AN: Did this section end up spiraling out of control and getting way too long? Yes. Please enjoy.
Dick Grayson
New York City
Day 6
It's the iPod. It's the stupid iPod.
I want to hurl it into the wall and watch it shatter because I can't… I can't be this glad to have anything that comes from Slade.
I know what he's doing. Rubbing it in my face that Bruce hates me, that he let Jason wear MY costume and use MY name, drowning me in the fact that I hurt all of my friends and ripped my life to shreds and he barely had to do anything. And the most bitter truth is that Slade really is the only person in my life I haven't hurt.
I know what I've done. I know that Bruce is never going to forgive me and I don't deserve it even if he could. I burned all my bridges. I threatened M'gann, I lied to Wally, I went behind Bruce's back, I used the team to pass information that could have been fake and I put all of them in danger. I pushed my siblings to the side and I lied to Babs and I accused Selina of being the mole and stealing information when I was really the mole all along. And even if it wasn't too late to fix things with any of them, I'm a criminal. I stole from Hizer, assaulted security guards, and I've been an accessory to dozens of other crimes, not even counting the fact that I attacked the Justice League and stole their evidence.
It's too late for me. I ruined everything and there's nothing I can do to ever fix it.
But just because I betrayed my friends doesn't make Slade trustworthy. He's the reason any of this is happening. He's gotten inside my head, learned everything about me, and used all of it to hurt me. He'll do whatever it takes to manipulate me.
All the lines I drew, they never stopped him. I stole for him. I lied to my family. I hurt people. I put fifteen security guards in the hospital for just doing their jobs.
I know exactly what he's doing. And the scary part is, it doesn't matter that I know. He even told me exactly what he was doing because he knows it doesn't matter!
Slade kidnapped me. Ignoring the part where he's been blackmailing me and manipulating me into doing what he wants, he kidnapped me. I'm trapped in this apartment. Right now, I'm trapped in this room. And even if I did manage to escape, he's still holding my family's lives over my head. Slade did all of that. He locked me in this stupid cage without anything to do, all so that he could make a gesture and pretend to do something good. He gave me the iPod because it's his way of saying, "See? I'm not that bad," as if he wasn't the one who took everything away from me in the first place.
And the worst part! The worst part! It worked! I was… I was actually grateful. It's literally taken me all night to untangle this mess inside my head.
I'm doomed. He has me completely trapped, and even if I could escape, I can't risk him hurting anyone to get to me. But that means he has all the time in the world to play his stupid mind games that are designed to get inside my head and mess me up.
He's trying the nice way. I have no idea what he'll do if it doesn't work. And as much as I hate him trying to get into my head like that, I know that if he starts torturing me… nobody could hold out against that forever.
I need a plan. He's going to win. It's like he said, it's just a matter of time. I need to come up with a plan NOW or I'm going to wake up one day and everything I thought I was is going to be long gone.
I'm going to break. It's only a matter of time. Even if he was telling the truth and he's not going to beat me into submission, I'm still trapped. He knows how to get inside my head, he knows how I think, he knows how to hurt me without ever putting a finger on me.
The Light has a price out on my head. And now, Jason's in danger because of it. There's nothing I can do to help him, there's no way for me to keep him safe.
I just need a plan.
There has to be something I can do, anything to get even one tiny victory against Slade. It's so tempting to just lean into it; if I work as hard as I can, do whatever he says, and try as hard as I can to earn his trust, I'll get my "privileges" back. The iPod is proof. Slade wants me to behave. He wants complete and total obedience.
But if I give in without a fight, Slade will never believe it. He'll know exactly what I'm doing and he'll use it against me. He's going to know if I'm faking it and he's going to drag out this hell for as long as it takes to make me break for real.
That means I have to fight him. I have to tell him where to shove his stupid rules and just… take whatever punishment he deals out. I'm going to have to fight back and suffer for it until he breaks me, and I'm going to have to do it without ever letting him know that it's deliberate.
How the hell am I supposed to do that?
I have to fight him and it has to be bad enough that he won't decide to just wait it out. He's made it perfectly clear he's happy to play the long game and let me do whatever I want until just being trapped here tears me apart. And it will. It's been less than a week and one single act of fake kindness drove me to tears here on the floor of the bathroom. At the same time, it can't be anything bad enough to push him over the edge.
If he gets mad enough, that'll be it. I was only tied up in that room for seven hours, and by the time he came back, I was willing to do anything. I couldn't fight him. The only sliver of hope that I have right now is the fact that he's willing to wait for me to break on my own, but I can never let myself forget that I'm one bad day away from the edge; if I mess up or push him too far, it's over.
This is going to be the hardest fight of my life, especially because I'll be fighting myself every step of the way. I know he's been… conditioning me. It's like I told Batman in the Iceberg Lounge, "Whatever he says is what I do. He says jump, I jump." I meant it. If I'm going to have any chance at getting through this, I have to be honest with myself. As hard as I tried to convince myself otherwise before he kidnapped me, Slade is already inside my head.
But I'm making a plan. Step one is to figure out how to make Slade think I'm breaking before I actually do, step two is to gain his trust, and step three is to do whatever it takes to get him to let me outside unsupervised. If I'm going to have any chance of fixing this, I have to be patient and think every single thing through.
And that means I have to figure out what my plan is for. Maybe I'll figure out a way to escape without him killing everyone I care about. But whatever it is, I have to get rid of the chips. That's what this all comes down to. If I can get rid of them, then I can make sure they'll never hurt anyone.
It's going to take a long time to get there. But I'll figure something out. I have to, because otherwise I'm doomed.
Conner Kent
Smallville, Kansas
Wednesday, February 9th, 2013
Conner took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The red sunlamps hit him immediately, and he was suddenly cold even though the temperature hadn't changed. The tray in his hands got noticeably heavier too.
"Hey. Brought you some soup. I have no idea if you'll like it, but Grandma says it was Clark's favorite growing up."
Match glared at him but didn't answer. Conner was about to give up when he growled, "What is it?"
"Uh… it's chicken soup? And… that definitely wasn't what you're asking, is it?"
Match glared even harder. Conner put the tray down and thought of the best way to explain it. The black clouding Match's eyes meant he was feeling angry today, and Conner needed his hands free in case there was a fight.
"Soup is a kind of food. You drink it for nutrients and because it tastes good."
"I remember good!" Match grinned suddenly, his whole face lighting up and the anger dissipating like it had never been there. "That's my favorite thing!"
"Good is a nice thing." Conner agreed, relaxing slightly. "You can eat soup with a spoon or pick up the bowl and drink it slowly."
Match nodded, excited to try the thing that had earned his favorite word as a descriptor. Talking to the other clone was… interesting. The remnants of Project Matchstick were filtering out slowly; Match was furiously angry most of the time, but when he got excited, he transformed. It was clear that on his own, the clone was way more cheerful than Conner (he flat-out refused to call Match 'peppy', but he didn't think Grandpa was necessarily wrong), even though his knowledge of the world was severely limited. Luthor's files confirmed that the info dumps had almost completely failed; Match didn't know most of the stuff the genomorphs had put inside Conner's head. He was almost a little jealous; once Matchstick wore off, Match would never have to worry about psychic interference or that the thoughts in his head weren't his own.
But right now, there were plenty of other difficulties to deal with. Match's understanding of the world was very, very basic, and the things that had managed to stick in his head had been scrambled by Matchstick. He knew how to talk, read, and write, and occasionally he spouted random pieces of complicated science or obscure knowledge, but mostly he had a lot to learn about the world.
Match had picked up the bowl and seemed to be enjoying the soup, so Conner sat in one of the spare chairs to keep him company. There was a stack of books and magazines on the table against the wall, so Conner picked up his usual textbook and picked up where he'd left off that morning.
"DNA is the blueprint of the body. Every living creature has its own unique genetic sequence that's made up of double stranded molecules called Deoxyribonucleic acid."
It was their usual routine. Conner read, Match drank his soup and by the time he finished, he was enraptured by the words. Personally, Conner found the textbook super boring, but Match hung on his every word like a fairy tale.
The textbooks had been Clark's idea. He thought trying to stimulate the other clone's brain would help flush out Matchstick sooner, and even if Conner wasn't sure it worked like that, he couldn't deny that it clearly made Match happy.
Conner had just reached the section on transcription when something clicked in Match's head and he began adding his own commentary.
"Prokaryotes and Eukaryotes perform the process of transcription in very similar mechanisms. The major difference between these two organisms is that—"
"Eukaryotic transcription is membrane-bound!" Match exclaimed delightedly. "I remember that!"
Conner looked up from the textbook in amusement.
"You know about Eukaryotic transcription, but you don't know what soup is?"
As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake. The smile on Match's face disappeared as the whites of his eyes turned pitch black. Under the red sunlamps, Conner's hearing was no better than the average human's, but he knew Match's pulse had just skyrocketed as Matchstick took over again.
"I don't know what I know!" Match growled furiously.
"I know." Conner said calmly, holding his hands up to try and placate him. "I just thought it was funny."
Match took a deep breath, fists curling up. He'd stepped closer to the sunlamps and that was a good sign; it meant Match was in control of himself enough to remember that the lamps helped him overcome the chemical.
"Funny as in illogical and out of place?" Match breathed heavily, fighting to hold the thoughts together despite the black clouding his eyes.
"Yeah."
