Before we start, can we just take a moment to think of all the soldiers that gave their lives for ours?
AN: This was a very awkward chapter to write. I wrote a sentence an hour, I swear, it was so arduous.
Anyway, I've received a lot of questions about when Slade started calling Dick "Richard" and requests to put in a flashback about the first time that happened. There will be a flashback for it, not in this chapter, but it will come soon.
Guest Reviews:
Lovely: Thank you so much! There's no point when fics have a lot of violence and close to no plot. This chapter and the next, however, does show quite a bit of violence towards Dick and I hope I don't make it too unjustifiable to you. If I go over the top, please tell me. I'm glad you like Slade's portrayal so much and I really hope I don't ruin it. Thank you for reviewing and I hope I hear from you again soon!
Doctor Matt: Thank you! Deathstroke most definitely cares about Robin. He cares too much, actually, which provides much of the conflict. Don't worry, there will be a lot more conflict with Batman to come. Thank you for reviewing!
"Gunpowerder! Get out of here!" Renegade cried desperately.
The gun shop exploded.
Renegade blinked his way to consciousness slowly, squeezing his eyes shut when heat parched them. He rolled away from the heat and found himself in free fall, landing with a jolt. The drop had only been a few feet but it had been more than enough to knock the air out of him. Coughing, Renegade rolled onto his elbows and tried to push himself up. His blurry vision latched onto glass counter full of guns… right, he had been in a gun shop when it…
His team! Renegade pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Aqualad was slumped beside the counter, the water that had been holding Renegade splashed and evaporating around him. Wally and Artemis were strewn nearby. The crouched form of Superboy was shielding an unconscious Miss Martian from the flames, unable to find an opening to get out of the building. The blast hadn't knocked him out, invulnerable as he was, and Renegade tilted his head dazedly as he wondered why he wasn't unconscious either. The head tilt made the weight on his forehead uncomfortably noticeable. Oh, the telepathy guard, right. That thing was so solid it was like a makeshift helmet. Huh, guess Slade was right about that thing.
The smoke invaded Renegade's lungs, forcing him to cough and crash back to the real, currently in flames, world. Superboy looked up at him and growled, instinctively pulling M'gann closer to his chest. The motion sent a pang through Renegade. Just a few months ago, Superboy had trusted him around kryptonite. They had tag-teamed their mentors in perfect synchrony. Now they were expecting attack in a burning building.
"C-c'mon," Renegade coughed. "We gotta get'm all out."
"You started this fire in the first place!" Superboy roared, hoarse. Renegade ducked his head guiltily.
"Doesn't mean I want them to die," he said. He grabbed his spare grapple from his belt and sent it spinning around the collapsed support beams between them and the door. Settling the line across his shoulders for leverage, Renegade pulled with all he had, mindlessly wondering what Slade would say if he saw his treasured protege saving the team. A broken earpiece rested a few feet in front of him, cracking in the flames. Oh.
"Supey, help me pull. Put Miss M behind the counter, it should be safest there," Renegade said, finally admitting he wasn't going to be able to clear the way on his own. He didn't look over his shoulder to see if Superboy complied or even heard, but eventually he felt a stronger tug on his line and heard Superboy grunting in effort behind him. The pillars cracked and tumbled like burnt matchsticks and Renegade could see the stars in the opening. Superboy scooped up Miss Martian and gently swept Artemis over his shoulder. Renegade threw his arm around Kid Flash and dragged Aqualad by his water bearers, doing his best to keep both from the flames. Above his head, a plastic case of bullets melted, sending a hail of molten metal pellets at his head. In desperation, Renegade threw himself over his friends, bracing for lava bullets burning through his uniform. When nothing happened, he risked a glance upwards. Superboy was hovering over all of them, the hot metal rolling harmlessly off his back, shredding his shirt in the process. Renegade smirked. How did that always happen? With a flick of his wrist, Superboy shoved the shelf away from them and pulled Aqualad's arm over his shoulders. Renegade did the same with Wally. Together, they maneuvered around obstacles in perfect synchrony, leaping clear of the building just as it collapsed in a fiery heap behind them. Renegade collapsed to his hands and knees, coughing the smoke out of his lungs. He looked up at Superboy and grinned broadly. Sometime during their escape, he'd forgotten he wasn't Robin.
"Nice job, Supey, totally asterous," he panted. His grin faded at the conflict written across Superboy's face. "Supey?"
"Robin, what's going on?" Superboy's voice was unusually soft, coated in smoke and doubt. Renegade stopped, wishing for the first time that he didn't have his mask on, that Superboy could read everything in his eyes. Slade was probably still watching and listening, and if he though Renegade even tried to tell his friends, Kid Flash might as well put his identity in the paper right beside "MOUNT JUSTICE EXPLODES"
Superboy stepped forward, concerned. Robin's posture was all wrong and his heartbeat sped to the point of fear. Superboy blinked. He'd never seen Robin this afraid before. But what was he afraid of? "Robin? Are you alright?"
Renegade still didn't move, staring at his former friend as he debated his answer, "Supe-"
A harsh green light flared from behind Superboy. The boy of steel folded to the hot concrete, Deathstroke stepping over his crumpled form. Renegade fell backwards with a shout, scrambling away from his mentor.
"Renegade…" Deathstroke hissed. He was furious, eyes reflecting the fire roaring around them. Renegade's palms pressed into pebbles, feet scrabbling as he dragged himself backwards. Beside him Wally groaned, coughing. On instinct, Renegade reached over and shook his best friend desperately, wide eyes locked on Deathstroke.
