3 Slade Ficlets
Title: Fear Itself
Author: Lara
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 291
Fandom: DC Comics
Summary: He doesn't fear death until it comes for one he loves
Content: Death
Spoilers: The last year of Teen Titans
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, well, a whole hell of a lot of people wouldn't be dead. Also, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 30_deathfics for prompt #8, Fear
He didn't fear death.
The terror in his victim's eyes had stopped affecting him two decades ago.
For him, death was just another adventure, one he wasn't sure he'd ever experience. He didn't think about it much, even when dealing it. He certainly didn't fear it.
Until death came for one he'd always loved.
On the body strewn battlefield, his son cradled his daughter. Blood spread around the hand pressed between her breasts. Her face was as white as the hair she'd inherited from him. There was pain and suffering in her single eye.
Seeing her, he ran, fear stealing his breath, nearly stopping his heart. Dropping to his knees beside his children, he saw the grief in his son's eyes as he cried without shame and felt his own overwhelm him.
Slade watched a shaky smile form on Rose's lips and bent to hear her whisper.
"Daddy? I was afraid I wouldn't see you before..." Every word seemed to take an eternity to escape her mouth and with every word his heart pounded more painfully in his chest. "I'm not afraid anymore."
"Rose...I love you." He took her hand, squeezing it when he felt no answering pulse.
"I know." Her smile widened even as her eye clouded over. "I always knew."
With a whisper of breath, his only daughter died, and Slade knew she wouldn't come back. A man was lucky to get one miracle and as his eye met his, he was afraid he'd lost the chance with Joseph as he'd thrown away the one with Rose.
Smiling through his tears, Joseph took his father's other hand and shook his head as if to say 'I'm not going anywhere,' and Slade nodded in understanding and held on tightly.
End
Title: Not A Natural Blonde
Author: Lara
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 639
Fandom: DC Comics
Summary: Vanity knows no age
Content: Death
Spoilers: Set well in the future
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, well, a whole hell of a lot of people wouldn't be dead. Also, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 30_deathfics for prompt #35, Hair
Slade had never known her as a brunette. She'd started dyeing her hair shortly before their first encounter, and if, on the island where their relationship had taken an unexpected turn, he'd been surprised to see she wasn't a natural blonde, he'd never said anything.
Everyone had their secrets.
That she'd been dying of ovarian cancer for nearly a year was just one of hers.
Once he heard, it took Slade nearly two months to track her down, finally finding her living in an assisted living facility in the mountains of Virginia under an assumed name. One of the 'out' heroes, she'd never truly had much privacy. That she wanted to die as any normal person, didn't surprise him either.
Slipping into her room, he found her sleeping, an almost peaceful look on her face. There were a few lines there, a few liver spots on the hands loosely resting atop the blankets, but she didn't look the eighty years he knew her to be.
Except for her hair. Wispy and thin and as white as his own.
Silently taking a seat next to the bed, Slade waited to see if her senses were too dull to awaken at his presence. A few minutes later he smiled when she opened her eyes and narrowed them at him.
"Wilson." Her voice was dry, cracked and low, but there was no pain and he knew it was due to the drugs pumping through the tubes into the back of her hand.
"Little Bird."
She snickered at the old nickname, then coughed harshly and, for a moment, he saw the pain and the fear, but then it was gone and she smiled. "Come to see an old foe die?"
"Not foe." He found himself brushing her hair from her forehead and placing kiss there.
"You are a strange man."
"Complex."
"That, too." His fingers slipped back through her hair down the side of her head, and she lifted into the touch. "You used to enjoy petting me like that...before you started trying to kill me."
"I remember your fingers in my hair as well, Dinah, holding on as you rode me to oblivion." His voice was low, seductive, and to his surprise, she blushed like a girl.
"That was a long time ago."
"Do you have regrets?"
"Not about that. How did you find me?"
"I may not be Oracle but I have my own skills and resources. Why are you alone?"
"There aren't many of us left," she admitted sadly. "And they don't need to see me die like this."
"Like what? A beautiful, strong woman?"
This time she managed to snort, then sigh as his fingers stroked through her hair again. "I've said my goodbyes. I don't want them grieving. And now...I have a chance to say goodbye to you, too. I didn't expect that."
