A bullet pierces through the cloth bag and enters flesh, flying through the skull and ruining everything in its way. Damian's body falls to the ground as blood seeps out. Red liquid pools around the floor. Everything is frozen. Dick can't move. If he moves, he's scared that he'll realize this is real. Tim and Jason are still as well. Tim is the one to break the silence."What happened? Is everyone okay?! Jason? Damian? Dick?"
Everything is slow. Dick's world is frozen. He blinks, his eyelids washing over his eyes and removing the seal. Everything is real now. He feels like he can't move and he's stuck in endless motion at the same time. Suddenly, his body is rocketed forwards. Step after agonizing step feels like he's running into oblivion. He realized he's running. Someone yelled something. He faintly realizes it's him."DAMIAN!" He screams, a shrill, painful cry as he rockets towards the fallen body. Silence is heard. The other brothers don't dare move, don't dare breath. It couldn't be.
Slade catches him by the arm, the metal of his suit digging into Dick's skin, agitatedly."This is not my fault." Slade says.
Dick stares up at him with glassy, broken eyes. Terror. Disbelief. Rage."LET GO OF ME!" He screams,"DAMAIN!"
Slade turns him around and grabs his shoulders in a tight grip."Damian is dead. There is nothing you can do about it. If you wish for you and your remaining brothers to live, return to your cell. Training will be at six." He ends the sentence crisply.
Dick struggles in Slade's grip, trying to escape, trying to just go free for once in his seemingly endless life."I need to see him!" He begs."Let me see my brother!" He needed to see Damian-no,no,no,no,no. Damian. He's fine. He's not fine. Oh God. Damian's not fine."DAMIAN!"
Slade glares at the boy."There is nothing you can do. Return to your cell."
But Dick keeps struggling. Slade sighed. Children. He released his grip on the boy, and watched as Dick ran towards his brother.
Dick felt Slade release him. He immidiently turned around and ran to his brothers. Tim and Jason were still in the chairs, confused and scared. They didn't want to believe what Dick's screaming indicated. They still couldn't speak. It felt like their vocal cords had disappeared. Damian was on the floor, still tied in his chair. Blood pooled around his head and body. Dick ran up to Damian and slowly crouched besides him. Shaky hands hovered over a blood stained chest as tears fell, not making a difference in the red liquid. Oh God, he was getting all bloody, his pants were bloody, his hand has blood on it. Damian's blood. He grips Damian's chest and leans over him, as if trying to protect him, and started sobbing. He knows he's muttering something, but he's not sure what. He can't think. Everything..it...it's all fuzzy. He wants this to be a dream. A terrible nightmare. He's going to wake up any second now. But he's not. Because this is real. Why is it real? He realizes that the bag is still around Damian's head. He doesn't want to see the damage any more than he is now, but...something in him needs to see Damian's face. As if to check if this were real. He shakily went to reach for the bag around Damian's head, but Slade quickly grabbed his wrists and pulled him up.
"That is enough,"Slade states,"Return to your cell. Now. This would not have happened if you had listened and obeyed orders."
Dick hears the words, but he feels like he can't. The sound just washing over his ears, not translating. What should he do? He didn't know what to do. He felt like he couldn't do anything. But with all his will, he felt like-no,knew- that he needed to do something. Words finally piercing his ears, his mind goes blank. Everything Slade did. He really only obeyed for his and his brothers lives. Everything Slade has taught him. All the rules. All the pain. All for what? Red, blind rage fills him. He can feel his blood pumping in his veins, his heart beat strong in his chest.
He grabs his arms back, freeing himself of Deathstroke's grasp."YOU!" Dick screams, pointing a shaking finger at Slade, shaking with anger and adrenaline."YOU DID THIS! ALL OF THIS! YOU TOOK MY LIFE! YOU'VE TORTURED ME! YOU TOOK AWAY OUR LIVES! All I've ever done, it's been for my brothers. For some reason, I always had a sliver of hope, a little bit of will to keep me going. No more. NOT ANYMORE! You Killed Damian! After all of this! AFTER ALL THIS TIME! ALL I HAVE LEFT ARE MY BROTHERS, AND YOU TOOK THAT AWAY FROM ME! Well, guess what?! I'm not listening to you ANYMORE! I AM NO LONGER YOUR APPRENTICE! I WILL NEVER OBEY YOU AGAIN!" Pure fury and anger covered his voice as he yelled, the last part being a shriek.
