Title: Masks and Men

Chapter Title: Whole

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:

Thank you so much for the reviews, the constructive criticism, the favorites, and the follows! Let's be real here. You guys are the best. Thank you so much. :DAlso, thank you anon who suggested I add more dialogue. You inspired the rewrite of this and it made the flow, I think, so much better.

Sorry about the late update. Life got in the way, and plot bunnies for another fic I started drafting, Fifty Shades of Slade, kept popping up whenever I tried to write...but before we get into that, I had to make myself remember to finish this thing first. Yep.

Please enjoy!

"How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole."

-Carl Jung

He's worried about the girl—if he's being honest. But since Slade is a selfish man, he pretends that he doesn't.

But he notices. Both Deathstroke and Slade Wilson are observant men. They can't help it.

She's been quiet, too quiet. During their meetings, their usual bickering is replaced by long, drawn-out silences. She is so close to him, but her eyes are so far away.

They are very good at playing pretend. It's easier to think that the end of the world isn't going to come. It's easier to believe that she's okay.

But it doesn't change the fact that she's slipping. Her control is weakening, her resolve, fading. Even she knows that her father is winning, and she doesn't know how to stop it.

"You look like you haven't slept in ages," he comments lightly during one of their daily meetings. Still, it doesn't undercut the slight lilt of concern. He had heard from Brother Blood's nattering that Trigon had been on the warpath this past week, all too eager to rake his mental talons to try to tear his daughter apart.

It shows.

"Weren't you the one who said sleep was for the weak?" Raven laughs, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, the same eyes that get redder and redder with each passing day, and he knows for a fact that it isn't from tears.

He ruffles her hair. She swats his hand away; he just dances out of her reach. "You need all the rest you can get."

She rolls her eyes and gives him an affectionate punch to the arm. Settling herself on the floor, Raven pats the space beside her invitingly. He takes his usual spot by her side.

There are no shadows here. (And maybe, that's the problem.)

"How's Joey?" she asks in a half-hearted attempt to redirect the conversation, in a half-hearted attempt to be "okay."

"Surprisingly receptive." He's almost glad that his face his hidden behind his mask; she doesn't need to see his silly grin. Not right now. But he can't help because his children are still his world after all this time. "He's returned a few of my letters."

"And Grant?"

"The same."

"That's good to hear." She smiles, a genuine one. Her expression is warm, and he almost forgets about the impending apocalypse. Almost.

Slade watches her for a decent pause, traces her figure like it is a strategy, but her eyes betray nothing. "How about you?" he finally inquires.

She presses her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "I'm fine."

"Did…stuff happen?" He winces, Slade Wilson facepalms, and Deathstroke just shakes his head—even he knows how awkward sounding that probe was.

But how else was he supposed to phrase the question? Stuff is a good word. Noncommittal. All encompassing. A silly word that betrays nothing, means nothing.

Stuff is… Stuff is safe. Things add danger, and specifics… Well specifics, just add more fuel to the fire, more things to burn. She is hellfire and if he's not careful, she will burn him too.

"Not really." She hesitates before looking back to the darkness, and she's suddenly so far out of reach. "The stuff that did happen wasn't important."

"Right." And he leaves it at that. No need to talk about what happened to Dr. Light. No need to talk about the nightmares or the worries. No need to talk about the darkness when there's so much light.

In her mind, alone and isolated and safe from the rest of the world, they will sit here and play pretend.

She isn't drowning in half of her nature, her human half isn't being devoured whole. He isn't walking across a shaky tightrope between his deal with Trigon and what he actually wants to do, and no, he most certainly isn't about to fall into the abyss.

She isn't terrified or alone. He isn't worried or afraid.

She isn't anything but the hero that she has been for these past few years. He isn't anything but her father's messenger boy.

He doesn't say much when she loses herself to the shadows. Instead, he reaches out to give her hand a squeeze. Their eyes meet for a moment. I'm there for you, his eyes try to say.

She rewards him with a small smile, in spite of the weight on her chest. Her fingers intertwine with his, tracing meaningless patterns on his skin. I know.

The raven in her hands begins to shine brighter. The cracks in its feathers knit together to become whole once again.

It's an illusion. (He knows that those are lasting scars.)

Then, one day, he can't get through to her at all. It's like there's an impenetrable wall between the two of them. He slams into it again and again, trying desperately to just reach her, but the wall won't budge. She's gone. Whatever they had before has vanished. Just like that.

(Slade Wilson is terrified that she's broken beyond repair. Deathstroke is doing his best to pretend that he doesn't care.)