As Match thought about Conner's answer, his eyes gradually faded back to white. Conner let out the breath he was holding in relief.
"Oh. It is funny. You smile when things are funny, right?"
"If you want to."
Match nodded, and then attempted to stretch his face out in a really poor attempt at a smile. It was still better than the first time Conner had tried to smile.
"Like this?"
"Try it more from here." Conner demonstrated, pointing to the face muscles that controlled the natural motion. "But don't force it. Smiling works best when it happens naturally."
"How do I make it natural?"
"Uh… I guess think about things that make you happy."
"Like what?" Match was getting frustrated again, and that growly edge was back as his eyes became tinted with black.
"Think about things that are good. You like good, right?"
"Yes." Match answered simply.
"Perfect! So think about good things."
"Okay."
Match's face screwed up in concentration. Conner could see the exact moment when the frustration faded and Match thought about something he liked, because the lines on his face smoothed out and the beginnings of a real smile appeared on his face. After a few seconds, Match opened one eye like he was peeking.
"Is it working?"
Conner felt himself smiling back at the other clone.
"Yeah. It is."
Match's smile widened.
Dick Grayson
Day 7
"Is there any particular reason you downloaded four full Johnny Cash albums?" Slade asks as he sits across from me at the table. I look down at my plate, pushing the chicken around with my fork. It's dry, bland and gross, but I'm pretty sure Slade will not appreciate me telling him just how bad his cooking is.
"I like it." I answer, trying to figure out if it's better to just choke it down or try to cover it in lettuce. There's a million and one reasons why I miss my family, and at least a hundred of them are about Alfred's cooking.
There's a loud clink as Slade puts his silverware down and the back of my neck tenses. I look up slowly to see Slade staring at me, the look on his face as cold as stone.
"Don't lie to me." Slade warns. "I would hate to have to confiscate it if I can't trust you with it."
I swallow. My stomach clenches and my left hand goes to my pocket, tightening around the iPod inside. I haven't put it down since I got it except to work out and shower; there's no way I'm risking Slade taking it away because I'm being too careless with it.
"Well?" Slade prompts when I can't bring myself say anything. I let out a long breath, forcing my fingers to relax before I accidentally snap the iPod in half.
"I used to listen to him with my parents." I force out. The words hang in the air, vulnerable and exposed. Slade's eye locks onto mine and suddenly, he's looking all the way through me. My heart is in my throat and it's suddenly easier to wait for the hammer to fall than it is to breathe.
"I see." Slade says before he turns back to his plate, and the words hit me like a bucket of cold water dumped right on my head. I pull in a breath, head spinning to try and process the fact that Slade found an exposed nerve and… and didn't push on it.
For everything that he has to hurt me, he's never used my parents. I don't know why the idea of him talking about them terrifies me so much more than anything else he could do, but he doesn't seem to have any interest in crossing that line.
I think that the conversation is over, until a few minutes later when Slade says, "I did not give you that device so that you could self-flagellate. If you have done something that warrants punishment, I assure you that you will know. But you are not to hurt yourself under any circumstances."
"I'm not." I protest.
"Are you sure about that?" Slade leans back, crossing his arms over his chest lightly.
"I… no, I…" I try to find the words to deny it, but there's a knot in my chest that won't budge and I can't get around it. Holy shit, he's right.
"I won't make you get rid of them, but for your own sanity, you need to put music on that won't trigger an emotional meltdown." Slade says. Instead of answering him, I stuff a piece of chicken in my mouth and wash it down with as much water as I can. The back of my neck tenses again, but I don't care if Slade is giving me a death glare. I'm not giving him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.
I refuse to admit that he… that he actually knows me better than I do.
Selina Kyle
The Iceberg Lounge's Backroom
Thursday, February 10th, 2013
"Listen up, you punks!" The Joker shrieked as he stormed into the room, Harley Quinn hot on his heels with her signature massive sledgehammer slung over her shoulders. "If anyone is going to crack the Wonder Bird's skull open, it's gonna be me! Got it?!"
"Yeah!" Harley punctuated, punching the air.
"All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe." The Mad Hatter shook his head, tsking in disappointment. All the Rogues present ignored him.
"They have gone entirely too far." Dr. Freeze graveled. "As loathe as I am to agree with the clown, the idea of Robin's death at the hands of an outsider is… unthinkable."
"Kwak! He belongs to Gotham!" The Penguin raged, slamming the butt of his umbrella against the floor. "I told you all that joining up with Luthor's schemes would bring nothing but trouble! And now look where we are! They think Gotham's a joke! Kwak! A nothing! They think they can just march in and take whatever they want."
"And spEAkinG of taking what's not theirs…" the Joker trilled, fiddling with his purple bowtie before whirling on Catwoman with a dangerously exaggerated look of disappointment on his grotesque face, "What gives, Kitty Cat? You really let that walking gun range take the little brat?"
Fury flashed through Catwoman's eyes, but she didn't rake her claws over the Joker's face like she desperately wanted to.
"That bastard messed with the wrong Cat." Catwoman growled, the claws on her gloves digging long gauges into the table. "And he is going to pay for it."
"Oh, boo hoo. Suck it up, Selina. Or do you really think we haven't noticed you've gone clean? Riddle me this? What's small, furry, and has no bite? A kitty that's lost her claws." The Riddler mocked in a drawling tone.
"You think so?" Catwoman smiled, a pleasantly and deadly twinkle in her eye. Two-Face and Poison Ivy locked eyes, drawing away from Catwoman while Scarecrow leaned forward, enticed by the promise of violence. Before the Riddler could move, Catwoman's hand shot out, claws sinking into the fabric of his costume and dragging him out of his chair.
"I was This. Close. Edward." Catwoman snarled, the tips of her claws less than an inch apart and even less than an inch away from his face. The Riddler went cross-eyed trying to keep track of the blades that threatened to maim him. Eddie had never been good with blood, Catwoman remembered viciously. "To everything! All of Wayne's money. All his social power. All his sway with the press and the law and even the damn Justice League. I have spent the last two years playing nice kitty and being his perfect, adoring girlfriend, all for those four little words, and then Slade fucking Wilson swoops in and snatches up that snot-nosed little brat and all of my plans! Gone!"
She shoved the Riddler backward, snarling as he tried to stammer out a riddle.
"What was that, Eddie? Do you think there's any way in hell he's going to give me that TWENTY MILLION DOLLAR WEDDING while his kid's being tortured by that maniac? I almost had BILLIONS! More than you'll ever even dream of stealing with your pathetic word games! So don't you dare say I've lost my edge when I'm THIS CLOSE to more money than the rest of you have ever seen in your lives COMBINED!"
A gentle tap of her shoulder cut Catwoman off before she could make good on her threat to gut him.
"I got this one, Catty." Harley kissed her own hand and used it to pat Catwoman affectionately on the cheek. Catwoman barely had time to step back before the sledgehammer was swinging, and the Riddler came nose-to-mallet with a truly enormous hammer.
"Eddie." Harley said congenially. Then her smile turned into a pitying pout. "Eddie. What a ya doin'? You've been off running around the world with your new pals, making big plans and breaking worlds apart and… yeah, I don't have a clue what you've been doin'. I watched a lot of Gossip Girl while you guys were all out… whateverin' with the whoevers."
Harley paused in her tirade to wink back at the Joker.
"Not you, Puddin'! That plant thing was pure gold."
The Joker took an exaggerated bow while Poison Ivy gagged, and Harley let out a giggle before whirling back on the Riddler. Her joy turned immediately into a cold sneer so fast it gave Catwoman whiplash.
She pressed the bottom of her mallet into his chin, making him tilt his head back.
"Like I was sayin'. What do you even want from them? Ya want money? Gotham's got money! Ya want fame? Can't help ya there. But you want to be important? It's Gotham, Eddie. It's always been Gotham. Who gives a crap about what Lexie or Vandal or the big hairdo are getting up to? It's doesn't matter! We already got Gotham! You used ta know that, Eddie. You're losing your touch."
Harley pulled back the sledgehammer, letting it thunk against the floor and using it as a cane to lean on.
"The way I see it, you got two choices. You can go back to playin' with your new friends and trying to make a name for yourself like a small-time crook," the mocking sneer on Harley's face was replaced by a look of pure steel. "Or you come back Gotham and you make them respect your turf."
Silence followed her announcement.
"So back to the matter at hand." Two-Face said, flipping his coin. "What do we do about Luthor deciding he runs Gotham?"
"We teach him to fear us." Scarecrow hissed from the back of the room. "Him and anyone who dares cross us."
"But leave Deathstroke to me." Catwoman ground out. "He's going to learn that nobody gets in my way. Anyone have a problem with that?"
She stared the other Rogues down, fury in his eyes. The Penguin nodded his approval. Dr. Freeze looked away. The Riddler paled when she got to him, but for once in his life, didn't have anything to say. Mad Hatter muttered some bullshit about grins without cats, and the Joker clapped his hands together delightedly.
"Here's how it's going to work from now on." Poison Ivy added, sliding up beside Catwoman and putting a hand on her shoulder in solidarity. "Go about your business. Plan your schemes. Kill the Batman. Make Gotham suffer. But, if you see you anyone in our city that doesn't belong, teach them a lesson. Gotham is ours; not the Light's, not Lex Luthor's, and it certainly isn't that walking pile of testosterone's city either."
