AN: Yes, I know it's been a while. In my defense, I'm just going to vaguely gesture at the state of the world. Seriously though, thank you all so so much for your patience, I needed to step back and take a break, but I'm back and I'm so excited to share this chapter! It is, in my opinion, heartbreaking and so much fun. For us, not for Dick. Thank you again, and without further ado, let's see how Dick is doing.
Dick Grayson
New York City
Day 64
Done. Thank god. Tomorrow's Sunday, so I'll be able to finish the last lesson and finally get caught up. The past few weeks have been hell, but I'm almost done. Slade said that I'd get privileges back once I got caught up. He won't break his end of the deal, not with how strict he is about me keeping mine. I just have to get through tomorrow.
I press the enter key and wait for the confirmation screen to load. The only thing slower than the loading bar in the center of the screen is the timer in the top corner.
The office chair lets out a low squeak as I lean my head back against the headrest, tilting the frame backwards. I have to admit, it's a nice chair. There really aren't that many office chairs that would be tolerable to sit in for hours on end, but this one has nice lumbar support. My back still hurts, but that's not surprising. I've been sitting down for almost twelve hours a day for weeks now.
The submission form for the physics test finally loads, confirming that the online program has received my test.
I glance at the timer in the corner of the screen. Only one minute and seventeen seconds left.
What now? It's too late to try and get started on tomorrow's work, but it's too early to eat dinner and if I have to look at a screen for five more minutes, my brain is going to explode. So the iPod is out. That doesn't leave me with a lot of stuff to fill the rest of the night, especially since I've already been to the gym twice today. There's a tear on the couch in the living room. Too bad Slade would never trust me with a needle and thread, otherwise I could sew it up.
I barely manage to resist the urge to bang my head in the desk. I'm bored enough that repairing upholstery sounds like fun.
The countdown reaches zero, and along with it the electronic lock on the door clicks open loudly. I push myself out of the chair and stretch, listening to the symphony of cracks that erupt. I wander into the kitchen, staring out over the skyline and watching the millions of lights in the dark.
It's funny. Considering how close Gotham is to New York, I haven't seen the city much at all.
Heh. Considering the fact that I've been here for months, I really haven't seen any of this building either. I know that Slade owns this apartment, and probably the whole floor too, but I've never seen anyone else use the gym or the staircase at the end of the hallway that goes from this floor up.
This whole building doesn't really add up. There's never been another person on the elevator, or in the hallways, and Slade has no problem with me taking the stairs up to the gym. If it wasn't for the fact that this is an enormous apartment building in New York City, it would almost seem like the whole building is empty.
I glance at the door. I still have access to the gym, so the door should be open, and it's not like I have anything else to do. Besides, if Slade doesn't want me to go somewhere, the door will be locked anyways.
I grab a protein bar and a bottle of water (just in case) and leave the apartment. This hallway is always quiet, just the sound of the central air flowing. There are five other apartments on the floor, but I've never seen any hint of another person.
I try the first door on the right for apartment D. It opens into an empty room, nothing but hardwood floors and pristine white walls when I flick the lights on. That's one mystery solved.
"Guess I was right." I say, just to hear some kind of sound other than my own footsteps. "I bet they're all empty."
The layout of the apartment is almost exactly the same as mine, except it's totally empty. All the appliances look brand new; the fridge, the oven, the bathroom sinks, everything is move-in ready. It's like whoever built this place got it all set up and never moved anyone in.
I wonder what the contractors think happened. They probably spent years putting this place up, and then one day they're done and the apartments never go on the market. They probably don't care, I'm sure nobody would think twice. Slade's good at making things disappear.
I leave apartment D and head for the next one. It's exactly the same, except instead of the iconic skyline, the living room looks out over the bay. Probably the Hudson, but I don't really have any way of checking. I settle on the ground in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows and wrap my arms around my legs.
Reflections of light glitter off the water, sending back eerie shadows of light that bounce over the empty room.
"You'd love this view, Jay." I say. "It's way better than the view from Bruce's office."
I miss Jason. I miss them all. As long as Slade kept his word, they're safe, but just because they're not in danger doesn't mean they'll hate me any less.
My stomach clenches.
There's no way to know if they're okay. Except that Slade would probably rub it in my face if anything happened to them. And since he hasn't said a word about any of them in months, I have to believe they're okay.
Suddenly, the view doesn't feel as peaceful. The loneliness in my chest has hardened into a pain in my stomach and the thought of sitting here any longer makes me sick.
I get up and walk out, heading right for the stairwell. I know the door to the twelfth floor is unlocked, but I've never tried going down. My footsteps bounce off the walls and I try not to think about how lonely it sounds. If I could sing, the acoustics would be pretty great in here. Maybe I should try sometime… Josh insists that recordings of me sound exactly like Jesse McCartney, I wonder if that would translate to my singing voice. Shaking the thought away with a grin, I try the door to the eighth floor. To my shock, it opens easily.
The eighth floor looks just like the one I just left. I wander through the empty apartments and the feeling of unease gets worse. It all just looks exactly the same and I feel like I'm trapped in some kind of weird dream.
In one of the empty bedrooms, I stare down at the street eight stories below. Even this late at night, the streets are full of lights, people and cars going about their lives.
"I just want to go outside." I tell the empty room. The room doesn't answer. I let my forehead rest against the window pane. I wonder what's happening in the real world. Maybe it's been the most boring week in human history. Maybe the world almost ended. There's no way I'll ever find out.
"Come upstairs."
Slade's voice appears out of thin air and I jump, my feet literally leaving the ground for a second. My head whips around, but there's nobody else in the room. It takes a few heart-pounding seconds for my eyes to lock onto the intercom near the light switch, and then I can finally breathe again.
Of course he was watching me this whole time. I can't be in trouble for this, he would have stopped me half an hour ago if he didn't want me wandering around. But what does he want? He knows I haven't caught up on work yet, there's not a chance in hell he's going to decide it's good enough and we can get back to work. But the last time he broke the pattern, it was to drag me in front of a camera to meet with Vandal Savage. Fuck, what if it's Luthor? I know I'm desperate to see another human being, but not that desperate.
Slade is waiting for me in the living room, a deep frown set on his face. My heart skips a beat and I take a step closer to the door behind me without thinking.
"Sit." Slade says without preamble. "I have some bad news."
My heart jumps into my throat while my stomach plummets through the floor and I want to throw up. Slade's been keeping me in complete isolation from the world for months, something horrific must have happened for him to tell me. And I'm not stupid enough to think there's any reason he's telling me aside from the fact that he knows it's going to hurt me.
I sit on the couch as far away from Slade as I can get. This is going to be bad enough without deliberately pissing him off.
"Red Tornado was destroyed."
"What?!" My heart stops.
Red Tornado… can't be destroyed. That's… that's impossible, he can't—it has to be a mistake.
"He was destroyed in an attack on the League."
"What happened?!" I demand.
"I don't know the details." Slade says calmly. "Just that he was the only casualty."
"Bullshit!" I shout, suddenly on my feet even though I don't remember standing up. I can feel my face getting red, my heart pounding with fury.
"Watch your tone."
"Don't pretend you don't know! Tell me the fucking truth!"
The look on Slade's face changes in an instant; calm façade obliterated in a twist of rage. Slade crosses the distance between us and my instincts take over. I scramble away as fast as I can, accidentally whacking the back of my head on the door. My blood turns to ice as Slade reaches out, his thumb gently pressing against the bottom of my chin to tilt my head up. He's in my space, using his massive size advantage to block any escape, but the only contact is the single finger under my chin that's barely light enough to feel.
Somehow, that makes it so much more terrifying than if he'd just slammed me against the wall and strangled me again.
"I don't know the details." Slade repeats, and there's not a single ounce of emotion in his voice even though fury is written all over his face. I try to pull away, but the signal from my brain gets lost somewhere and I can't move. I can't breathe. Shit, I haven't seen him this mad in… since… the last time his voice sounded like this was in the office that day I tried to give myself up to save my family. But there's no way in hell he's going to start laughing this time. "I went to great lengths to avoid any information once I heard the news, because I felt that you deserved an honest response where your former friends are concerned. And what do I get for my trouble?"
