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The car roars to life.
It was the end of the world as they knew it. When Slade and Dick separated in that fiery pit, Dick found himself in what looked like an abandoned church. Raven wasn't there despite all of Dick’s hoping. Dick explored those caverns for days, scraping by off rations, but he never found Raven.
By the time he made it to the surface again, the prophecy had already been fulfilled. The world ended. The sky was cast in a scarlet hue, statues of what were once people scattered around the debris of Jump City.
And he never found the rest of the Titans.
They may have died fighting. They may have scattered when they realized it was the end. Dick will never know for sure.
Who he did find, though, was Slade again. Dick was exploring alone in the remnants of the city when he found Slade. They didn't really speak to each other much, but they stuck around each other.
In any other scenario Dick would never willingly be so close to the man, a boat ride in what was essentially hell was almost too much for him. And yet, Dick still stuck around.
“I suppose we both didn't get what we wanted, hm?” Slade had said to Dick when he finally managed to ask if Slade had gotten his true body back.
It almost sounded like Slade was mocking him, in all honesty, he might have been. They both told each other about what happened after they parted ways. Slade said he couldn't make it past the gate to get to his body, Robin described the church and the lack of Raven.
Slade and Dick spent most of their days exploring the remnants of the city looking for whatever resources can keep them alive. Dick was hoping to find any survivors, the remaining Titans, but not a soul had been found.
And the resources… well there wasn't much luck with it either. Anything organic looked as if it had been rotting for years, even if it had only been a few days. Even the canned foods had somehow already spoiled.
Glass bottled water was the only option. The ocean water had been replaced by a thick, crimson red liquid. Dick knew what it was but he didn't really want to dwell too hard on it.
Dick’s hand ran through the liquid as he hunched over the shoreline, watching the slow ripples flow through it.
“Tonight's my lucky night.”
Dick turned to Slade with a raised brow. In Slade's hand was a full bottle of some sort of hard liquor.
“Seriously?” Dick asked. “Trying to dehydrate us quicker or something?”
“Never said it was for you.”
Dick looked offended. Slade was totally up for child enslavement, but underage drinking was where he drew the line.
This was the second day in a row that they were unsuccessful in finding food, so the walk back to their little cabin at the edge of the city was tenser than usual. It was always quiet, but it never felt like there was this heavy of a weight on their shoulders.
They both knew what would happen soon. Slade decided to finally mention this not long after getting back to base. He came to the room with a chipped glass in his hand, some alcohol sloshing around inside. Slade sat right beside Dick on the floor with a grunt.
Dick’s knees were brought up, leaning his back up against the wall behind him.
“You're looking thin, kid.” Slade said, the frown was practically audible.
“And you look like skin and bones.” Robin replied in a smirk. “...maybe just bones.”
“Har har.” He huffed and nudged Dick’s arm with his elbow. His frown deepened when he realized Robin was so easy to push.
Dicks head turned to look at Slade right in the eye. “So, if Deathstroke is your actual alias, Slade is…”
“My real name.” Slade finished for him.
Dick was surprised when he first heard someone call Slade Deathstroke during the apprenticeship. While working out of Jump City Slade was always just Slade. Running around using his first name, it was a little comedic.
“Figured, it's just not a very popular name,” Dick said. “Would you have told me that if I were still your apprentice?”
“When I could trust you I would have told you.” Slade’s eye closed. “You would have told me yours as well. Eventually.”
“You can't know that for sure. I hated the apprenticeship the whole way through.”
Slade knew that, though. The apprenticeship wasn't a very sound plan.
“You must admit it wasn't all bad.”
“It was pretty bad.”
“Fair enough.”
Slade’s eye roved over Robin’s body. He knew what he was seeing. Thin arms, visible cheekbones, dull hair. It was certainly not how Robin imagined dying. Perhaps in a blaze of glory or dying of an injury. Never slowly starving to death with his worst enemy.
Robin wasn't wearing his suit; instead he wore a stained white shirt and black sweatpants. The mask stayed on. It was losing its grip on his face and the adhesive started wearing down days ago, he wasn't too sure if he should remove it. Dick pressed three fingers to his mask, Slade’s head tilted in curiosity. It's the end of the world as they knew it, what more was there to lose?
The mask peeled off with ease, it fell to the floor beside Dick’s foot. He allowed his bright blue eyes to bore into Slade’s. He was never exactly sure why. Maybe in an attempt to intimidate him, maybe to seem braver.
It was pure silence for a while. Without animals, bugs, or even wind, the world had been very quiet. Dick was a little awkward; his cheeks began to flush.
“Dick Grayson.” He said, looking away from Slade and back at the floor.
Slade looks at Dick’s eyes behind him. Dull and lifeless.
“Here I thought your name may have actually been Robin.”
