Whoop! I've got to love you guys. I published this story like five days ago, and it's already gotten over a thousand views. So I decided to do a little shoutout to those who commented on Chapter Three.
Nightwriter222: Thank YOU for the title and awesome ideas!
KaliAnn: Thank you loads for taking the time to review all my chapters! Really appreciate it!
Merirosvo: I loved reading your review! And you're doing fine, I would never have guessed English wasn't your first language.
Guests: Really glad you like it so much!
Chibihyu: thanks!
Shaza: awesome name! and this is an update!
Ok, I don't really like how this turned out. . . . But, whatever!
READ: Wintergreen is Slade's butler in the comics, NOT an oc.
also, you may want to retread the last chapter before this.
Grayson stared at the man blankly.
"What?" Stalling was definitely out the figurative window now.
This guy - his father, apparently - did look exceptionally. . . paternal towards him. He clapped his other hand on Grayson's shoulder and knelt down in front of him.
This guy was either a giant or, more likely, Grasyon was short. Maybe it was a combination of both, because he didn't even make it up to his 'father's' shoulder.
"What do you remember?" The man asked calmly, looking him dead in the eye.
He tried to jerk backwards, but the man was inhumanly strong, and his grip on his shoulders only tightened. He settled for narrowing his eyes. "Why would I tell you?"
The man chuckled. "Good point. An excellent point, in fact," his lips whirled upwards as Grayson felt a rush of pride. Why did praise feel so. . . surprising? "But at least tell me if you remember your name, little bird."
Grayson stiffened at the nickname. 'Little Bird'. It was undeniably parental. It was familiar and comforting, and sent a pleasant warmth up his spine. 'Little Bird'. The name sounded personalized, made exclusively for him, a thread to his past. 'Little Bird'. He would remember that.
"Grayson," he said carefully, trying to push the sudden trust he felt for the man down. "My name is Grayson."
The man - it was more than a little easier to see him as his father now - smiled kindly down at him, looking genuinely pleased at his response. "Good, my boy. You didn't forget everything."
Grayson didn't smile back just yet, just leaned farther from his grasp. The man definitely noticed, and his eyes sparkled proudly, as if his resistance was somehow amusing. "Come," the man said, standing up and removing a hand from Grayson's shoulder to open the supposed-to-be-locked-door easily.
He didn't move, just stared at the now open door. "How did you do that?"
"My boy," his 'father' chuckled. "You're supposed to push, not pull."
"Master Wayne?"
Bruce grunted in response, not looking up from the many computer screens.
"Perhaps it would be beneficial if you took a brief respite. You haven't stepped out of this cave in days, much less eaten or slept," Alfred pressed gently, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"No," Bruce said determinedly, keeping his voice in the raspy growl of the Dark Knight. "I won't sleep, not while Dick is with that thing. Who knows what Deathstroke is doing to him?" I need to be alone.
Bruce thought again of the unsigned papers in his desk. He vowed that when - when, not if, never if - he got Dick back, he would ask the boy immediately. He'd been holding onto them since Dick's thirteenth birthday, even though he'd wanted to since the first year they'd met. He'd been afraid of replacing the boy's first parents. After all, that was why they'd met, why they'd bonded. What if the boy hated him for wanting to adopt him, and severed all ties to Bruce? He couldn't imagine a life without his Robin.
But now he was afraid he would have to.
He felt the pressure on his shoulder vanish, and he couldn't help but regret pushing Alfred away. He wanted to call out to his oldest friend, to sob into his shoulder like he was eight years old again. He didn't.
Bruce heard no footsteps indicating the butler's exit, only the whirring of the elevator. The older man was completely silent in his footfalls until a very soft whooshing sound, indicating his turning. He could just picture Alfred whipping around to face him.
"Very well, Master Bruce," his loyal friend said quietly. "But if I may?"
The billionaire tried to look busy with the words flashing across the screen, but strained his ears to hear the next words. He nodded, encouraging elaboration.
"Bring our boy back home."
Slade smiled at the child - his child, now - as he guided him out the door.
'Grayson' was obviously still wary of him, leaning far away from him as Slade gave him the grand tour of his - rather impressive, if he did say so himself - new home. Or, mansion, more specifically.
But the 'little bird' comment had proven to be extraordinarily. . . effective. It obviously had held a deeper meaning to the boy, that he hadn't previously been aware of, that the boy himself probably wasn't aware of anymore.
He was pleased, to say the least, as he watched the child's bright blue eyes light up upon seeing the training room. Good, the serum had only killed his memories, not habits or reflexes.
The house was quite large, and Slade didn't bother to show Robin the entirety of it.
"What else do you remember?" he asked 'Grayson' (the quintuple flip made sense now, especially after seeing the Boy Wonder's maskless face) as he showed his protégé his new quarters.
"Not much," Grayson said tentatively after a long beat of silence. "My age, my name . . and that's about it."
"Then I suppose I'll have to reintroduce you to someone," Slade smirked. The drug had certainly been effective. He would have known if the boy been lying.
"Wintergreen!"
Within a few moments, a poshly dressed older man entered the room, face twisted into a frown.
"He's an old friend," Slade explained, gauging the boy's face.
Wintergreen lifted a silver eyebrow. "I object only to the 'old' part of that statement," the former military seargent quipped, before turning to the thirteen year old in front of him. "I'm a butler, young sir."
Robin stumbled back, eyes wide as he clutched his head, fingers digging into the cranium painfully. The boy screwed his eyes shut and swayed.
"A-Alfred?"
Damn. Maybe the drug hadn't been as effective as he thought. He exchanged looks with the butler.
He didn't know who Alfred was, or why Wintergreen would have sparked a memory of him.
"Perhaps you should rest," Slade suggested to the ebony in front of him. This was the boy's new room after all.
"N-no," Grayson murmured, before repeating it in a stronger voice. "No. I'm fine. I just. . . " He trailed off, cracking a sapphire eye open, before clenching his eyelids suddenly. He fell forward, unconscious. Slade caught him instantly.
The gray haired man beside him shook his head, tutting disapprovingly. "I suppose it was a lot to take in."
"Not to mention his stitches have reopened," Slade added, not appreciating his former mentor's tone. "Like it or not, Wintergreen, this child is mine now, not the Batman's or the Justice League's or yours for that matter-"
"Of course," Wintergreen cut him off. "You know that. I know that. The boy will come to see it as that. But the Batman doesn't. He's been searching for you."
"Let him come. Let him try."