"Fuck. You." I hiss.
"I understand that you are upset, so I will give you one chance to apologize."
"Go to hell." My arms are shaking. The trembling in my knees has only gotten worse and my heart won't stop speeding up no matter how much the working part of my brain knows that panicking isn't going to help, not where Slade is involved. I brace myself, waiting for Slade to strike out.
But he steps back. The hand under my chin is gone, there's no massive, angry psychopath towering over me. Slade pauses when he reaches the door.
"I am sorry, Richard. I know you cared about him."
Then he's gone and I'm alone.
The next thing I know, I'm on the ground, back pressed against the legs of the couch with my face buried in my hands.
The League was attacked.
Red Tornado was destroyed.
He's gone.
I wasn't there.
I can't do anything about any of it.
I should have been there. Maybe I could have helped.
How many other people are going to get hurt while there's nothing I can do?
It turns out to be a very, very long night.
Day 65
I groggily pull my eyes open and reach for the snooze button. That's when it hits me that there's no alarm going off, nothing beeping at me to get me up. I sit up and check the clock.
6:04.
My heart stops.
6:04.
6:04!
As in four minutes past six.
6:04 as in four minutes past the door locking for the next twelve hours.
NO!
I race for the door and tug on the handle. It doesn't budge.
No. No. No! NO! This can't be happening!
I slam my fists against the door.
"Slade!" I shout, fists pounding against the door, "Let me out! Slade!"
I wrench the door handle down and it doesn't move at all. Kicking the door doesn't change anything, neither does slamming my fists against the frame. I sink down onto the ground, chest heaving as I fight back a sudden wave of tears.
I'm stuck in here for the next twelve hours. I can't get to the computer, I can't catch up on the lessons, and that means I'll be behind for another entire week. Seventy days in a row of boredom and stress and isolation and spite and trying to beat Slade in a game he's been winning since the start.
Slade disabled the alarm. He turned off the alarm so I wouldn't get up in time.
Why did I have to yell at him?! Why couldn't I just have apologized when he gave me a chance instead of telling him to go to hell? What was I thinking, why am I so stupid?!
Oh god, it's going to be at least another week of this before I can catch up now. I'm going to have to do twelve-hour days all over again, just to try and get back to where I was yesterday. And what if… what if when I get there, Slade locks me in here all over again?!
My heart starts pounding and my body shudders, recoiling head to toe in horror. I force myself onto my feet and drag myself to the bathroom, splashing water on my face to push back against the panic. My stomach lets out a protest, a really unpleasant reminder that I was too upset to eat dinner last night, and now I'm not going to heave anything to eat for twelve hours.
Don't think about that.
I stick my hands under the faucet and let them fill with water. I gulp down water, trying to fill my stomach. It helps a little with the hunger, and a lot with the headache. I turn the faucet off and wipe my hand across my face, staring at myself in the mirror.
I look tired. Actually, that's generous; I look like complete shit. My hair is long and shaggy and the bags under my eyes are enormous and my skin looks so pale from the lack of sunlight. And it's just going to get worse. Slade's barely getting started with the things he could do to me. The things he's going to do if I don't break soon enough.
I climb back into bed and curl up on my side, shoulders and hip digging into the mattresses. My eyes lock onto a tiny stain on the wall across from me. It's been nine weeks.
Nine weeks of isolation. Nine weeks of trying to fight Slade, to get him to listen to me when he won't even look at me.
I can't do this anymore.
I lay back down and pull the covers over my head. At least I can sleep.
Four hours later, I'm awake again and my empty stomach is going into spasms. Only eight more hours.
It's not long until my thoughts pick up exactly where they left off last night.
Tornado can't be dead. He can't be gone. That's impossible, it can't be possible. He's an android; as long as his programming is intact, he can be rebuilt. This has to be a trick. It wouldn't be the first time Slade lied to me to hurt me. Or maybe it's a ploy by the League to… to… trick the villains into thinking he's gone? But that doesn't make sense, how would that help anyone?
I should have been there! Maybe I could fix him, there's nobody in the League that's as good with tech as I am.
This is all my fault. It's my fault he's dead. It's my fault the League got attacked. It must be, there's no way the Light wasn't going to retaliate for what I did.
A horrible thought strikes me suddenly and I sit up.
The case is leaning against the wall, in the exact same place it's been for the last two months. It's untouched. Right?
My heart jumps, pounding in my chest and suddenly my mouth is so dry I'm scared my tongue is going to snap in half. Slade wouldn't… he said he wouldn't. The chips are all still in there. There's no way he… there's no way he gave them back to the Light after everything. I mean, maybe he would but he'd tell me if he was going to so he could rub it in my face. They're still in there. They have to be. Before I know it, I'm on the other side of the room, crouching on the floor to undo the locks.
With shaking fingers, I pry the case open.
A rush of air escapes my lips in pure relief. The chips are still there, all twenty-eight of them.
My knees tremble so badly I have to sit down, and it takes everything I have not to just start sobbing. Slade didn't lie about the chips. He hasn't lied to me since I got here. What if…
What if he hasn't lied about anything?
Maybe Bruce really… maybe he really did replace me. Maybe I've always just been expendable to him; that would explain why he never paid attention to what I did. It's not that he never noticed me sneaking away or all the unexplained disappearances, it's that he just didn't care enough about me to do anything about it. Even when I went to Geneva without telling him, he only cared because he was already pissed at me since I didn't want to let Selina move in. That was just him being a control freak. It didn't mean that he actually cared.
Slade's right. Bruce doesn't need me. He made that clear on the rooftop over the Iceberg Lounge when he was facing down Deathstroke and an unknown threat and didn't blink at the thought of taking them on alone. He never needed Robin, and he definitely didn't need me to be him. Especially since… especially since he just gave it to Jason as soon as I betrayed him.
He let Jason be Robin.
He just gave my costume, my uniform, MY name to him without any hesitation.
That couldn't send a clearer message if he tried.
I thought Bruce hated me. I thought he could never forgive me for what I did, for lying to him, for abusing his trust and going behind his back and putting everyone in danger but I was wrong.
Bruce doesn't hate me.
He doesn't care enough for that.
Slade hasn't lied to me. He said it himself, he doesn't need to. He knows that I've done things my friends will never be able to forgive me for, he knows that there's nowhere else for me to go. I know that I shouldn't trust him but he's only ever been clear about what he wants. He wants me to be his apprentice, just like I promised after he saved my life.
He knows Bruce doesn't care. He knows Bruce never cared.
But even more than that, Slade knows me. He knows my head inside and out, most days better than I do. Slade knows how much Robin meant to me. He knows what he did, ripping Robin out of me and making sure he burned.
Because Robin was the best part of me. I meant what I said to Canary that day; Robin is—was the part of me that was good. And if Robin is gone… if I'm NOT him anymore…
I'm not good. I'm not… I'm not a good person. I haven't really been good since the first time I lied to Bruce, but at least as Robin I could help people. Without Robin, I can't even do that. Renegade exists to hurt people; to obey Deathstroke no matter what the price is to others.
And all the criminals and villains I used to fight, the people Robin fought every single day to stop… I'm not better than them. I'm a criminal. I'm a criminal now and I have been for a while. I stole from Hizer. I did that. And I hurt people to do it.
Batman, the League, my friends, they're looking for me. They're trying to stop me, to bring me in so I can face justice and they're… they're right to. I'm a criminal and it's what I deserve. There's nothing to go back to. I can't pretend there is; as badly as I want to go home, what I want never really existed.
I'm Slade's apprentice. I'm his apprentice. I'm…. I'm his. And I have been ever since the day I agreed to work for him in the first place.
I love my family, I love them so much and I miss them more than I could ever put into words, but I've been lying to them the entire time they've known me. I've literally been working for Slade longer than Tim lived with Bruce. My siblings don't know the real me. Our entire relationship is built on a lie. My life wasn't real; it was always just an act. A front. A cover story.