"Wally, w-wake up," his voice shook. Slade stepped over a burning log unflinchingly, steel boots snuffing out tiny flames as he approached. Renegade shook harder, "W-Wally…"
Deathstroke stepped through a screen of smoke and suddenly he was right in front of Renegade. He pulled the boy up by the collar.
"We're going hone now," he growled, "and you're going to explain to me-"
The sharp swoosh of a cape behind him cut him off. Deathstroke growled. Batman had arrived. Thinking quickly, Deathstroke injected Renegade with a sedative, knocking his protege unconscious. The dosage may have been a little strong for the boy's body weight, but it would do the trick for now. He pressed the needle tip against Renegade's throat.
"Slade," Batman growled, "Let him go."
Deathstroke turned around, snarl visible under the mask, Batman's son cradled in his arms. "No. Not to you. You'll drop him."
Batman stiffened. He'd caught full view of Renegade's costume, mask, insignia… "What have you done to him?" he hissed through his teeth. Only the needle against his son's neck stopped him from throttling the villain.
"I took a page out of your book, Batman," Deathstroke said mockingly. "You made Richard your Robin, I made him my Renegade."
"Not willingly."
"Are you talking about his will, or yours?"
Behind Deathstroke, Wally groaned and sat up, staring with groggy horror at the scene in front of him. Batman shot him a warning glare. The rest of the team stirred.
Suddenly the building behind them shuddered, fire leaping from the cracked facade. Batman flung an ice pellet at the blaze, shielding the teens with his cloak. When he looked back, Deathstroke was gone.
Dick groaned and coughed a bit, feeling the last dredges of smoke grate against his throat. His head felt foggy, probably from some sort of sedative, if only he could remember…
"Richard," a voice that wasn't Bruce's said. Dick's eyes snapped open. Slade was sitting beside his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at Dick. Mask-less, but still in his uniform he struck an intimidating figure. Instinctively, Dick flinched back in the sheets a little.
"…Yeah?"
Slade backhanded him across the face. Dick was so shocked he froze, staring off to the side. He had felt the simmering anger in that blow. Slade rarely punished him so physically. Still, the slap had knocked a bit of the fog from his mind, and the night's events trickled back to him.
"You don't say 'yeah' to me, boy!"
The faces of his friends flashed through his head with a surge of rage. Dick snapped his head back around, scowling at Slade. "Don't call me 'boy,' then!"
"Richard…"
"And while you're at it, don't order me to attack my friends!" The team's expressions blurred in and out as his memory fully reconstructed itself. Their confusion, shock, anger, sadness, hurt. "The only reason I'm doing all this stupid pretending for you is to protect them, and they almost died today because of me. Because of you!" Dick snarled, leaping at Slade. He underestimated the amount of chemicals still in his bloodstream, though, and a fogginess unbalanced him before he could reach his target. Deathstroke caught his wrist easily and he found himself hanging between his master and his bed precariously.
"You get one more chance, don't-"
Dick punched with his free hand, catching Slade in his unguarded jaw.
"-Waste it," Slade growled. In half a breath, he threw Dick over his shoulder and onto the ground. The room scrambled as the combination of drugs and sudden movement wreaked havoc on Dick's balance.
"Don't tell me… what to do…" he wheezed. His vision greyed around the edges and his focus latched onto a black eyepatch in a sea of white hair.
"Don't disrespect me and I won't have to," Slade bent and scooped his apprentice into his arms bridal style, walking out of the medical bay. Dick kicked and fought sluggishly, watching the walls blur as he was carried gently to the edge of the ledge they were on. From there they could see almost all the other balconies and the elevators leading down to the main hall on the bottom 'floor.' The hall looked far down, but Dick knew from years of acrobatics that a fall from this height probably wouldn't be fatal. He had the sudden, random urge to attach a bunch of trapezes to the ceiling and swing. His eyes wandered fuzzily over the training ledge, the dining ledge, his own small ledge where his room was, and Slade's forbidden top ledge. The man placed him down suddenly and Dick barely found his feet in time to keep upright.
"Richard," Slade said tenderly, kneeling. He placed a hand on Dick's shoulder, half to steady him and half to draw his attention in a kind, fatherly manner. "You know why I insist you respect me, right?"
Dick just mustered his concentration and gave a patented bat-glare. It felt like the loyal thing to do. Slade's frown deepened and he produced a long rope attached to a grapple from who knows where. With his free hand Slade began wrapping the rope around Dick's waist, the other still on the boy's shoulder.
"Do you remember when I told you about my family, Richard?"
Dick nodded hesitantly. He tried to pull free from Slade's gentle grasp, but suddenly the fingers gripped tight, holding him in place. Not that there was anywhere to go, Dick's bare heels were inches from the edge. Slade kept talking fluidly while he worked.
"You know how the rest of my children… fared, right? See, the problem was that they didn't respect me enough to listen to me as their mentor."
Withe the rope moderately secured around Dick's waist, Slade moved to his chest and shoulders. Dick tried to use his free hands to push Slade away, but all that did was make the mercenary talk a little faster.
"They didn't respect my orders, they were disobedient in their ignorance, and it got them killed."
Slade released Dick's shoulder and stepped back a few paces, admiring his work. By now the rope had formed a rough harness, similar to the gear Dick remembered from when Bruce had taken him rock climbing.
"What does that have to do with me?" Dick said.
"This," Slade shot the grapple upwards, attaching it to the ceiling securely. Then he walked up to Dick and placed his hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently, before pushing his protege off the ledge.