Disclaimer: Hey there, I don't own Teen Titans. Poop.
A/N:
So, a reply to another anonymous reviewer (Johnny): Yeah, I said at the bottom of the last chapter that the whole idea of hunting was inspired by a scene in Rena Redhead's "Custody." While killing Batman and hunting aren't exactly original ideas, I believe that the things I will be including later on will be things I haven't yet seen on FF.
I've said too much already.
Chapter 4: The Game Begins
-DG-
Jump City, California
Slade's Haunt
He breathed in the cool morning air as he sat on the rooftop of the haunt. Here he was, so close to freedom yet so far away. If he really wanted to he could just leave right now. He could leave behind this terrifying life and escape. But that wasn't possible. Not with the Titans' lives at stake.
Titans Tower stood in the distance, taunting him, reminding Dick of what was at stake.
Sadness overwhelmed him. It wasn't just the fact that he was stuck here with Slade or the fact that the Titans' lives were at stake. It was just the fact that the world was spread out before him, and he couldn't reach out and take it. Any aspirations he had before—going to college, getting a job, living a somewhat normal life—had been taken away from him. This apprenticeship wasn't an opportunity. Now that he was working for a criminal mastermind, Slade was trying to make it so that working for Slade would be his only option.
Would he be stuck like this for the rest of his life?
Starfire…
Tears trickled at the edge of his eyes. Dick knew that he was too young to think of things like marriage, but if he wasn't going to be interacting with anyone besides Slade and Wintergreen then that was another thing that Slade had taken away from him.
He leaned back so that he was lying on the rooftop. A bit of sunlight shone through the clouds, but they did nothing to warm him. Funny, how the marine layer could turn a normally sunny day into fog. As he took a deep breath he could almost taste the ocean salt in the air.
If he was a Tamaranean or Kryptonian then he could simply get up and fly away from here. But as a regular human he was bound by the laws of gravity. Sometimes he wished that he could fly, just fly away from his problems.
"How are you feeling?"
He jumped a little at the sound of the voice and sprang to his feet. However, he didn't need to turn around to know who was speaking. Dick looked away. He still didn't want to talk to Slade. Was that why Slade wanted him to have the day off? So that he could cool off from last night? The mercenary stood next to him and overlooked the city with his hands clasped behind his back.
"What's on your mind?"
"Why do you care?"
"I always care."
"Maybe that's what's bothering me. I don't want you to care."
"Why don't you want me to care, Dick?"
"Because I don't trust you. You've never given me a reason to trust you."
Slade became silent. Sometimes it was that awkward silence between them that Dick hated. As the silence crept between them, Dick wondered what the villain was thinking. Whenever he tracked down villains he always hailed back to Bruce's teaching: who benefits? Why is the villain doing what he is doing?
Dick wanted to understand Slade's logic. Of course, there was always the distinct possibility that Slade was just crazy, but he felt as though there was something deeper to all of this apprentice nonsense. There was a reason that Slade chose him, something that Slade wouldn't tell him…
"Are you ready to talk about last night?"
"No."
Anger filled every pore of his body as he thought of how Slade beat him down last night. Without warning Dick spun around and threw a punch at Slade's face. This wasn't rational, but he just felt like picking a fight. Why did the villain have to come in and ruin everything? Dick had been perfectly fine on the rooftop by himself. He had been cooped up for so long that he wanted another way to release his energy.
They began to spar.
Dick wasn't trying to beat Slade. He knew that he wouldn't be able to. Not here. Not now. He knew that Slade was holding back. Dick wasn't even sure if he was really trying himself. However, he just wanted to do something besides sitting around doing nothing. Perhaps Slade knew that as well. As they fought Dick wondered what the villain was doing here. Why was he out in the open like this?
"You're doing better."
He didn't care.
Dick continued to fight, gradually increasing the intensity of his attacks. His shoulder still ached from the night before, but he didn't care. Even with the injury his movements were still fluid as he fought. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, sharpening his senses as he stood his ground against the criminal mastermind.