And my friends, my teammates. They knew there was a mole and they trusted me, even when I knew Slade was using me to steal secrets, even when I was putting them in danger.
It's not fair. It's not fair! I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this!
Why did Bruce have to take me in? Why couldn't he have just left me to the system, or pulled some strings to get me out of juvie and into a real foster home? Then I never would have become Robin and I never would have met Slade and I wouldn't have had to deal with any of this.
This is never going to end. I'm never going to get away from Slade, and anything I try just ends up with me getting hurt. My whole plan was to stick it out long enough that I wouldn't actually break, but what's the point? There's no way out. If I leave, Slade's going to hurt my family. I can't let that happen, so I can't leave.
My gaze falls on the little rectangle sitting innocently on the dresser. It's the iPod. That's what it all comes down to. The olive branch, Slade's way of saying that things can be good if I play along with his games. Just like the donuts. Just like being trapped in an apartment with windows instead of sealed up underground for all this time.
There's no way to get through this. I'm never going to beat Slade. Ever. He's already won and even if I had any fight left, it would be stupid to keep trying. This is my life now. Disobeying Slade only hurts me. I need to gain his trust. I have to.
But it all comes down to the iPod, the one reminder I have that things aren't hopeless.
I don't want Slade to win. I don't want the League to lose. I wish there was some way I could help them, some way I could make a difference. But there isn't one, not while I'm locked up here. Not while Slade controls everything I do.
But I know he's already won. I've known from the start and I've just been trying so hard to fight a losing battle. This has to end. I can't fight him anymore, I'm too tired. I'm so, so fucking tired. This battle is over. It has been for months. Maybe even longer. It's way past time to accept that.
A hand lands on my shoulder and pushes me onto my back. My eyes snap open and my stomach lets out a loud grumble.
"You need to eat," Slade says. I nod and climb out of bed. My eyes never leave the ground while I follow Slade numbly down the hallway. My body feels heavy and my stomach sends a new wave of hunger every few seconds in the form of a painful cramp.
"You should go to bed earlier," Slade comments lightly, testing to see if I rise to the bait.
"Yes sir." I answer quietly. He turns, his good eye scans over me but he doesn't say anything. When we get to the kitchen, Slade nods towards the table.
"Sit."
I do.
Slade opens the refrigerator and I hear dishes and silverware clink. I'm too tired to turn my head, so I just stare at the table. The microwave runs and after a minute, it beeps. Slade puts the plate in front of me. He leans against the island, arms crossed over his chest, watching me silently. My mouth waters as I look at the plate but instead of eating, I turn towards Slade.
"Can I…" I ask quietly, my voice trailing off. His lip twists up into a triumphant smirk and I truly don't have it in me to care.
"Go ahead."
Slade watches me dig into the food, and even though I'm starving I manage not to wolf it all down at once.
"I think we can agree that this was an unfortunate fluke." He says after several long minutes of me eating in silence, and I almost don't understand what he's saying. "We'll assume that you're back on track once you finish tomorrow's lesson, and we'll meet in the gym at 3."
My heart pounds and I look up at him, eyes wide. Is he serious? He changed his mind? With a nod, Slade pushes off the counter and starts to leave the room.
"Wait!" I stop him, suddenly finding my voice. He turns around, suspicion written all over his face. I'm going to regret this; I don't get to ask Slade for things. But I need to, I can't… I try to get the words out, but my mouth moves and nothing comes out.
"Yes?" Slade prompts harshly.
"I… I…" I swallow nervously and force myself to get the words out. My voice sounds so small. "Don't go."
The room is so quiet that a pin drop would have been deafening.
Slade leaves.
My heart thuds in my chest and there's nothing but loneliness and desperation so strong it scares me. What was I expecting?
I pick at my food. I try to ignore the silence. Even though it's been an entire day since I ate, it all tastes like cardboard in my mouth.
A door opens and Slade's footsteps return. He doesn't say anything, but he puts his briefcase on the table, pulls out his laptop and starts working. The ball in the pit of my stomach releases suddenly and I can breathe normally again. The sound of fingers hitting the keyboard fills the room, and it feels like the first time in months I haven't been alone.
I'm terrified by how much better it feels.
Day 68
Sweat pours off my face. Running has been the only way to stay busy over the last few months so I thought my cardio would be fine, but we've had six training sessions in the last three days and I haven't caught my breath since. Slade's staff slashes through the air and I barely throw myself out of the way in time, rolling back to my feet and bringing my staff up in time to meet it.
The staff is slippery in my hands but I don't have time to wipe the sweat off. There are no openings, no delays and no hesitation. Just intense focus as I try to keep up with Slade pushing as hard as he can.
It's not training staffs either. Without any armor, even a single hit from the metal is enough to knock me off my feet.
My hands hurt from trading blows, every hit sending another shockwave up my arms, but it's never strong enough to lose my grip. Slade hasn't said a word the entire fight, none of the usual critiques or changes to my stance or my aim or my timing or my—
I hurl myself into the air, flipping over the line of silver that flashes through the space I was just in. I twist, bringing my staff down for a strike that Slade counters. My feet move as soon as they hit the ground, pulling me out of striking distance.
Slade readjusts, but he gives a tiny, barely noticeable nod. Then he's moving again before I have time to breathe, let alone figure out what that meant.
I block a flurry of blows, but even before the next one strikes, I know I'm out of place. I moved too far and it unbalanced my stance, and I know the hit is coming before it gets there.
The staff jabs into my chest and there's a crackle of electricity; pain arcs through my body and I have no control over the shout that comes out of my mouth while every muscle I have contracts at the same time. By the time it stops, I'm on the ground shaking and gasping for breath. My hands are twitching and my body spasms with the aftershocks.
Fuck, that hurt.
"Get up." Slade says after approximately ten seconds. Maybe five.
I try to, but my leg gives out as soon as I put weight on it. Slade frowns and panic washes over me.
"I'm sorry!"
"I said, get up." Slade repeats, his voice cold. I take a breath, squeezing my hands into fists before narrowing my eyes furiously. I can do this. Slade wouldn't tell me to do something unless he knows I can do it.
I dig my hands into the mat and push myself up, climbing to my feet by sheer willpower.
"Good." Slade says, holding my staff out of reach. "Get a drink, walk two laps, and we'll go again."
Slade actually waits until the tremors are totally gone and I've stretched out all the protesting muscles until he throws me my bo staff and charges. If he's going any easier on me, I can't tell, but he has to be. I just got tased five minutes ago, there's no way I can keep up with the speed from before. So if I'm holding my own again, it has to be because Slade is going easy on me.
Even if it doesn't feel like it.
My staff arcs down, forcing Slade back. My arms are in front of me, crossed so my right side is vulnerable, and I know exactly how Slade's going to move.
I see an opening. It's tiny but it's real. When Slade lunges, he gets right up in my space and his face is unprotected. My right hand lets go of the staff and moves before Slade has a chance to get out of the way.
It's a perfect strike.
The second before my fingers make contact, it hits me that I'm about to jab Slade right in his exposed eye socket and the instant I start fighting dirty, he's going to stomp me into the ground.
I freeze.
Slade takes advantage of my hesitation and the opening disappears like it was never there. His hand locks around my wrist and the other seizes the front of my shirt, dragging me in close.
"What the hell are you doing?" He growls and the grip around my wrist tightens in unconscious rage. My heart skips a beat.
"I'm sorry!"
"Why did you stop?" Slade snarls.
"I didn't—what?" My brain screeches to a halt.
"You had a perfect opening. And you stopped yourself. Why?" Slade still sounds furious and I don't understand what he's mad about.
"I… It was dirty."
Slade stops. He raises an eyebrow, looking almost… amused.
"Have I been holding back on you?"
Holding back? He just electrocuted me less than five minutes ago.
Slade is looking at me like he expects an answer, so I shake my head.
"No."
"Then why would you hold back against me?"
"You… you want me to fight dirty?"
"Want you to? Richard, I expect you to. I expect you to do everything you can to win. You're not fighting to just stay on your feet anymore. You're fighting to beat me."