Dick Grayson
Day 8
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My hands snaps out and slams the snooze button, turning off the alarm. 5:45 in the morning. My favorite.
I drag myself out of bed and stop in front of the window. New York City in early February is not a pretty time of year. It's pitch black outside at this time in the morning, but there are lights on in some of the buildings and there are cars driving around and if I press my ear to the (freezing cold) window pane, I can almost hear the hum of people going about their lives.
I would give almost anything to be down there, just a regular person living my regular life. Instead, I'm trapped up here, staring out the window and wasting valuable time that I need to spend getting dressed and more importantly, not getting locked in this room for the next twelve hours.
I brush my teeth, change, and grab my iPod with eight minutes to go before the door locks. What would Slade do if I just didn't go back in one night? If I crash on the living room couch, he can't lock me in my room.
Maybe that would make a good last-stand. On second thought, I don't want to risk him just taking the bedroom away… I refuse to say anything nice about Slade or even a little bit good about this place, but that is a really comfortable bed.
Of course, that's part of Slade's insurance plan; it'll be harder for me to run away and live on the streets if I'm used to eating 3 meals a day and sleeping on a good bed. Have I mentioned that Slade is an asshole recently?
There's no note on the counter. That means Slade is here again today and I'm supposed to go meet him in the gym in half an hour. Great.
I pull open the fridge door and sure enough, there's a plate covered in saran-wrap that says, "Breakfast." It looks disgusting.
I stare at the plate, wondering if I should eat it and risk being nauseous during training, or if it's better to just go hungry.
Heh. Maybe if I work hard enough in training, I can convince Slade to get me something from Dunkin' Donuts. It's New York, there's literally two of them on every block.
"Can you get me something from Dunkin' Donuts?" I ask, ducking a knife swipe and countering with a block. Slade looks amused, which is a big improvement over annoyed.
"We'll see."
"Come on!" I reverse my grip and swing high, following through on my other hand with a punch. "One breakfast sandwich and a coffee. It's like four dollars total."
"Do you have four dollars?"
"I do actually, let me just get to my bank account really quick!" I retort. Slade's knife whizzes through the air and I drop low to get out of the way. "Please, just one meal that doesn't taste like soggy water! It's less work for you, anyway!"
"If you wanted to spare me work, there are plenty of other ways for you to accomplish that." Slade counters, knuckles colliding with the inside of my wrist and knocking my knife off-course.
"At least let me cook something myself!" Anything is better than Slade's cooking!
"Do you even know how to cook?" Slade raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah." I retort. Okay, not really, but I've watched Alfred do it plenty of times, and I helped M'gann make cookies before and ow, I should not have thought about my friends. Mostly because it hurts, and also because that delay is all the opening Slade needs to twist my wrist back, grab my knife, and slam me onto the ground. The air flies out of my lungs as my back hits the ground, and Slade's boot lands on my chest before I can recover.
"Don't lie to me." Slade says, his heel grinding into my diagram. I gasp for breath, trying to pull any air back in but the best I can manage are tiny wheezes. My hands claw at Slade's boot, trying to push him off or get away but I'm pinned. There's no air in my lungs and I can't get anything past the crushing weight on my chest.
"Msry!" I wheeze, pressure building in my lungs between the weight of Slade's foot and the carbon dioxide building up with nowhere to go. My head is pounding and the room is starting to spin. Black spots blink into existence, blurry and dizzying. Somewhere in the back of my head, I remember that holding your breath is totally different than having the air knocked out of you and not being able to get any back in. I try to whack Slade's leg with my hand, but the message gets scrambled and instead I feel my arm hit the ground. I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't…
The weight on my chest disappears and I gasp, rolling onto my side while I cough as the air rushes back into my lungs. My head pounds and my chest aches and I'm curled in on myself against the mat. It takes a full minute of couching and hacking and wheezing before I can push myself up onto my knees.
"What the fu—" I cut myself off before I accidentally swear at him. We're training right now, which apparently means he has no problem beating the shit out of me. "What was that for?!"
"This is the second time in as many days that you have attempted to lie to me, Richard." Slade says, the knife in his hand glinting like an ominous reminder that my knife is halfway across the room and I'm still fighting off the black spots in my vision. "I don't care how innocuous or small the lie is, anything less than complete honesty is unacceptable. If it happens again, you will regret it immensely, do you understand?"
Honesty?
"You want honesty?" My jaw trembles as my hands curl into fists to stop the tears from spilling out. My face burns red, both from fury and from the hypoxia. I raise my head slowly, furious glare meeting that stupid, blank look on his face. "I hate you."
"How will I ever live with myself?" Slade returns dryly. "Now pick up your knife, we're not done yet."
My face hurts. There's a bruise the size of a grapefruit right above my jaw and it hurts to move it. The ice pack I found in the freezer helped for a little while, but then I left it on for too long and now I have a freezer burn on top of the bruise.
I lean my head back against the bottom of the couch, tapping my fingers against the floor in time with Van Halen.
Aside from how much my face hurts, and the fact that there's a boot-sized bruise on my chest, this part isn't that bad. I stare out the window as the guitar solo starts up, and it's so much more exciting to watch people walk around below when it's set to a soundtrack. I always loved people-watching. When I was really little, my cousin and I would hide behind the bleachers during shows and make up stories about the different people. It was definitely more fun to make up stories about the people at the circus, but there's still a lot I can tell about people just from watching for a few minutes.
There's a guy in a neon green bodysuit riding his bike down the block like he's being chased by a pack of angry rhinos. He's either training for a bike race or he's really, really late for an ugly-clothes fashion show. There's a group of kids with matching backpacks heading into a grocery store, and it makes me smile when they all come out with snacks and candy. The online school Slade's making me do is long and boring. Half of it is watching pre-recorded lectures, and the other half is doing poorly-explained practice problems and short-answer responses. The English class isn't that bad, especially since the first reading assignment is Romeo and Juliet, which I had to write a report on in middle school. It's too bad the plagiarism checkers weren't around back then; I can't even imagine the look on Slade's face if his secret base was blown because I plagiarized my old essay and whatever teacher is on the other end of this virtual thing put two-and-two together.
Of course, if I did that, Slade would kill my family and probably beat the shit out of me for good measure, so that's definitely not worth it. Still, six hours in the study is not fun and my back hurts from sitting for so long. Of course, everything else hurts from knife-training this morning. I'd pace around the room, but that just makes me feel even more trapped. Like a tiger in a cage. Or an elephant in a cage.
I miss Zitka. Elephants can live up to sixty years in captivity so she's probably still on the circus' regular acts. I wonder how she's doing. I hope she's happy. I hope the circus is okay after everything that happened with Parasite and Interpol on the international tour. I wish I'd gone back to visit one last time, as myself.
I promised Carlotta I would. It looks like that's just going to be one more broken promise. One more lie.
My head snaps up as the door opens, and my heart starts pounding when Slade comes in carrying a briefcase. There's a terrifying second where I think it might be THE briefcase, but the one with the chips is still tucked against the wall in my room.
I pause the music and look at the clock on my iPod as I take out my headphones. The time and date are wrong (three guesses who did that), but I checked it against the alarm clock in my room so I know it's two and a half hours late.
"I thought training was at three." I push myself off the floor, wincing when the bruise on my chest protests. The giant lump on my jaw aches, making it very clear that talking is not a fun thing to do right now.
"Change of plans." Slade says, putting the briefcase down on the dining table and pulling out a laptop. My heart skips a beat. "Sit."
"What if I don't want to?" I don't move, keeping my back against the window so I can keep my eyes on Slade.
"Hardison has a few questions for you."
"What?"
Slade pushes the laptop at me, but when I try to adjust it so I can see the screen better, he grabs my wrist.
"Leave it there."
I pull my wrist back, breath catching in my throat when Slade tightens his grip for a second before releasing me. I sit down in the chair next to him, watching him out of the corner of my eye while I try to get a good look at the screen.
It's the usual chat interface, but there's no code up on the main screen. Instead, there's a message in all caps.
"ARE YOU REALLY ROBIN?!"
I turn sharply, staring at Slade with wide eyes.
"He did arrange your escape from the Watchtower, it would be difficult for anyone to miss signs like that." Slade says casually, like it isn't a very, very bad thing for a criminal loose in the world to know the Robin is working for Deathstroke. Especially considering…
"I thought you didn't want them to know!" I hiss. "Or did you just make up the ten-million-dollar bounty on my head?!"
"If the Light finds out your identity, that would be very unfortunate. However, as I've said before, Hardison is trustworthy. And considering that he was willing to drop everything and come to your aid, he's not going to be spouting off any important secrets to your enemies."
"So what do I tell him?"
"Whatever you'd like. I explained this to you before; you get ten hours a week to do your coding assignments. I don't particularly care what nonsense you two exchange in the meantime."
"What does he know about me?"
"He knows that you're my student and you expressed an interest in improving your coding skills early last year. Other than that, the only things he knows are the things you've told him."
I nod slowly, hands curling into fists.
"I… I don't want him to know."
"Then tell him it was a setup." Slade replies casually. I take a breath, trying to convince myself to stop freaking out for like two seconds, then blow out a puff of air.
I can do this. Play it casual.
I type, "Did you think it was real?! lol"
Hardison answers immediately.
"Don't play with me. There's no way in hell that was a costume."
"It's good, right?"
"Good? Man, I literally thought you were him! How did you even get a replica that good?"
I let out a breath, relief washing over me. He bought it. He believes that it was fake.
"Trade secret."
"Trade secret, my ass. But you're still actually a kid."
"I told you that months ago."
"Uh, no, you made a joke about being in study hall! That does! Not‼ Count‼‼"
"It wasn't a joke. I was actually in study hall."
"Great. Uh-huh, love that. I really helped a middle schooler steal from Batman! How the hell did you know he wouldn't be there anyway?"
I wince. Slade raises his eyebrow at me after reading Hardison's message like he's curious to know what my answer is. I resist the urge to scowl at him and turn back to the computer.
"Trade secret."
"Try that one more time, see what you get. Anyways, I got some bad news for you and some good news. Which do you want first?"
"Bad news."
"I was watching their investigation, got a few days of stuff before they shut down the system. The whole thing is totally off the grid, like they just turned the server off. I have no idea what they're up to or if they're getting close to you guys. Not that I know where you guys are now, but you get the point."
"What's the good news?"
"The good news is that last I checked, the Justice League had no idea where you were."
The words slam into me and I feel sick. The Justice League has no idea where I am. I know it's stupid to hope, but there's part of me that's desperate for Slade to be wrong, that's he;s not as good at hiding as he thinks he is, and that the League is going to find him and take him down.
But having Hardison say it? That hurts. He's not lying. He doesn't need to.
Hardison starts typing something else, but I can't bring myself to look at it. I feel sick and I miss my family and I hate myself for everything I've ever done to hurt them. I just want to go home. I don't want to… I can't…
"Can I be done?" I mutter. Slade looks over at me but I can't read the look on his face. "Please?"
There's a long pause, but finally, Slade nods.
"Alright." He closes the laptop and stands up, walking over to the counter to return the computer to its case. I let out a breath while my arms stay curled around my stomach.
I'm fine.
I'm fine.
Hardison doesn't know I'm Robin, that's what matters.
I'm fine.
The League doesn't know where I am. Bruce hates me. No one is ever going to come for me.
Slade puts a paper bag down on the table and the sight of it shocks me out of my thoughts. I stare at it, uncomprehendingly trying to puzzle out the strange pink and orange letters.
"That's fake." I deny. "It's not real. You didn't really go."
Slade raises an eyebrow. I reach for the bag slowly, staring down at the small pile of donut holes. Slade actually got me food from Dunkin' Donuts. All of the alarm bells in my head go off at the same time.
"I'm aware it's not a breakfast sandwich or coffee, but I didn't think you'd mind."
"Wh… why? What did you do to it?"
Slade sighs heavily.
"I did not intend to be so… harsh with you this morning. I apologize."
Rage fills my chest suddenly when I figure out what he's doing. I want to throw the bag in his face and scream at him. He doesn't get to bribe me with fake apologies! He stood on my diaphragm this morning until I was seconds from passing out. He's not sorry, not for a single second. And he has to know that I know he's full of bullshit. But if I do any of that, he'll retaliate.
And it'll be bad. (Plus, I definitely won't get to eat any of the donuts).
I know what he's doing. This could literally be an example of gaslighting straight out of a psychology textbook. But if I call him out, it'll suck for me versus if I go along with it, he'll leave me alone and I get sugar.
So instead of saying anything, I just grab the bag and head back over to the couch. I put my headphones back in, start the music playing, and stare out the window, trying not to think about the vicious smile on Slade face when I took the bag.
Fuck him. The donuts are the best thing I've eaten in… days? Weeks? Months? It doesn't matter. I know I'm doomed. Might as well enjoy the good things while I can.
Conner Kent
Smallville, Kansas
Tuesday, February 15th, 2013
"You should pick a name."
"I have a name. It's Match."
"No, that's not your name, that's the designation that Cadmus came up with. You should have a real name."
"It is a real name. I'm Match and you're K-R."
"My name is Conner. Conner Kent."
"I thought those letters were pronounced Kay Arr." Match frowned in confusion.
"It's a different name!" Conner snapped, trying not to lose his patience. "We deserve to have more than just designations. We might have been cloned, but we're people. You deserve a real name, just like me."
"Oh. Okay." Match's frown deepened as he thought. "I'll be… Conner."
Conner closed his eyes and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Maybe pick something different than my name."
"But we're clones. We're the same." Match pointed out.
"We're not the same." Conner reminded him. "You deserve a unique name."
"I could be Clark." Match offered.
"That's already taken."
"Grandma?"
"That's not a name. Look, you don't have to decide now. Why don't you think about it for a while, and then you can pick one?"
"But I don't know any other names." Match said sadly.
"Of course not." Conner grumbled. "Okay, new plan. Have you ever heard of TV?"
"Yes!" Match's eyes lit up at the mention of something he actually knew. "Grandma yells at the TV box when sports are on it."
"Grandma gets really invested in football." Conner nodded. "TV has a lot of different shows, that could be a good way for you to learn about people stuff."
"I like learning about people stuff." Match said cheerfully.
Dick Grayson
Day 12
I let my head drop and hit the table in front of the keyboard.
It's been two and a half hours in front of the computer and my back hurts. I stand up and stretch, ignoring the inactivity message that pops up on screen. My back lets out a series of cracks when I stand up, and I twist from side to side to stretch my muscles. I've been sitting for way too long. My stomach lets out a loud grumble and I reach for the protein bar next to the computer. It's too quiet in here. The sound of the wrapper crinkling is the loudest thing I've heard all day.
The online school is better than having Slade try to teach me, but it's still boring. It's only been eight days and I'm already sick of it. The classes I'm registered for are either too slow, like calculus one, or too hard, like electricity and magnetism.
I finish the protein bar and crush the wrapper noisily in my hand. There's no trash can in here or in the bathroom. I'll go throw it out in the kitchen and then try to solve the physics problem that's been stumping me for twenty minutes.
I reach for the door handle. It doesn't move.
I turn it again, harder. It stays locked. My heart starts pounding.
"No. No!"
I rattle the door handle and when it still doesn't move, I kick the door angrily.
I grab my hair and try to breathe. The walls feel like they're closing in on me, but there's nowhere I can go. There's nothing I can do. I'm stuck in here.
I turn back towards the computer. The screen has been replaced with a timer, counting up from 6:28.
Slade said any time I wasted would be added at the end. He never said that it added to the time I would be locked in here. I sprint for the computer and start clicking, trying to turn off the timer. The screen returns and so does the physics problem.
I stare at it, heart pounding. My brain is spinning. Mostly with anger, at Slade and at myself. I've been doing these classes for a week and a half, how did I just notice that the door was locked?!
I'm NOT doing this. Right now, I have three hours, forty-two minutes and thirty-five seconds before I can do anything about it, but this is not happening. He's not locking me in a fucking box for six hours a day. I'm already trapped inside the building, this is too much.
Breathe. Six seconds in, eight seconds out. This is okay.
Actually, it's not just okay. It's good.
I just figured out the first step of my plan.
Conner Kent
Smallville
Saturday, February 19th, 2013
"Wait, he's just been watching TV all day?" Conner asked. Grandma Kent shrugged.
"He's really taken to it. It's been good for him, I think it's helped get some of that mess in his head sorted out."
"What are those?" Conner pointed to the stack of DVD's on the kitchen table.
"Oh, your grandpa picked up a few seasons of that show he likes so much."
"Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?" Conner read the title dubiously. Grandma Kent swatted him on the arm gently.
"Listen here, young man, if it makes your brother happy, then you are going to leave him to it and that's that. That poor boy has been through quite enough to get judgement from his family."
"You're right, I just meant… I mean, shouldn't he still be under the red lamps?"
"Don't need 'em. The kid's happy as a clam to sit and watch his shows, knows his own strength better than I did at his age." Grandpa Kent said, holding the kitchen door open for Clark before rubbing his hands on his overalls. "Seems to be soaking it up like a sponge. He ate dinner at the table with us, spent half an hour talking about how your space is an extension of you. At this rate, we're going to have to renovate."
Clark put a hand on Conner's shoulder, a hesitant smile on his face.
"It's good to see him happy." Clark said. Conner nodded in agreement. The first few days after freeing him from Cadmus, Match had been a superpowered force of pure rage. The red sun lamps had been Grandma's idea, but even though taking away Match's power made him safer to be around, it couldn't give him his mind back.
Conner never could have lived with himself if he'd let Match stay frozen in Cadmus forever, but he'd begun to lose hope that the other clone would be more than just a mindless ball of rage. The days had turned into weeks and nothing changed.
And then one day, Match talked. At first, he just repeated whatever Conner said to him, but once Matchstick started to fade, it was like a dam breaking. Soon, he'd been talking and smiling and laughing and pestering Clark and their grandparents with a million-and-one questions about the world and the universe. And now? Less than three months after Conner and Clark had rescued him from Cadmus, Match was hanging out on the couch, eyes glued to the tv playing his favorite show about lifestyle makeovers.
It was amazing. And it was all thanks to Robin.
Conner frowned, fists tightening without thinking. Clark frowned at him like he could read his mind and knew how guilty Conner felt. It had been almost a month with no sign of him or Deathstroke. Robin was out there somewhere, alone with no one but that psychopath, and there was nothing Conner could do.
"You guys know I can hear you, right?" Match called from the living room, breaking Conner out of his thoughts.