He had to admit that he had gotten better. Sparring everyday with someone stronger than you was always a good way to improve. Back at the Tower Dick trained with the other Titans, who were definitely not as experienced as Bruce or Slade. The intensity of the training also sharpened his reflexes, but sometimes they weren't sharp enough to dodge Slade's attacks. As Dick swung his arm to punch Slade he stopped mid-swing as the pain flared up. Slade took the opportunity to hit his injured shoulder. Dick clenched his teeth and took in a sharp intake of breath at the sudden pain.
"You know, if you just behaved yourself you wouldn't have so many bruises," Slade said. "So why are you always trying to pick a fight?"
Clutching his injured shoulder, Dick only scowled in reply. Was Slade seriously asking him this? He looked up at the mercenary, who stood still. He would only attack if Dick did. This fight was going to last as long as Dick wanted it to.
"Because you're the bad guy," he said, more to himself than to Slade. "I need to beat you."
"Things aren't always so cut-and-dry, Dick," Slade said. "Haven't you ever once considered revenge?"
Yes, yes he had. The night that he lost his parents he wanted nothing more than to see Tony Zucco put to justice. Even Batman had to hold him back the night Robin managed to track down his parents' killer.
"You wanted to kill Zucco, didn't you?"
A slight wind blew Dick's dark hair across his face. It didn't surprise him that Slade knew about Tony Zucco, but this was the first time Slade mentioned it. Then, with more fury than before, Dick rushed towards Slade again. His movements stopped being fluid and controlled. Dick knew that he was allowing his anger to get the best of him, but he didn't care.
"Don't bring them into this!" Dick growled through gritted teeth. "My parents have nothing to do with this!"
At that moment Dick felt as though he was fighting for them as well. Not just for the Titans or for Bruce, but for his parents. What would they think of him now, an apprentice to a crimelord? Would they be disappointed? Angry? He didn't know. He would never know.
Stars popped in front of his eyes as Slade hit him in the face.
He stumbled as he lost his footing. His foot hit the edge of the rooftop and he felt himself begin to fall backwards. Despite himself, Dick yelped as he fell backwards. Slade's hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. For a few brief seconds Dick was afraid that he was going to fall. He stopped flailing his arms and grabbed at Slade's wrist for support.
"Afraid of heights, Dick?"
"No," Dick said, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not."
Of course he wasn't. He had been trained as an acrobat from birth. He grew up flying on the trapezes and was built for acrobatics. Dick couldn't see Slade performing all of those tricks with the agility of a true gymnast. Well, at least that was one thing that they didn't have in common.
Slade pulled him back onto the rooftop. Dick remembered the time that Slade saved him from falling off of the rooftop. He should have realized it then, figured out that Slade was trying to entrap him and wouldn't let him die. But Dick would have never thought that this would happen. Never in a million years.
"You know you want power," Slade said, "power that you are going to have. Isn't that what you want? The power to beat me?"
Yes. Dick wanted to become powerful enough to defeat Slade. Once before Slade told him that after a few years of training he might actually pose a threat. Whether he liked to admit it or not Dick was learning things from Slade. Things that Bruce would never have taught him.
"That's why you stayed up all those nights in Titans Tower…" Slade said. "Trying to find a way to defeat me…"
Oh great. Slade was going off on one of his mind games again. Dick hated it when Slade did that.
"What are you trying to get at, Slade?" Dick demanded. "Just spit it out."
His heart hammered against his rib cage as Slade grasped his chin and turned his face away from Titans Tower.
"You might want to wash your mouth out," Slade said, his grip tightening a little. "Don't use that disrespectful tone with me."
Slade wanted him to pay attention.
"I already told you," Dick said, his voice wavering, "I don't need training. I was given all of the training I need from Batma—"
"Wrong answer." Slade let him go and shoved him away. "When you're dealing with people like me your silly ideals of right and wrong won't do you any good. There are some people out in the big scary world who will kill you. You know that, don't you? Living in Gotham probably exposed you to the worst of them."
He didn't want to listen to Slade. On some level, Dick knew that Slade was right. That was probably what bothered him the most. Sometimes Dick thought that it was silly that some of the Bat villains kept breaking out of jail. It was just an endless cycle…
"Admit it, Dick: even if you weren't training with me the only way you would learn how to defeat me is through this kind of training."
What he really means, Dick thought, is that he wants me to learn how to kill.