I stare at him, heart pounding in my chest. Slade must see something on my face because he doesn't stop there or throw me right back into the spar.
"You're not an easy target. You're a skilled warrior and you are much more dangerous then you believe." He looks me straight in the eye and there's something almost like pride on his face. "Next time you find an opening, do not hold back. Do you understand?"
Is Slade… proud of me? What would he have done if I'd actually taken the shot?
"I… yes sir."
"Good. Now let's see if that was just a fluke or if you can do it again."
This is a terrible idea. I know it's a terrible idea. I knew it was a terrible idea as soon as it popped into my head, and it stayed a terrible idea for the entire rest of the spar. He's never going to agree and just because he gave me a compliment during a sparring session doesn't mean that he trusts me. He doesn't have any reason to be generous.
And worst case (which is way more likely than him actually agreeing), asking him is going to piss him off.
But this is… an opening. I have his attention and he's in a good mood. And he just told me to take advantage of the next opening I find.
"Can I go outside?"
Slade stops. He looks at me and I can feel my heart stop. Or maybe it starts beating so fast that each beat is totally indistinguishable from the next one. Either way, it feels like an eternity before he says anything.
There's no anger on his face, no distrust in the way he's standing, no alarms in the back of my head screaming about sudden danger. It takes me a few seconds to get over the shock and realize that he actually answered.
"What?"
"Apartment 12B has a private rooftop terrace. Stay underneath the enclosed area or I'll revoke the privilege."
"What?" I repeat numbly. "Why?"
"A helicopter flying over the building could record you and expose this location. Do you really want to risk Batman showing up because you wanted to leave the shade?"
"No! No, I didn't mean it like that, I just… I didn't think… I—" I cut myself off, forcing myself to take a deep breath until I can get real words out. It's not the same as going out into the real world, but Slade just gave me permission to get fresh air. That's not a small thing.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Day 69
I push open the door to 12B, taking in the empty room and the polished hardwood floors. It feels like the start to a bad joke that I would rather deal with an angry Slade than find out he lied to me and got my hopes up for nothing.
It's been so long since I was outside. Fresh air sounds almost like a fictional promise; something I took for granted every single day of my life until Slade locked me up here.
My footsteps echo on the wood, bouncing off the windows while I walk toward the front of the living room. Slade was telling the truth; there's a terrace out there, with an overhang enclosing two of the sides and potted bushes lining the retaining wall.
I reach for the handle of the sliding door and I'm so nervous I can't breathe. If it's locked, if Slade is only pretending to give me a taste of freedom so he can rip it away and laugh, I'm going to… I'll… I can't…
The door slides open and a front of cold air rushes past me. My chest hitches, hands falling to my side because that's fresh air. It's outside. It's really outside.
I lose track of how long I stand in the doorway with my eyes closed and the wind ruffling through my hair, but eventually it hits me that I haven't even stepped out of the building. Slade said I can go outside, for real.
For some reason, I'm not expecting that first step to feel different, but it's been weeks. MONTHS. I've been stuck inside all day everyday for so long, that being outside, having not one but two directions to look out in, it… I…
"It's almost eight." Slade says. That means weapons training. I stand up from the spot near the trellis I've been curled up in for the last few hours, trying to hide my face so he can't see how desperately I want to stay. This was a huge privilege and if I push back at all, it would be effortless for him to take it away. Slade stops me before I can pass him, a firm hand on my shoulder. "You can come back out after you've eaten dinner."
I freeze.
"I—really?"
Slade crosses his arms over his chest.
"You know the rules, and you know the hours you're allowed to be out of your apartment."
My heart stops.
I can… come out here whenever I want? Did he seriously just say that?
"Thank you!"
Day 75
"Come with me." Slade says when he walks into the room. I pull my headphones out and stick my iPod in my pocket, but Slade stops and shakes his head at me. "Leave that here."
I hesitate. Before Slade has to tell me again, I manage to pull the device out of my pocket and set it on one of the side tables. I follow him out of my apartment and into the hallway but instead of going into his unit, he heads for the elevator. After the doors close, Slade swipes a card and hits the button for the basement.
The elevator ride is silent. Slade looks as unperturbed as ever except for the occasional glance at his watch. I shift my weight back and forth, stopping my fingers from tapping against my leg every time they want to start. There's a quip about creepy basement lairs somewhere, but my tongue feels like dead weight in my mouth. My heart, on the other hand, is pounding like a jackhammer and it's so loud I'm sure Slade can hear it. I hate when Slade does something different. I never know what to expect, and even though I haven't done anything worth punishing, there's almost no chance this is going to be anything good.
Unless… what if this is punishment for yelling at him about Red Tornado?
But he already punished me for that. Shit, unless he didn't actually mess with my alarm clock and I got locked inside my room for twelve hours because I fucked up and overslept. My stomach twists in terror at the thought. This could be a punishment.
My legs are trembling by the time the elevator stops and Slade strides out without a word. He leads me down a typical basement hallway with concrete floors and creepily bright fluorescent lights before stopping outside a door labelled "Boiler Room."
That would be fine, except for the fact that we already passed another door that already claimed to be a boiler room.
Slade pulls a keyring out of his pocket and unlocks the door, unlatching the deadbolt with an ominous thud. I really, really, really don't know how to possibly overstate how badly I do not want to go inside, but Slade's already gone through the doorway and if I'm in trouble to start with, the last thing in the universe I want to do is make it worse.
So I pinch myself to stave off the panic and follow him.
My feet freeze when I see the row of cells, complete with thick bars, metal cots, and did I mention the impenetrable locks on the doors?
Slade glances back when he notices I've stopped and he raises an eyebrow.
"Do you want the tour?" He asks, annoyance creeping into his voice. I shake my head frantically after a few unsuccessful attempts to make any kind of sound. "Then don't keep me waiting."
He disappears into a new room and I practically sprint after him. I don't know which is worse; the cells or the fact that Slade just locked the door behind me and now I'm stuck with him inside what looks like a cross between an infirmary and an interrogation room. I almost double over, bile rising in my throat from sheer terror.
The last time Slade trapped me in an interrogation room, he… I…
'You are mine, Richard.'
"I thought this room might look familiar." Slade sounds amused, watching me desperately fight back against the panic. "Most of my safehouses are equipped for… special purposes. I doubt this will ease your fears at all, but this isn't a punishment."
I force myself to breathe, inhaling through my nose for eight counts before slowly exhaling through my mouth. Slade doesn't sound mad, he doesn't look mad and he just said this isn't a punishment. I'm not in trouble.
"Have a seat." Slade gestures at the examination table and my eyes catch on the restraints. Terror floods my body, rushing through my lungs and settling in my stomach like a stone. I'm going to end up on that table no matter what I do. If I try to resist, that's just going to make it worse. Slade doesn't just hurt me for no reason; everything he does has a point.
I walk across the room. For every step I take, I have to choke down a lungful of air to keep myself from hyperventilating. This is going to hurt. Slade said it wasn't a punishment, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt.
In fact, it pretty much guarantees it.
My heart is pounding in my chest, throwing itself against my ribcage so hard it HURTS, and if my teeth could grind together any harder, my jaw would shatter. When I reach the table, blood is rushing in my ears. Tears prick at my eyes, my heart is in my throat, my hands are shaking and I can't breathe, meanwhile my head is spinning with memories; Superboy's unconscious body covered in cuts and slashes, Wally lying half-dead with his ankle shattered and bloody, being separated from my friends and pinned against the wall, Slade's hand closing around my throat and squeezing until my lungs gave out, being tied up alone in the dark until I didn't know if Slade was coming back for me at all.
He's going to hurt me.
Slade pushes off from his spot against the wall, and with every step he takes, a little more blood drains out of my face. I have to just let this happen. It'll be worse if I fight.
"Lay down," Slade says. I squeeze my eyes shut and my head trembles in the closest version of a nod I can manage. I slide myself forward before lying on the table, terror pounding through every fiber of my body. Slade's hand moves my left arm to the side, and when he fastens one of the restrains around it, a sob escapes my mouth.
