Dick Grayson

The Haunt

Sunday, September 30th, 2012

I slip off my motorcycle and tuck it behind a pile of crates, throwing my helmet on top. The garage is empty this time of night, and the closet door that hides the staircase is unlocked. A quick glance at my watch confirms I'm not running late. It's quarter to eight, so I'm right on time.

I pull open the steel door, typing in the code with my left hand. Before I learned my way around, I thought the Haunt was a giant underground complex with hundreds of rooms that I would never see all of. Then I found out that Slade designed a series of parallel hallways that stretched the perimeter of the building, which he could program to lead his victim around in circles through automatic doors. At least now he's programmed the doors to slide open manually, so that if I can make my way around on my own. There's no direct way to get to Slade's office, but if I go through the hidden door on the left wall, I can get to the hallway that connects to the actual Haunt. I still haven't been in all the rooms yet, but to my knowledge all the rooms are off of one main hallway.

The steel door to the office is closed, so I knock twice and open the door without waiting for a reply. If Slade is busy with anything or he doesn't want me to come in, the door will be locked anyway. Slade is sitting at his desk, filling out forms or something. It might be plans for a job, and I don't want any part of that. He turns around when I walk in.

"You're right on time. How did the assignment go?"

I pull my backpack off, pulling out a stapled packet of about thirty sheets thick.

"It was pretty easy once I figured out that the cameras can rotate 180," Slade nods and stands up from his chair, crossing the room to take the packet. He flips through it, his eye flickering back and forth as he examines it.

"What about this one?" he asks, holding up the page so I can see.

It's the floor plan of a building with ten rooms and two hallways connecting them in a long rectangle. There are sixteen red and blue circles representing security cameras and microphones, with circles drawn to show the area they cover.

I press my lips together in annoyance.

"You were supposed to use no more than fourteen cameras."

"I know, but the layout is really complicated and there is too much furniture in the way to be able to use one camera per room," I stifle a yawn, "Besides, there's no reason we can't just use sixteen. You can afford one more."

Slade doesn't bother to dignify that with a response. Instead, he points to a series of small rooms and asks, "Did you notice the three-quarter walls at this intersection? Or the fact that these two are closets?"

I'm an idiot.

I can replace four cameras with two and cover the same number of rooms. And closets don't need cameras when a hidden microphone will pick up any activity that might possibly occur.

"No," I admit quietly, looking at the ground. Slade had specifically told me to pay attention to those kinds of features when he assigned me the packet.

Instead of yelling at me, Slade asks, "When was the last time you slept?"

That takes me by surprise and I have to actually think for a second.

"I got four hours this morning," I don't mention the all-nighter I pulled two days ago, sitting in front of the foyer window and thinking about how close my Team came to dying. Slade closes the packet and sets it on the table that doubles as my desk.

"I think you should go get some sleep."

"What? But I thought we were going to train?"

"Richard. You are completely exhausted. Catching up on sleep is more important than training that you're half asleep for."

"Oh," I suddenly can't hold back a yawn, "That sounds pretty whelming."

Slade rolls his eye, "Do you have to butcher the English language?"

I shrug, fighting back a grin, "It's not going to butcher itself. That would be like, languicide or something."

"Go."

Slade refuses to smile but I can hear it in his voice. I think.

I throw my backpack over my shoulder and leave the office, making a left down the hallway and stopping at the fifth door on the right. It's as boring as a room could possibly be, but I have a few spare sets of workout clothes in the dresser and the training weapons I normally use are laid against the far wall. Over the past few years, this room has started to feel almost normal. Not like home, but not scary and unfamiliar either. Also, after I convinced Slade to switch out the creepy gray sheets for more normal dark blue ones, I could actually kind of feel like it's a normal room. I yawn again and throw my backpack on the ground. A few seconds later, I flop down onto the bed.

It has been a really, really long day. And a long week. Actually, it's been a long year and lately it feels like I can't do anything right no matter what I try.

But right now, the only thing I care about is not being awake anymore.

A scratching sound wakes me up. It's the sound of the door dragging on the floor as it opens. Streams of light flood into the room and I wince a little. Slade's footsteps are almost silent, but I've been around him for long enough to recognize the sound.

I blink, trying to clear my vision and sit up.

"What's going on?" I mumble, rubbing my eyes with one hand a using the other to push myself up to a sitting position.

"I've been asking too much of you," Slade says quietly as he advances towards the bed, "This will help. I've been waiting, but I believe you're ready now."

"Ready? Ready for what?" I shake my head to clear away the exhaustion crowing my vision. Faster than I can see, Slade's fingers lash out, wrapping something around my wrist and tightening it so that my hand is pulled firmly against the bedframe.