"I don't like leaving anything unfinished."
"I saw you at Dick's grave two years ago."
Slade nodded slowly and brushed his fingers down her cheek, twining a curl around them, smiling slightly as she nearly purred. "I didn't say goodbye to him, didn't have time. Wasn't going to lose you like that, too."
"You made it just in time. The doctors say a day or two. Will you stay?"
At the hesitation in her voice, he immediately nodded.
"And do one thing for me?"
"Anything," he promised, meaning it.
Dinah managed a true smile and rolled her head into the palm of his caressing hand. "Make sure they bury me in the blonde wig. Black Canary can't go out looking like an old woman with no hair."
Slade chuckled and promised.
When they buried her five days later, he made sure her trademark fishnet stockings were on her legs beneath the sedate navy dress, as well as the blonde wig on her head.
End
Title: You're A Dead Man
Author: Lara
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: PG13
Content: Not much
Word Count: 245
Summary: Someone tries to blow Slade up
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 15_flames for prompt #4, One Phone Call, Set B
The phone rang and the bomb exploded and the next thing he knew flames were licking at his face and the pain drove him from the ruins of his safehouse, into the arms of the cops and firemen. He remembered their exclamations of shock at his survival, but couldn't see them, and all he could smell was burning flesh and hair.
The next thing he knew he was in a bed, chained, in pain, still blind. Soothing creams and bandages assisted by his accelerated healing did their job, and the scent of burning had faded.
The phone. The bome. Someone had tried to kill him.
He drifted away again.
When he came back to himself, the pain was bearable, and he could see again. A hospital room and a handcuff around each wrist and ankle chaining him to the metal frame of the bed. He could get out of them, but the burns still hurt, so he waited and thought about who might be behind the assassination attempt.
A few days later, able to sit up, the burns only red marks on his skin, a DEO officer handed him a telephone. "You have one phone call, Wilson."
Arrested. Well, he'd figured the handcuffs weren't to prevent him from hindering his healing, and the time he'd been given had allowed him to discern his assassin. With a smirk on his face and burning hatred in his heart, Slade dialed a number.
"Luthor, you're a dead man."
End
Author: Lara
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 291
Fandom: DC Comics
Summary: He doesn't fear death until it comes for one he loves
Content: Death
Spoilers: The last year of Teen Titans
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, well, a whole hell of a lot of people wouldn't be dead. Also, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 30_deathfics for prompt #8, Fear
He didn't fear death.
The terror in his victim's eyes had stopped affecting him two decades ago.
For him, death was just another adventure, one he wasn't sure he'd ever experience. He didn't think about it much, even when dealing it. He certainly didn't fear it.
Until death came for one he'd always loved.
On the body strewn battlefield, his son cradled his daughter. Blood spread around the hand pressed between her breasts. Her face was as white as the hair she'd inherited from him. There was pain and suffering in her single eye.
Seeing her, he ran, fear stealing his breath, nearly stopping his heart. Dropping to his knees beside his children, he saw the grief in his son's eyes as he cried without shame and felt his own overwhelm him.
Slade watched a shaky smile form on Rose's lips and bent to hear her whisper.
"Daddy? I was afraid I wouldn't see you before..." Every word seemed to take an eternity to escape her mouth and with every word his heart pounded more painfully in his chest. "I'm not afraid anymore."
"Rose...I love you." He took her hand, squeezing it when he felt no answering pulse.
"I know." Her smile widened even as her eye clouded over. "I always knew."
With a whisper of breath, his only daughter died, and Slade knew she wouldn't come back. A man was lucky to get one miracle and as his eye met his, he was afraid he'd lost the chance with Joseph as he'd thrown away the one with Rose.
Smiling through his tears, Joseph took his father's other hand and shook his head as if to say 'I'm not going anywhere,' and Slade nodded in understanding and held on tightly.
End
Title: Not A Natural Blonde
Author: Lara
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 639
Fandom: DC Comics
Summary: Vanity knows no age
Content: Death
Spoilers: Set well in the future
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, well, a whole hell of a lot of people wouldn't be dead. Also, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 30_deathfics for prompt #35, Hair
Slade had never known her as a brunette. She'd started dyeing her hair shortly before their first encounter, and if, on the island where their relationship had taken an unexpected turn, he'd been surprised to see she wasn't a natural blonde, he'd never said anything.
