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The boy’s throat is soaked in blood. His teeth are grit and his arms are grabbing weakly at Slade’s hand, which is currently pressing into the cut. Dick’s back is on the floor, head resting on top of Slade’s thigh as he struggles to keep his body still while his life slowly ebbs out of him. It’s visible in his wide eyes, probably moments away from going into shock.
If Slade shuts his eye for just a moment, he can imagine blonde hair and wide, fearful green eyes rather than jet black hair. Someone else's child is dying in his lap.
Slade knows the human body better than anybody, he knows that this level of damage to the carotid artery is fatal. The boy is dying. Slade looks down at him with an unblinking, dull eye. The sight of a young boy choking on his own blood should be jarring to a normal person, maybe even traumatizing. Slade doesn’t feel much.
“Slade,” the kid starts in a gurgly mumble. “I-Im sorry-”
“There’s nothing we can do, kid.”
Dick knows this, though. The moment the cut was made they both knew this was the end of this short lived apprenticeship. This short lived life. A waste of a talented life.
And Slade could try at the least. Rush the kid to a hospital or back to the haunt. But he doesn’t want to waste his energy on an inevitable end. Moving him risks worsening his injuries, making his death even more painful and giving him false hope.
“Please…”
“Richard.” Slade says as gently as possible, raising his hand ever so slightly. Somehow the boy found the strength to keep it down on his wound. Keeping just enough pressure to keep him alive a little longer.
“Wait-”
“I already said-”
“Don’t hurt them.” The words came out as clear as a sunny sky. Somehow through Robin’s weakening struggles and bloody throat, he manages to save his strength for pleading.
The Titans hadn’t even crossed his mind. He was so occupied with the dying boy in his arms that it didn’t occur to him that Robin can’t keep his end of their deal. And according to that deal, Slade has free reign to end their lives the moment Robin breathes his last breath.
“Slade!” Dick screams. It's a horribly broken and ragged sound. “Don’t- don’t kill them. I’m sorry. I couldn't do it- be better. I'm sorry. Please-”
His rambling continued for roughly 40 seconds after that. Desperate pleas and requests until his head finally lay still, lolling to the side in the dirt. His face is pale with blood loss, lips turning gray. Slade runs his bloody hand over that face, smearing some as he finally rested it on his cheek.
Slade knows that he should be feeling something other than mild frustration. A frustration that comes from losing progress on a personal project. The months of obsessively stalking the boy until he finally had him under his thumb. Wasted.
He should be feeling the rage and grief of losing a student. Feeling shaken or distraught over the dead child laying beneath him. He doesn’t. Who knows if it was the serum that caused Slade to lose his humanity, or if that's just how he's wired.
Deep down he could acknowledge that this was his own fault. If not for Slade the boy would probably be enjoying his time with his friends. It’s a waste of energy to point fingers. Maybe Robin shouldn’t have been so weak. He shouldn’t have been hit by such a simple attack. It shouldn’t have killed him.
He closes his eye. “I won’t.” He should have said it while the kid was alive. Would have given him some peace of mind in his final moments.
Slade gets up and turns away and leaves the body behind.