Series: Redwing Universe
Title: In Darkest Night
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Fandom: Animated Teen Titans
Rating: R
Pairing: Redwing [AU Nightwing]/Slade

Summary: Redwing only wanted to gain Slade's attention, and with this ring, it's entirely possible.
Disclaimers: Katarik owns Redwing. Slade, Nightwing, and the rest of the characters are owned by DC Comics.
Notes: Based on Katarik's AU drabble where heroes become villains, and villains become heroes. Follows immediately after Katarik's In Brightest Day Redwing Universe drabble.

*---*---*---*---*

He had been happily sitting on the bleeding out body of his freshest kill, humming and tapping a ditty on the old man's forehead when he'd heard it. "Dick Grayson. You have been chosen." Then there was a wave of green light that had blasted through and kidnapped him, depositing him without a fanfare...

Here. Wherever here is. Blinking at the weird flora--pink poofs on top of blue trunks?--he scans the landscape, only to find a scrap heap of metal. Approaching it, he sticks his head into one of the jagged holes of what seems to be a cockpit, to see an even *stranger* sight. "What the hell are you?"

"I am Akayin’ur, Green Lantern of your space sector. Sector 2814. I am dying."

Ah, so this is another one of those odd 'aliens' his Slade contends with while off planet. Maybe even a part of Slade's friends from outer-space. "Did you want me to give you a mercy killing, then?"

"No, I am looking for one who would succeed me as the Green Lantern of Sector 2814. The ring has chosen you after another who has refused the honor."

Well, it isn't the old man, but at least he's *still* going to be watching someone bleed out tonight. "If you want to be in agony for your last moments, that's your choice," and my pleasure, he didn't add.

"To serve is a great honor. Bestowed upon you by the ring. The ring is fueled by your willpower. The greatest power in the universe. A universe where evil is confronted by the Green Lantern corps. By order of the Guardians. The ring..." The alien gave a hacking cough, and he watched on in glee as the thing's life fluid splattered on the thing's hand and shirt. "The ring will make your thoughts and wishes a reality. The Green Lantern’s light must be recharged with the power battery."

Suddenly, this entire conversation was *much* more interesting, he thought, eyes narrowing as he sorted the situation out. As stupid as it sounded, that a measly ring would make all his thoughts and wishes a reality... Well. This was alien technology, who was to say that it *couldn't* work? That it wouldn't be able to get him closer to Slade? Either way, it was some type of item of power from space, and threats from space were a League problem. If nothing else, he would be seeing Slade again if he took it.

Now to say some pretty words to the dying alien. "You may rest, Akayin’ur, knowing that this final duty of yours has been accomplished." The relief that filled the alien's eyes almost made him feel sorry for what he had planned. But when the thing gave a shuddered breath and pressed the ring into his hand, that wave of green light encompassed him again...

And he was back in the apartment he had originally been in, the ring *on* his index finger, and looking in surprise at the quickly-being-drawn pistols of a score of police officers whose focus was trained on him. "PUT YOUR HANDS UP OR WE WILL SHOOT!"

He snarled, eyes narrowing. He'd been robbed of his scheduled night's pleasure of watching blood running out of a person's body, what with him being transported away from where the alien had been and the white sheet over his original target's body. His hands clenched as he envisioned his throwing knives slitting the air and embedding into the bodies of the police officers--

And there was a sudden blinding flash of green light, and dozens of little green knives were in the air between him and the officers, and just like he'd envisioned they landed, sinking into the cloth and flesh like pins into a cushion. Startled by the screaming and the scent of fresh blood over old, he lost concentration on the image and the knives faded as those officers still conscious dropped their guns and folded over, hands putting pressure on the open wounds.

So *that* was what the alien had meant by thoughts and wishes into reality... He could use this. He could *so* use this for what he wanted. Smiling in amusement at the five officers, he narrowed his eyes. "Poor little fools... You should have gone into a different line of work, my friends." Concentrating, he watched as a green serrated dagger formed in his hand.

This was going to be so much *fun*.

*---*---*---*---*

He had possibly the greatest creation in the universe on his hand. With but a thought he had skewered random residents of the block with green lances through the heart. A handful were suffocating in green air-tight spheres, others screaming as their bodies were crushed under green boulders and statues.

And still others were pinned to brick walls by green knives driven through their hands and forearms stories above the ground. Every now and then he'd let go of his concentration on a few of those people, and they'd scream their beautiful music as they hurtled and crunched onto the cement below.

