Author's note: I saw this picture on the internet .com/pamelina_ , and I tried to think of a scenario where Robin grew up to be that punk. Naturally, being who I am, I decided that it must be the trauma he suffered in "Return of this Joker" that caused him to go down that path.

This story is about Slade Wilson running into that Robin.

Why Slade? Because I like him.

…………..

Slade never really enjoyed St. Louis. It had plenty of good aspects. History, museums, architecture, decent schools, sports teams, and best of all, no heroes. It was always business though, when he came to St Louis, and he never lingered longer then the job called for. If you've seen one city in the Midwest, you've seen them all.

The job, however, called for it, so here he was.

He was here because Jesper St. Clair was here. A week ago his lawyer petitioned that the trial be relocated. The move was granted. In three days Mr. St. Clair will be moved to his new holding cell in Downtown St. Louis. The media will not be there, the guard contingency will be relatively light, and in other words, it will be an ideal time for Slade's maneuver.

In the meantime, he has other tasks to occupy him. Prep work if you will.

So that is why today he was in downtown St. Louis, taking in the local color. The clean Midwestern business men and women, speaking with their clean Midwestern city accents (devoid of most local flavor), the occasional bum. Tonight would be a game night, so a few early revelers have already moved in to the downtown area festooned in their local sports team's colors.

It was hard to miss the punk. That presumably was the purpose of his bizarre ensemble. And his little girlfriend was no better, for her orange…. Garment? Was that a full body leotard under her lab coat? The boy was clearly trying to emulate, or maybe mock, the fallen hero, Robin. Red wife beater and shorts over green long johns, with a cape. Eye makeup filling a role normally played by the traditional domino mask.

They made a shameless display of their public affection causing anyone who dared wander too close to their park bench to grow uncomfortable.

Slade was staying away, mostly for his own comfort. He had business in this area, so he hung back and tried not to give them too much of the attention they were obviously craving. Almost inaudibly, an alarm sounded. A tinny beeping noise came from the punks. Curiously, Slade watched, more for his entertainment then for any serious reason, she pulled back, looked at her watch, pressed a button, and started to stand up. He was obviously not done with her, and made it known by trying to forcefully pull her back into another kiss. She reacted with a casual degree of violence, a well placed fist, not at his head, but at a point a few inches behind his head. This is interesting, Slade thought. He could appreciate a bit of violence, her form was decent, her stance acceptable for the circumstances, it lacked much panache, but she had clearly had a few lessons. The boy however, reacted remarkably, with almost fluid grace he dodged, allowing himself to simply roll off the bench in a boneless tumble, laughing. She took the opportunity to step back a few paces, flip him off, and walk away. Not far, Slade noticed, she stopped at a local art gallery and walked in. The boy rose, with the same liquid grace he had exhibited earlier, brushed himself off (as though he could become cleaner with that simple action) and acted as though nothing had happened.

Something curious about the boy, Slade noticed. His grace, his moves, Slade wondered why someone with those skills would dress in mockery of the Boy Wonder.

At least Slade thought that until the kid turned his way. Without looking at anyone of the spectators in particular, the boy shrugged, as if in apology for the scene that just occurred, and only Slade's many years of self discipline kept him from gasping. This social pariah wasn't mocking Robin, he WAS Robin. Tim Drake to be precise. The very same Robin who had fallen off the grid several years ago.

Slade, of course, was familiar with the story behind that. He makes it his business to keep abreast of the goings on in the Superhero community. Nasty business that was, the kid really deserved better. On the streets only three years and what remarkable progress he had made in only that short amount of time. He had shown such potential; Slade had considered offering him the same apprentice position Dick Greyson had declined. Not after, of course. Slade Wilson had no use for the Joker's broken toys. Neither did the Batman, if Tim's presence here were to indicate things.

Interesting, Slade would have to mull it over later however. The van he had been waiting for had finally shown up. Time to do some work.

…….

Slade had wrapped up his affairs in record time. Really, he should just ditch town, but he wanted to do a little sight seeing first. Curiosity was really getting the best of him.

So Thursday morning he returned to the scene where he had spotted the Boy Wonder. At the art gallery, the door was locked, but a sign on the door announced several art shows that Friday. Of the three featured artists, only one was female, Hester Sinclair, with her show "Scar Tissue".

Slade was feeling: cultured, so he mentally began rearranging his schedule to include an additional day in St Louis in order that he might take in the local art scene.

…..

Author's note: Ok, this is enough for now. I'm going to publish this 'as is' and update later. Let me know what you think, I really really do appreciate feed back.