Long one, with a blip from Bruce and more repercussions for them.
29 - Race to Isolation
The terrain was very hard to get used too. Trees and wildlife everywhere, very little he could name. He only had a rough idea where he was. He had a feeling they crossed the US border a few times just to mess him up. Slade did a lot of that.
Like dropping him off at the top of a ridge and telling him to make it back to camp before sunset. This was the second time he was dropped off like this, forced to race down the mountain side and make it back to their current haunt. Racing the sun wasn't something he wanted to do, especially in unfriendly territory. He still hadn't decided if this was a jungle or a forest.
Dick leapt over an overhanging ledge and caught the limb of an unknown tree before doing a series of somersaults to glide through the branches forward. He didn't have time to climb to the ground and do normal hiking, he was racing the sun! And it was winning. He had to get back to that abandoned military outpost! If he was late again he'd…
The teenager couldn't suppress the shiver going down his spine. Going cross country inside the back of a dark semi-truck for hours on end training wasn't nearly as bad as being shoved into a pitched black room with nothing there, at all. That stone cold room… he really wasn't sure how long he was in there. No light, no food, no water, no clothes, nothing but himself in that room. And that was after Slade 'cleaned him up'. He really didn't want to go through that again.
But knowing how far he'd gone in only this much time, and that man's disposition, he was going to spend a lot more time in that horrid place. At least until he got with whatever program that guy had in his head. Dick could spend days trying to figure out what that guy wanted, what Slade wanted, from him and never get even remotely close. Bruce was so much easier to figure out.
Remembering the man as he leapt from one large rock to another sent needles into his heart. He worked so hard not to cry and scream Bruce's name every other night. Or day. Everything was turning into one big blur, and missing someone, calling out their name and knowing they'd never hear you only made it worse. How he longed to leave this hell he was in, to go back to the safety of that man's presence. He knew he could run, leave whenever he wanted to, but doing that would kill his siblings. Bruce wouldn't want him then.
His steps faltered, throwing him forward and having to catch himself in a roll before sprinting again. He couldn't think about them either. The guilt of knowing their lives hung in the balance of his obedience to a psychopathic killer ate away at him constantly. When his mind was forced blank by the constant workouts and he wasn't able to hate Slade (something that only happened when he wasn't around and he was exhausted) for a second, his mind wandered to them and also to that woman in the warehouse. Logic told him she was either dead or in a state where she couldn't talk to the authorities. Either way, she had been in a great deal of pain when those probes attacked.
Slade was willing to force the same pain onto four kids who were under half her weight. The same intensity. He doubted Damian would have survived. One false move his master couldn't tolerate and…
He didn't see the branch until it was too late. As the acrobat's body continued forward, his head flew back and landed on the ground, flat on his back. Rocks, twigs, some kinds of acorns and other unknowns drove into his back, tearing holes into the thin shirt he was wearing along with adding more cuts and bruises to his skin.
"Ow…" he groaned, staying still for a moment in case he started to black out. After getting beaned in the head by a bat by Two-Face, he knew when to stay down and regain his bearings. 'Focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In…'
Dick regained consciousness just as the sun touched the horizon. He hadn't moved an inch. "Ah crap." Gingerly he touched the place he was hit who knew how long ago. A mixture of sap and blood met his fingers, telling him all he needed to know. "Great. Skull fracture, concussion, possible infection… Leslie would have my hide. Ow. Cooler, here I come. Ugh…"
Slowly he pushed himself back up to his feet, trying to actually figure out where he was relative to his target. No recognizable signs, but he was over half way there. He reached into his pocket and took out the handheld GPS, checking where he was that way. Still too far northeast, maybe five miles off. He didn't know the terrain so there could be some hitches in his pathway. Looking towards the sun again he sighed heavily. He couldn't guarantee survival or making it to the haunt unless he walked at an even pace. The pounding in his head secured his mode of transportation. There was no way he was running now.
About two hours after sunset he made it to the outpost, wincing at the bright light of the fire. Slade was cleaning his weapons while Wintergreen cleaned up the remains of what had to be a stew. Dick didn't even bother to hide his presence as he came towards them. He twisted his ankle on a root in the dark and further scratched up his hands and arms forcing his way through the brush. The calluses on the palms of his hands were what saved him from serious damage there, and let's not forget the gash on his forehead. He was a wreck, in need of medical attention, though not as severe as it could have been.
"You're late." Slade didn't even look at him, still sharpening knives. "I told you not to treat it like a country hike."
"Ran into a tree." Slowly he shuffled into the light, keeping his distance from his captor. The maskless assassin looked him over with his one eye, frowning slightly. "Couldn't promise getting here if I didn't walk."
"Hm." Wilson looked up and down him for a moment longer before putting aside his knife. "Bring that tackle box over here."
Dumbly Dick nodded and walked over to a stack of supplies they kept on hand. To the side of it was a normal tackle box, filled with bandages and wraps. Another box had medicine and he saw a sewing kit once. The bandages were being restocked constantly. Soon he was two feet from his master, one lightly bleeding hand extending the kit forward so the man could grab it. Frustrated, Slade roughly grabbed the teen's wrist and yanked him forward. "Why must you be so stubborn Apprentice?"
"Why do you have to threaten people's lives to get what you want?" The captive stood his ground, though he had stumbled forward when he was pulled. He gave the man a hard glare, reminding him how much he resented the guy. Inside he knew he was asking for the worst, but if he was going to get it, he better earn it in spades.
Slade just raised an eyebrow at him, his lips tightening in disapproval. "Wintergreen, beer."
The kid blinked in confusion as the man caught a can, warm instead of the way most people drank it. He popped the tab and then started pouring the drink on his open wounds. Dick hissed in pain, dropping the box while trying to pull away. The smell was horrible and the stinging along with his wrist being in a vice would have brought him to tears had he been a few years younger. He was getting close to them now. The man's hand moved up his arm so he could get all the wounds. "Kneel."
Biting back an insult, he let his knees collapse to the ground. The can had been emptied by just disinfecting his arms, so another one was tossed to him. Staying true to his pattern, the man poured the can over his head, forcing Dick to tightly close his eyes and mouth. He practically held his breath while the liquid ran down his face and coughed painfully when it ran over his head wound. Some went down his back and his shoulders shot up involuntarily. Slade stopped pouring, frowning even more. "Take off your shirt."
As glad as he was to have his arm released, Dick did not want to remove anything, especially in front of this guy. He'd already seen him naked, several times. He was reevaluating whether this man was a gay pervert every time he was ordered to strip. "Apprentice, turn around and take off your shirt."
Glowering at the man, he slowly turned around on his knees, sliding the t-shirt off his body. He could hear an audible sigh just before the rest of the can was dumped onto the wounds on his back. Again the boy flinched, having ignored the cuts he gained from falling earlier until then. He hadn't even bothered to brush off leaves and twigs when he got up. Only when the second can was empty did he get a break. The heat from the fire before him was starting to burn his skin.
"Get up."
'Here it comes.' As he started pushing himself off his knees, Slade grabbed his upper arm and pulled. His jaw tightened as they came towards the cooler, a five by five by five foot concrete building, on the outside. Only the cracks around the solid wood door allowed for air to pass through. Lock on the outside, sturdy and unbreakable for anyone who resided within (unless they had superstrength, which he didn't). But as much as he feared being in there again, it was the large pressurized hose resting next to it that scared him more.
"You smell horrible." The one-eyed man thrust him towards the cooler's wall, letting a bruise refresh itself on his opposite shoulder. "Shoes and pants, over there."
Dick shivered involuntarily. "Please, Slade no. Don't—"
"You've already ruined your shirt," the man stated flatly. "Don't add the rest to the list. And what have I told you to call me?"
Shaking and wincing at the threatening tone of the man's voice, he whispered, "Master."
"Exactly. Shoes and pants," Slade brought the hose up to a firing position, "now."
Biting his lip, the teen obeyed, tossing what was left of his clothes to the side. Buck naked before this man once again, he waited for the inevitable. Pressurized water struck him, bruising and cleaning him at the same time. He didn't stay still, he never could. For nearly five minutes he writhed against the current, crying out and trying to fight it on instinct, even though he knew Slade's aim was perfect and there was no escape. And like all those times before, ever since that Christmas day this torture started, he eventually fell to the ground, pressed against the wall for support and huddled over for warmth. Though they had gone south, it was still a cold winter's night. And he was sopping wet.