"Slade! What are you doing?!" I yelp, heart pounding a million beats an hour.

I tug on the strap, trying to free myself, but Slade's hand tightens around my other wrist, holding it in an iron grip as he crosses to the other side of the bed.

"What the hell?! Let go of me! Let- OW!" I kick the covers off and try to fight back, but he squeezes my wrist so tightly the joint almost pops and white-hot pain shoots down my arm. He fastens something to my other wrist and pulls, forcing my back flat against the mattress.

"Slade! Let me go!"

"No. This is for your own safety. I don't want you to accidentally injure yourself."

Slade secures my other wrist and straightens so that he looms over me. He holds out a syringe so I can see.

"What is that?! What's going on?!" I tug on the straps as hard as I can but they don't budge. I lean forwards, pulling until my shoulder feels like it's about to dislocate. I can't get lose! "Let me go! What are you doing?!"

Slade holds the syringe up and flicks it, shaking out the air bubbles. My heart is in my throat and no matter how hard I pull I can't get my wrists loose.

"Let me out!"

"This contains a basic enhancement formula derived from the serum that I received in the army. It is a growth stimulant that will enhance your reflexes, cognitive processes and it will make REM functions more productive. You will be able to function better with the limited amount of sleep that you get."

"No! Don't you dare put that in me!"

"It will help."

"No! Let me go! Slade!" I struggle and kick and twist but I can't do anything to stop Slade from uncapping the syringe and pressing the needle into my exposed arm.

"Stop it!" I scream but he doesn't stop.

He presses down on the plunger and the serum burns as it enters my skin. I scream, feeling it blaze through my veins and my arms start shaking and then my whole body is convulsing. My blood is on fire and burning agony blazes through my body until everything is pain and all I can see is white. My body writhes against the bed, twitching and kicking and lashing out on its own.

Slade bends low and speaks right into my ear.

"The immediate effects will wear off in a few seconds, and you'll be asleep. Unfortunately, you will be unable to formulate or retrieve memories of the event, so you won't be able to remember any of this. It's a shame. You've finally realized that Robin's time is running out, haven't you, Dick?"

I'm still gasping for breath, but just as suddenly as it started the shaking stops. The pain dissipates and my muscles feel heavy and my bones feel like they've been filled with metal. I collapse against the bed, every part of my body exhausted even though the only thing I can feel is terror.

"No. No, please. Slade. Don't," tears run down my face and my heart is pounding as fast as it can go and the pulse keeps speeding up, "…why?"

"Why what?" Slade shakes his head, "You'll have to be more articulate than that."

The world is already starting to go fuzzy and I fight to keep my eyes open.

"Why are you… doing this?" I pant. My head throbs and the world spins and I push against the pain as hard as I can.

"Because you can be better."

"I don't… want… to…"

"It's not up to you."

Through the dizziness, his words send a cold shock all the way down my spine.

"You're not… you don't… get to…"

"Oh, but you're wrong. You are mine. That is what you agreed to when you agreed to become my apprentice."

"No."

"Yes. I can do whatever I want to you. You can't stop me. Even if you could, you won't."

"I'll… stop... you…"

"No, Richard, you won't. No matter what I do to you, no matter what I make you do, you won't ever break our deal."

"Our deal is…" my vision spins and a spike of pain rails through my head, "You train me… and I… don't… AGH… tell Batman…"

Slade laughs. It starts as a chuckle that builds and builds until his deep laughter is the only thing I can hear and I almost give in to the darkness just to get away from it.

"I've played this part too well. That's not what we agreed to. You agreed to become my apprentice, no matter what, fully understanding that you could never back out. Our deal was that you could go back to Wayne so long as you could keep it a secret."

"I'm not... your… 'prentice."

"Yes, you are. And if you tell anyone about our arrangement, if you breathe a single word to anyone, any member of your precious Justice League, any of your little hero friends, or god help you to Wayne himself, I promise you will never see them again. Unless it's to kill them."

"NO!" I rear up, pulling as hard as I can but my arms still won't move, "I'll stop you!"

"Do you remember what I told you once about relying on your defense? To win, you have to keep everyone you love safe every single time. Can you do that? You're surrounded by liabilities, by my design."

What?

"…not true."

"But it is. You didn't think Wayne would just adopt a flock of children on his own, did you? Getting that street urchin to carjack the Batmobile was as easy as waving a stack of cash in his direction. Cluemaster, Cain, the Drakes, it was simple to get those pieces in place. Just like it's simple to keep you in yours."

