A/N: Hello again! Thanks for all your reviews on the last chapter and for still reading this story!

Not much to say today so with that, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 28

Reflections

A clone…

Robin still couldn't get over the idea. How could someone clone Batman? It just wasn't possible.

Oh, but it was…

Robin scowled as the words sounded like Slade's silky voice in his mind. His hand absentmindedly grazed his thigh where a bullet hole should have been. Once again, Slade had managed to patch it up – like the whole incident had never happened.

Oh, but it had…

Robin looked down as the clanking of the gears thumped in his head. The noise was oddly soothing now.

He remembered when he had first heard the gears. When Slade had coerced him into an apprenticeship, the gears had done little to sooth his shattered mind. Instead they had been a constant, looming reminder of his failure to his friends, Batman and to himself.

But now… now that Slade was working with him, he could understand why the man liked the noise. The repetitive rhythm helped him think and sort through all the information that had been unloaded onto him.

He didn't even know where to start. Robin rubbed his face as he leaned on the pipe he was sitting on.

"Slade I…I need some time to think…"

"Of course, Robin."

The boy had been slightly surprised that Slade didn't even offer a word of objection to him leaving. Instead the man had simply nodded after their conversation and wordlessly watched him pass through the doorway.

What time was it now? The boy didn't know, nor could he find the strength to care. Time had lost a degree of meaning for him. It was a race against the clock to find Batman, but with every twist, with every turn, Robin felt the hands of time dragging him back to the very beginning. Frustrating didn't even begin to describe it.

And now there was another problem to deal with. If Slade was right and the Batman on the rooftop was a clone, then Robin was in a bigger mess than he had originally imagined. The Joker now possessed technology far more dangerous than anticipated and as Robin had witnessed, the psychotic clown wasn't afraid to use it. Even if it hadn't been the real Batman, it was still Bruce's DNA. It was still a piece of Bruce – no matter how lifeless or corrupt. And the Joker had forced that DNA to shoot him.

Robin's hand tightened around the cool metal.

All of this of course was assuming Slade wasn't wrong about the whole idea. If Slade were wrong –

I'm not…

The man's words echoed in his mind.

"I know, it's just-," Robin began. He half expected Slade to appear behind him. The boy allowed his eyes to travel around, but there was no sign of life anywhere. The only movement he could discern in this area of the haunt, were the omnipotent, spinning gears.

It wasn't that Robin thought Slade was lying or even wrong for that matter. A tiny voice – call it instinct perhaps – told him that the man who had shot him hadn't been Batman. But if by some chance Slade were wrong and it hadn't been a clone…then…then…

Then the Batman you know is as good as dead.

This time it wasn't Slade's voice Robin heard inside his head, but his own.

Warmth traveled down his face in a rushing wave. Robin closed his eyes, allowing his tears to slip from underneath his mask. The boy made no move to stop them. Instead, he let them fall into the still, silent air. He let himself mourn the possibility that he had already failed.

He had never said sorry.

The thought burned into Robin's mind. Bruce could be dead and the last thing he would ever remember from Robin was a single, scathing remark.

He felt a strong hand grab his arm, but Robin was faster. He spun around, wrenching from the man's grip and using the momentum to flip backwards.

Bruce's eyes flashed in annoyance as he continued to stalk toward the boy.

"This is not up for discussion, Dick."

Robin scowled at the man, his hatred making his features grow darker.

"My name is Robin."

The man was upon him, grabbing his arms and pulling him forward. With a cry of surprise, Richard stumbled against the force, but soon found it was useless to struggle against the sheer strength of the man. He was Batman after all. The arms tightened around him, strong enough to hold him in place, but without enough force to cause pain.

"You will listen to me, Richard." There was a hard hiss to the edge of his name. A few years ago, the mere tone in the man's words, let alone his towering demeanor, would have caused Robin to be afraid. But now all he felt was a scathing annoyance and bitterness for the man in front of him. The man who would never see him as an equal. The man who held him back. The man who could never replace his parents.

"You can't just bench me, Bruce. It's not fair. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG," the young boy screamed the words and listened as they echoed through the empty mansion. Suddenly Robin felt it. He hadn't felt that way since the fateful day years ago. A deep sense of loneliness washed over him, reverberating through the hallways of the desolate place.

He was alone.

"You almost died, Richard-"

"IT WASN'T MY FAULT."

Gunshots ricocheted through his mind. Robin still felt the slight pain that permeated through his body. Although the physical damage was almost healed completely, he still felt empty inside. He still heard the laughter in his nightmares. He still saw death when he slept.

"You were rash and impulsive like you're acting now. Have you learned nothing from this?" The man's words were like a slap against his face. "The Joker almost killed you."

Robin tried to turn away from the towering presence before him. He tried to push the man off, but even if he had been fully healed, the little boy was no match for the massive stature of Bruce Wayne. Bruce couldn't do this to him. The man just couldn't strip away the one thing in his life that gave him a purpose.

Robin gasped as cold air whipped across his eyes. Shock radiated through every inch of his body as he watched his precious domino mask float silently down to the floor. There was a hard coldness to the man in front of him. Gone were the warm eyes and soft demeanor. This wasn't Bruce he was dealing with. These were the eyes of Batman.

"You're not ready to be Robin again."

The words sliced into him, hammering against the deep emptiness in his mind. Richard Grayson yanked his head away as burning tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't see Bruce through the blur of tears, but he could feel the cold presence that washed over him. The young boy pushed against the man, and surprisingly Bruce released him. Richard stood there for several moments, allowing the emptiness to wash through him.