My right hand flies up to press against my mouth to stifle it, and my eyes are squeezed shut so tightly it aches.
"Just breathe." Slade says while he tightens the cuff around my wrist, and it shouldn't help but it does. "I know this is hard, but it'll be over soon."
I force myself to exhale, trying to focus on the cushioned table at my back and think about how incredible it felt to go outside, to get to breathe fresh air for the first time in months. Slade's not mad at me. Whatever's happening, he's not going to make it hurt any more than it has to.
I keep my eyes shut until the last restraint is on before cracking them open. Slade is tightening the cuff around my ankle, and he looks over when he sees me watching. A spike of fear races through me and I can't look at him. Instead, I focus on the cuffs holding me down to the table.
They're tight. It doesn't hurt, but it's not comfortable. Even worse is the skin-crawling terror that comes from being tied down completely motionless, and worse than that is knowing that I'm totally, completely, entirely in Slade's control. As hard as it was to let him tie me down, it's even worse than everything else combined that I don't even have the option of fighting back anymore.
"Put your head down." Slade says before his hand tilts my chin up, then he wraps a strap around my forehead and secures the back of my head flat against the table.
When he pulls back, there's no humor on his face. No sadistic pleasure. He just clinically checks that all the restraints are tight while I bite my tongue, fingernails digging into my palms.
"Any questions?" Slade asks finally.
"I—" I cut myself off, almost biting my tongue in half as the panic rears its head again. Slade can do whatever he wants to me, and even if I wasn't tied down to the table, there still wouldn't be a single thing I could do to stop him. And besides, I've been working my ass off to show him that I can listen to orders, the last thing I need is to fuck it up now when there's absolutely nothing I can do anyways. My voice shakes when I force out, "No sir."
Slade glances down at his watch and nods.
"You won't get in trouble for asking." He says calmly. "We have a few minutes and you always have questions."
I grind my teeth together to stop the outburst at that. What does he mean, that I always have questions? Has he done this before? I desperately want answers but I'm not stupid, it has to be a trap.
"Nothing?" There's genuine surprise in his voice. "Alright. I'm sure you'd prefer to get this over with."
He turns, and in his hand there's a syringe. I can't stop the strangled gasp that escapes my throat.
Holy shit. Holy shit. No. No, no, no, no, no. No. That's—that can't be what I think it is. No!
"I'm surprised you recognized it so quickly." Slade says, and then there's an alcohol swab rubbing at the crook of my elbow, in EXACTLY the same spot as the one I found the day I punched down a tree. Everything comes together at the same time; this is why Parasite called me a science experiment, why I have a healing factor. I knew Slade was doing something to me without me knowing, but now I know what.
It's the serum. The experimental super-solider serum Slade was given in the army, the one that turned him into the deadly psychopath he is today, the one that killed EVERY OTHER SOLDIER in the program.
And he's been injecting me with it.
"Do you understand what's going on?" Slade asks. I swallow, trying to nod while forcing back tears when I realize the strap won't let me move my head.
"Yes sir." I whisper, but only because whisper sounds better than whimper.
"Do you have any questions now?"
"I—" The sound refuses to come out.
"It's alright, Richard. You've done the hard part well; you won't get in trouble for asking."
"Why do I have to be tied down?" I can't stop the way my voice shakes, the fear closing tighter and tighter around my throat.
"The serum causes extreme convulsions. There's a large risk that you might fracture your spine if you're not properly restrained, especially given that the effects become more severe as the dosage increases."
My heart pounds, terror flooding through every part of my body.
"Don't." I whimper. "Slade, please."
"I'm doing this to make you stronger." Slade answers, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing in gentle reassurance. At least, that's what it's supposed to be. Instead, it just makes me panic even more. "It won't hurt for long, and you won't remember that it hurt at all."
Slade draws back, reaching for the syringe and I panic.
"Wait!" I shout, the sudden volume coming out of some hidden well of courage in my head.
"Just breathe. It'll be over soon."
"How many times?!" I beg, trying to hold still when all I want to do is struggle and panic.
"How many times have we done this?"
I try to nod, not trusting myself to make a sound.
"Eight. This is the ninth."
"And you… did this. Every time?"
Slade nods, not looking apologetic but there's nothing sadistic on his face either. Something in the back of my head screams that Slade is a monster, but the rest of my brain seizes on the reassurance that Slade isn't doing this to hurt me. I have to trust him, trust that he's not going to do anything that's going to kill me while he still needs me, because I have no other choice. Slade owns me. It doesn't matter that this is wrong and fucked up in every way imaginable, it doesn't matter at all what I want; it just matters that he's going to inject me with the serum and I need to do whatever it takes to prove that I can behave.
I take a breath and close my eyes.
There's a slight pinch when the needle goes in. And after that…
Agony. Bone-splitting, dipped-in-a-vat-of-acid burning, death-by-ten-thousands-knife slicing, constantly building agony. I hear myself scream until my voice breaks but the pain outlasts it. The pain outlasts everything. There's nothing else in the room, nothing else in the world, nothing else in the entire universe.
Just pain.
Day 75 (1)
I jerk awake to the sound of the door opening. My face doesn't want to peel off the couch, and my brain feels scrambled in the way that only happens when you wake up from a really perfect nap.
I yawn, stretching my back and listening for the cracks, but there's barely any. I feel great. I must've been exhausted if I passed out like that.
"Did you have a good nap?" Slade almost sounds like he's making fun of me, so I shoot him a grin.
"A great one, actually. Thanks for asking."
"I have dinner." Slade holds up a bag and my jaw drops.
"Is that… takeout?"
"There's a Chinese restaurant down the block that gets good reviews, and you're not allergic to it."
I narrow my eyes.
"Is it poisoned?"
"Why would I waste my time poisoning you indirectly?" Slade raises an eyebrow. I snort. He's in a weirdly good mood, which is good for me, but also alarming.
"Wait, Slade, really. What's going on?"
"You've been working very hard. Think of it as a reward for good behavior."
He hands me a plate and I take it, watching as he unpacks plastic containers full of hot, greasy, amazing smelling food. There's big containers of rice and soup and fortune cookies and for a second I wonder why he didn't try to bribe me with food WEEKS ago.
"Trying out the carrot?" I ask before I can stop myself. Slade looks up.
"We can go back to the stick if you'd prefer."
I recoil, shaking my head and trying to figure out how to apologize for pushing him when I see the calm look on his face hasn't changed. He was teasing me. Or at least, playing along.
I almost forgot that before all of this, back when I still trusted him with my life, we got along. There's not enough room left in my chest to unpack the fact that I miss those days.
"I… that's not why I'm…" I trail off when Slade looks up at me. I exhale, then take a deep breath. "I'm not just trying to not… get punished."
Slade's gaze is locked onto my face, and if he's searching for something, I have no idea what he's going to find. Instead of answering, he nods at the spread on the counter.
"Eat your food."
Day 80
Slade unrolls a blueprint on the table. I take in the layout, frowning at the winding corridors and strangely placed exits. The thick pile of papers listing off guard patrols, security system manuals and resident bios is as thick as a brick, and it gives me a headache just looking at it.
"You have an hour to go through everything and come up with three preliminary routes. After an hour, we'll go over it, and you'll have another hour to make changes. Do you have any questions?"
"Is this graded?"
"Any real questions?"
"If I do a good job, do I get something?"
"Richard." Slade says warningly. "I expect you to try your hardest on every assignment I give you."
"I know! I'm sorry, that's not what I meant!" I raise my hands in surrender, trying to backtrack.
"Then what did you mean?"
"I'm coming up with infiltration plans, right? How about if… I come up with three by the end that will work, I get some kind of prize?"
Slade doesn't answer. He just looks at me, unimpressed, while he leans back in his chair. I hold his gaze, trying to find that tricky balance between not looking intimidated without challenging him. I must manage something, because eventually the blank look on his face turns into amusement.
"What kind of prize did you have in mind?"
"A bag of groceries." I answer immediately.
"That's simple enough." The look on Slade's face is pure mockery, and I fight back an eye roll. "Do you care what those groceries are?"