The mere thought of doing that terrified him. He knew that eventually Slade was going to push him to do that. He didn't know when, but Dick didn't know what he was going to do when Slade asked him to kill someone. On one hand he could kill Slade and save the lives of many. Or, he could learn to kill and save the lives of his friends. No one should ever have to make that choice.
"No," he said quietly. "There's always another way."
It wasn't the answer that Slade wanted to hear, but it was the truth. Any fool could kill. It took intelligence to find other ways to defeat someone without killing. Oh, Slade was intelligent to be sure, he just killed with style. Someday Dick was going to find a way to defeat Slade. Hopefully before Slade made him kill.
"What would you think about a change of scene?" Slade asked. "A fresh start?"
Dick looked out towards Titans Tower again. Although he was being held captive here he didn't want to leave Jump City. There was still that slim chance that the Titans would find him and help him. Perhaps Slade was aware of this. But why was Slade even bothering to ask him? Dick straightened his jacket with a sharp jerk and began to head back down into the haunt. He had been outside long enough.
"I don't care. It's not like I have a say in anything I do anymore."
-BB-
Jump City, California
They were only five minutes into their meeting when the alarm rang.
"Trouble!" Starfire exclaimed, leaping to her feet.
She raced towards the main computer. What was it with Starfire these days? Just a moment ago she was acting all depressed and now she wanted to go out and fight.
"Huh," Beast Boy said. "It looks like the HIVE is active again."
He remembered the first time they fought against the HIVE. Without Robin the team became completely useless. It was always Robin who came up with the plans. Of course, the Titans had learned to adjust over time. Cyborg acted as the team leader now.
Sometimes they talked about replacing Robin with one of the honorary Titans, like Aqualad. They all knew that Robin would understand. Perhaps he wanted them to do something like that. But for now the other honorary Titans were on the lookout for Robin. Once or twice some of them reported having to fight Robin. Most of the others were aware of the situation and tried their best not to hold back, for fear that Robin would be hurt.
"What's up with the HIVE?" Cyborg asked out loud. "The Headmistress must be planning something big."
"No, it's not the HIVE behind this," Raven said. "The Headmistress always hires out the students to other criminals."
Even though the HIVE was full of stupid criminals the Titans still didn't quite understand its inner workings. They got a call from Aqualad saying that he was working with an undercover spy who was trying to infiltrate the Academy. Beast Boy wondered how that was working out.
"It's only the HIVE, though," Cyborg said, "let's just get this over with."
"Yes!" Starfire said. "Let us kick the butt!"
Everyone looked at her, surprised.
"Star, are you sure that you can come with us?" Cyborg asked. "Didn't you just say…?"
The Tamaranean nodded. She was so sad…and seeing her like that brought down everyone's moods. Although Beast Boy wanted to be optimistic he wasn't sure that Starfire should be coming if she felt like this. If her powers were fluctuating then it might not be a good idea.
"No," Raven said, "Starfire, you should stay here."
"But—"
"It's the HIVE. We can deal with them."
Everyone else nodded in agreement. At first Starfire opened her mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. If she wouldn't stay then the other Titans would make her.
"I suppose that it is for the best," she said. "I shall see you later."
They nodded. All three of them turned to leave as the alarm continued to sound. Truthfully, Beast Boy felt bad for leaving her behind.
I mean, Beast Boy thought, we're all affected by this.
As he morphed into a cheetah and ran down the streets his thoughts began to drift. This only confirmed what he had suspected for a long time: that Starfire and Robin had a thing for each other. When the Titans fought Slade Beast Boy noticed that Robin tried not to hurt them too much—and avoided hurting Starfire altogether.
In a way Slade was destroying their team from the inside-out. Robin was their strong leader, and without Robin the Titans could barely function. Starfire was the one who brought them all together. When Beast Boy thought about it she really was the emotional glue that held them together. They just didn't realize it until she began to act depressed.
They stepped out into the city. Beast Boy changed back into a human as Cyborg checked his systems, trying to figure out where the HIVE kids went.
Their heads turned as something exploded in the distance. Gray smoke licked with flames billowed over the rooftops. Before Beast Boy could even form a quick theory a secondary explosion caused them all to stumble.
"Well, that's subtle," Raven said.
