Chapter Text
Slade gets it, he does.
Slade understands why Bruce is the center and he isn’t.
Bruce plays center because he is 6,2, talented, fast, assertive and dominates the game.
Slade, on the other hand, is 6’5, outweighs Bruce by 15 pounds, is faster, more agile, can turn on a dime and control a stick like it is nobody’s business. But skill doesn’t matter at the end of the day, because Bruce is a Wayne. And Waynes have what Slade doesn’t: money…. and clout.
It doesn’t matter that Bruce is a total jerk, on and off the ice.
A fact that which is starting to drive Slade up the wall.
Slade had gotten into Gotham University on a scholarship thanks to his impressive talent for Hockey. So, when Slade had started college and joined the hockey team he had been placed as a left forward. A position that Slade was more than happy to play. But that had led too do many confrontations between Slade and Bruce on the ice (thanks to Bruce playing like he was the only person on the team). So, Slade had been moved to Left Defenseman. That only tampered down the conflicts a little, so Slade was once again moved, this time to being the goalie.
Which is an extremely important position. And Slade with his cat-like reflexes make a heck of a good goalie, if he did say so himself.
But he was miserable, and angry, having to watch his team out there on the ice. Skating their hearts out, only to be completely ignored by Bruce.
For weeks Slade watched Bruce play like a shark out for blood. Slade knew something bad was bound to happen with the amount of excessive force that Bruce always used. It was only a matter of time.
It is a Friday night when it happens.
It’s the Gotham Knights Vs the Arkham Rogues.
The opposing team has some solid players… really solid. A couple of the players are MASSIVE!
The whole game has been chaotic. Barry Allen, The Knight’s left-forward had gotten caught up in an unexplainable game of chicken with the Rogue’s right-forward, a guy named Thawne. Both players had been ejected from the game in the first minute of the last period after causing multiple disruptions and starting a fight in the penalty boxes.
Allen is replaced by Queen, and Thawne is replaced by some skinny kid named Napier. Honestly the kid has no business being out on the ice in the first place. He looked like he is fearing for his life, even before the play started.
Napier is on out on the ice for about five minutes before disaster strikes.
By an ill chance of fate Napier came between Bruce and the puck. Bruce being the dirtbag that he is, body checks the kid and sends him sailing through the air. Napier lets out an unholy scream of terror. He hit the boards HARD, collapsing to the ground.
Slade’s stomach drops at the unnatural angle of the kid’s crumpled body. Slade immediately abandons his post to go check on the player, while Bruce continues his play like nothing happened.
A time out is called.
Medics swarm onto the ice to check on the injured player.
Slade is pushed back by the Arkham players surrounding their fallen; everyone watches as the medical team carefully moves Napier off the ice onto a stretcher.
Slade furiously skates over to Bruce, who is nonchalantly sipping his Gatorade.
“WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? You almost killed that kid! Napier could barely even skate!” Slade throws his gloves down.
“It’s not my fault Arkham lets incompetent players out on the ice.” Bruce shrugs.
“YOU BODY CHECKED THAT KID FOR NO REASON!” Slade had been waiting for a good reason to clock the self-cantered brat, and now was his chance! He starts to grab Bruce’s shirt, when a hand lands on his shoulder.
“Pardon me neighbor.” A southern accent drawls.
Slade jerks his head around to see one of the Arkham players, Jones, the right forward, standing right behind him. Jones is flanked by the rest of his team. They are all glaring at Bruce. Slade lets himself be pushed out of the way, gliding backwards on his sckaes.
The Rogues attack, the Knights jump into the fray.
Under other circumstances Slade would have happily gotten into the fight, especially to protect one of his own teammates. But Bruce didn’t deserve that kind of loyalty. Though Slade still watched closely to make sure none of his other teammates got hurt.
It takes both referees, and linesmen, and the coaches to break up the fight.
Later, in the locker room, Slade strips out of his heavy goalie gear and heads into the showers. The Knights had won, but Slade didn’t feel like celebrating. Not when Napier was reportedly sent to the hospital with a severe concussion and multiple broken bones.
It seemed like some of the other Knights were also not in a celebratory mood. Kent looked forlorn, like someone had kicked his puppy, Alen was still babbling on about how the Thawne guy was ‘out to kill him’, even Jorden, who was always joking and high energy, was subdued.
Wayne of course, didn’t have any problem looking proud that he had once again won another game. Thankfully the trust fund brat didn’t stick around for long because he had a ‘hot date’.