Dick Grayson
Day 13
"You didn't do any of your classwork today." Slade says when he enters my apartment at two fifty-six. It takes all my effort to hide keep the grin off my face; I was afraid I gave something away during training this morning, but judging by the annoyed look on his face, he had no idea I was planning anything.
Instead of gloating, I cross my arms over my chest and try to match his glare.
"I'm not letting you lock me in there for six hours a day."
"That's unfortunate. You need to get your work done."
"That's unfortunate." I parrot back at him. "Because I'm not doing anything if you lock me in a box for six hours a day!"
"Well then." Slade says, his face a blank mask. "It seems we've reached an impasse."
I wait, but nothing comes after it.
Instead, Slade pulls a file out of his briefcase and hands it to me.
"Picking up where we left off yesterday," he starts, and I scramble to get the file open before he launches back into the very, very, very tumultuous history of the sovereign nation of Bialya. "During the second wave of British colonialism, Bialya was one of three countries where the ruling party was allowed to remain in power under a governorship by the royal crown. It was during this occupation that large swaths of territory were divided form the nation, one of these territories would gain independence as the nation of Quarac."
Slade isn't in the gym when I get there. He said eight o'clock. It's eight.
For a second, I consider going back downstairs and checking to see if I missed a note from him, but it's not worth it. He knows where I am; that's what the hundreds of security cameras are for, after all.
I start my usual stretching routine, then I move into some light exercises, and by the time I finish warming up, Slade still isn't here. That's weird.
I grab a drink of water and look around the gym. Should I go find Slade? Am I supposed to just get a workout in on my own?
Wait, what am I doing? I don't have to do anything. Slade can go to hell for all I care.
I grab my iPod and sit on the mat, stretching out my back. The bruise on my face is mostly gone, and the boot-mark on my chest doesn't hurt at all anymore. The scab from when I whacked my ankle on the bottom of the couch this morning is also gone, and that was freakier than anything else. If I didn't believe Parasite before, I don't really have a choice now. I have a healing factor somehow, just like I'm way too strong for my size. Slade hasn't told me anything about whatever it is he's doing to me, and I hate it. It's like I told M'gann on the bioship back from Geneva; I know he's doing something to me and there's literally nothing I can do about it. I don't remember him ever injecting me with anything, aside from when he drugged me after the Watchtower.
I hate this. I hate all of this. I hate Slade, and I want to go home.
I wonder what's going on at home? Aside from the fact that Batman is probably still trying to hunt me down and bring me to justice. I know Jason was planning on joining the Gotham Prep wrestling team, I wonder if he did. And Steph probably has another dance recital coming up soon. Figures that I'll miss it; after all, I missed the last one because of Slade too.
The door opens and I look up, debating whether or not to get up and deciding, screw it, I'm staying on the ground. Slade hasn't said anything about my skipping classes today, but there's no way there's not something bad coming.
Slade walks in and crosses to the far side of the room without so much as glancing at me. He picks up the crate holding the training knives and heads back for the door. He's about to walk out when I fold.
"Where are you going? You said training was at eight. It's eight-thirty."
Slade pauses, turning his head to glance at me.
"If you haven't finished your material for class, there's nothing for us to work on. Stay and use the equipment if you'd like."
And with that, he leaves.
I stare at him, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Why does he have to be so dramatic with everything, when the only reason he came in here was to tell me that?
Whatever. This is good. Apparently, the punishments for disobeying him is having him cancel everything else.
Slade cancelling training should be a good thing; I don't want to train with him. I don't want him to turn me into a mercenary. I want to go home, I want my family back, I want Slade to let me go and never bother me again. But nothing about this works on what I want.
Suddenly, I have a horrible, terrible sinking feeling that this prison just turned into solitary confinement.
I hate being alone.
I can't do it.
Slade knows that.
Okay, yeah, this is going to be bad. This is going to be so absolutely horrifically beyond bad. I should go find him and apologize, tell him I was stupid to draw the line and beg him not to leave me alone because at least I can hate him if I have to deal with him every single day.
But if I'm by myself?
The fear settles heavily in my stomach, weighing down my tongue and making my mouth go dry. My pulse picks up and I force myself to relax and breathe until I can push the anxiety aside.
I knew this was going to happen. This has to happen if I want any chance at making it through this with my brain intact. I can't give in now, I can't give in until there's no doubt in Slade's mind that I've given up.
Besides, nothing has happened yet. I can do this.
I have to do this.
Wally West
Central City
Friday, February 25th, 2013
"I'm not here to fight!" Wally shouted, putting his hands up.
The Pied Piper titled his head, his weapon aimed at Wally's chest.
"So?"
"I need to talk to Captain Cold."
"And you think we're going to just let you inside because you asked us to?" The Trickster demanded, jamming his hands onto his hips.
"Yes?" Wally asked.
The Trickster threw back his head and laughed. "Okay!"
"James!" The Piper snapped.
"What?" The Trickster whined. The two villains shared a look, and then the Piper shrugged.
"It's your funeral."
Before Wally could react, the Trickster threw open the door and bent over into an elaborate bow. Music and body heat blasted out of the Rogue's Hideout.
"In you go!"
Wally swallowed and glanced at the villains behind him. The Pied Piper gripped his shoulder in warning and raised a pointed eyebrow.
"You wanted in. Don't keep him waiting now, that would be rude."
"And Lenny hates rude people!" The Trickster chimed.
Wally stepped inside and the Trickster slammed the door shut behind him. The sound, amplified by the Pied Piper, cut through the music. The club fell silent and every masked eye was on Wally.
Nobody made a sound. Mirror Master and Captain Boomerang stepped out of the way as Wally moved towards the back. The villains behind them, glaring at Wally like he was a piece of gum on the bottom of their shoes, fell back like a curtain. With every step he took, they closed ranks behind him, boxing him in.
Captain Cold was taking shots of Jack Daniels with Weather Wizard at the back of the bar. Cold drained his glass, wiped his mouth and grinned at Wally. It was not a nice grin.
"I was right. You are an idiot." The criminal mastermind leered. Weather Wizard laughed, and Cold nodded his head to the side.
"Clear out, Mardon."
The other villain shot Wally a nasty look, grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and slipped through the crowd to the bar on the other side.
Captain Cold pointed a finger at Wally.
"You. Sit."
Wally slowly sat down at the booth across from Cold, knowing full well that he was closed in on all sides. This was a terrible idea. If they decided to break the stalemate, he was toast.
Heat Wave stood immediately to Cold's right. He crossed his arms, brandishing his flamethrower.
Literally.
"So, baby Flash. Welcome to our fine establishment. You want a drink?"
Captain Cold snapped his fingers. A bottle flipped across the room, landing with a smack in Cold's hand. He set it down and one of the rogues slid a glass onto the table.
Wally eyed the bottle of beer with distaste.
"No thanks."
"You sure?"
Cold poured the contents into the glass and set the bottle down on the table with a loud thud.
"Alright. To business. What the hell do you want?"
Wally felt the tension in the room skyrocket, and he knew that for all Cold's bluster, he was just as curious as the rest of them.
"What do you know about Deathstroke the Terminator?"
A mumble broke out in the circle of rogues, but Cold didn't seem to care.
"Maybe I've heard something, maybe I haven't. But why should I tell you anything about a fine, upstanding mercenary like himself?"
It was a challenge. Wally looked Cold right in the eyes, red lenses to mirrored blue.
"He kidnapped my friend."
The murmurs got louder, and Cold shrugged nonchalantly.
"Then your friend is already dead, or there'll be a ransom note soon."
He reached for the bottle, and Wally steeled himself.
"No. There won't be."
Cold's hand froze. The room fell totally, utterly silent.
Wally had never liked silence, but this was worse than anything he'd ever felt before. Fifty pairs of eyes were on him, and he saw shock, disbelief and more than anything else, curiosity. They knew something. And still nobody spoke.
"You have a code, Snart. You don't hurt kids. He took my friend and I have to find him. Please, you have to know something!"
Cold lowered his sunglasses and peered at Wally with icy blue eyes.
"This kid. Short? Spiky black hair? The kind of quiet where you don't know he's there until there's a knife in your stomach?"
Wally's gut clenched.
"If he was your friend, he's not anymore. He'd be better off if he was dead." Cold said.
"What do you mean?"
"Deathstroke doesn't exactly play nice." Cold drawled, spinning the empty bottle around its base. "He'll go as far as he needs to get a job done. Whether that's making a headshot or breaking in his new apprentice, it doesn't matter."
Wally's ankle throbbed at the thought, and the image of Dick lying unconscious on the floor took over. He'd been angry for Dick, for what Deathstroke had done to him, what he was holding over his head, and he'd seen firsthand what Deathstroke could do in a fight. But it never felt as real as it did, surrounded by villains who'd only heard stories.
Dick was in danger. So, so much danger.
"So you have met him." Cold grinned. "You should hear the stories they've been telling about his sidekick. You wouldn't happen to know anything about how that Grayson kid fits into it, would you? There's some crazy rumors going around about him."
Wally flinched and desperately hoped Dick could forgive him for this someday.
"It's true."
"Well explains some things, for sure. I heard Catwoman was raising hell. Got the Rogues on her side, turned Gotham into a No-Mans-Land for anyone dumb enough to cross the borders. Makes sense if the Terminator took something of hers."
"He's just a kid." Wally said, stomach tightening. "Please, Snart, even you know it's wrong."
"What the hell do you expect me to do about it, Kid? Anyone in Central tried something like that, then sure, I could knock them down a peg. But Deathstroke is a whole different ballgame. I'm sorry for your friend, but there's nothing I can do about it."
"Bullshit! You have a code." Wally snapped angrily. "He's thirteen and Deathstroke has been torturing him and fucking with his head since he was ten. Don't pretend you're okay with that! Not when you're the reason Central City has the lowest child mortality rate in the entire country!"
The bar went silent. Absolutely, dead silent. Snart crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, pretending that Wally's words hadn't gotten to him.
"What." Snart's voice was cold. "Do you expect me to do about it?"
"Tell me where he is." Wally didn't know how he could keep his voice so steady. "Help me find him. That's it. The Justice League will handle it, all I'm asking is that you help me find him."
"I don't know where he is, Kid." Cold admitted. "I'm sorry."
Wally glared at him even as the worst hit like a crushing blow to his chest. He stood up, trying to hold it together when his only real chance at finding Dick went up in flames.
"Thanks for nothing."
"Wait." Cold called after him. He let out a frustrated snarl and pushed himself to his feet. "You're right, dammit. What Deathstroke's doing to that kid, he crossed a line. Don't expect any more help from me but… if I find out where he is, I'll tell you. Now get the hell out of here."
Dick Grayson
Day 20
Fifth time's the charm, right? I haven't seen Slade in three days, but I know he's in the building. He would've left a note if he was going on a contract. I think. I hope he is, because I'm losing my mind. I feel like ants are crawling under my skin except it's all happening inside my brain. I've tried the door at the end of the hallway four times today and it's been locked every time.
Slade has cameras everywhere. I know he does. He has to know how many times I've tried to come talk to him and he's just being an asshole. I only have another half hour before of gym access time before I'm supposed to be back in "my apartment." I don't know what would happen if I don't go back in time, but I'm already way over the line with refusing to do the online classes, the last thing I want right now is another punishment.
I try the door handle again and the door to Slade's unit is actually unlocked this time. He's sitting at the dining table, reading through a stack of papers. Slade ignores me when I walk in. I cross my arms, lean against the wall, and clear my throat repeatedly until he looks up. One eyebrow is raised in a pointed arch, but other than that he looks totally disinterested.
My chest tightens and I dig my fingernails into my palms. Slade ignoring me is a good thing, I remind myself. The only reason I want his attention so badly is that he forced me into total isolation for the last week. It doesn't mean anything more than that.
"Do you need something?"
"I finished the book on Rhelasia."
"And?"
"That's literally the only book I have. You won't spar with me, you won't let me cook anything, there's no tv, I need something else to do."
"You have your iPod."
"Staring at the screen all day gives me a headache. One real book." No answer. "Slade, come on!"
Slade ignores me and looks back down at the briefing.
"So that's it? You blackmailed me for four years, kidnapped me and trapped me in an apartment building just so I can sit around all day doing nothing? I'm losing my mind!"
He doesn't answer.
"Look, I'll do the classes! Just stop being an asshole and leave the door unlocked!"
"I'm not going to make you do them, but the lock is non-negotiable."
"Why?!"
"Because it ensures that you are where you're supposed to be and I don't need to supervise you at all times."
"You're such an asshole!"
No response.
Fine. He's going to ignore me? Let's see him ignore this.
I make a grab at the stack of papers on the table, but Slade is paying more attention than he said. He grabs my wrist, and before I have time to react, twists my arm behind my back in a tight lock. I try to pull out of it, but he grabs my other arm and pins both hands behind my back before pushing me out of the room. He shoves me into the hallway and slams the door behind me. It locks with a click.
"Asshole!" I shout. There's no response. I barely manage to stop myself from kicking the door in spite. Swearing at him is already pushing it, kicking his door after he pushed me out would definitely cross a line.
I stand in the hallway, chest heaving as I force myself to take deep breaths. I knew this was going to be bad, but it's only been a few days of Slade completely ignoring me and I'm slipping badly. When Slade ignored me, it hurt. That's bad. And just because I know why it happened doesn't make it any less scary.
This is a bad idea. I'm in way too deep to pretend that everything Slade is doing isn't working exactly the way he wants it to. I just want this to end but that's exactly why I can't give in yet. There's still a long way to go.
Conner Kent
Smallville
Sunday, February 27th, 2013
"Why don't you use your superspeed?" Conner asked, watching in amusement as Clark slung an enormous hay bale over his shoulder and carried it over to the feedstock.
"Force of habit," Clark answered, tossing a grin over his shoulder.
"But why waste your time when you could be done with everything in a few minutes?" Conner leaned on a fence post, and smiling as half a dozen cows made a beeline for the new food.
"Some things really aren't meant for superspeed," Clark laughed, patting one of the cows when it got close enough. "For some reason, the cows do not enjoy being milked that way."
"Did you really try it?" Conner's jaw dropped.
"I think I was fourteen at the time? It was one of the worst ideas I've ever had."
Conner laughed while Clark shook his head at the memory. Before Conner could ask for more details, his superheating picked up something in the distance.
"Conner! Con!" Match shouted. It sounded like he was back at the house, but the sound got louder with every second. There was a rush of air that Conner recognized as a burst of superspeed. "I've got it!"
"Incoming." Clark grinned, and then a shockwave rushed through the field, rustling the fence posts and making the cows look up from their food.
Match slammed into Conner in an excited hug before pulling back, beaming from ear to ear.
"What did you get?" Conner asked.
"My name!" Match grinned, looking more excited than Conner had ever seen him.
"You thought of one?" Clark asked curiously. Match nodded, the smile getting even bigger. "What is it?"
"Cameron!" Match—no, Cameron— beamed. "You both have C-names, so I wanted one too and I've looked through so many different names and I think it's the right one. Do you like it?"
"It's great." Conner smiled back at his brother. Cameron's eyes lit up and he turned to Clark, the look on his face turning slightly anxious. Conner felt his own stomach clench, remembering how much the rejection had hurt when he'd first met his dad. Clark seemed happy to have him around now, but Match—Cameron was only here because Conner insisted that they go back to rescue him. Clark had never wanted a son; now he had two and it would be Conner's fault if he hurt Cameron.
"Cameron Kent." Clark nodded decisively. "Welcome to the family."
Dick Grayson
Day 25
My legs hurt. Running on the treadmill is the only thing I still have to do around here, but there's only so long I can go for.
My leg buckles suddenly and I trip, whacking my knee against the tread before I catch myself on the handrails. The treadmill is going fast enough that the few seconds are enough to scrape up my leg and I stare as blood wells up under the skin.
I hit the emergency stop and the treadmill grinds to a halt. My lungs are burning and my legs feel like they're made of lead, and the display says I ran fourteen and a half miles in the last few hours. No wonder I'm tired.
When Slade lets me out of here, I should sign up for a marathon.
I grab my water bottle and take a long drink, chugging it down to try and cool myself off. Sweat drips off my face, and I can even feel it dripping down my legs.
Then I glance down and see it's not sweat; the scrape on my knee was way worse than I thought. My left shin is covered in blood and it got onto the treadmill too. It's a mess. It must have dripped onto it while it was still spinning, because there's a big bloody streak across the entire length of the tarp.
"Shit." I mutter. It doesn't even hurt, it just stings like a scraped knee, but I can't leave the machine covered in blood. At this point, I'm pretty much positive nobody else lives in the apartment building and Slade lied about them to be an asshole, but it's still a biohazard to leave anything covered in blood. "Dammit."
What am I supposed to do about it? I have to clean it up somehow, I can't just leave it like this for Slade to find. But it's not like there are any cleaning supplies in here.
(Slade doesn't trust me enough to give me a plastic knife, there's no way he'll let me have access to chemicals capable of making a bomb… or at least, highly toxic gasses.)
It takes me fifteen minutes to work up the courage to go downstairs and find Slade. I freeze in front of the door to Slade's "apartment," desperately trying not to feel like a guilty little kid who's broken something they shouldn't have. I tripped on the treadmill. It happens. This shouldn't be a big deal. I just tripped, and I'm trying to be considerate of the space. I didn't do anything wrong. Too bad Slade is definitely going to make a big deal out of it. The sooner I get this over with, the better.
The door isn't locked so I just walk in.
Slade doesn't even look at me. He's on his laptop this time, relaxing on the couch as he types. I steel myself before going full-steam ahead.
"Do we have any bleach?" I ask casually. Slade clearly wasn't expecting that because he actually looks up at the first try.
"What did you do?" Slade asks, and the edge of steel under his words makes my heart pound.
"I cut myself on the treadmill. I figured it was rude to just leave it bloody."
Slade closes his laptop and stands up. I swallow, but it doesn't help the dryness in my mouth.
He pushes past me and strides onto the elevator, and I scramble to keep up. He doesn't say anything the entire way up to the gym, and with every second that passes, my heartbeat speeds up. When we get to the gym, Slade takes one look at the machine and frowns.
"How long were you on it?" Slade asks. He does not sound happy and it makes my stomach twist with anxiety.
"A couple hours." I answer, looking at the dried blood on my shoe. "I just tripped. It's a scrape."
"I allowed you the use of this equipment under the assumption that you'd be responsible, both with the machines I provided you and with your own physical limits." Slade says, and as soon as I realize what he's really saying, the panic sets in.
