GUESS WHO JUST WROTE AN EXTRA CHAPTER BECAUSE THEY REALISED THEY SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN IT BEFORE BUT THEY DIDN'T SO THE STORY FLOWED BADLY
tomorrow: probably the last part. Maybe the second last? Either way wow this might actually get finished this time.
AS EVER THE FIRST TWENTY CHAPTERS ARE OVER HERE s/7734330/1/Basic-Skill
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This was dangerous.
This is exhilarating.
The coat Slade had given him was thick and heavy, the shoulders and body boxed him. The hood blocked everything out, so he took it down and let the rain drum on his head instead. It almost hurt. It froze through his skin.
This is the last night you'll ever be in Gotham.
Dick kicked a puddle, considered, for a moment, dancing round a street lamp. Which movie was that in? He'd seen it with his parents.
The thing was- the pathetic thing was- that he was on his way to kill Tony Zucco.
The thought of doing it made him sick. The thought of not doing it makes you sicker. There was a pressure built up inside him, he was so angry, he was so tired and this would make it better.
He couldn't tell if that thought came from him or Slade.
Does it matter?
And he deserved it. The sad, weak old murderer hadn't even left Gotham. Probably still doing mob work, Dick doubted that Batman had taken enough interest to check up on him and force him clean.
Sudden sirens echoed nearby. Instinctively, Dick ducked into the shadows, here they came-
The police cars rounded the corner, wheels spinning, rainwater dashing on the walls and on him. The red lights flashing on and off and on and-
Catching the figure jumping over the rooftops above him.
Just for a moment.
Wow. Dick smiled. He'd never seen Batman like this before, like a normal person would. Cape flying, cowl glinting, wind and rain flying behind and around him-
He's pathetic.
Dressing up like that. Who did that?
'Inspiring fear'. Sure. He just wanted to look cool.
Dick snorted and kept going, head down.
Another few blocks north, shortcut past the subway, shoving through a crowd of half-drunk kids outside an all-night store.
You're never coming back here.
And honestly- so what? Gotham was just another city.
You'll miss it.
He missed Jump too. He missed his parents, and the Titans, and Bruce, and Barbara, Alfred-
It was pointless. He'd ignore it till he didn't feel it anymore.
You can still go back.
Oh, there it was. That thought.
All right, more realistically: You don't have to go to Slade.
So what then? Take his show on the road, get back into a circus? Or find another city and start patrolling. Just add a little black to the Robin suit to show he was all grown up. Eventually Batman or Starfire or Raven or someone would track him down, he'd give a little speech and keep on fighting the good fight.
Dance like a monkey.
Now that made him sick.
He could just be normal.
Oh come on. You have no idea how to be normal.
Another thing to thank Bruce for.
But-
You're ignoring the point.
You want to go with Slade.
You want him to value you.
You want him to look at you and know what you are and not care because he's just as bad.
And really, what was wrong with that?
God. He'd gone crazy.
Without really thinking he'd gone where he'd needed to go: a shabby, dirty apartment block that stank like mould. Better than Zucco deserved.
He'd go in there and he'd find him and he'd make him sorry make him suffer make him dead.
And Bruce would see what had happened, exactly why it had happened, exactly what he did to you.
Because that was what this was. Not revenge for his parents. Not killing Zucco to kill Zucco.
Hurting Batman in the only weak spot he has: his damn ego.
Dick's fist tightened till it hurt. He shut his eyes and clenched his jaw.
Killing a man to wound another. But Zucco did deserve to die.
Did it make a difference?
He watched the dark windows of Zucco's apartment.
He made a decision.