"Titans, go!" Cyborg cried out.
All three Titans sprinted forward towards the smoke. Beast Boy morphed into a falcon and flew towards the smoke, the rising heat allowing him to glide on the air currents. They all knew that this was the HIVE attacking. If it was Robin being sent out on another mission from Slade…no, they would know. Slade would make sure of it.
They rushed towards the explosion. As they neared the smoke Beast Boy realized that the HIVE kids had bombed the Bank of Perez. Each of the remaining Titans assumed their battle stances as the three main HIVE kids stepped from the smoke.
"Well, well, if it isn't the crummy Titans," Gizmo sneered.
By now the HIVE kids didn't even crack a joke about their missing leader. Since they used to work for Slade they probably knew that Robin was working for Slade now. Perhaps they had even gotten a chance to see him?
That was a possibility. Perhaps Beast Boy would ask one if he got close enough. He wasn't sure if Slade allowed Robin to talk to anyone, even the other HIVE kids. But Slade was a well-known criminal whom the other criminals of Jump City avoided like the plague. No one talked smack about Slade. And if the HIVE kids cracked a joke about Robin working for Slade then they would be—essentially—making fun of Slade. That was never a good idea.
"Let's make this quick, shall we?" Jinx asked. "We have things to do and places to be."
"So do we," Beast Boy said.
He morphed into a gorilla and bared his teeth.
-SW-
Jump City, California
The Cerulean Maison
This was one of the few times Slade trusted himself to go out in public in his civilian identity.
His thoughts couldn't help but go back to the fight on the rooftop earlier that day. Although he had been at first displeased that the boy began to pick a fight, Slade realized that Dick wasn't trying to beat him. He was simply bored.
As Slade stepped into the restaurant he wondered whether he was trying to replace Grant with Dick. Was that what he really wanted? Grant had adored him in a way that only a true son could. While Dick was, to some extent, a pawn Slade honestly wanted him to become his successor. Or was this just another chance for Slade to try to be a father again?
He approached the hostess, a young college-aged woman who looked slightly harassed by all of the costumers. She started when he approached her, her wide eyes taking in his appearance with some fright. Well, it couldn't be helped. The eye patch made him look rather…formidable.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Yes. I believe I have a reservation," Slade said, "under Wilson."
She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear as she looked at the list of reservations. As he watched her he couldn't help but notice that she looked a little like a younger version of Adeline. Perhaps it was her wavy brown hair…or the green eyes…
"Wilson…Wilson…ah yes. Your guest has arrived before you, Mr. Wilson."
"Wonderful. I'd like to speak with him at once."
Slade tried to shake himself out of his trance. This was not Adeline. He did not want to get himself romantically involved with another woman after what she did.
"Right this way, Mr. Wilson," the hostess said, leading him towards a table.
Lex Luthor was already sitting there waiting for him. Slade sidled over to him, not smiling as he sat down on the opposite side of Luthor. Once before Slade used to take contracts from men like Luthor. Slade supposed that he still did now, but Slade was still wary of the man. After all, this was the Man of Steel's greatest enemy.
"Good evening, Lex," Slade said.
The two villains sat across from each other. This atmosphere was certainly different from last night. Slade wondered whether or not it was prudent to invite Luthor to two dinners, but he wanted to make it a point that he was serious about this business deal.
"Evening, Slade."
"I hope you don't mind staying an extra day in Jump City—"
"Not at all. Unless your proposition isn't worth my time, then I don't mind."
Ah, Luthor, always straight to the point. A true business man. Well, Slade liked to cut straight to the chase as well. He wasn't one to waste time with silly preambles.
"Although I do have a question about the boy," Luthor said before Slade could speak. "Your apprentice, I mean. What's up with him?"
Slade looked at him. The question surprised him, but then again Dick had made himself somewhat of a nuisance last night. "Why are you so interested in him?"
"Well, I'm no fool." Luthor set down his fork and knife. "I have a hunch as to who he is. I also believe that he is the real reason why you want to kill the Batman."
"And who do you believe he is, Lex?"
"The missing Robin." Luthor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Were you really trying to hide the fact that it was him, Slade?"