Good riddance.
Slade hopes whatever poor girl is stuck with Wayne is digging all the gold she can get to pay for such lousy company.
It is a few months later, at the end of the spring semester, the Gotham Knights are having their NCAA championship winner’s celebration in the dinning hall on campus. Slade sits at the table with his teammates and their plus ones. His girlfriend, Adaline Kane, sits on his left. They had met at orientation in the fall semester and started dating over the holidays. Adaline was stubborn, and intense. Which Slade liked… most of the time.
So, the victory dinner goes on pleasantly, but little did the Knights know that their campus had been invaded… by Rogues.
Okay, maybe it was a little crazy.
But something had to be done!
They couldn’t just sit by and let the Knights celebrate their championship in peace when poor Jack is still in a neck brace, and has to keep his arm in a sling!
Not that Edward cared about Jack. Nope, not at all. Actually, he hated the pale kid’s guts. But it was the principle of the matter.
Revenge!
That was the name of the game.
Edward had been planning for months. In a pure stroke of luck, Jack Napier’s family restaurant was the ones catering the dinner. Of course, Jack’s family let some of the Rogues be part of the waiter staff.
Everything was going as Edward had foreseen.
No one suspected a thing.
Eobard moves up behind Wilson, after slices of cake had been served to all the players.
“Pardon me neighbor.” Eobard has to keep himself from cackling as he mimics Waylon’s accent.
Wilson whips around the same time Eobard snatches up the piece of cake and with unerring accuracy flings it at Bruce Wayne’s face.
Eobard immediately ducks under the table, covering his mouth to keep from laughing.
This is going to be good.
After scrubbing the frosting from his eyes, Bruce turns to see Slade, frozen and wide eyed, his arm outstretched. And he is the only person at the table missing their plate of cake.
That is enough circumstantial evidence for Bruce to decided that Slade is the culprit. With a war cry Bruce launches himself across the table and tackles Slade to the floor.
“I knew you were going to try to usurp me!” Bruce cries, climbing on top of Slade and wraps his fingers around his teammates neck.
“I didn’t do anything!” Slade chokes out, before punching Bruce in the face. The man goes reeling back, letting go of Slade’s throat.
Before Bruce has a chance to recover, Slade scrambles to jump on Bruce.
Fists fly.
Under the table Eobard bites Barry’s leg. The man lets out a high-pitched screech, flailing back. His arm slaps Hal across the face.
“What was that for!” Hal shoves Barry, who then stumbles into Clark, who was in the middle of taking a drink. The man spills his cup of soda all over his date’s head, which elicits a scream from Lana.
Again, under the table Eobard crawls forward and sees three pairs of legs. He considers his options. He starts to go to bite one of the males but thinks better of it and instead pinches the girl’s leg.
Above the table, Mera yelps and jumps away from Oliver at the same time slapping the blond.
“OW! That was uncalled for!” Oliver holds his now red face.
“You pinched me you, pervert!” Mera accuses.
“HE DID WHAT NOW?” Arthur Curry, Mera’s boyfriend, surges to his feet, and starts grabbing at Oliver who yipes and falls out of his chair trying to get away. Oliver locks eyes with Eobard who freezes as he is trying to escape.
“So, it was you!” Oliver yells but is cut off when he is jerked up by Arthur, who throws Ollie onto the neighboring table, causing it to flip over sending food flying a good fifteen feet.
Watching the chaos starting to unfold from the kitchen doors, Edward stifles an evil mastermind laugh.
Snickering to himself, Edward climbs up on one of the counters and lights a match. He holds the flame up under a sprinkler system. It only takes a few seconds for the alarm to start, and all the sprinklers in the building to turn on.
Screams erupt from the dinning hall.
Jack’s family had already left in their catering truck.
Edward glances at his clock.
Twenty-one- hundred hours.
Perfect timing.
Seconds later, Eobard comes streaking into the kitchen. “Let’s make like a tree and get out of here!” Eobard doesn’t slow down and slams through the exit doors.
Edward takes one more glance out at the pure unadulterated chaos that HE Edward Nygma had created. It was beautiful.
Water was spraying.
Food was flying.
Screams filled the air.
And hands were being thrown.
With a smug smirk, Edward turns on his heels and saunters out of the kitchen, all the while whistling the theme from Mission Impossible. He jumps onto back of Eobard’s tandem bicycle.
They peddle away laughing like raving lunatics.
Jack would be proud.