"No!"

It's a fight against the darkness just to get that word out, but it's a fight I'm losing. Everything I see if blurry and it's getting worse by the second. There's a shroud of exhaustion settling over my brain, pushing me under no matter how hard I fight. Slade's voice sounds a million miles away but that doesn't stop the horror from reaching all the way through.

"Tell me, Richard, could you live with it? If you broke our deal, could you go on knowing that someone you loved died because of you?"

"...no!"

"You can't protect everyone. Even if I can't get at your siblings, you have so many friends. Barbara. Roy. Your teammates. Most of them have families too. Can you keep them all safe?"

My eyes slide open before the rest of my brain wakes up. Unlike every other morning that I can remember, it's not a battle to wake up. Just, one second I was asleep, the next I was awake. No exhaustion, no problems.

I sit up, stretching my arms over my head and yawning deeply. I feel… really good. Slade was right. Catching up on sleep was a good idea.

Heh. Maybe I should do it more often.

Gotham Academy

Monday, October 1st, 2012

The whistle blows, silencing my entire gym class.

"All right, boys and girls, it's back by popular demand!"

The members of the football and soccer teams grin while the rest of the class groans, dreading the next words.

"Dodgeball!" Mrs. Arden cheers, hoisting the sack of red rubber balls into the air.

Beside me, Babs lets out a frustrated groan, burying her head in her hands.

"It's first period and I can't handle this right now," she mumbles, tugging at her hair. An elbow tapping against my side interrupts me before I can figure out how to respond.

"What do you think, Dick? You up for a 'rousing' game of dodgeball against the gods of sports themselves?" Josh asks.

I snort, "I don't know who actually asked to play dodgeball, and they better hope I don't find out."

"What are you going to do? Recite mathematical formulas at them until their brain cells explode?" Josh laughs, "You know, that would probably work."

"Hey," Babs rears her head up suddenly, "What do you think is in there?"

She points across the gym to two janitors hauling long boxes to the supply closets against the far wall. A tall man wearing a cotton t-shirt, sweat pants and a bright orange visitor sticker interrupts one of the janitors and sets the box on the ground. He opens it, pulling out a silvery stick that reaches from the floor to his stomach. I recognize it instantly, despite the fact that the ones I normally use are solid metal with a retractable Taser on the end.

By now, other kids in my class have taken notice.

"Mrs. Arden," Isabel Becker calls from within the noxious cloud of perfume she always wears, "What are they doing?"

Mrs. Arden looks startled at being interrupted from her lengthy explanation of the intricacies of dodgeball, but she turns around to look.

"Oh, that!" she responds cheerfully, "The gym department won a big grant from the state for our excellent performance on the fitness testing, and we decided to add some exciting skills to the curriculum. Those long sticks are called 'bow-staffs,' and they are ancient Chinese weapons."

"Oh goody. Fitness testing," Josh mutters.

"Can't I just fail gym instead?" I whisper back.

"The sophomores and juniors will get the opportunity to be taught by a real expert. It's so interesting," Mrs. Arden continues.

"Mrs. Arden? Can we do that instead?" Isabel calls again. A couple other kids nod and agree with her. Babs snorts.

"It could be funny," she whispers, "Or maybe you can ask if they'll let you fight him. That guy doesn't look like he expects to actually do anything. You should show him up."

We laugh together, and I whisper, "Can you imagine what Bruce would say if the school called about my miraculous talent with a Bo staff?"

"I dare you."

"What? No."

"Double-dog dare you."

"Babs!"

"Triple-dog dare you and I'll buy you a cookie."

"I can get my own cookies, thank you very much."

"What are we daring him to do?" Josh pokes his head in.

"Nothing," I say.

"Challenge the guy to an epic Bo staff battle," Babs whispers. Josh grins from ear to ear.

"Do it!"

"No!"

"Look, he's only twice your size. Easy takedown," Josh says.

I roll me eyes. Josh is kidding but he doesn't know he's right. Unless this guy is also a superhero in disguise, I can kick his ass.

"Come on!"

"Why not?"

"First of all, I don't want to. Second, I'm actually a trained professional with a staff. There's not an actual accreditation board, but Bruce made sure I'd be able to pass if there was. I just don't need the whole school to know about it."

"The Bo staff accreditation board?" Josh raises an eyebrow.

"And third," I continue like I didn't hear him, "The author has written a lot of fight scenes lately and she'd probably just start crying if she had to write another because I decided to challenge some random guy to a fight."

"It's high school! Nobody cares what you do here!" Babs retorts.

"Nobody?"

