A/n: Hey, I thought since I've been doing good about updating, I could respond to some reviews without getting mauled… so, review responses are below. In other words, I have decided to get back into shape and learn Parkour. I know, judge me as you will. I think Parkour is really similar to a lot of the stuff Robin does, and it will help me write him better. Aslo, it looks really fun.
Thaliag.2: Thank you so much! Seriously, you have no idea how much the info will help! And I'm glad you are liking the story still.
Ultimate Anime Fan: Thanks, I am glad you enjoy that concept, it's going to be major in this story.
SladeRavenFan: I'm a little confused as to whether or not you liked the Robin and Raven moment, but I'm glad you liked Slade's part! Yeah, Robin (Dick) is a little agnsty right now, but he'll sharpen up soon enough.
Alyoshaman: Oh yes, just you wait. Batman is going to play a very big role in this, soon enough.
Anon: I love your reviews. I really do. I just wanted to let you know that.
OfeliaWolf: Will do, love. The updates are coming fairly often now, as you may have noticed, haha. I finally decided to stop being lazy.
Sky the white dragon: I'm glad you are still reading, still loving it! I hope I make you proud!
The Amethyst Eyes: You should get a tumblr! And yes, Robin got a room! And yes, as you have seen now, the Titans also got rooms! Hope you are enjoying the story.
Dick helped Wintergreen with the lunch dishes as he mulled over Raven's words. We need Robin. You need Robin.
But it was Robin who had gotten them into this mess. Robin's skills, Robin's abilities, Robin's over confidence and blind determination that had caught Slade's attention. Robin who had spent long nights obsessing over Slade despite his friends' pleas that he let it go.
With everything else that was happening, he had a hard enough time coping; he couldn't handle the crushing guilt as well. When Slade had called him Richard, it had thrown him off for a minute, but if Slade wanted him to be Richard Grayson, so be it. In his current situation, he knew there was little use in fighting the man. In a way, he was thankful.
Robin could never do the things that Slade expected him to do. Robin had been born of good and raised in justice, but Dick…
Dick had, at one point, been hell bent on vengeance, an eye for an eye. After losing his parents so quickly, so unexpectedly, just because someone else decided they shouldn't live anymore, he had been willing to kill. So maybe Robin couldn't do the things Slade wanted him to, but maybe Dick could.
Robin couldn't get them out of this, not right now, at least… but maybe Dick could.
So he would let Robin bide his time for the time being, just while he thought things through, thought of a plan.
Because right now, Robin couldn't get that out. But down the road, if things progressed much further, Dick wasn't sure he would be able to either.
Slade had entered the room as they had finished drying the dishes. A pointed look from Wintergreen told him to be careful, that the boy was still in a fragile state. He had thought that allowing him to visit his friends more freely would brighten his spirits, but he had returned in little better condition than he had left him in.
The morning's incident had clearly shaken the boy more than Slade had expected. He had, granted, been anticipating some resistance but the boy seemed to have regressed, abandoning the Robin persona entirely.
Even the way the boy was carrying himself was so resigned, defeated. That would have to change. He suspected that the Dick was merely shaken; it was startling to realize that you really had no control over you life. He would come to accept it soon enough, Slade knew. He had better. He would not allow Dick to be so disheartened. As he had said, it was the boy's fire, after all, that had led Slade to him. He needed some molding, true, but the boy could not be broken so quickly. Where was the fun in that?
"Dick," he said, approaching the boy, but keeping his tone neutral. "Since I allowed you free time earlier, we shall resume training now. Sparring, in ten minutes. Do not be late, apprentice." The boy nodded, and Slade left the room silently.
"Up," he called, watching the boy rise, panting to his feet, once more. "Come, apprentice, you can do better than that surely."
Dick wiped his lip with his sleeve. Slade had been beating him easily; he had no desire to fight right now, even if it was simply for training purposes.
Slade's eye narrowed in thought. The boy was barely trying. If he wanted him to put effort into this, he would have to give him something to fight for. Since he had taken away everything the boy knew and held dear, that left him with few options but to goad him into it. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest course of action, all things considered, but then again…
Perhaps giving the boy a reason to work harder would be worthwhile in the end. And if it inched the plan further along, then so much the better. That in mind, allowing the slightest amount of superiority to his tone, he said, "Surely Wayne would not have tolerated such poor performance?"
There. That got the boy's attention. At once, his posture stiffened, his eyes narrowed, his chin tensed in defiance as he ground his teeth in impatience. "Don't talk about him," the boy spat out, flinging his fist blindly at Slade. Slade caught his fist easily, tossing him to the floor, though not viciously.
"Why ever not?" he countered slyly. "Surely, being in the same position he once filled, I am not asking too much by requesting the same performance?"
"Then it's not too much for me to request the same treatment?" Dick replied, eyes glinting dangerously as he looked up at Slade from the floor.
Well played. Slade had heard tell that Robin was a master of interrogation, when in the right state of mind. But Slade knew how to push the boy, and push him he did. Crouching down beside the boy, he continued, "He wasn't rough with you? Hard on you? But there's a difference between he and I, Dick."
"Yeah, he didn't hit me," Dick replied. Slade ignored him.
"He didn't appreciate you." Dick stilled. Slade knew he had his complete attention. "He saw your potential, of course, and used it to his advantage, but he didn't appreciate how gifted you truly are."
He had said enough. The boy was much more alive now, much more focused. He rose to his feet once more, and, tossing the boy a bo staff, retrieved one for himself as well.
"Come," he said, taking a stance. The boy hesitated slightly, before a small smirk appeared on his face, and he charged forward.
Excellent. He countered easily, but the boy was not deterred. They sparred vigorously until Dick was too tired to continue, and the Slade let him return to his room for a shower. Meanwhile, he needed to have a talk with Wintergreen.
Clark Kent had barely had time to write the news the last few weeks, let alone watch it. Therefore it came as quite a shock to him when he heard.
"Hey, Kent," Deborah said, coming up behind him twirling her glasses in her hand. "Chief's got an assignment for you. Big one."
"Oh?" he said, turning in his chair to face her. "And what is that?"
"The Bat's brat," she said, as if that were all the answer in the world. His brow furrowed.
"Robin?" he questioned, his worry growing. "What about him? He get hurt or something?"
"Nah," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "He and that group of kids he runs around with been missing for about a month now. Been kept pretty low key until now, no one thought much of it, since they've run off at random before. Boss wants you to try to find out where they might be." He nodded.
"Alright, I'll get right on it. They're out in—where was it, Jump?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, will do. Would you excuse me, Deborah? I haven't been feeling too well, and was actually about to head home." He said, standing and putting on his coat.
"Sure thing," she said, walking away. "Feel better."
He gathered his things quickly and left the office shortly after. Rushing towards Fifth and Elm, he entered the disabled phone booth and waited impatiently for the beam to recognize him. Once he was inside the Watchtower, he immediately removed his civilian clothing, donning the Superman identity.
Ignoring the greetings of Diana and Barry, who followed his lack of response with a rude hand gesture, he immediately contacted Bruce.
"Clark?" the man sounded tired.
"What the hell is going on, Bruce?" He snapped, unable to hide his irritation and his worry for Dick.
"I don't—" Bruce began, but Clark was having none of it.
"Where is he, Bruce? What aren't you telling us?" He heard Bruce sigh. And in that moment, he knew he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear.