AN) Hey! Sorry for the delay! Had dinner theater all week! Now it's over, it was fun.
But I didn't have time to write, so here's a long chapter to make up for the wait? I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me! *cowers from angry fanfriends.* *little voice speaks up*
R: P-Please don't hurt her. S-She didn't do anything wrong! It was my fault!
Me: It wasn't your fault Dickie, its okay. Let's go play with your action figures, huh?
R: O-Okay. *Waves at fanfriends and grabs my hand, blushing* Bye-Bye Sirs and Madams.
Now—on with the story!
His hand traced the boy's back softly, gently trying to bring the child's cries to a rest. He was now blubbering something about 'Vibranium' and 'Rogers' but it made no sense.
"Richard, you need to calm down. Breathe." He commanded softly, feeling the boy's back shake as he tried to pull air into his lungs. "Tell me, why is this so important to you?"
"I don't k-know!" He cried, shaking his head. "I d-don't know!"
"Then why would you hide it?"
"I t-thought…I thought i-if I could…" He sniffled, hugging the pieces closer to his chest.
"Could what? Richard please, if you don't tell me—I can't help you."
The way Richard looked at him, how his eyes glistening with tears ached for any compassion.
"I t-thought if I could remember—M-Master would be p-proud of me! T-That if I k-knew who the p-people were and w-where they were—Master would be pleased!"
He shook his head, as Richard curled around the shards tighter. The poor boy, he struggled to win praise, favor. Yet Slade denied him what he yearned for the most, the poor child just wanted to be loved. He wanted Slade to look at him, and instead of smack him, deliver a tiny word of praise. Wintergreen had seen how Richard practically swelled when Slade had called him good.
He seemed to glow whenever a compliment was given, as Slade had nodded instead of glaring the boy's eyes had lit up. Wintergreen had watched the boy for eight days after his reprogramming. And William did not approve of the memories being wiped from his mind, but—it was better than allowing the boy to be beaten into submission. Yet there was a better tactic Will had practically begged Slade to try. To be kind to Richard, to treat the boy like a son—or at least a human being.
"Richard, it's okay. Shush, listen…listen—it's going to be alright. Give me the pieces."
"P-Please—I-I"
"Richard the edges are sharp, you're going to cut yourself if you hold onto these any longer. Please."
Slowly his grip lessened, allowing Will to collect the pieces. Gently smiling at the boy, he piled them on the floor. Will tenderly grasped the boy by his underarms, smiling kindly at Richard was he flinched away. The child was drenched in sweat, his eyes pained. He had suffered a rather hard punishment. The electrocution wasn't approved of either.
Will wormed the sweat soaked top and shorts off the boy, leaving him sit on his bed in nothing but his undershorts, as he fished about the dresser for a fresh pair of pajamas, the child looked extremely destressed and tired. He should rest, tomorrow would most likely be stressful once again.
After outfitting Richard in a pair of soft button up flannels, he began to bring the covers around Richard for comfort and warmth.
"W-What's wrong with me?" The child asked softly, his pale tear tracked face becoming wet once more.
"Richard?"
"W-Why can I never get anything r-right? Why d-do I have t-to be such an f-failure?"
"You're not a failure."
"Master always calls me a failure! He says I'm stupid and worthless and—and wretched and I'm sorry!" His knees curled up against his chest, Will sadly gripped his shoulder. Richard sobbing out 'I'm sorry' as he tried to console him.
"Things are going to change Richard, I promise. Try and get some rest, you are not stupid or worthless or a failure. And you are not wretched."
Before taking his leave of the young boy who was now laying on his back, after he had uncurled Richard so he could sleep—even if tears brought him the rest, Will slipped one of the larger pieces of the shield in a desk drawer. Richard needed comfort, and whatever that shield had meant to him, it would help him through this hard time.
He did deposit the remaining shards in the garbage. There was no repairing them. But now he had a larger fish to fry—Slade. He was going to march straight in there and give that man a piece of his mind. The changes were going to be made—Will apparently hadn't been clear enough that the boy was not going to be treated so harshly again.
Breakline
The nerve of that brat! How dare he lie and try to keep secretes from him? Hadn't he learned his place? Why did that brat still insist upon being so hard headed and disobedient? Surely he knew by now that if he did not obey there would be a punishment? That he would be beaten? Every single time Slade had to discipline him, Richard acted as if this was some new horror—even though he had been warned and had been punished before. It was infuriating! And now—the child was trying to directly undermine him! To regain the memories Slade had taken.
"What, on God's green Earth, was that?" Will demanded, banging the door open.
"His punishment. He disobeyed me."
"How? Did you ever order him to return the shield to you?" His arms became crossed, an air of anger washing through the room, only adding into the rage Slade had been building. But—that was a fair point.
"No. But the fact that he attempted to hide it from me—like he was doing something wrong makes the matter only worse. He was trying to regain his memories."
