He has a lot of regrets, and, he knows there will be many more in the future. He's stopped aging, probably can't die, so there will be losses.
His children will pass him by.
All his children.
There are so many regrets there. Sane--finally--he knows chances of them ever forgiving him are slim. He knows he's lost not only the children of his body but all those who once looked to him for some form of guidance.
He knows his Robin will never forgive him.
And he knows he doesn't deserve forgiveness, so he'll never seek it out.
But, his greatest regret lies six feet beneath his knee.
There was no need for this loss. It was pure spite on the part of the twisted souls of Azararth.
Wintergreen's death was pointless.
As he kneels there, hand brushing dirt and leaves from the base of the simple stone, he remembers the good times and the bad. Remorse fills him for the times he pushed Wintergreen away, drove him out of his life. Joy takes precedence as he recalls moments of relaxation and peace even in the midst of the chaos of war. He sees Wintergreen standing up for him at his wedding, holding his children, being there for Addie when he couldn't. Hunts in Africa, operas in Vienna, nights of flirting with lovely ladies in the Philippines, and ski trips to Vail.
A life well lived.
A life, for one, ended too soon and for no reason other than an insane hate.
Bowing his head, he wonders if he can even pray anymore, but the words come, old and not forgotten.
And Slade murmurs 'requiescat in pacem'.
Let him rest in peace.
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