"I want to try and cook for myself for a few days. I have a list of groceries for the stuff I remember how to make."
Slade watches me, not even trying to hide the amusement on his face. I let it roll over me. He's probably going to say no, but even if he does, I'm not going to get in trouble for asking about it.
"Alright." Slade finally decides. I blink.
"Really?"
Slade leans forward, tapping the blueprint again.
"This complex houses some very important and well-guarded documentation that I have been hired to procure. If you can come up with a plan that successfully gets me inside, allows me to complete my objective, and get out without being detected, then I will get you a week's worth of groceries. Do we have a deal?"
My palms feel sweaty and I look down at the blueprint with newfound anxiety. A week's worth of groceries is even more than I asked for; Slade never offers me the better deal in negotiations. That means there's no way this is going to turn out well for me.
I do my best to swallow the lump in my throat.
"And what happens when—I mean, if I can't?"
Slade snorts.
"Richard," he says like a sigh of exhaustion. "Not everything needs to be a fight."
"I…" I freeze, trying to figure out what he's saying. I'm not trying to fight. That's not… "I know."
Slade grins, shaking his head.
"Maybe one day I'll believe you when you say that." Slade pushes back from the desk, standing up as he reaches for a stopwatch. "I'll be back in an hour. Your time starts now."
Day 83
I can't stop pacing. I know I should calm down, try to distract myself and stop watching the door every five seconds. Slade's only been gone since last night, he's probably not even going to be back until tomorrow. Or the day after.
So why can't I stop myself from checking the door every five minutes to see if he's back yet? This is pathetic. I'm being ridiculous.
And besides, he's on a job to go steal something. I shouldn't want him to succeed. But my plan was perfect. I mean, sure, no plan is perfect, perfect, but it'll work. I know it will. It'll be fine, and I just have to be patient.
I pull the door open and stick my head out before I can stop the reflex. Ugh, this is like that time Wally and I got Instant Messenger and I literally checked to see if he responded to my messages every two minutes. I'm better than this.
Who am I kidding, of course I'm not.
I hear the elevator first, and I can barely believe the timing. It takes all the self-control I have not to ambush him in the hallway. Instead, I sit on the couch and try to slow my heart rate down. That lasts for all of two seconds.
By the time Slade opens the door to my apartment, carrying a huge duffel bag over his shoulder, I've paced all the way over to the other side of the room.
"How did it go?" I ask nervously, pretending as hard as I can that I can breathe. And that my heart isn't wedged so far up my throat that I don't know how I managed to get those words out. Slade shuts the door behind him and heads for the kitchen counter, dumping his duffel bag unceremoniously on the ground. I follow him over, sitting on one of the stools and watching him pull equipment out.
"I had to eliminate a guard while I was leaving." Slade says without looking up.
"Oh."
The wind goes out of my lungs like a punch to the gut. My shoulders slump in disappointment and I want to yell at myself for having gotten my stupid hopes up in the first place. What was I thinking? Of course it wasn't going to work, it was stupid of me to—
Slade puts a large brown bag on the counter. My jaw drops.
It's filled with groceries. I stare. That's the only thing I can do for an embarrassingly long time.
"I… but… I thought you said—"
"The best strategy I could come up with would have killed two. Excellent work, Richard."
My jaw stays dropped.
Did Slade just say… what I think he said? Did I do a better job at something than he did?
"Richard!" Slade snaps. "Focus."
"Sorry, sir."
"I said, we'll review your plan tonight and discuss the improvements that could have been made. But for now, this should be enough food for a few days. If you need anything else this week, or if there's anything you need for the kitchen, I'll pick it up for you."
"Really?"
"We made a deal. Groceries for a week." Slade pauses, watching me seriously. "I'm allowing you to prepare your own meals. That comes with the expectation that you'll eat enough and take care of your body. Understood?"
"I promise! Thank you!"
Another new privilege. Keeping a physical list is an excellent way to make Slade suspicious, but I run through the list in my head as often as I can remember. This is the hardest game of chess I've played in my life, especially because I make up all the pieces. I sacrifice my freedom for my physical well-being. Slade trades disobedience for an iPod and a few unlocked doors. Getting to use the kitchen—having access to the stove and the oven and the knives—that's a huge step. Slade doesn't trust me yet, but this is real progress.
I'm alone. Wally is the only one who might not hate me, but just because he knows the whole story doesn't mean he can excuse what I've done. I can never go home again and I can never go back to the circus. If I get caught, I'll go to jail. Whether or not Slade breaks me out, I lose.
I wish there was a way to get out of here. Things are okay right now, but only because I'm being obedient. No matter what he offers, no matter how nice he's being, I will never forget that Slade is a monster. He might not lie to me, but that doesn't mean he has my best interests in mind. The only thing I can ever be sure of is that he's trying to manipulate me into doing what he wants.
I can never let my guard down. I have to be careful—more careful than I've ever been about anything in my life, and I once disarmed a Joker Bomb while hanging underneath a blimp carriage a thousand feet in the air.
Two and a half months of isolation. Goosebumps erupt down my arms just thinking about it. And as horrible as it was, and as much as it drove me to the point of insanity, it could've been so much worse. Slade didn't hurt me, he didn't threaten my family or my friends, he didn't starve me or beat me or blindfold me and tie me to a chair for hours on end. But he could. If he gets suspicious or angry or just frustrated that I'm not doing well enough, this whole tenuous peace will shatter in an instant.
I'm not stupid. Slade is being as nice as he possibly can be right now after my breakdown, and if I ruin it, it'll be my fault. He's giving me every chance to obey and to make the smart choice. And even if I haven't done anything to disobey him yet, the fact that I'm even thinking about an escape is enough.
I've spent so long thinking about it; the one, perfect chance to get away. Every single detail thought through completely and nothing left to chance. The escape route, where to get the money and fake IDs, the best way to travel, what clothes to take, what kind of bag I'll need and where to get it, how to stay stocked on toiletries, where to get a burner phone, and all the million other things like towns to go to and places to stay. It's been the only thing I've thought about for months. I can't let go of it; that beautiful, perfect plan to find a small town near a national park; get enough hiking gear to pass as another outdoors enthusiast. In that perfect world, I'd stay there indefinitely and let the national manhunt and the furious, murderous psychopath chasing me pass me by. There'd be no responsibilities, no Slade breathing down my back, no guilt.
But I'm not stupid. There's no leaving. Not now, not ever. Slade will hurt my family, and even if the person they loved was a lie, it doesn't change the fact that I will never stop caring about them. I will never put them in that kind of danger.
And even if there was a chance Slade would leave me alone, I still couldn't go home. Bruce will do whatever it takes to bring me to justice. He thinks I tried to kill Roy. He saw me stealing from the Watchtower. He… replaced me.
I'm never going to see my friends again either.
But that doesn't mean I'm done. Slade might not have given the chips to the Light, but as long as they exist, they're a threat. The League will never be safe from the Light until the chips are gone, and I am going to get rid of them, even if it's the only act of rebellion I ever have.
First things first; I have to get Slade to let me out of here. That's all that matters. Whatever it'll take to convince him that he can trust me to go outside on my own, I'll do it. It might take months, but I have time. Just having a plan has held me together this long, and I can't abandon it now, no matter what Slade will do to me if it goes wrong. It's what Robin would do. I have to try, for that part of me that knew I was doomed from the day I got here. And for Red Tornado.
Asking for more privileges, showing that I can follow instructions exactly, and showing him little by little that he can trust me, it's the only way I'll ever get out. Of course, I can't be too perfect or he'll get suspicious again. Not making my bed, leaving my apartment messy, showing up a few minutes late to meals, those are the kinds of tells that show him I'm not just playing up the obedient act. Being late to training or grumbling about repetitious tasks are the things I want to do, but complaining is how privileges get lost.
I'm going to have to do something big soon, something to prove that he can really trust me.
And I have a feeling that whatever it is… it's going to suck.
Day 90
"I'm ready to go on a job."
Slade's eye pins me down, looking for any hint of what's going on inside my head. I hold his gaze.