It had all been fun in the beginning, to watch as a mother pounded ineffectually at a green wall as he had had a green rope cut off her baby's wail. But now that the initial surge of enjoyment and curiosity was over, he had to admit... He was bored. None of these deaths were personal. He didn't feel the heat of shallow breathing on his skin, or see the look of shocked pain in a person's eyes as he twisted a knife into their gut before ripping it out. Not to mention he wasn't getting paid for any of these deaths, which was just annoying in the extreme.

Now where was Slade? Certainly that little castle of his had been alerted by now? Maybe it hadn't, he thought, looking up at the green dome he'd cast over the block. Maybe the appearance of a giant green barrier that wouldn't let people in or out on a city block wasn't a large enough problem to alert the League. Well then. Maybe a city enclosed and a few toppled buildings would finally get their attention...

*---*---*---*---*

Finally. Slade and his team had teleported into his little slice of heaven. The midget and pink haired girl had gotten one glance at the area before doubling over and vomiting. The hulking power house had just growled and clenched his hands, but Slade... Slade had zeroed in right on him. Which was just the way he wanted it.

"Redwing," that low purring growl, and that was all he needed to feel his heart trip in his chest. It had been so *long* since the last time they'd been mask-to-mask...

"Slade," he acknowledged, ignoring the others. Focuses on just *Slade* and the green light fades just the tiniest bit. "If you take one step forward I slit her throat," he said with a smile, pulling the girl closer to his body with one of his real daggers at her throat. The crying is pretty, he guesses, but the sobs and whimpers are just pathetic.

He can see the anger in Slade's eye. The man had never been one for pointless killing. "What do you want?"

What I've always wanted. You. "A promise, Slade. I'll let the little girl go unharmed... in fact, I'll let *all* of these people go. All you have to do is promise me, my God on High, that when I do, it's just me and you."

There's no hesitation, he notes. Just anger, when Slade replies. "You have it."

"*Good*," he whispered, and let his mind clear. The green lights blinked out, and there was a scramble from Slade's team as they moved to catch the previously-pinned and suffocating people that had been held in the air before their bodies met the ground. Yet Slade stayed right where he was, eyes focused on him, the girl, and the glinting silver blade at the girl's throat.

"Let her go, Redwing."

"I was about her age, wasn't I? When we first met. Her parents were murdered just like mine. Do you think that if I hurt her, she'll love me as much as I love you?" Drags the flat of the blade the smallest amount along the girl's neck, watching as Slade follows it with his eye, holding his breath. The girl whimpers again, and Redwing's almost irritated enough to tilt the knife and slide the edge along her throat.

"You said you'd let her go if I promised. I promised, Redwing. Now let her *go*."

"Answer me first. Do you think she would? Because I do, and wouldn't that be so nice for a change, to have someone love *me* instead of the other way around?"

"She's not like you, Redwing. She would only hate you."

"Mm. I did this for you, you know. All this, I did so that you would come. I killed so many today; I'm not even sure how much you have to hit me."

There was guilt in Slade's eye, he saw, but it was quickly pushed aside by the rising fury. Yes, Slade never did like pointless killing. But that's good, because he *wants* it that way, for Slade to want to hit him. He takes the knife away and pushes the girl aside, grinning as Slade *moves*.

He made Slade work for the first hit, dodging and bending under the fists. And when Slade rammed down with his elbow, he *savored* the pain, as he reached out with his dagger, cutting between the metal armor on Slade's right thigh and knee, shoving past the Kevlar weave.

It was the same warm feeling he always got when Slade hit him, always like that first time the man had slapped him. After scoring his own retaliatory hit, he let himself *stop* moving, stop fighting, and just let Slade lay into him. Let Slade kick his side and break his ribs with the smallest of verbal protests...

Then Slade was kneeling next to him, hand pulling on his hair while Slade ground his cheek into the gritty asphalt. "Why do you keep *doing* this?"

He swallowed down the blood in his mouth. "Do it for you. Because I love you."

Slade's hand jerked, and he could feel his skin scrape along the ground, the pressure of the grit against his closed eyelid. "No you don't. *You* can't love anything, you dirty little murderer."

"I love it when you hurt me," he murmured with a smile, watching with his right eye as Slade's left narrowed. "It feels good. When you break something, or bruise me so bad it takes *weeks* to heal... Every time I move, I'm reminded of you."

Slade's eye widened, and the hero immediately let go, backed away.

*No*. He didn't *want* Slade to back away. Slade still needed to hurt him more. This wasn't *nearly* enough punishment for the lives he took with the stupid ring. Slade should be holding him down, knees digging into his back--

There was a flash of green and *pain* in his back, before the light dissolved.