Everyone had their secrets.
That she'd been dying of ovarian cancer for nearly a year was just one of hers.
Once he heard, it took Slade nearly two months to track her down, finally finding her living in an assisted living facility in the mountains of Virginia under an assumed name. One of the 'out' heroes, she'd never truly had much privacy. That she wanted to die as any normal person, didn't surprise him either.
Slipping into her room, he found her sleeping, an almost peaceful look on her face. There were a few lines there, a few liver spots on the hands loosely resting atop the blankets, but she didn't look the eighty years he knew her to be.
Except for her hair. Wispy and thin and as white as his own.
Silently taking a seat next to the bed, Slade waited to see if her senses were too dull to awaken at his presence. A few minutes later he smiled when she opened her eyes and narrowed them at him.
"Wilson." Her voice was dry, cracked and low, but there was no pain and he knew it was due to the drugs pumping through the tubes into the back of her hand.
"Little Bird."
She snickered at the old nickname, then coughed harshly and, for a moment, he saw the pain and the fear, but then it was gone and she smiled. "Come to see an old foe die?"
"Not foe." He found himself brushing her hair from her forehead and placing kiss there.
"You are a strange man."
"Complex."
"That, too." His fingers slipped back through her hair down the side of her head, and she lifted into the touch. "You used to enjoy petting me like that...before you started trying to kill me."
"I remember your fingers in my hair as well, Dinah, holding on as you rode me to oblivion." His voice was low, seductive, and to his surprise, she blushed like a girl.
"That was a long time ago."
"Do you have regrets?"
"Not about that. How did you find me?"
"I may not be Oracle but I have my own skills and resources. Why are you alone?"
"There aren't many of us left," she admitted sadly. "And they don't need to see me die like this."
"Like what? A beautiful, strong woman?"
This time she managed to snort, then sigh as his fingers stroked through her hair again. "I've said my goodbyes. I don't want them grieving. And now...I have a chance to say goodbye to you, too. I didn't expect that."
"I don't like leaving anything unfinished."
"I saw you at Dick's grave two years ago."
Slade nodded slowly and brushed his fingers down her cheek, twining a curl around them, smiling slightly as she nearly purred. "I didn't say goodbye to him, didn't have time. Wasn't going to lose you like that, too."
"You made it just in time. The doctors say a day or two. Will you stay?"
At the hesitation in her voice, he immediately nodded.
"And do one thing for me?"
"Anything," he promised, meaning it.
Dinah managed a true smile and rolled her head into the palm of his caressing hand. "Make sure they bury me in the blonde wig. Black Canary can't go out looking like an old woman with no hair."
Slade chuckled and promised.
When they buried her five days later, he made sure her trademark fishnet stockings were on her legs beneath the sedate navy dress, as well as the blonde wig on her head.
End
Title: You're A Dead Man
Author: Lara
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: PG13
Content: Not much
Word Count: 245
Summary: Someone tries to blow Slade up
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 15_flames for prompt #4, One Phone Call, Set B
The phone rang and the bomb exploded and the next thing he knew flames were licking at his face and the pain drove him from the ruins of his safehouse, into the arms of the cops and firemen. He remembered their exclamations of shock at his survival, but couldn't see them, and all he could smell was burning flesh and hair.
The next thing he knew he was in a bed, chained, in pain, still blind. Soothing creams and bandages assisted by his accelerated healing did their job, and the scent of burning had faded.
The phone. The bome. Someone had tried to kill him.
He drifted away again.
When he came back to himself, the pain was bearable, and he could see again. A hospital room and a handcuff around each wrist and ankle chaining him to the metal frame of the bed. He could get out of them, but the burns still hurt, so he waited and thought about who might be behind the assassination attempt.
A few days later, able to sit up, the burns only red marks on his skin, a DEO officer handed him a telephone. "You have one phone call, Wilson."
Arrested. Well, he'd figured the handcuffs weren't to prevent him from hindering his healing, and the time he'd been given had allowed him to discern his assassin. With a smirk on his face and burning hatred in his heart, Slade dialed a number.
"Luthor, you're a dead man."
End