That doesn't stop the flood of relief coursing through his system when he finds her in his base. She's shivering and soaked to the skin from the pouring rain outside. She looks like she hasn't slept for days, and she's swaying on the spot.

But she's there. She's alive. She's suddenly within his reach.

"Raven." His voice keeps getting caught in his throat. He knows what he wants to say, but he can't bring himself to say it aloud. He is afraid that if he touches her, she will shatter under his fingers.

"Slade." Her voice is soft, vulnerable, not at all like the confident woman she had once been. She looks so small, so broken, like she did on that tower so many nights ago.

They stare at each other for the longest time. They say things with their eyes that they can't bring themselves to say. Speaking things aloud makes things to far too real. It would bring reality far too close to home for either's liking.

And so, they speak with their eyes until she finds courage to close the distance between them.

"You're okay," she whispers. Raven breathes a sigh of relief, pressing her forehead to his metal mask. "Thank Azar."

"I could say the same thing to you."

"I…" Now that the moment of fear has passed, all of a sudden, she doesn't know what to say. "I should...um...I should…go."

His arms wrap around her. "Stay."

The tendrils of her emotions instinctively reach for his. He can feel her mind mingling with his own, her feelings entwining with his. They hit him in flashes, sparks of color in a field of black and white.

She flies all the way to him in the storm. Raindrops be damned, she has to see that he's okay. She can't lose him. She can't. Not him too. Please be all right. Please... Please... Please… He is the only one who could ever understand…

He's relentlessly pacing. Could Trigon have hurt her? Broken her beyond repair? The thought hits him like a train wreck and he can't quell the fear that has settled itself into the pit of his stomach. He has half of a mind to go to Titan's Tower just to make sure she's all right-

Muttering apologies, she immediately tries to extricate herself from the tangle of feelings, tries to backpedal as quickly as she can, but he just pulls her closer.

"Let me in. Trust me." His fingers run through her hair. "Let me help."

"Don't. I'm not… You don't know—"

"I know." Because he does. He knows. All her deep-seated fears. All her hopes and her dreams and bits and pieces of her past. How much it takes out of her to maintain the light that can drive away the darkness. "It's okay to have a dark side, Raven. I have one, you have one… It doesn't make either of us worse."

Everyone always talks about how you should always keep hope alive. They don't talk about what happens when you've gone too far to keep that little spark burning. No one talks about the aftermath.

The expectations. The burdens you carry on your back.

The pain. The loneliness. The longing.

The brokenness.

He knows.

He gently lifts up her chin, so violets eyes meet blue. "Show me, Raven," he whispers. "Show me. Everything. Please."

"Slade." She bites her lip, her voice less than a whisper. "You don't have to."

"I want to." His forehead presses against hers, metal meeting flesh. His fingers float up to cup her cheek. "You carried my burden before; let me carry some of yours."

And suddenly, the floodgates open and he is falling once again.

They're standing in front of that door. That towering, sealed up door that is rusted from disuse, chained up and deliberately forgotten. Her door. Her mind. She looks down, suddenly shy, nervousness and fear and worry radiating from her in waves, and asks him if he wants to know everything. He smiles. "Of course."-

The chains on the door rattle and fall away. The door swings open with a tired groan. Behind it, there is nothing but darkness. She holds out a hand; he takes it. They descend into the darkness together and suddenly neither is afraid-

She's a child again. She's gaunt, half-starved, and dressed in rags. Her fingers weakly curl around the bars of the cage. Accusing, hateful eyes look down on her, and she doesn't understand why they hate her so much-

They talk about torturing her for her sins, but she can't remember any. They laugh when she protests. "Your sin is for existing, child."-

She can only watch when they sacrifice other children to seal away the demon. Finally, they get to her. They drag her, kicking and screaming to the center of a room where runes and symbols are written in the blood of the sacrificed innocents before her. They stab her in the heart, and she thinks for a moment that she's about to die-

"Do you want to die?" the voice asks. It's a deep baritone that makes her recall a small memory, just a brief one. She knows that voice deep down.