Curled into a fetal position, his back turned to his master, Dick sobbed into his hands, shaking uncontrollably. His stomach turned in knots, his head hurt from his thoughts and concussion, and every part of him ached from the constant physical training. And he knew it would only get worse. He had done everything the man demanded (grudgingly) and yet he was still punished. He hardly mouthed off anymore, especially since his comments usually rewarded him this kind of treatment. But even when he was good and obedient he was punished! He was hurt and covered in more wounds than he had most his life (that time with Two-Face being the only acceptation). This man… his master… was a monster. He'd be throwing him into that prison again any minute now.
When a towel covered hand rested on his back, he flinched on instinct. Had Wintergreen felt pity for him at last and gone against his friend's wishes? He dared not look, but other than flinching at the man's touch, he didn't resist as someone toweled him off and started adding bandages to his back.
"You need to be aware of your surroundings Richard." Slade's voice so close to his head made him jerk around in alarm. He was helping him? Running the towel over his hair then taking another piece of plaster to his face, he continued his lecture, keeping his voice even. "None of these injuries would have happened if you paid more attention and kept at an even pace. You want to see your path clearly, you make it here by sunset. Do not make that mistake again."
Dick just gaped at him, disbelief and terror trying to take control of his face. Slade… this monster… was giving him advice? He almost sounded like…
Partway through bandaging his hand and wrist, the teenager jerked away from him, horrified. He pressed his back against the wall, staring wide eyed at his captor and breathing hard at the thought that just crossed his mind. They were nothing alike. Nothing! The way the guy's eye steeled when he saw the boy's reaction was proof of that. His temples didn't pulse like that when he was upset with him, and he could always look him in the eyes. This man didn't, not really. He only glanced at them then took looks all over him, analyzing every move he made critically.
"Is that how you want to learn from this Apprentice? Fine." Slade grabbed his arm again roughly and pulled him to his feet towards the cooler door. Dick pulled away from it and him by instinct, driving his feet into the ground. He knew this was coming, knew this would happen, but couldn't stop himself from fighting.
"No! Stop! Master please!"
But his pleas fell on deaf ears as he was thrown into the small, cold chamber. No light, no padding, no warmth. No hope. All he could do was roll with the throw to dull the impact and stare at the doorway, his only way out. Slade glared at him coldly, disappointed. "You need to accept your fate Richard. That's the only way you'll improve. Accept our fate and then everything will fall into place."
"Master no!" 'Not again! Not alone!' Terror gripped his heart.
"This is for your own good."
And with that the door locked shut, taking away the light and any hope of freedom. Dick lunged for the door, pounding at it and screaming for help. Maybe Wintergreen would show pity and let him out. Maybe Superman would fly overhead on his way to some crisis or another and find them! Maybe fairies would see him as one of their own and take him away! As his cries to be let out of that impossible cell diminished, crazy escape theories flew through his mind, each more unlikely than the next. The pounding on the door became weaker and weaker, and tears strangled his voice as he slid back to the floor.
"I'll be good… I promise I'll be good… please… just let me out… don't leave me alone… don't leave me…" 'I'm sorry. G-d I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Don't hurt them. Don't leave me alone. I'm sorry Bruce, I'm so sorry.' Crumbling in the dark, the boy curled in on himself and cried his heart out, shivering in the cold stone room, alone.
"Slade," Wintergreen eyed his friend with some distaste next to the campfire, "are you certain about this course of action? His injuries—"
"He won't let me treat him anymore than that." Slade picked up the clothes and placed them alongside others in need of cleaning. It would be his apprentice's duty to take care of them once his time in solitary was done, again. "Won't even let me touch him to help."
"You haven't exactly given him reason to." This earned the man a slight glare. "Pointing it out. But it appears you've found his greatest weaknesses and exposed them. You should be very careful about how you use them."
"He has to learn to accept his new life," the assassin stated flatly. "He's used to being indulged by Wayne, and I cannot have a spoiled apprentice. Richard has so much potential, and that man has squandered it. I am merely ripping away the fat Wayne's lathered him in and bringing out the true warrior he is deep inside. It'll be painful," he stated, then grinned, "but when I'm done, he'll be better than any self-acclaimed hero in all of history."