“More common than Slade at least.”
“Slade Wilson.” Slade corrected.
“It's unfair that I can't see your face, y'know, because of your ‘condition.’” He said with dramatic air quotes.
Slade felt his own mask, similarly to Robin. It was disturbing when Robin saw his face before. The mask was knocked off revealing nothing but a skull and a glowing eye underneath.
“My hair was white, I had a goatee and a black eye patch. Because of my enhanced healing, I looked like I was in my thirties. I'm really fifty-six.”
“How do I know you're not just flattering yourself?”
“You'll have to take my word for it.”
Dick raised his brow, looking Slade up and down.
“And how'd you lose your eye?”
“Let's just say… It was a bad divorce.” Slade said with a chuckle.
Dick snorted. He didn’t get it, obviously. Maybe Slade should have been more descriptive.
“My turn; how'd you end up with the bat?”
Dick hesitated and took a deep breath. “Parents died in a circus accident, Batman happened to be there.”
Considering the acrobatics he would assume people would've found out sooner. An orphaned acrobat was all over the news, not long later a little acrobat vigilante in the same colors came around.
“He was like a father to you.”
“Yeah… I hope he's okay. Same with the Titans.”
If Slade had lips they would have thinned. “I'm sure they are, kid, I'm sure they are. I get it. I got people I'm worried about too.”
“You– worried about people? Where's the Slade I know?”
“I have children. You remind me of my eldest.”
“Handsome?”
“An idiot.” Slade said flatly. He had always been an idiot. “And I'm sure you remember Wintergreen.”
“Right, your evil Alfred.”
Slade wasn't entirely sure what that meant, so he shrugged. Dick shifted uncomfortably, his finger tapped repeatedly against his knee.
“I'm not going to last much longer.” He wanted to ask instead, maybe hoping that Slade would reassure him. But Slade had always been a realist if anything.
“You won't,” Slade said.
“How about you?” Dick asked glumly. “You're already dead. Are you going to die?”
“I can feel this body weakening. It won't last long either.” Slade lifted his hand up and looked at it. It shook slightly, bones clattering together. He doesn't really feel it. “It's as if my soul is pulling back to… well, let's be honest, hell.”
“Being honest about a lot of things, not like it matters anyway.” Dick smiled. It didn't look right, not like a genuine smile. The gleam that would usually be there is gone.
Dick is afraid.
“Let's see who can last longer.” Dick’s voice was weak, putting up a display of strength that was quickly withering.
Dick died two days ago.
Slade wouldn't say he didn't know it would happen. But it wasn't pleasant when it did. Dick was already growing exhausted during that conversation, it only took a few more days until he couldn't leave the cabin.
Slade tried to look for food for the boy to no avail, he was barely cognitive when Slade returned. Already fading. Slade fell asleep and when he woke up the next day, Dick was dead.
He remembers rolling over and seeing the boy motionless. Slade couldn't hear his heartbeat like he usually could, and when he finally got closer, he wasn't breathing.
Slade sighs deeply and places his mask on the passenger seat. The car roars violently, it's not taking well to the bad gasoline. He looks at the rearview mirror, Dick is lying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest. Exactly how Slade placed him.
Right after Robin died, Slade dressed the boy up in a suit he had found in an abandoned shop. It's a little big on him, maybe if he wasn't so malnourished it would have fit. But it's the end of the world, they can't be picky.
Slade parks the car right beside the tall black gate. After three cars and an absurd amount of expired gasoline, they finally made it to Gotham.
He groans and opens the back door, picking Dick up bridal style. Slade’s lucky he knew about Dick Grayson's story or else this trip would've been much more difficult. It definitely would've been tedious to do research without the internet.
He wonders if this is all partially his fault. When Dick tried to blame him before Slade had claimed that his involvement wouldn't have changed the outcome of the world. It would have ended regardless of Slade helping Trigon or not. And now he's starting to doubt that.
The kid probably just rubbed off on him. Him and all his morality crises. What's done is done.
Aha, John and Mary Grayson. They have a conjoined headstone, buried right beside each other. Slade had to decide whether to bury the boy at Wayne Manor or beside his parents. Now he's not entirely sure why he didn't just ask the kid himself.
Slade gently places the boy on the ground and begins to dig the grave. He wishes he could have found a coffin for Dick. Once he is satisfied, he jumps into the grave and rests the boy in the dirt. It didn't take much longer to finally finish the burial and pat the dirt down tight.
He grabs a wooden board and starts carving into it with a knife.
Richard Grayson
A good…
Slade hesitates for a moment. Some part of him would love to memorialize the boy as Slade’s apprentice. One last way of claiming the kid as his and he couldn't do a damned thing about it. Something squirms in a stomach that isn't even there.
Slade sighs.
A good kid.