"Unfortunately, the only jobs I have at the moment are contracts."
I swallow, tightening my hands into fists. I knew this was coming, I'm ready. I have to do this.
"Okay." I take a breath and force myself to meet Slade's eye. "I want to come."
"You are aware that those types of missions usually involve a body count, correct?"
I flinch, but somehow, I make myself nod. Slade's face is a blank mask. Finally, after I think he's going to decide that this is some kind of trick and ruin all the weeks of steady progress, he shrugs.
"Alright. Let's go."
"Wait, what?" I blink.
"You said you'd like to go on a job, I have one. Let's go."
"Right now?"
"Is that going to be a problem?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Yes, sir. I… I'm ready."
There's a parking garage underneath the building. It's mostly empty, but there are about a dozen cars scattered around. Slade opens the passenger door of a red pickup truck and I climb in without arguing, trying to fight against the feeling that this is a trap. Because of course it's a trap. Slade was waiting for me to ask, that must be why he's doing this.
The clink of something metallic makes me jump; Slade's attaching a pair of handcuffs to the underside of the seat.
"Hold out your hands." He orders.
"What… what are those for?"
"Do I need to explain my orders to you?"
"No, sir!"
I hold still as Slade attaches the cuffs to my wrists; the restraints are made of rigid fabric instead of metal, so they're not that uncomfortable, but it severely limits the range of motion I have.
People watching is even better at street level. I've been to New York plenty of times, but it's like something straight out of a movie after only being able to see it looking down for so long. I can't stop staring; all these people are just going about their lives. They have no idea that one of the most dangerous men on the planet is sitting in traffic just like a regular person on their way to work, glaring at taxis and stopping short so he doesn't hit the college student with the backpack who just sprinted across the street.
I take in everything I see like it's the last chance I'll ever have. If I this mission goes well, then Slade might let me come with him more often. This is my chance to earn the world back; to be a part of it again instead of stuck watching helplessly from up above.
The scenery starts to look familiar. I straighten, eyes glued to the window as the exit sign for Gotham Harbor comes into view. Slade glances over at me, and I know he's taking in everything.
Neither of us say anything. The cuffs around my wrist ache, a perfect reminder that no matter how homesick I am, I'm trapped. I'm stuck with Slade and the harder I fight, the tighter the cuffs are going to get.
Instead of saying anything and giving Slade an invitation to stab at an open wound, I lean my head against the window. The cool glass feels nice against my skin, and I didn't realize how much my face heated up from the surge of emotions.
This sucks.
I just want to go home. I wish this was just another carpool home from a mathletes competition, and that I was on my way home to celebrate a new trophy with my family. I wish I wasn't chained to the passenger seat on the way to go help the man who kidnapped me kill another human being for money.
But life isn't fair sometimes. Honestly, life isn't fair ever.
The drive stretches on for hours. My wrists feel sweaty under the cuffs and I hate this so much. But I need to prove to Slade that I can do this.
To my left, there are trees. To my right, there are even more trees. If Slade asked, I could tell him all about what kinds of trees they are and how it would be possible to tell what state we're in based on the foliage and all the other useless plant knowledge that built up over years spent fighting Poison Ivy, but we're also on a highway. If he wants to know where we are, there's a sign for exit 29 towards Concord fifty feet in front of us.
"You're usually more talkative than this." Slade says wryly.
"I… I didn't want to bother you."
Slade snorts, smoothly changing lanes.
"Well that's certainly a first."
My wrists are totally numb by the time we pass the sign welcoming us into Maine. My back hurts and I'm so antsy from sitting still for this long that I'm ready to crawl out of my skin.
The car pulls to a gentle stop and Slade kills the engine. The sudden silence is… unnerving. Especially after months of having the constant background noise of cars and people at all hours of the day. Double especially after six straight hours in the car, with the engine and the AC and the radio playing hits from the sixties for most of the drive.
"We're here." Slade says. Here is apparently a small, empty parking lot made of gravel, nested in a cluster of thick trees. It looks like a million other nature spots that mark the start of a hiking trail.
Instead of asking what we're doing in the middle of the woods, I wait for Slade to open my door and remove the cuffs. I climb out and stretch my back, rubbing my wrists to get the circulation back. The red welts digging into my wrists hurt, but I know they'll be gone soon.
Slade hands me a huge backpack, and I put it on. He takes another, even bigger bag out, closes the trunk and heads for the start of the trail.
There's nothing for me to do except follow him.
A few months ago, one of my friends (a proudly self-described couch potato) said that the worst part of a long hike was just... all of it. Babs and I made fun of them, but now? I take it back. I take it all back.
This.
Fucking.
Sucks.
For one thing, it's such a stupidly long hike. My feet hurt really badly and I'm sore and exhausted. These shoes were not designed for long hikes on rocky, slippery, branch-filled trails. If my balance wasn't good enough to balance on one hand between a pit of smiling piranhas and a vat of Joker-brand acid, I'd be tripping and tumbling all over the place. Slade has no problems, but why would he? He's wearing top-of-the-line hiking boots. He's glanced at me exactly two times in the last few hours we've been hiking, but I don't need to see the look on his face to know he's probably enjoying how much trouble I'm having. I ball my hands into fists and try my best to shake away the annoyance.
This is a test. I know it is, and I need to pass. I can do this.
Plus, unless the target is camping deep in the woods, this isn't a regular contract. Slade wouldn't use something that important as a test for me. There isn't a chance in the universe. That means I just have to suck it up and keep my head together.
I can do this.
The sun goes down. Slade doesn't break pace, even when it gets dark enough that I wipe out over a tree branch. He just yanks me back up by the arm, passes me a flashlight, and keeps walking.
I bite down the urge to ask how he has any idea where he's going, but he would have told me if he wanted me to know. We're not going to walk forever, even if it feels like we already have.
It has to be close to five hours before we stop. There's a small clearing where the ground is relatively flat compared to the mountains we've just climbed, and there's a good amount of distance between the trees.
I look up, barely able to see the stars between the thick cover of trees. We've been outside long enough that the sounds are familiar, and I can pick out the owls from the crickets and the wind rustling through the leaves. It's a better thing to focus on than how scarily silent Slade is being.
"You said you like camping, didn't you?" Slade asks and I jump, not expecting him to actually acknowledge me after hours of silence. It takes me way too long to remember what he's talking about but by then, he's already pulled a tent out of the backpack I was carrying. No wonder it was so heavy.
"Start setting it up." Slade says. "I'll be back with firewood."
He disappears into the darkness and for a few seconds, I can only stare. He's… he's coming back, right? He didn't just drag me out all this way to abandon me in the middle of the woods. Right?
Unless this is the test.
Holy shit, is this some kind of survival test? To see how well I'll do on my own, or prove how helpless I am without him?
Shit. Please, please, I know the universe is out to get me but PLEASE don't let this be the test.
Focus.
I force myself to take a breath and hold it. I'm not just some helpless kid. Batman trained me for survival in weird places, I know how to keep myself alive. Besides, I have supplies, I have a shelter and a bottle for water, and we've passed a bunch of edible plants during the hike. I'll be fine.
But Slade said to set up the tent, so even if this is a test (and especially if it's not), that's a good idea.
I'm not super experienced at pitching a tent, but it's not that hard to figure out. Definitely not harder than weaving a net out of bolo wires in an artificial polar vortex, thanks for that one, Dr. Freeze.
Slade comes back about fifteen minutes after I finish setting it up, hauling an armful of firewood. He gets to work building a fire, not sparing me or the tent more than a second's glance. As soon as the fire's going, he hands me an MRE from his bag and warns, "Sleep while you can. We're moving at first light."
Day 91
Slade is true to his word. It can't be later than four in the morning when he drags me up and starts packing up the tent. I think it's another hour before I actually wake up, and surprise, surprise, we're still hiking by then.
My back hurts. The tent was slightly better than sleeping on the ground, but Slade apparently didn't think sleeping bags were important.
How much longer are we going for? The car is at least a seven-hour hike behind us and it doesn't seem like Slade has any intention of stopping any time soon.