Slade wasn't sure himself. He was displeased with Dick's initial reaction to the villains. That obvious flash of fear was something he was going to have to work on. Dick should have no need to feel afraid. As an apprentice to one of the best criminal masterminds in the world he should definitely not express fear.
"Well done. Yes, in fact it is him."
"The entire superhero community wants you dead because of that, Slade."
"I know that."
"So that is why you want to kill Batman?" Luthor's brow furrowed. "I'm surprised the Bat hasn't tracked you down and murdered you yet."
"He isn't one to kill. I know that much about him."
Slade wasn't sure how to speak about his apprentice around Luthor. While he was sure that Luthor probably didn't care too much to send word to the JLA, one could never be too careful.
"I know it's none of my business, but I just have to ask you: why him? Why go through all of the trouble of goading the Bat?"
Whenever people found out about Slade's choice in apprentice they always asked him the same questions. Why him, why the Bat's kid, why not someone else? There were plenty of HIVE kids who would be willing to train under him. Slade had his reasons, and he certainly didn't have to explain them to Luthor.
"These are personal questions I'd rather not answer."
Luthor frowned.
"So what do you have against the Batman?" Luthor asked. "You seem very intent. Why haven't you killed him before, if making the kid loyal to you is what you're trying to do?"
Slade had thought his logic over many times. He knew that if Dick ever found out that he was planning to kill Bruce Wayne the kid would go berserk on him. That's why the kid wasn't ever going to find out. Not until he was ready to let everyone of his…former friends…go.
"What I want to talk about is your arch-nemesis," Slade said. "The Man of Steel."
Luthor raised an eyebrow. Slade understood that he would have to tell part of his plan to Luthor. Since the businessman didn't really care what happened in Gotham, Slade assumed that it was safe to tell him what he was planning.
"Now you're going after Superman?"
"Both of us know that all of the heroes are interconnected. All of them are working together to bring us all down."
It was true. Although certain heroes and certain groups had specific villains to fight Slade knew that they would all band together for a common cause. Now that Dick Grayson was missing all of the heroes got organized. That was something that Slade hadn't foreseen.
"So you want to bring down the most powerful first, eh?"
"That is the plan."
The other criminal mastermind emitted a low chuckle before sipping his wine. Slade knew that Luthor had tried to take down Superman many times before. Every single time he failed, but once before he had even gotten desperate enough to hire to Joker to help him. Of course, that plan had backfired on Luthor. Slade wasn't dumb enough to negotiate anything with the madman.
"So what do you want me to do, Slade?"
Slade smiled.
Over the course of their meal they discussed tactics and strategies. He spoke in a low voice so that the surrounding diners would not hear. Although he knew that there probably wouldn't be anyone here who would be interested in the doings of criminal masterminds, Slade could never be too careful. Now that the JLA was involved Slade had to be extra careful about what he did now.
As they talked Slade couldn't help but allow his thoughts to drift a little. Surprisingly, he realized that the Teen Titans had also gotten more organized as well. Perhaps collaborating with the Justice League had done them some good.
"So it's agreed, then?" Slade asked as soon as they finished.
Luthor stood up and brushed imaginary dust away from his suit. Out of the corner of his eye Slade saw his bodyguard—a hardfaced woman—enter the restaurant. Slade knew that Luthor didn't really approve of this plan to kill the Batman, but then again the fringe benefits outweighed the cons.
"Like I said, this is none of my business. I'm only concerned with myself and my company. But I accept your proposition."
"Good. I trust you will make the arrangements in good time?"
"Of course, if it means that Superman will be brought down."
Slade waved their waitress over for the check. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the young hostess getting ready to leave her shift. She really did look a lot like Adeline. For a moment Slade wondered what she was up to these days. He sipped his water and mused on those early days, back before she found out that he was a mercenary.
He didn't need another woman in his life.
"It was good talking with you, Luthor."
Luthor merely nodded and walked out of the restaurant. Instead of leaving right away Slade sat at the table for a few more minutes.
Slade didn't need anyone's permission to go after anyone. He looked down at his half-eaten plate of food. Oh well, he didn't really come here for the food. He allowed himself to smile as he thought of what the GCPD must be doing in Crime Ally right now.
The plan to kill Batman was already in motion.