Deathstroke's fists tightened at his side, wanting to hit the boy but trying to stay calm."You will continue to obey me and be my apprentice. I thought by now you've realized that it is not a choice." His words were as sharp as a blade.
Dick has messy tears streaming down his face. He didn't take into consideration his brothers, still bound and confused, or that he was idiotic. It felt like his body was moving on its own. He let out a cry as he ran towards Slade, fist pulled back, and with a sickening sound of flesh being hit, landed a left hook on Slade's face. A bit of spit flew from the assassin's mouth, but it didn't matter. He was prepared for this. He quickly reeled back up to a standing state and grabbed Dick's arms, flipping him over him and slamming him into the floor with a scream from both of them. The bound brothers were silent. Dick grunted as he felt the cool floor slam into him, as he felt the blood trickle from his head. He remembered Damian's body. How his body was as cold as the ground; how the blood seemed to entrap him. He wondered what it felt like to have your soul evaporate and your life to leave you as your blood slowly encased you in a hug around your body, pulling you into death. His anger got immidiently refueled as he kicked Slade's shoulder, getting up. He wouldn't show weakness. He was going to fight and try his damn hardest. For Damian. Everything seemed to disappear as he ran for Deathstroke again.
The fight had been so long and excruciatingly painful. Slade had some cuts and bruises, but when you look at how the other was, it was nothing. On the ground, lyes Dick. His clothes were tattered and bloody. He could hear his heart pounding in his head, only worsening his headache. His head was bleeding. But not as badly as it would have if a bullet pierced it. His breathing was labored, so extremely labored, the only thing that got him to keep breathing was the pain when he stopped for too long, his lungs shriveling. His body was bruised everywhere, the tiredness he felt, down to the bone. No doubt some bones were broken.
His brothers had stopped screaming as they started when they heard the brutal fight. Everything seemed quiet except for the trickling of blood flowing from bodies. One dead, and one alive. Dick's face was a sickly pale as he gasped for every breath. He probably punctured a lung. Funny how your own bone structure, your own bones, could be used as a weapon against the part of your body that no one can reach; that it was trying to protect. Maybe there's a metaphor about that or something. Right now, his life seemed like a metaphor.
Slade looked down on him with not pity, but disgust. One eye burning with the sight of pure failure. Maybe he should reconsider getting a clone. He watched the boy gasp and struggle for mere air as his boy lay battered and bruised. Slade had so easily taken him down. Pathetic. He bent down and grabbed Dick by the back of his shirt, choking him more, and started to drag him to his cell. Dick wriggled and moved in protest, but it was not heard. With a flip of a wrist, Slade had out a key and unlocked the door, it creaking open slowly. With no care, he tossed his apprentice forwards, throwing him onto the ground with a gasp of protest form the boy."I will patch you up tomorrow like the broken boy you are."
And the door closed shut.
Slade returns to the other terrified boys to their cell and disposes of the body, leaving the giant outline of a soul made out of blood on the floor.
A/N PLEASE READ, VERY , I am so sorry. I actually had this written for a week or two, but I couldn't post it, because I had written it on my phone and I couldn't copy it over to my laptop. Why? I've been having sevear hand and wrist pain, to the point where I thought the bones were broken, it hurt so badly. I went to a hand doctor, and everything points to tendonitits, but I'm going to have blood work done to make sure it's not lupus and other stuff. It anoys me to no end, because I can't draw or write, which is what I love doing, without so much pain. I'm going to not move my hands for about 30 minutes after I post this, wich is right after I write this, that's how much they hurt. Along with my hands, for the last 8 months or so, I have had horrible migranes almost daily, making me unable to live a normal life. A couple weeks ago I was given a medicine, I'm actually on quite a lot of medicine, to help prevent and stop the migranes. I no longer get them daily, but I do get them easily and often, so you understand how crappy the situation is for writting and other stuff. Again, I am so, terribly sorry that this took this long, but I do have good news. A month or two ago, I didn't have a migrane all day, so I wrote out most of the plot and planning for this fic. I just need to slowly write it, and I'll try to as fast as I can, I promise. Now, don't go crying please, over Damian dying. You know that there are many ways for people to get resurected, but no promises whatsoever! So, toon in when I next post, and think about these things while I'm away! Will Dick ever get free? Why didn't Slade let Dick Take off Damian's hood? Will Dick call someone for help? You'll have to find out!(And I know this is a short chappy, but It's all I really have and I had to give you guys something, it's been so long)