"It was an accident!" My head snaps up.
"It was an accident caused by reckless negligence. If you can't be trusted to use the equipment safely, you won't be permitted to use it at all."
"Wait, no, Slade please!" My heart pounds in horror at the idea of losing the last activity I have left. I feel sick and dizzy at the thought of the cage I'm trapped in getting even smaller. "Please don't! It was an accident, I promise!"
Slade pushes a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels at me.
"Clean up this mess."
It takes about twenty minutes to get the treadmill clean. I scrub at the dried blood, trying to get it out from between the ridges, and my hand is starting to ache. The panic has faded… or not so much faded as turned to tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
"You are not to use a single piece of equipment for longer than three hours." Slade says suddenly. I freeze and look over at him. "And you will mindful of your body's limits. If there is a second occurrence, you will permanently lose your gym access. Do you understand?"
"Yes! Yes, thank you!"
Bruce Wayne
The Batcave
Friday, March 3rd, 2013
"What are you wearing?" Bruce growled, dipping into Batman's tenor. Jason raised his chin at him and crossed his arms over his chest.
"I'm coming with you."
"Take that off."
"No."
"Jason, take it off!" Bruce shouted. Jason had dug out one of the old costumes that Dick had outgrown years ago, and to Bruce's horror, it fit him like a glove. Robin stood before him in all his glory, and suddenly all Bruce could see was the terror on Renegade's face as he disappeared over the side of the building. Bruce had almost killed his son, and Dick had only suffered at Deathstroke's hands because Bruce allowed him to put on the mask in the first place. He wasn't losing another son the same way. Especially considering the mass-escape from Arkham just a few weeks ago and the bounty on Robin's head. "Take it off, now!"
"I can help!"
"You are not going out, not now, not EVER!" Bruce roared.
"Dick is out there! I'm going to help you find him and you can't stop me!"
"You have ten seconds to take it off or you are grounded for the next month."
"Are you serious?! Let me help!"
"Ten."
"No!"
"Nine."
Jason seemed to realized he was serious, because the frustration on his face turned into outrage.
"Steph is right! You don't give a shit about us! You don't care that Dick is off being tortured by that maniac, you never listen to me, you don't even fucking care that Stephanie's dad is coming to take her away as soon as he gets out! Well, you know what?! If you want us gone that badly, then maybe I should just leave!"
Jason ripped off the mask from his face and threw it on the ground before turning furiously for the stairs. Bruce knelt down to pick up the mask, a heavy weight lodged in his chest.
"Jason, stop."
Jason turned, a half-hopeful gleam in his eye. The apology on the tip of Bruce's tongue froze when his son's gaze landed hungrily on the Batmobile. A cold, horrible wave of fear slammed into him.
"Go to your room."
Silence hung in the air as Jason's hopeful face turned stunned, and then fury won out all over again.
"I hate you!" Jason screamed, storming up the stairs. The hole in Bruce's chest, carved from blood the day his parents were murdered in front of him, gouged out even further by Dick's betrayal (by knowing that Bruce had failed his son and that he was to blame for everything Dick had suffered), ached with a new pain. Bruce ignored it, pulling Batman's cowl over his head. He had work to do, and Jason's anger was a small price to pay for his safety.
Dick Grayson
Day 34
I hate music. All of it. It just makes me think about places I can't go, people I can't see, and stuff I can't do.
I'm twenty-one days behind in my classes, and it would be even worse if there were lessons on Saturday and Sunday. I've seen Slade for a grand total of fourteen minutes this entire week, when he stops in to make sure I've eaten the disgusting piles of calories he calls meals.
As much as I wanted to not have to deal with Slade, this is killing me. He's been avoiding me for weeks, and I've been sitting around with nothing to do the whole time. He's not going to break. If I want to be able to do anything, I have to do it on his terms. And it's getting to the point where I might not be able to catch up.
He's not going to budge. I hoped there was a chance he'd agree to unlock the door, or at least let me leave the room for a break, but that's never going to happen. I can do it Slade's way, or I can be left alone indefinitely.
I can't do this anymore. I can't. I'd rather spend every single day listening to Slade's bullshit than spend even another second alone.
This has to be good enough, right? I've tried to fight him for a month and I'm going crazy by myself. It's been a terrible month of loneliness, eating disgusting food, listening to music about people I can't see and places I can't go, and working out until my legs fall off. I can't take another day of this.
Conner Kent
Wednesday, March 8th, 2013
"Kara." Conner blinked. "Hi, what are you doing here?"
"It's nice to see you too, Conner." Kara smiled sweetly at him, only teasing him a little bit for being rude.
"Wait, why are you here?"
"We're going shopping!" Cam announced from the living room.
"Oh." Conner blinked, feeling stupid. Then, mostly he felt surprised. "Okay."
"Do you want to come with us? Aunt Martha says you could use some different clothes."
"Pass." Conner crossed his arms over his chest.
"Clothes are a big part of how you show yourself to the world." Cam said. Kara nodded, pointing a finger to emphasize Cam's words. Conner rolled his eyes.
"You've been watching way too much of that show." He told Cam.
"Don't be a hater."
"Two months ago, you didn't know what soup was!" He retorted.
"Okay, you know what? I think this is a good time for us to leave. We'll see you later," Kara laughed, pulling Cam out before the argument could devolve any further. "Bye cuz!"
Cameron winked at him before the two of them took off. Conner rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop the smile on his face. He sat down on the porch, staring out across the cornfields. Matchstick was long gone, and Cameron had seized his chance to be a real person. Conner wasn't sure how long it had taken him to stop thinking of himself as a weapon and to start thinking of himself as just… Conner.
Honestly, he was just glad. What Cadmus had done to them wasn't the same. If he was being really honest with himself, he was a little jealous that Matchstick was a chemical that faded on its own. Cameron didn't have anything in his head, no doubts, no purpose implanted by the genomorphs. Conner knew he'd grown a lot since his friends rescued him from Cadmus. He also knew that getting better was hard, and sometimes things that were hard took a long time.
At least, that's what Robin had told him on one of their first missions, before Conner had even gotten a name beyond just "Superboy."
He wondered what Robin was doing now. If he was okay. Conner missed his friends. Living on the farm was fun. A few months ago, living with Superman and his family was more than he could have ever imagined, but he also never imagined how much he could lose.
Conner missed the team like a missing limb. Wolf and Sphere had adjusted to life on the farm easily, but Conner couldn't stop thinking about his other friends. He and Artemis still texted, but it was more of a daily check-in than any kind of real conversation. She'd long-since forgiven Wally for the secrets he'd kept, but Conner didn't know if he was ready to. If he'd known what was going on, he could have helped. He could have saved Robin and stopped everything from going wrong. Instead, the team had shattered.
M'gann was supposed to be staying with Martian Manhunter, but Conner didn't know where she'd ended up. He hoped she stayed in Happy Harbor; she loved their school and her cheerleading team and the normal friends they'd made.
Conner frowned. He missed her. He missed all of them, but M'gann was special. He wanted to talk to her, to see how she was doing and be there for her, but he couldn't bring himself to forget the fact that she'd kept the same secrets Wally had. They'd both kept crucial information from the team and it cost them everything.
So Conner hadn't reached out. And neither did she.
Losing Robin didn't just mean losing Robin. Conner had lost all of his friends in one strike.
Conner didn't know how long he'd been sitting on the porch when Grandma Kent stuck her head outside.
"Conner? Hon? Are you alright?"
Conner shrugged but didn't say anything.
"I don't know."
"You're worried about your friend, aren't you?" Grandma joined him on the steps of the porch looking out over the farm.
"Yeah." Conner said, his chest tightening. "I'm sure he's going through hell and I feel so useless because there's nothing I can do to help him."
Grandma squeezed his hand hard enough for him to feel it.
"Dick is a strong kid." She told him, sadness etched into the wrinkles on her face. "Stubborn as all hell, just like his dad. If anyone can come through this in one piece, it's him."
"I just wish there was something I could do. The League's searched the entire planet, all the tech and all the magic and even Sphere looked, and we couldn't find anything."
"That's the hardest part about having my boys out there saving the world." Grandma said quietly. "I know you've got the powers of a god, but it still scares me to death that there's still things out of your hands. Especially knowing all the stuff that's out there."
"How do you deal with it?" Conner asked. His grandma shrugged casually.
"Practice."
Conner rolled his eyes.
"I mean it, Conner. You do the best you can at what you can do. That's all you can do."
Dick Grayson
Day 35
"You win." I say.
Slade ignores me, and for a second, terror pounds through my veins and all the way down to the tips of my fingers. What if he doesn't stop? What if I give in and start doing what he wants, and he still leaves me alone? This was supposed to be the big moment where I admit defeat, Slade gloats, and then we go back to the way things were in the beginning.
Oh god. I messed up. No, no, no, please, no.
"I…" I trail off, suddenly scared to say anything else. He heard me, has to have heard me. And if he's ignoring me, what if I just piss him off trying to get his attention? "Slade, please."
My voice sounds so small and scared and helpless and I can't even bring myself to feel anything but desperation.
"Please, I can't do this anymore. I give up, okay? You win. You win."
"I usually do."
My heart skips a beat and a wave of relief so strong I almost fall over crashes into me.
"I'll do the classes! I did the lessons for today and finished all the assignments."