-DG-
Jump City, California
Slade's Haunt
Slade was brewing something.
Even though both Slade and Wintergreen wouldn't tell him what was going on, Dick suspected something. What did Slade mean by a "change of place"? Were they going somewhere? If they were, then Dick didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave Jump City, a place that had become his home. But there was nothing that he could say to Slade to make him change his mind.
It frustrated him that he couldn't even figure out where they were going. Whenever Slade would come back he was going to demand an answer. He hated it when Slade decided to be cryptic with him. Not only was it annoying, but condescending as well. Slade could yap all he wanted about how he was treating Dick with more respect than Bruce Wayne ever did, but he essentially treated him like a child.
Dick decided to beat out his frustration in the gym.
Since he hadn't really done anything all day, Dick felt as though he had a lot of pent-up energy to release, even after the impromptu fight on the rooftop. He was just so used to training hard every day. At first he practiced on the pipes in the haunt, using them like a gymnast uses a pair of parallel bars. Sometimes he did this just to keep up his acrobatic skills. Back at Titans Tower there were trapezes in the gym, where he would sometimes practice. If he didn't keep those skills up then he would forget about his parents and what they taught him to do. He didn't want to lose those early memories at the circus. At heart this was what he was: a performer, a lithe gymnast trained from birth to perform on the trapezes. As he spun around and around he thought about those early days. He missed them.
He spun on the high bar and held himself up for the briefest moment with his arms, allowing the blood to rush to his head. Sometimes he didn't realize how much arm strength one had to have to do something like this. Whenever he did decide to practice like this Slade usually watched him from afar and didn't comment. Slade wasn't an acrobat, so he didn't comment on things he didn't know about. Dick didn't know if he could stand a lecture from the man about acrobatics. Dick allowed his weight to fall forward as he used the power of centripetal force to perform another series of flips.
The pain in his arm flared up again as he landed on the bars on his arms. He really shouldn't be doing this with his arm in this condition, but he didn't care. He flung himself into the air again and twisted with natural fluidity. These flips and twists were showy. A performance…meant to entertain people.
As gravity took a hold of him he grabbed the bar with both hands and flipped over three times before he landed on the mat. A smooth landing.
A performer, he thought as he taped his chalky hands with athletic tape. Is that what I really am?
Right now he wasn't wearing a mask. To some extent, being Robin was an intrinsic performance. Whenever he wore the mask he became someone else. Could he, perhaps, pretend to be someone else while he was wearing Slade's colors? If he could act well enough to fool people he knew into believing he was someone else with the mask on then could he fool Slade into thinking that he was a loyal apprentice?
Oh God…he thought. Can I really do that to myself?
A performance…an act…
He knew that he was capable of doing it, but he was hesitant. He couldn't start right away and change his attitude. Slade would notice and become suspicious himself. Dick was also afraid that he would eventually fall victim to Slade's thinking. If he lied to himself enough he would begin to believe his own lies.
He didn't know what to do.
Another part of him was scared to try something like this. He mentally hit himself for feeling so frightened to try. He was Robin, the Boy Wonder, the Batman's former sidekick. He was the Teen Titans' fearless leader…a fearless leader who was beaten like a rag doll every day. He hated feeling so helpless. He hated not being in control of his own life.
Instead of grabbing something to drink he went into the gym and proceeded to beat the crap out of a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.
Dick pounded away at the punching bag until his knuckles bled. This wasn't the same as one of his training sessions with Slade. He was training himself, pushing himself even harder until he could physically defeat Slade. He didn't want any help from anybody. Dick wanted to punch the bag until he passed out from exertion.
He imagined Slade's stupid face on the punching bag. He pretended that he was beating Slade to a bloody pulp. If he couldn't defeat Slade like what happened on the rooftop, then he could at least pretend to beat him here. If he couldn't beat the crap out of Slade or his Sladebots then he could at least beat something.
"Stop it, Richard."
Dick looked up at the sound of his name. Wintergreen stood near the doorway, a first-aid kit in his hand. For a moment Dick stopped to look at him, but then continued to pound the punching bag even harder than before. Sighing, the older man walked up to him and grabbed his arm. The old man's grip was surprisingly strong.