It's taking all the self-control I have not to start complaining and demanding answers. Maybe he's waiting for me to break. Maybe this is just an endurance test to see how much I'll put up with before I snap.
I'm not going to snap. I can do this.
I can do this.
This is my only chance to prove myself.
I'm not going to waste it because my feet hurt and I'm tired and it's freezing out here at this time of the morning.
Suddenly, Slade stops and pulls out a pair of binoculars.
"There we go." He says, grinning. My stomach sinks. "Put everything down there."
I put my bag down, taking the chance to recover from lugging the heavy thing around. That's when I notice what kinds of things Slade is unpacking from his bag. He slides a long, rectangular case out and sets it on the ground.
I stare in horror as he constructs a hunting rifle, complete with detachable scope and four-pound trigger.
"Come over here." Slade orders, nodding at the space beside him. I can't tear my eyes off the gun in his hands, even as my feet move me into place.
"…Slade?" The word falls out of my mouth, so pathetically small and confused and scared.
"You asked to come on a job. Here we are. There's your target." Slade says, handing me the binoculars. His hand lands heavily on my shoulder to angle me in the right direction.
The first feeling is relief that I'm not staring at another hiker deep in the woods. That relief is immediately replaced by dread when the doe bends down to nibble at the plants on the ground. Everything clicks into place suddenly; Slade's taking me deer-hunting. This is a test and I am not going to fail. I can't. There are no points for trying, no consolation prize. I either pass or I fail, and if I fail, it's back to square zero. Maybe even less than that.
Slade pulls away the binoculars and replaces it with the rifle.
It's heavy. I feel sick holding it, and even more nauseous when Slade tugs me into position.
He steps to the side, arms crossed over his chest. Of course he's not going to do this for me, it wouldn't be much of a test if he did.
I raise the rifle, positioning my eye behind the scope so I have the deer right in the crosshairs. It's just one clean shot, and then it'll be over. The animal won't suffer.
I just have to kill it. The deer doesn't deserve to die, but life isn't fair and I have to pass this test. I can't blow the only chance Slade is giving me to prove I'm trustworthy. I have to do this. Besides, it's not like I'm a vegetarian. I have no moral high-ground here— it's the circle of life and all that and I'm just stretching this out even though it's making it so much worse.
If I'm going to get through this, if I want to have any chance in hell, I have to be willing to do whatever it takes.
I take a breath and pull the trigger.
There's a bang. The woods suddenly come to life as the birds and squirrels flee the area, and the deer goes sprinting away.
I stare at the empty clearing where there should be a dead deer.
"What?"
"Well, that's a surprise. You actually did it." Slade looks impressed as he steps forward and pulls the rifle out of my hands.
"What happened? I… I don't…"
"You didn't think I would actually hand you a loaded gun, did you Richard?" Slade asks. "Especially considering how suspicious your behavior has been."
"I wasn't being suspicious." I say numbly. Slade actually laughs.
"You didn't talk back to me once. I handcuffed you to the seat for a six-hour drive and you didn't say a word about it, to say nothing of your silence during this excursion. It's true that your attitude has been improving lately, but not nearly enough to submit yourself to all of that without complaint."
"I… but… it was a test, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was. It was a test to see whether or not you'd try something stupid at the first opportunity to escape."
"I wouldn't…"
"You weren't tempted?" Slade asks, holding up the rifle to check its alignment. "I was standing just outside your line of sight, all you had to do was turn five inches to the left and you could've taken me out with a headshot."
I shake my head, but I can't think of anything to say.
"You must have thought about it. I would be disappointed if you didn't."
"It would be a death sentence." I say.
"How so?"
"We're seven hours from the car, at least. I'd never be able to find my way back to it. I don't have enough water to wander indefinitely, and I don't have any way to call for help. I might have a chance if I scream for Superman, but there's almost no way he'll hear me."
"Good. You're being observant. I'm proud of you for being smarter than that." Slade says. My heartbeat picks up. He puts the rifle on the ground and reaches for something else. "That being said, I'll give you another chance."
He holds something up and my heart jumps in my chest. It's his phone.
"Working satellite connection allows me to get service nearly anywhere on the planet. You could contact whoever you want, they'll be here in minutes. You can move on with your life, attempt to pick up the pieces, try to make up for the betrayal and all the pain."
"What's the catch?" I ask, heart pounding.
Slade grabs my wrist and drags me forward. He holds up a pistol in his other hand.
"Two shots." Slade aims at a tree nearby and blows a thick branch clean off. I can feel the heat from the recoil as he presses the gun into my palm and wraps my fingers around it. "This is your chance. Freedom. Everything you want. And all you have to do to get it…"
He drags my hand up so the gun presses in to the underside of his chin, perfectly poised to blow his brains out.
"…is pull the trigger."
"No!" I try to pull away, but I can't break free of his grip. "What are you doing? I'm not going to shoot you!"
"Why not? You're trying to gain my trust, because you'll need it for whatever plans you're working on. I'm saving you the hassle. End this, here and now. You'll get what you want, and I get what I want."
"How is this what you want?!" My voice sounds frantic and I don't know if it's from the lack of sleep or the gun in my hand or the fact that killing Slade is… unthinkable.
"Because if you kill me, I win. You're my legacy, Richard. Once you've killed someone, you can never go back to the Bat's ridiculous rules, that line he's drawn in the sand."
"Let me go! I'm not shooting you!" I shout, trying to pull away. Slade's other hand snaps up, grabbing my wrist tightly.
"Then what was the point of all this? Why are you so desperate to gain my trust if it's not a trap?"
"I just want to go outside!" I shout.
Slade drops his hands away, and I let the gun fall to the ground the instant I can. My arms are wrapped around my stomach and I feel sick.
"That's what this is about?" Slade asks.
"Yes! You win, okay?! I told you, I'm done fighting! I can't do it anymore! I can't stay in that stupid apartment with the same walls and the same… I can't do it! All I wanted was to go outside and I asked and there was so much you gave me instead and I didn't want to lose that but I just… I didn't know how else to prove it to you! I thought if I came on a mission you'd see that you can trust me to go outside and I wouldn't have to be trapped anymore!"
"Well. That does explain it. I'm happy to tell you that you've succeeded in earning my trust."
"I… what?"
"You wanted my trust, Richard. You have it." He steps closer, the hand on my shoulder never tightening. Holy shit. He… means it? "I don't think I need to tell you how dire the consequences will be if you betray that trust."
Holy shit, he means it.
"No sir."
Slade lets go, turning away to pack up the rifle. In the time it takes him to clear the area and hand me back my bag, my brain has finally started to process his words. I did it.
"Are we going back to the car?" I'm almost afraid to ask, but at this point I'm so giddy I would walk another seven hours if he told me to. I passed. I passed both of Slade's tests, and all the ones that came before. I did it.
"No." Slade slings his pack over his shoulder. "Let's go."
"Am I allowed to complain now?" I call after him, not even trying to fight the smile on my face.
"It's close. You'll survive." Slade answers.
It's easy to catch up to him, and it turns out, he was telling the truth this time too. After five minutes, the tree line folds away to reveal a firepit and a small cabin tucked into the trees.
"How many safehouses do you have?" I ask.
"Enough." Slade answers. "Here."
He passes me a key. My brain freezes in place and it takes me an embarrassingly long time to stop staring at it. Slade just gave me the key to the safehouse.
"The room to the left of the bathroom is yours. Take a shower before you crash, you need one."
And with that, Slade pulls off his hiking pack and disappears into the cabin. I look behind me at the enormous trees circling the property and the blue sky peeking out from behind gray clouds. I could run. Close my eyes and make a break for it.
There's nothing stopping me.
Nothing.
I turn around and follow Slade inside.
AN: Thank you for reading! I'm DYING to know what you're thinking, and I hope you're enjoying all this suffering as much as I'm enjoying it.
Please be sure to leave me a review. I can't tell you how much it means to me to hear from you guys, especially when you tell me what you liked and what hurt you the most :)
Thank you again for reading! I can't wait to hear from you and find out what you think is going through Dick's head!