"Which you stole from him." Will continued, Slade growing more aggravated as he spoke.
"Would you rather me have to whip the child daily?"
"Admittedly, no. But there is another way."
"I'm not about to coddle him Will." Slade interrupted.
"You don't have to treat him like an angel, but what about trying to be kind? Slade, that boy lives for your praise. I've seen his eyes light up the moment you praise him. He's out there dying for you to be kind to him. It's all he wants! He wants you to care!" Slade raised an eyebrow, will continuing in his tirade about Richard. And the old man did have a point. "If you were to act like you actually care about him—his well-being, his interest—he would actually want to learn from you! Not only to avoid punishment—but because it interests him. He would be loyal. You saw, as soon as the League began to treat him fairly and kindly he turned some of his loyalty to him."
True. The drug had only done so much. Richard's previous training must've truly built up an immunity or at least a defense. To keep the boy under stronger drugs would fry his mind, and Slade needed that mind. Richard, again was very smart—he would build a tolerance against the chemicals.
A plan began to form inside. A few well-placed lies, a few smiles and little rewards here and there. It could work. Richard knew not to challenge Slade's authority by now…so there truly was no reason to continue with the beatings. It would be good to build the boy up again, slightly. He needed to be able to stand on his own on assignments. Not purely rest on Slade giving him orders about every little thing.
"And if he trusts you, he will still be your apprentice—but his will to serve under you will be better. He will actually take an interest in the profession."
"And what do you suggest I do to gain his trust?" He would have to be careful about it, not wanting to completely tarnish Richard's view point. Slade was still going to be the final authority, he couldn't suddenly be all soft. But yet—it would be confusing to the boy. He would be emotionally wrecked—a perfect time for Slade to gain trust.
"Stop with the electrocution." Will reasoned. "If he misbehaves swat him upside the head or for heaven's sake spank him or something more human. Putting a shock collar on him like you would a dog does not project the image of caring."
Spanking the boy? Logical, swatting him upside the head? He would most likely just switch his hands or—
"I will continue with the whip." Will began to protest. "When he's older, for extreme cases. Teenagers are often more rebellious."
"Very well." The phrase was uttered with venom behind it. "Fifteen lashes—that's it. That's the maximum."
"Of course." Hopefully extreme cases would be very, very rare.
"I might also suggest, "Will sounded a little cautious. Making the paranoia grow, "You remove the mask. Not right away! But he were to see you as a human, and not some monster from under the bed, it would make it easier for him to relate to you."
Breakline
"Idiot! You stupid idiot! Master will beat you again tomorrow, and the next day and the next. Why do you always fail? You worthless piece of trash, you don't deserve to live!"
Tears trickled out from his scrunched eyes, hitting his pillow at odd angles. He had curled into a fetal position, blankets wrapped around him tightly. As if they could protect him from all the anger and pain that was going to be unleashed upon him.
He was terrified, Master had been so angry. His words had hurt him badly. How dare he try to keep something from Master? As Master's property, Richard's life was not his own. It never had been, and he had acted like he had the right to control it—that he could be in charge. While Master was the puppeteer. Richard was simply a puppet, he was to be controlled by Master. If Master gave the slightest command, if a string was pulled Richard was to jump to obey.
He rubbed the tears off his face, feeling his stomach drop even more as the need to punish himself increased. Master had been cut off and he was grateful that the electrocution had stopped—but Dick deserved more. He had disgraced his master. He should be honored, be grateful that Master had chosen him, had claimed him—as his master was perfect. While he would continue to shame him.
His eyes grew heavier and heavier, but the knowing guilt in his stomach began to spread. His chest tightened, aching as he struggled to breathe. His hands felt—funny. The need, the want to switch himself burning everywhere.
"Please stop, Dickie I love you. Don't hurt yourself anymore I love you."
He froze, not sure where that voice had come from. The words should've brought him comfort—but he sobbed into the pillow. What was wrong with him? Hearing voices, getting hallucinations, wanting to lie to his master—what was happening to him? It was too hard. Master was even angrier at him, he suddenly had feelings and memories he never had before—and he didn't know what to do. If anything, he wanted it to be the way it was. When Dick would obey without question, when he didn't have to fret over zoning into some strange dream. When every action was planned, when he didn't have to worry and simply obeyed.
Why was this happening to him? More words banged around in his head—but instead he cried out even harder. It hurt—his mind actually hurt. He couldn't breathe. What was wrong with him? He clutched at his forehead, gripping it even tighter, trying to make the voices leave.
"Dickie—come on. You know we love you. We'd never let you go back to that jerk. I promise, you're my Bucky. I'll protect you, I swear."
"You'll be safe with me and Mommy I promise."
"He doesn't care about you. NO ONE WILL!"
"Hulk…happy?"
The voices kept coming and coming. He screamed slightly, shoving his head between his knees.
"Little child be not afraid—"
"Why would I send you back, you're my perfect brother?"