"The master won't be pleased," Wintergreen said flatly. "You're supposed to rest today."
"This is what I want to do," Dick snapped, wrenching his hand away. "You can't make me do anything."
No matter how many times he interacted with Wintergreen, the butler could never replace Alfred. Dick was sure that Wintergreen wasn't trying to replace Alfred, but sometimes Dick couldn't help but think that.
"I know that I can't do that, but you're bleeding. Sit down and let me look at it."
Hesitantly, Dick sat down on a nearby bench and allowed Wintergreen to look at his hand. Wintergreen took Dick's hand again and unwrapped the bloody athletic tape. Dick's hands were still covered with chalk from when he practiced on the bars. Wintergreen then opened the first aid kit and took out a bottle of disinfectant.
"Did Slade send you?" Dick asked, his voice bitter. "I bet he did."
Wintergreen shook his head.
"If Slade didn't send you, then why are you here?" Dick asked. "Why do you care? You could just walk away if you disapprove."
He winced as Wintergreen disinfected the cuts.
"Oh, I find you two very similar," Wintergreen said, now wrapping a gauze around Dick's bloody knuckles. "Perhaps too similar in my opinion."
Slade was still out doing whatever, and this time Dick felt as though he wasn't hanging around the haunt. Even after all of these months Dick still didn't understand Slade's relationship with Wintergreen. He didn't think that the old man was being kept against his will, so why was he here?
"So you're playing that game too?"
"Do you know how many times Slade does this when he's frustrated?"
Dick looked down at his bleeding hands. Did he want to admit the similarities? No, he didn't. He knew that they were similar, but at the same time they were so different. What did Slade see him as? A pawn, a scrawny kid who used to work with Batman, or as an invaluable resource? Slade would never allow him to hurt himself. In some sense, Dick knew that Slade would never kill him.
And that scared him.
"I try not to make a point to know Slade well," Dick said. "And if he's using you to try to get me to talk—"
"He's not. I came of my own accord."
Dick turned his head to look at the older man, a surprised expression on his face. How could he be sure that Wintergreen was telling the truth? There didn't seem to be any consistency around here aside from Wintergreen bandaging him up.
"Then why are you here?"
"Slade is away on business. I'm here to make sure that you don't overexert yourself."
Once Wintergreen was finished Dick stood up again. If he tried to go back to killing the punching bag the old man would probably notify Slade. Hmp. Even when the criminal mastermind wasn't around the man was still controlling.
"I'm going to speak from a civilian standpoint here, Wintergreen," Dick said, throwing his towel over his shoulder. "You know that what you're doing is wrong. You're helping Slade keep me prisoner here."
The older man said nothing. While Dick appreciated Wintergreen trying to help him like this it just…wasn't the same. More warmth emanated from Alfred. Was Wintergreen genuinely concerned about Dick's well-being?
"And why are you telling me this?" Wintergreen asked. "I thought you told this all to Slade."
Dick snorted as his lips curled into a frown. He shook his head in disgust. While Slade may not have morals Dick certainly hoped that Wintergreen would have some. In a way he expected Wintergreen to be a better person.
"You're the only person I don't have to call 'Master' around here."
He wanted to take a shower and go to bed before Slade came back. Then he wouldn't have to talk to the man if he could help it. Dick turned to leave the room, resisting the urge to ask for another bag of ice for his shoulder. Sometimes he really was too stubborn. He knew that, just like Alfred, Wintergreen could sense his pain.
"He listens to you, you know," Wintergreen called out. "He just doesn't like to say it."
"If he really listened to me then he would've let me go months ago."
A performance…Dick thought. A grand performance…I don't know if I can do it…
As he walked away to the bathroom he thought about this seed of a plan. As of now it seemed to be his only option: to play along with Slade's game until he could come up with a plan to steal the controller. Coming up with a way to steal the controller would be easy to do.
How he would go about pretending to be a loyal apprentice, however, was a different matter entirely.
-JG-
Gotham City
Crime Ally
Commissioner Jim Gordon wasn't having a pleasant night.
Of course, there was always something nasty going on in Gotham at this time of night. Gordon stepped out of the police car and headed towards the small circle of officers. He ducked underneath the caution tape surrounding the dead body. A police blimp hung overhead, its searchlight casting yellow light down upon them.