"Good. I'm glad you've come to your senses." Slade nods at me, something approving in his eye instead of that cold, heartless indifference and I feel like I'm floating. It's over. I don't have to be alone anymore.
"Can I… can we go back to training?" I blurt out. The approval on Slade's face vanishes until I'm staring at a blank mask, and it makes my stomach twist.
"Have you caught up on all your lessons?" He asks simply.
He can't be serious. Shit, of course it wasn't going to be that easy.
"Slade, come on! I'm behind so many, it's going to take me forever to catch up!"
"Then I suggest you use your time productively."
"Please!"
"I'll adjust the parameters on your bedroom locks to accommodate your studying habits if you choose to work longer."
"Slade!"
"What are you waiting for? You have a lot to do."
Ra's al Ghul
Secret League of Shadows Base, Somewhere in Nepal
"Richard Grayson is Renegade."
Ra's felt his eyes widen in surprise as he stared at the messenger. That particular revelation was not one he'd been expecting. He'd had his suspicions about Grayson's disappearance and the coincidental timing of Robin's theft of the chips, but he hadn't given that overlap more than a passing consideration.
Next to the messenger, Sportsmaster let out an incredulous snort. "Everyone in the world and Wilson picks a spoiled brat to train? I knew he was losing his touch, but this is something else."
Ra's ignored him, instead focusing his attention on the messenger.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Great One." His assassin bowed deeply.
"Interesting." Ra's stroked his beard thoughtfully, turning this new crucial bit of information over in his head until he'd decided on a course of action. "Sportsmaster, have there been any developments regarding the chips?"
"Not yet. But I'm still looking."
"As everyone is, I'm sure. And the boy?"
"Robin?" Sportsmaster asked. Ra's inclined his head in answer. "Gotham's become hostile territory."
"I had heard the natives were becoming restless," Ra's agreed easily. "And I'm sure the Detective has been wary to let his sidekick out of his sight."
"No one can get into Gotham." Sportsmaster crossed his arms over his chest, feeling more assured now that Ra's had given him the opening to admit his failures. "The crazies out there don't want anyone on their turf and they're gutting anyone who tries. Snart put out a full stop for anyone in Central, he cut some kind of deal with Two Face. Snart's people stay out, and anyone tries anything in Gotham gets nicely escorted out for Snart to deal with. It's saved them a lot of bodies already."
Ra's considered that information, the corner of his mouth flicking up into a smirk. It was an elegant solution, a very well-crafted response to a complicated threat. To anyone else, it would be impossible to see the larger strands tying to the web together, but Ra's knew the Detective well enough to recognize his meddling hand. To organize Gotham's riff-raff took manipulative prowess the likes of which only a select few possessed.
"Thank you, Sportsmaster. You're dismissed." Ra's inclined his head. Sportsmaster looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he shrugged and took his leave. Ra's looked down at the pile of documents the messenger had left him, a hint of something… cunning on his face.
"Very interesting, indeed." Ra's said aloud. "Arrange a call with the rest of my associates. I believe it's time we move forward with our plans."
Perhaps it was time for the Light to welcome a new member. Ra's did not trust Deathstroke, not at all. But this… Deathstroke had made a truly bold move, and Ra's could not argue that Robin would make anything less than a superb student. Surely Deathstroke wouldn't want the rest of the Light to know that he'd been responsible for the chips' disappearance.
This could prove to be a most interesting turn of events.
Dick Grayson
Day 39
"Please! I've literally done nothing but work and sleep for four days straight."
"And you spent the weeks before that begging me for activities to occupy your time." Slade says. "Hopefully you've learned something about the consequences of your actions."
Day 42
I jerk awake when my head slips off the desk.
Fuck. I'm still a dozen lessons behind and I've been doing 12-hour days for a week straight.
I'm going insane.
Day 46
"Let's make a deal."
"I think I've been quite clear in my expectations," Slade answers evasively.
"You always want something. What is it going to take for you to stop the fucking mind games and treat me like a human being?"
I glare up at Slade, and he turns away from his laptop to give me his full attention.
"Cut the attitude."
I blink.
"Seriously?"
"I don't have the time or patience for your snark, sarcasm or irreverence. You will do as I say without objection or commentary."
"No."
"I will not beat you into submission or force you to obey me on pain of death, but if you want to be treated with respect and trust, I expect complete obedience. Richard, I can play this game for a long time. Far longer than you'll last. I estimate you'll manage to catch up in another two weeks. You're already at a breaking point. Imagine how you'll feel at the end of sixty days of abject misery."
Fuck Slade. He thinks I can't last another two weeks?
Fuck him.
I'll get through just to fucking show him.
Kaldur'ahm
Star City
Monday, March 20th, 2013
"I need to speak with you, Roy."
"Kal, I'm busy. I don't have time."
"Roy, please. I'm concerned about-"
"Don't be. The chips are still out there. Whatever Batman's plan was, it didn't work and we're all in danger, and none of us can afford to just sit around and wait. The rest of the League might be okay to just wait our enemies to destroy us, but I'm not."
"Batman assured us he has a plan. There's nothing that we can do for now."
Roy snorted harshly.
"A plan? You can't seriously have fallen for that shit." He frowned, shaking his head. "You weren't there Kaldur. Robin attacked me."
"I understand that, but please. I need time to speak with you, Roy. Not Red Arrow."
"Where's the team? Why can't you talk to them about it?"
"The Team is… on pause." Kaldur answered heavily.
"What? Why?" Roy looked instantly suspicious and Kaldur felt too exhausted to explain, but Roy didn't seem likely to let it go.
"Batman's plan caused us just as much confusion as it did the League. There were some… harsh words, and harsh revelations. I thought it was best to step back."
"You broke up the team?" Roy accused. The hole from betrayal after lie after betrayal in Kaldur's chest ached.
"It's not that simple. Roy, please, I just need a few minutes with you."
"Kal, we've been talking for a few minutes. Whatever's so important, just say it. I don't have time to waste."
Kaldur frowned at the brusque words, but nodded anyways and continued.
"Recently, everything on the surface has become more and more complicated. The things I once believed in… are not at all what I believed them to be. And the things that I have been asked to do… are beyond what I can give. I believe… that I have been on the surface world long enough. I have been thinking of returning to Atlantis. Permanently."
Kaldur waited, heart pounding in his chest. Roy frowned, and Kaldur's pulse sped up. He hoped his boyfriend would object, would grab his shoulders and tell him he could only leave over his dead body or something equally dramatic, but the objection never came.
"And?"
Kaldur froze, absolutely stunned.
"I… I believed…."
"The chips are still out there, and Batman's pathetic attempt to flush out the mole just made the stakes even higher. I don't have time for your self-pity. Do what you want. Now is there anything else? You already made me late to meet Superman."
"No." Kaldur spoke softly, the last, broken pieces of his shattering into dust. "There's nothing else."
Jason Todd
Wayne Manor
"He said no, again! I don't get it, why won't he listen to me?!" Jason fumed. Barbara made a sympathetic face and nodded.
"We're going to find him, you know that, right?" Babs asked. A burst of static on her end of the call made her picture go fuzzy. Jason let out a huff of irritation.
"Yeah, but it would be way easier to help if Bruce wasn't getting in the way anytime I try to help!"
Babs snorted in agreement. Jason heard loud clicking sounds over the computer as she typed.
"Do you have anything for me?" She asked. Jason nodded, plugging a flash drive into his laptop and sending the files to her.
"The Batcave's scanners picked up weird activity at the docks. Can you get down there tonight?"
Babs glanced over her shoulder at her bedroom door before looking back at her computer screen.
"Yeah. Dad's working late so I'll have time."
"I just wish I could be out there! I hate waiting for Bruce to find something! He's not even looking!"
"Nobody knows what Bruce is thinking." Babs said, trying to be comforting. "But you know he's still looking. He's not going to just give up on Dick."
"I know." Jason grumbled. "I just wish he'd—Babs? You okay?"
Babs let out a strangled sound, eyes wide as she stared at her phone.
"Holy shit. Holy shit, Jay, go find a tv! Holy shit!"
"What?"
"TURN THE TV ON!" Babs shouted.
Jason was out of his chair in a second, sprinting for one of the living rooms and turning the tv on as fast as he could. His jaw dropped. He stared at the banner scrolling across the tv screen in horror, but he couldn't wrap his head around it.
Superman declares, "Pledge your loyalty or be destroyed."
"Humans of Earth," Superman announced darkly, cold fury where there was usually friendly cheer. Jason stared at his Uncle Clark in sheer horror. "For decades, I have watched over you. I have protected your planet and your people from disasters of your own making. Time and time again, I have watched greed and corruption run your civilizations into the ground and the expense of the defenseless. I have cleaned up your messes and fought your battles, and what do I get for this thankless task? It's clear that you humans cannot be trusted anymore; it's time for me to remake this planet as I see fit. I should destroy this pathetic planet and spare your species generations of suffering at your own hands, but I will offer you a chance at salvation. I speak now to the governments of the world and the ineffective body that calls itself the United Nations; you have forty-eight hours to pledge your loyalty to me. If any country opposes my claim to rule when the timer runs out, I will push the entire planet out of its orbit and trigger a mass-extinction that will wipe out all life as you humans know it. Choose carefully. You have forty-eight hours."
AN: I apologize for nothing.
Leave me a review and let me know what you think is going to happen next! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!