For thirty years, in many different ways, he's watched over him. Death hasn't put an end to that.
And as he does, listening to the plots and schemes, seeing the violence, the anger, seeing him so out of control, he wishes he was there to help, to be the voice of reason he so often was in the past, to slap some bloody sense in the man.
He's doing it again--pushing everyone away, even his own children. When he should be rejoicing in the return of one lost to madness, instead he's battling him, trying to convince everyone he's evil.
The sad thing is, with all the mistakes over the recent years, all the dark paths chosen-- willingly and unwillingly--those who once loved him, those who cared, have no choice but to be convinced.
Wintergreen knows how easy those dark roads can be to walk--how easily Slade has slipped down them before--but he was always there to pull him back.
Now, there is no one.
And all he can do is fear that Slade is truly lost.
And hope that something, someone else will pull him back.
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