So far he hadn't needed to turn on the Bat-signal tonight. Gordon was smart enough to realize that the Bat was out doing business with the Justice League, so he didn't want to bother the Bat unless he needed to. He followed the bloggers and the columnists, who all came up with different theories about what was making the Justice League and the rest of the superhero community antsy. Whatever it was, Gordon could be sure that it wasn't good.
"What have we got here, Bullock?" Gordon asked.
"Not quite sure, Commish," Bullock replied. "Looks like a regular hit-and-run. We found him in the middle of the street."
Gordon bent down and shone his flashlight over the dead body. From the looks of things it looked as though the man had only been dead for a few hours. The blood flowing from his multiple wounds was already congealing underneath him. The dead man was dressed neatly in clothes fit for a businessman. He died from trauma injuries to the head. That much Gordon could deduce on his own. "How long ago did you find him?"
"About thirty minutes ago. Some hobo tripped over the body and then called 911."
Gordon's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. From the injuries it would be easy to assume that someone had accidentally hit the man with his car and left him here to die, too cowardly to call an ambulance. Somehow, though, that explanation was too simple. Gordon sensed something deeper. Why else would they have called him here?
"Has anyone identified him yet?"
"No. There was nothing in his pockets."
Gordon shone his flashlight around the surrounding area. If this hit-and-run hypothesis was true then someone must have dragged him here. However, as Gordon looked around he saw no signs of the man being dragged anywhere. There would be more dirt on the man's cloths, more trails of blood on the ground…
The commissioner looked up. There were tall buildings on either side of them. It could be possible that this man was assaulted, beaten to death and then dropped from the rooftops. If that was the case then Gordon suspected that this was going to get messy fast.
"I don't like this," Gordon said. "Call a coroner to match dental records—"
"We've already done that, Commish. They've on their way."
No identification. Was the man mugged and left for dead? Judging from the man's clothing Gordon could assume that this man didn't haunt Crime Ally. He was a young professional, probably worked somewhere in downtown Gotham. If someone did kill him, then why did they bother to bring him here? To make a point?
There was something in the man's hand.
Gordon pulled on surgical gloves and pried open the man's hand. The man's hand and fingers were stiff, but he eventually managed to pry them open. What the hell was he holding? Gordon put down his flashlight and took the crumpled thing out of the man's hand. Even before he looked at it he could tell that it was a piece of cloth. His heart nearly stopped in his chest when he smoothed the small piece of cloth out.
"Someone go turn on the Bat-signal," he said suddenly.
"But sir—"
"Do it now!" Gordon snapped.
Startled by his uncharacteristically harsh tone, one of the other officers sprinted away. With his gloved hand he took out the object from the dead man's hand. Gordon found his heart pumping madly in his chest as he looked at the object. Normally he wouldn't call the Batman for a case like this, but Gordon was sure that the man would find out anyway.
"Commissioner, why—" Officer Montoya began.
"I'm sorry, but if we stick our noses in this before Batman does I feel as though we'll get ourselves into a mess we might never get out of."
Well, that wasn't to say that the GCPD wasn't going to investigate this death. It was their job, after all. But Batman had to know. He sighed as he realized that this was going to mean another few weeks without much sleep.
Another officer held out a plastic baggie for Gordon to put the object in. As the object in Gordon's hand neared the light the officers' eyes widened in shock.
"Dear God," the officer breathed.
"Now do you understand?" Gordon asked in a low voice. "That Bat better get here soon."
The other officers frowned as Bullock held up the plastic baggie to the light. Gordon didn't want everyone to see it. This was something only Batman should see. Gordon pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and hung his head.
It was Robin's ragged "R."
A/N: angsty Robin is angsty.
Oh, and I'm not a gymnast. I'm totally bullcrapping my way through that...and bullcrapping is a true skill. I just spent the last half-hour watching male gymnasts strut their stuff on the parallel bars on Youtube (that's what I was trying to describe). Yeah…when I need to do research for something I kind of go over the top. I wish I went into gymnastics though so that I could do flips and shit like Robin. I'm the most inflexible person ever.
Oh, and now we have stuff happening! Yay!
Love,
-H