"I believe I am in the presence of one of Athena's sons."
"Die Rebel scum!"
"Grr I'm a dragon."
What was wrong with him? H-He was hearing voices. He shouldn't be hearing voices! In a heap he fell to the floor, wishing to bash the voices away. Until he felt his forearms being gripped tightly. Master must've heard his cries, for he was now kneeling in front of him….without his mask…
Breakline
He had rushed too quickly to get the mask. So now the child looked at him in utter confusion. Now was a good a time as any to put his plan into effect.
"Apprentice, what's wrong?" The child sputtered some incoherent mess. "Richard, why are you screaming?"
"Please get them out!" Richard practically howled. Slade narrowing his eye in confusion.
"Who Richard?"
"V-Voices in my head!" The memories. He heard snippets of his memories. Richard thought he was going insane. "M-Master please! Make them stop! P-Please. I promise I-I'll never shame you again Master! I'll take t-the b-beating, please! M-Make it stop! Pl-Please Master, fix me!" He was begging, sobbing for Slade to take care of him. Richard looked only to him. Perfect.
He gently cupped the child's cheek, wiping away the free flowing tears.
"It's alright Dick, hush. It's alright." The boy hiccupped.
"M-Master please, I'm scared."
Gently he pulled the boy against his chest, softly rubbing circles on his back. Richard's muscles tensed, his breathing hitched—but soon he relaxed into the grip. Sobbing into his master's chest.
"It's alright Richard. I'll take care of you, hush." He used the most comforting tone he could—his deep voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to make everything alright—I promise Dick. Hush, hush."
His sobs died down, Slade slowly releasing him—to see the half asleep eyes of his apprentice.
"M-Master—"His eyelids dropped, it was almost heartwarming—the way he looked at him, the child's eyes filling with the tiniest flecks of hope and awe. "M-Master please—"
"You may rest Richard, we have much to discuss little one." Richard nodded, brushing sleep from his eyes. As Slade transferred the child against his arm he was met with an unpleasant discovery. "Richard—"He looked the sleepy boy directly in the eyes. "I believe you might've had an accident."
The fire red blush that burnt up his face proved Slade's claim, with a sigh he placed the trembling boy to the ground.
"It's alright, those voices must've given you a start." Hopefully there was a change of sheets in the dresser—ah-ha! There was. Thank goodness. He handed the boy a second pair of pajama's, crouching down to his level. "Get changed—"He motioned toward the bathroom. "I'll take care of the bedding."
The boy obeyed, scurrying off. The matter was disgusting—but he would have to handle it as he did with Grant. Change the sheets quickly and breathe through his mouth.
As he draped the blanket over the fresh bedding, Richard timidly appeared at his side, his soiled pajama's clutched in hand.
"Put them with the sheets." Again, sheer obedience. Though Dick wobbled slightly—he was sleepy, having cried himself to sleep.
"M-Master?" His voice weak. "M-May I ask a q-question?" A curt nod later, the blushing, hand wringing child looked timidly upward. "A-Aren't you f-furious with me? I-I failed you again—I-I displeased you."
"Yes Richard, I was furious. Was. Now—I am merely disappointed." The word had the desired effect, as Richard seemed to shrink six sizes in his shame. "It is too late to discuss." To the boy's surprise, he was swept from his feet, and placed into the clean bed. Slade placed a hand on the child's forehead. "Remember this Richard, everything I have done has been for your benefit. Every action I have taken was for your own good. I care for you Richard—had you told me of the voices sooner, for that is what drove you to deceive me?"
"Y-Yes Master." The child's eyes widened, Slade smiling softly—this plan was working nicely.
"I would've been able to help you, but now of course I shall. Those voices will no longer hurt you."
"T-Thank y—"He broke off in a childish yawn—"you, Master."
"Of course my boy." He patted the boy's head, gingerly gathering the soiled sheets and clothes he took his exit. Soon after he shoved the sheets into Wintergreen's grasp—leaving the older man to deal with them.
"Now, was that so hard?" Slade could practically hear the smirk as he continued away.
"No, actually it wasn't."
This plan, his plan would work well. Yes, Richard would remember the League—but not in the light they wished him too. He would remember them as thieves, who had tried to brainwash him to exploit his talent. They would be remembered to have given him false emotions and thoughts, to be uncaring about him, only interested in making him a soldier. While he would see Slade, as his ever glorious master. As the one who trained him and cared for him. Who made hard choices to batter improve Richard—he would be the one who Richard would know cared for him. Slade would be the one Richard would serve, willingly—because to him, the only person who truly cared was his mater and owner, and the others were simply wanting to use him.
It was perfect. Richard would be his, his apprentice, his soldier, his, his—his. And that poor, pathetic little archer who was probably bed ridden with a broken or at the least shattered kneecap, who had been willing to die for the boy would he Richard's enemy. Slade had won.