He could hear Slade taking a deep, shaky inhale, and he rolled over. Slade was *watching* him, that same way Slade had been watching him those few moments when he'd killed Adeline, with disbelief and a creeping sort of *horror* at some type of realization.

He smiled and got to his hands and knees, about to stand up again. "Love you. Love you more then *she* did."

It took less then a *second* for Slade to jump him, and for Slade's hands to get around his neck. It was a little hard to breathe, but then he *couldn't* at all, as Slade slammed a fist into his side before holding his head *still* as he *squeezed* with his other hand.

"You say you love me? I say you're *nothing*, Redwing. *Nothing* to me. And I'm going to *prove* it."

The hand in his hair was gone for the briefest of moments, and then he was being pushed over so he was on his back. Opening his eyes, he received a stinging slap to his raw cheek.

"Keep your eyes closed, Redwing. Or I'll leave and *never* come back."

The mere *threat* was enough to make him obey. The idea of never seeing Slade again... of having his God turn away from him forever was the most frightening thought ever. If Slade ever truly left him, he thought he'd finally slip that last little bit into *true* madness, as the demons would reach up from the darkness and the ground to take him away--

Another play of light on his eyelids, and he could *feel* them, the skeletal hands on his limbs and in his hair, gripping *hard* and pulling him, pulling him *down*, and he whimpered and jerked, trying to get them *off*--

"*Redwing*." Slade's voice, firm yet concerned, and a *warm*, *normal* hand on his face. It was *soothing* and he thought of Slade, and the light died down and the *wrong*--so, *so* wrong--hands were gone.

Yes, of course, Slade was *here*. Nothing to be worried about, Slade was here and the demons couldn't get him because his God wouldn't let them. "Love you."

The fingers on his face tensed, and then the hand moved over his mouth. "Lick it, Redwing."

He did, reveling in the taste of Slade's skin, remembering the brief moment so long ago when he had kissed Slade. When he had fought the man and *won*.

There was a rough *pressure* on his crotch, warm and *good*, and he lifted his hips into it, still licking at Slade's bare palm. "I could give you so much *pain*, Redwing. And right now, I wouldn't *care*."

Scrunched his eyes and *whimpered* when that pressure lightened and then left altogether. He could feel the curl of Slade's knuckles against his stomach, and then there was the slide of his tights and jock against his skin as Slade *yanked* them down.

"But you *like* pain, don't you?" And Slade's hand over his mouth was gone.

"Yes," he whispered, pushing up with his hips. Please, he thought. Please, want you, want you *so* much--

Another flicker of light, but then Slade's hand *curled* around him, and he couldn't *think*--

"You don't *deserve* pain, Redwing. Not after all *this*."

Pressure, friction, and *heat*. He was crying, feeling wet tears tracking down his skin as his fingers scrabbled for purchase on the cement street.

"You think I *enjoy* hearing you've killed someone? Do you think I *enjoy* getting envelopes filled with hair in my mail?" Vicious *twist* and hand around his neck, fingers digging *in*.

He tried to say something, to say "yes", but all he got is a choked gurgle past the restriction on his airway.

"I don't love you, Redwing. You make me *sick*."

Rough, so *rough*, and he was blinded and heard *someone* screaming, but not sure who, and he was *coming*--

Didn't get a chance to enjoy it; one of Slade's hands was in his shirt, dragging him *up* while the other, wet and slick, took his right hand and pushed it against something cold, smooth, and curved. "I *don't* love you," whispered menacingly, and he *still* had his eyes closed because he *didn't* want Slade to leave him.

"I don't--" understand, he wanted to say, but his voice sounded so *scratchy*, and he needed to swallow.

"Open your eyes," and he did, and he *saw*.

He was holding Slade's crotch. There was nothing *there*: no heat, no *arousal*.

Felt *something* that had been so amazingly strong and smooth turn impossibly sharp and jagged inside his chest. Felt his throat close of its own accord, and the semi-dry trail on his face turn damp again.

"Love you," he whispered, not looking Slade in the eye. Just *saw* and *felt* the truth of Slade's words.

Slade just sighed, and pushed him away. "I don't love you."

"... I know."

*---*---*---*---*

It was night again, and he was back in his cell in Arkham under high security. Guards placed right outside his cell, not exactly to keep him in, but to keep people *out*.

Which was just fine, he thought, curled on his side and staring at the wall. Not like he wanted to leave.

Slade had taken the ring, but he didn't care. He'd used it for the purpose he'd intended for it already. It had done its job: gotten Slade to come to *him*.

...

He wished he'd never seen the damn ring at *all*.

--Fin.