"NO!" she screams. Power floods her fingertips. Eyes glowing red, she turns to face her once-captors with four crimson eyes unclouded by uncertainty. The voice chuckles. She truly is His daughter-

When she comes to, every cultist is dead and her hands are stained with red. The memories swirl in her mind. The pleasure from tearing them apart, limb from limb. The joy at seeing their faces twist into looks of utter agony. And she hates herself for feeling this way. The four eyed demon, the owner of that voice, just looks on and laughs-

She finds herself back in the temple of Azarath with Azar above her. The goddess gives her a soothing smile. "It's all right, child. Everything will be all right. You're safe now."-

Safe. She fights back the urge to laugh. She's never safe. Not from herself-

On Azarath, she pretends to forget all emotions. She pretends that she isn't anything but a loyal devotee, but she knows better. Her father, the four eyed demon haunts every corner of her mind. She can't make him stop laughing and laughing and laughing-

She struggles to be normal, to stay in control (Or at least have some semblance of it). But she's teetering on the edge, terrified of falling into the abyss, but on Azarath, she has no one to ever talk to-

The nightmares aren't enough. He goes further. He tears apart her mind into bits. There's this searing pain as he digs his mental talons into every part of her. He examines her mind roughly until he is done with it and leaves her in shambles. She's left to try to hastily assemble the pieces, but it's hard because everything is on fire-

She seals everything away. Everything negative. Everything that makes her tick. It's placed behind the door and forgotten about. It doesn't change the fact that her father still lingers…-

When she meets the Teen Titans, she sees hope. Here are people don't care about the past, don't care about the gigantic four-eyed demon whispering on her shoulder. In them, she sees a chance to forget the nightmares and walk in the light-

She has to hold back more. She nearly loses control when she fights Terra. She has to hold back or else she'll become just like her father…just like that time so long ago…-

She looks at herself in the mirror. Trigon stares back-

She pounds the mirror to bits, uncaring of the shards of glass protruding from her fist. She destroys everything in her past, but it doesn't stop His laughter from echoing through her head-

Slade reminds her of who she is. Innocence is over. Her attempt at play pretend is over, and she can no longer run and hide… It doesn't mean she won't try-

He tries to hurt her like Trigon. She instinctively lashes out, watches how he's twitching, screaming as her demonic half does the same to him. She hates the part of her that is enjoying watching him squirm. Immediately, she tries to repair his mind-

She knows that he isn't all black and white. She sees the way his emotions coil up into a ball of self-hatred whenever he thinks of his children. He loves them, cares for them, in a way Trigon never had for her-

She hates how he makes her so vulnerable, stronger and weaker at the same time, but she can't hate him. He isn't an object to be hated, but he is someone to be understood, someone who can understand-

She can't bring herself to hate him. (And she hates herself for it.) But she can't. Not with his memories mixed with hers. Not when she knows every part of him—the good, the bad, and the ugly-

Trigon's flames burn her, but to her surprise, she's not the one putting them out. It's Slade who does that. Slade who just looks at her with his only eye-

He hugs her. He's warm, gentle. She leans into his touch-

He understands. She thinks, for a moment, perhaps he's only one who could-

Trigon strangles her in her sleep. She dies every evening, thrashing helplessly under her father's claws. She calls out for help, but only the darkness ever hears her. As she is consumed by her father, the last thing he thinks of is him-

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She's standing over Dr. Light's broken, bloody body. His crimson blood slips through her fingers as she tries to keep him alive. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."-

Dr. Light makes it. Thank Azar. But her father's laughter is still ringing in her ears. "I'm proud, daughter. You are like me."-

She's losing her very self to the shadows and she's terrified. She's never felt so alone. If she pretends enough, maybe she can keep them at bay for a little while longer, keep a little bit of hope alive-

She isn't alone. Slade's trying his best to reach her. She knows that, but she doesn't want to burden him anymore. It's not because she's generous or kind or even remotely heroic or self-sacrificing—in reality, she's awful because she wants to, wants to let a deluge of pent up emotions crash against him in a wave. She wants to be selfish and burden him. But she can't. She won't. (Because she finally realized why she can't hate him.) So the words she wants to say keep getting caught in her throat-

She wakes up. It's pouring rain outside. She reaches out for him through their mental connection, but he's not there. He's gone-

Their minds are one right now, melded together by bonds of hope and pain and understanding and desperation. He knows her; she knows him. The wall that was between them is gone now, replaced with an open connection. The door that was once sealed has swung open to allow the dark to kiss the light sweetly on the lips.

No more walls. No more illusions or lies. No more hiding.

Just them. Unadulterated. Untouched. Whole.

He reaches out for her mentally, and she responds to his embrace, pulling him closer. Her fingers ghost over his face. Flesh and skin return to his bones. Gently, she removes his mask. He doesn't stop her.

Finally, she sees his face, his real face, for the first time. He finally sees all of her, all of her imperfections, her doubts and worries and hopes all laid out before him.

They meet, light and shadow, shadow and light, as equals, as fellow sinners and saints.

Finally, they are whole.

—

There are no nightmares anywhere.

Thank you for reading!

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