This is just a fleeting understanding between pawns, nothing more.
"Maybe." Deathstroke's mask looms in the back of his mind. "Maybe not."
With her, it's easy to forget that darkness can consume them both.
Tick tock goes the clock. The End is approaching, and she still believes she can stop it. He doesn't try to convince her otherwise, and she never discusses any of her doubts with him.
She has them, he knows. Even hope cannot exist without a bit of despair.
Trigon provides plenty of that.
He never actually sees Trigon attacking her. Slade only sees the aftermath.
It's bad enough.
(It's enough to sicken him.)
He has a better understanding of what is behind that locked door.
It starts out normally. Just another meeting. Another late night chat.
He expects the usual darkness of her mind but instead he finds her mind set ablaze. Everything is burning, and he doesn't know if there's anything that isn't a glowing red. Everything is gone. The echoes of once was said are the only things that linger in the darkness. The doubt… the uncertainty… The emotions are overwhelming, devouring what is left whole.
How pathetic, daughter. To think that you can defeat me!
The shadows have grown crimson eyes and matching teeth. They laugh like her father. Upon seeing Slade, they immediately leap towards him with snapping jaws, all too eager to sink their teeth into him.
A few well-aimed blasts of fire and the demons inside of her head are gone.
I created you! You only exist to serve me!
He finds her in that once brilliant room. She is being consumed by the shadows. The entire place is up in flames, smoke is everywhere, making it hard to breathe, and all she is worried about is trying to carefully put the pieces of the shattered crystal raven back together.
The light, that once brilliant light, is gone. All that remains is all of hell.
As Trigon's messenger, Slade should have been trying to make her obey his master's wishes. After all, it was part of his job description… But even Deathstroke doesn't want to.
(Hasn't the girl suffered enough?)
This is what he could have done to her. But what he was prepared to do could have been even worse.
(Is this what you want? This?)
And suddenly, the self-loathing is gone and replaced by a resolution to fix it.
He leaves her to her task at hand and starts putting out the hellfire. He straightens the portraits and replaces the items, tries to return everything to how it used to be before Trigon attacked. Deathstroke doesn't want to bother, but Slade Wilson had always striven to be the best at everything he did—even cleaning.
He was always good at taking out the trash.
Slade almost feels like himself again as he looks up at the portrait of Raven's mother. She gives him a small, mysterious smile, almost as if she's thanking him for taking care of her daughter. He looks back and she's stoically staring forward once more.
When he returns to Raven's side, the room is once again illuminated by light. Approaching her, Slade notices the chips in the crystal raven was once so pristine, so silver, so shiny, so new.
Now, it's almost as good as new. Almost. Not quite. The light is dimmer, somehow. It has lost some of its brilliance but none of its fire.
It's still beautiful, in an awful sort of way. Privately, he thinks that it's more beautiful with its imperfections. (Her light is more attainable now, and he is disgusted with himself for thinking that.)
Turning to face him, Raven asks tiredly, "Are you here to torment me more?"
He shakes his head. "No."
Her lower lip trembles dangerously. Raven looks so exhausted, like she will collapse at any moment. She looks like she's just going through the motions, just checking things off her things to do when your father mindrapes you. His eye widens. Had Trigon done this to her before? "Then why are—"
He gently wraps his arms around her and presses her close to his chest. He can feel the frantic beat of her heart, the way her body trembles under his touch.
This time, his touch doesn't burn.
She blinks in surprise. Once. Twice. And then, much to his surprise, she buries her face in his chest and cries.
He just holds her.
When the tears finally subside, Raven removes herself from him without another word. He wants to an explanation… something—anything, but all she gives him is her back.
"Leave," she murmurs. She won't look at him. "Please."
Slade Wilson wants to stay, and he has half a mind to listen to him. But the way she says please makes him pause. He knows that tone. It's the tone of someone that just needs to be alone. For a while.
(They'll come to you when they're ready.)
This time he listens to her and not his heart. Slade disappears without a trace and leaves her to clean up her own darkness.
Slade returns to his main base and digs up his old Deathstroke mask. The one he used while saving Joey. The one he had worn when Addie shot his eye out. The one that he had worn when he instilled fear into the hearts of anyone who saw it.
Deathstroke. The Terminator. Responsible for over a thousand deaths. The world's greatest assassin. Cold. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty.
Deathstroke.
He takes that mask and pounds it to bits.
Thank you for reading!
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