Nine weeks. Bruce couldn't sleep. Not that it was surprising really. Looking over the note Dick left behind in that gas station in Smallville, he felt like he should be seeing something, but couldn't figure out what. Half of the page was in black and the other half orange, all ink. There was even a center crease dividing the two sides to ensure he wrote it right. And 'Cass' had an extra 'S'. Black, orange, 'S', half one color and half another. There was a message there, but what?
There was an 'S' earlier in the case too. When Dick left those rings on their chain on his clothes, he made it look like an 'S'. One ring on one end and the other at the other. It told the detective one thing. He knew who his kidnapper was from the beginning, and something about the letter 'S' was involved.
Why did the message have to be so cryptic? The man sighed and looked over the possible kidnappers he'd compiled and the ones he knocked off the list. Superman, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter spent the past week checking on the League of Assassins and the League of Shadows, despite his assurances they had nothing to do with this. Ra's had no interest in Dick, ever. If it weren't for Bruce's fondness for him in particular, he would have killed him years ago. Besides, this was a kidnapping still contained in the US, through Kansas of all things. Dick would have used another sign if it were that madman anyway.
Other possible 'S' related suspects were being knocked off the list slowly, but it was hard to distinguish who could have or would have motive. So far every 'S' related villain and socialite were accounted for, at least in Gotham.
Orange and Black. Black and orange. Half and half. That part of the clue still eluded him. Why those colors? Why half and half? For a moment he thought of Scarecrow, but Crane was in Arkham the entire time. The suspects were really winding him down.
"Your report?"
"How did you even—" Superman gaped at the exhausted insomniac at the large computer, wondering when he knew he came in.
Bruce just gave him an are-you-really-that-dumb? glare before rubbing his eyes. "Are you satisfied with what you learned from Ra's and his men?"
The man of steel looked away, grumbling to himself. "Not really, but he wasn't lying. They don't have him. Don't even care if he's alive or dead. He did say that if you didn't 'prove capable of protecting even one of your offspring, then you are not suited to raise his grandson'. I think he's waiting to see what you do next or if we can find Dick at all. If he's not satisfied—"
"He and Talia will reclaim Damian, I know." He already received a threatening letter from his Ex-Fiancé saying so. Apparently they were letting him raise Damian until he learned all his father could teach him or until Bruce proved to be incapable of grooming an appropriate heir for their empire. "We have until summer before they make their move against us."
"I still think they know where he is or who has him," his friend reiterated. "Ra's seemed to think it was funny that you didn't know, but wouldn't tell."
"Despite popular belief, I don't know everything." He looked back to his computer, trying to make some connections before attempting to go to bed once again. "I just usually know where and how to look."
"Do you know your baby's crying for you right now?"
Bruce looked once at Superman before near leaping out of his chair and darting back into the manor above. His friend shook his head sadly as he watched him leave. Looking for one kid, watching over four others, the former dark knight was falling apart. The man really needed something, anything, just to rest for a bit. But as much as he'd like to take over the man's duties for a few hours, Bruce never let anyone do his job, ever. Except Dick that one time.
Question was, if he kept going at the rate he was, would he be able to do anything for any of his children soon?
A/N: Such a sad note to end it on. Anywho, Ra's would know what happened to Dick, his information network being a lot bigger and better than Bruce's, plus both parties being of interest to him, he'd know about it within a few hours. Since Bruce is supposed to be the great detective, he sees it as a test of his skills. If he doesn't have the skills, then there's no reason for Damian to stay with him. So yeah, they now have a time limit. Can they beat it? B3 We'll see.
As for the training, this was the original down hill run. And I've run into a tree before, while on my bicycle. not fun, but I cracked up laughing anyway. It was just too cartoonish and ridiculous to happen that I couldn't help it. Also been attacked by a skeleton but that's another story. Slade's still trying to get into DIck's head and get him to latch onto him for Stockholm syndrome, and Dick's still fighting that tooth and nail. Take a good look at how Dick thinks in the next few chapters. Things are going to change in that head of his, already has a bit. Before this, he was a well adjusted teenager. Now... not so much. *evil laugh*
FYI, you've got another week and a half of torture before things start panning out. TTFN!