"Wait, wait, can we go back to the part about the author and fight scenes?" Josh asks.

"What about it?" I ask.

"What author?"

"The author," Babs says in a "no-duh" kind of voice.

"Yeah, of what?"

"The story of our lives," I shrug, "I don't know Josh, I was making a weird, meta, fourth-wall break kind of joke. I thought it'd be funny. It didn't actually mean anything."

"I like that you assume the author of your own personal story is a woman," Babs grins.

"At least you thought it was kind of funny."

"I didn't say that."

"Well, it doesn't matter, because we're playing dodgeball anyway."

"You doubt me," Babs sticks her tongue out at me before raising her hand. Mrs. Arden is trying her best to get the dodgeball game started, while the rest of my class exercises the sheer apathy that only a group of sleep-deprived teenagers sentenced to gym class can manage.

"Yes, Ms. Gordon?"

"How often are we going to have the opportunity to watch a real expert? We can play dodgeball any time we want to. This could be a really valuable experience for us in the long run," her voice drips with false enthusiasm, but Mrs. Arden can't argue with her logic, and she's had enough of trying to wrangle teenagers. She huffs, her blonde curls bouncing around her head.

"Fine. I'll go talk to him and see if we can arrange something."

Babs and Josh high-five, happy to avoid playing the humiliating and boring game of dodgeball. Most of the other kids in the class seem genuinely interested, even some of the girls who generally hate any form of physical activity. A few of the jocks look annoyed, but they quickly get back to shoving each other and making stupid jokes.

Personally, I don't care what we do. Gym class is such huge waste of time, and I have so much stuff to do today that I would give anything to have a free period. I'm already losing two hours this afternoon because the third graders have an orchestra concert tonight and I promised Tim I would go see him. I was supposed to train with the Team this afternoon, but I'm sure Bruce will let me stay home and study for my biology test instead. Dr. Philips loves to include really obscure questions on his tests, so I have to know all the material that he ever mentioned this week in order to get an A.

It's going to be another long week.

"Alright guys. So, Mrs. Arden here told me that you wanted to learn a little bit about the Bo staff, so I'm going to give you guys a little demonstration. Does anyone have anything they want to know before I do that?"

"Do it!" Babs hisses. I roll my eyes.

My cell phone buzzes and I look down. Ms. Hayne is in the middle of her PowerPoint about the early Renaissance, so she won't notice.

It's a text from Wally.

'Why did the turkey cross the road?'

Classic Wally with the godawful jokes. I snort and type back, '…'

It takes a few seconds for my phone to buzz again. Wally sent me a picture of a turkey standing in the middle of the road in front of his mom's car.

'He didn't. He's an asshole and just stood in front of the car for five minutes.'

I have to put a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. I can just picture Wally in the passenger seat, vibrating impatiently for the bird to move so that he can get somewhere ten times slower than it would have taken him to run.

'Why are you coming to school at 10:30?'

'Doctor's appointment'

'Lucky. B never lets me miss school for an appointment.'

'What do you expect from him?'

'That he'd fight the turkey with his bare hands if he thought it would help me get to school on time.'

'pft. Thanks for that mental image.'

' no problem ;)

'You coming to MJ today?'

MJ is the very-not-at-all subtle code for Mount Justice.

'Can't. Bio test tomorrow :( '

'Dude… that's the third one you've missed this month.'

'I know. But you know how B is. Plus, Tim has a concert tonight and we're all going.'

'Tell him good luck!'

Wayne Manor

The Bo staff twirls around my hand, the familiar weight settling in my palm when I stop it. I spin, whirling the staff around my head and slamming it into the ground. I step back, spinning the staff around my shoulders and moving my head around so that it can continue twirling. I snatch it up in one hand and swing it at my shoulder height before crouching and swinging it low enough to scrape over the ground. Twirling the staff up my arm, I straighten and flick my wrist out so it's spinning over my head. I take two steps forwards and slam the staff into the ground before whirling and striking the air.

There's nothing like a quick workout to recover from four hours of studying biology. A breeze blows through the yard and I shiver. A sweater might have been a good idea in retrospect, but once I get moving, I'll warm up.

"Hey Goldie, think fast!"

Even without Jason's shout, I see the apple hurtling towards my head. Throwing the Bo staff in the air, I spin and hold out my hand. The small but dense apple smacks against my palm with a satisfying "smack," I hold out the other hand and catch the Bo staff as it drops.

"Thought you looked hungry," Jason smirks while trying to look cool. He's wearing his favorite leather jacket but Cassie is sitting on his shoulders and patting his head like a drum, which kind of ruins whatever tough-guy image he was going for.

