It wasn't Batman who had taught Robin ruthless effectiveness; it had been Slade. Under his tutelage, Robin had learned to get the job done, no matter the obstacle. And if the obstacle was one of his friends - well, so be it. It was his job to uphold the law. He always wanted his friends to be on his side, but that was the thing about life - what you wanted never figured into what really happened. Robin would - and had - taken down those he cared about. It was hard.
The words were easy. The pain and the violence he inflicted upon them was easy. He was trained for this. Trained to defeat his opponent. The actions were easy.
It was the guilt that wasn't.
He never wanted to hurt any of his friends, but sometimes it had to be done. He wasn't sentimental like some if his teammates. When he was committed to it, he could deliver the blow that Starfire or Cyborg wouldn't have been able to. He would stop anyone he had to, by almost any means necessary.
He hated himself all the more for it.
He couldn't stop this line of work. He knew it was possible to, and Batman would prefer it. He could go to Gotham, take off the mask, and never put it on again with no problem. He wouldn't let himself do so, though it was so, so tempting at times. He couldn't just stop. He was made - he was marked for this way of life.
It was impossible for him to forget.
Another thing he'd gotten from Slade.
He hated that man with a passion. Not only for what he had done to Robin and his friends so many times, but for the simple fact that Robin had learned the most from the criminal. Of course, he barely compared to Batman in the physical skills he had taught Robin, but Slade hadn't focused on the physical side of things. Slade had taught Robin to lock away his emotions, to let nothing interfere with the mission. He had taught Robin to push away personal connections when making a stand. When fighting, he had to commit everything to his defense or offense. A criminal or a friend, he would fight both the same.
Slade taught him to hate. Robin hated no one - not even Batman - until he had been oppressed and terrorized by the man. The word 'master' had burned his tongue like acid. 'Master'. He no longer even referred to pet owners as the pet's 'master'. It was a sick, disgusting word. No one was Robin's master. Not Batman, not Slade. Robin hated how everything in his life seemed to come back to those two men. He was himself. He was Robin. He wasn't Batman's sidekick. He wasn't Slade's apprentice. He was himself. He was Robin. He was Robin. So why did he find it impossible to separate himself? No matter how hard he tried, Robin couldn't think of himself as himself in his head. He was Robin, Batman's failed sidekick. Slade's stupid mental playtoy. Pathetic.
Out of everyone in the world, it was himself that Robin hated the most.
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