"That's very ciderate of you, Jay."

"Ugh, speak English. Your stupid made-up words don't make sense."

"Of course they do. You're just not smart enough to appreciate it," I take a big bite of the apple and grin mockingly. Cassie lets out a peal of laughter as Jason sticks his tongue out at me. She sticks her own tongue out and spits, trying to blow a raspberry. Jason cringes as spit lands on his face and he rubs at it with his hands.

"Cassie, your tongue is supposed to stay in your mouth," I tease, dropping the Bo staff near a tree-stump and moving closer to the two of them.

"Or what?" she giggles with her tongue still hanging out. Jason and I exchange glances.

"Or… Killer Croc is going to bite it off!" I shout, clapping my hands together in front of her face. She shrieks and slams her heels into Jason's chest.

"Noo!" she cries and Jason lunges towards me.

"I'll save you, Cassie!" He shouts, tackling me to the ground. Somehow, the three of us end up on the ground in a pile. Cassie manages to detangle herself, but Jason is flailing around on the ground while trying to put me in a chokehold. Careful not to let the apple touch the ground, I grab Jason's arm, readjust my legs and flip him over. My elbow presses against his neck, not hard enough to hurt, but he struggles anyway. I take a bite of my apple and smirk.

"Looks like Killer Croc won this round," I joke. Suddenly, something whacks against the back of my head, and Jason uses the opportunity to throw me off.

"I save Jay!" Cassie crows, my Bo staff clenched in her tiny hands. It's almost twice as long as she is, but she wields it proudly. Until the winds pulls it sharply to the side and she almost falls over. Jason scoops her up so that she's closer to my height, placing a hand on the Bo staff to help steady it.

"Me and Cassie against you! You're going down, Goldie!" Jason taunts. I roll my eyes but get into a fighting stance anyways.

Jason charges forwards while Cassie shrieks with laughter. I watch the Bo staff swing towards my head and I wait. When it's two inches away, I block with my right arm, grab the staff, twist and pull it away from my siblings. I step back, twirling the staff around my hand in a figure-eight.

"Why do you call me that, anyway? Is it like Goldie-Locks?" I ask while Jason pouts, "Because I'm not sure if you knew this, but my hair isn't exactly gold."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Jason sneers.

"Uh, yeah, that's why I asked."

Cassie tugs on his ear and whispers something to him. He looks down at her.

"You really think we should tell him?"

Cassie nods emphatically. Jason sighs, stepping forwards conspiratorially.

"Alright, Goldie, the truth is... YOU'RE IT!"

Cassie whacks me hard in the forehead with her hand and then Jason sprints away. So much for studying biology.

By the time Bruce comes outside, tag has devolved into helping Cassie build a dirt castle in the flower beds. It's like a sand castle except it's made of dirt, falls apart almost immediately, and makes Cassie laugh like a maniac every time it does. Stephanie is riding on his back, wearing her martial arts uniform and a huge grin. Looks like Bruce picked her up from karate today.

"It looks like you're all having fun, but you all need to get cleaned up. We're leaving in half-an hour for Tim's concert."

"Daddy! I save Jay!" Cassie exclaims proudly. Bruce smiles at her.

"That's because you're incredible."

Cassie beams. Bruce's smile gets even wider. Jason takes a picture on his phone.

"For blackmail," he whispers to me, "In case we need proof that the goddamn Batman smiled once."

"Language, Jason," Bruce reprimands, hoisting Cassie onto his shoulders. Jason smirks with absolutely no sign of remorse.

"You know, they say he's more bat than man at this point," I nudge Jason with my elbow, "That he's nocturnal, hears like a bat, and he even hangs upside down from a stalactite when he sleeps."

"Very funny, Dick," Bruce shakes his head.

"Hey, I told you about that cop, right? Officer Collins?"

"Who's that?" Stephanie chirps.

"He's a police officer. The one who followed me around for four months because he wanted to know if Batman was really a human-bat hybrid mutant."

"Hmm," Bruce looks vaguely amused, "I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't," I assure him, "He kept his suspicions under pretty close wraps."

I shake my head at Steph and mouth, 'No he didn't.'

Steph giggles.

"If you're done making jokes at my expense, go take a shower," Bruce grins, "I don't even want to imagine the PTA call I'll get if I let you show up to the concert wearing all the dirt in the yard."

He gets four innocent smiles in response to that.

AN: Dick is having a hard time right now, but it's good that he has his friends and family to take his mind off everything that's going on. Unfortunately for him, he's got not idea what's really going on under the surface, and it's a lot harder to stop something when you don't have any idea that it's happening...