Pain washed through him – greater pain than when the bullets had riddled his body. As he turned around, he stared at the man before him with broken eyes. He couldn't see Bruce's form from the tears in his eyes. He couldn't distinguish the regret beginning to break through the man's visage as Richard reached down to pick up his mask.

The flimsy fabric felt dead in his hands, sucked dry of all the hope within the binds of the threads.

"You have no right-"

"Richard, I am your-"

Something snapped inside of the boy. A steely determination rose through him as he scrunched the mask within his hand. He glared up at the tall presence, furiously wiping the tears away from his eyes.

"You are not my father, Bruce," Richard said, as the pain hardened the resolve in his voice.

The boy turned his back on the man in front of him as he walked away.

"And you never will be."

He never knew how Bruce had been going to finish that sentence. Perhaps the man had been going to say mentor, teacher, or protector even. All the boy knew is that he had to say something to shock Bruce into inaction, so he had.

Robin sighed as his head pounded in his hands. The raw feelings from the memory overwhelmed him. He hadn't meant it. Bruce had been more like a father to him than anyone else, but he had been so mad, so hurt, and so defeated. What Bruce hadn't understood was that Richard had needed Robin. He had needed the strength and bravery the identity provided to deal with the pains of his past. The boy had needed Robin so that he could continue to fight the injustice in the world and perhaps to save others from the same fate his parents had suffered.

To take Robin away, even if it would have protected him physically, would have mentally and emotionally destroyed the boy.

So, he left, created the Titans and blackmailed Bruce into letting him stay in Jump.

They had spoken a few times after that, but it had never been the same. Neither person ever acknowledged the pain the other had caused that night. And now Bruce could die without ever knowing how truly sorry Robin was.

The boy wiped the tears away from his face. As stubborn and petulant as Robin had wanted to be, there were some nights where he had laid awake in the tower hoping Bruce would call him. There were some nights where he had wanted to ask the man for advice. There were some nights where everything overwhelmed him in a crushing wave.

But stubbornness had won out in the end. Alfred had told him that they were both too stubborn for their own good. Robin hadn't realized how right the man had been at the time, but now, surrounded by the same emptiness he had experienced that night, Robin understood. The gears tuned around him. Lights flickered above him. Desolation encased him.

Robin scrunched his eyes together, forcing the tears back inside of his eyes.

Batman wasn't dead. There was still hope. They would rescue him.

"I just -" Robin began to shake.

The conversation with Slade began to wrap its way into his head again. While everything Slade said seemed to come from one of Beast Boy's sci-fi movies, he was certain the man was telling the truth. Why would Slade expose a part of his past only to lie? Robin shook his head. No, if the man had wanted to lie, he could have explained the origin of the clone in another way – made up some convoluted theory of how the Joker discovered the power to clone a human. Robin still would have believed him, but this, this was different. The explanation was so laced within truth, the boy had no reason not to believe Slade.

"-I can't kill."

The words were enveloped in the clinking gears, tucked away within their rhythm. Cold shivers ran down Robin's body as he finally voiced the thought that had been plaguing him. Even if it was just a clone, it was still a piece of Bruce's DNA. It was still a living creature, and Robin had sworn a vow to Batman a long time ago to fight for justice and protect the innocent at all costs, and along with that vow came two rules Robin had agreed to follow.

No guns.

No killing.

Period.

It was why Bruce had stopped him all those years ago when Robin had tried to take down Tony Zucco. He had come so close to killing the mobster, but Batman had been there to stop him. Only now could Robin appreciate what Bruce had done. If he had killed Zucco that night, peace would have eluded him for the rest of his life. Bruce had understood that revenge only sowed seeds of hatred and destruction in the mind. Zucco's death would have caused the very destruction of the essence of Robin.

The boy rubbed away the rust that had accumulated on his hands. However, he also understood Slade's logic. They needed a reason for the Joker to keep Batman alive. Did that mean going against the very rules Batman had instilled in him? Did that mean being responsible for the death of another living creature? If he didn't kill the clone, Batman would have a greater chance of dying, but if he did kill the clone, Robin would be going against everything Batman had taught him.

But maybe this didn't count? It was only a clone, and Robin didn't know how real or alive this creature was. Did it have feelings? Emotions? Or was it more of a robot, programed to do whatever the Joker said? Would Batman understand if they killed it…or more accurately the second him? Robin shuddered at the thought.

Slade had made it sound so easy. Kill the clone, and buy Batman more time, but it was so much more complex. It wasn't right to simply dismiss a death as necessary. That was a line Robin would never cross, yet that was a line Slade had crossed many times before. Slade viewed deaths as necessary – just like the men he had killed at the Joker's haunt.

Six bullets.

Six deaths.

Slade hadn't even batted an eye. Nonetheless, those men had been criminals who had murdered and killed innocent victims. Did that make it right? No. But did it make Slade seem more justified? As much as Robin hated the answer in his mind, he couldn't deny how he felt.

Yes…

The boy sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. This thinking was getting him nowhere. There had to be another way. Slade had said that it was one option to kill the clone. Hopefully they could figure out an alternative.

Robin lifted his head up as he gazed around the expansive haunt. Was this how Slade felt day in and day out, surrounded by nothing but the man's very own tools for destruction? The gears continued to drum in his mind as he regarded the space. He really didn't know what to think of Slade anymore. With every layer Robin managed to strip away from the man, more always appeared. Slade hadn't always been a heartless mercenary. There had been more than a cold, ruthless killer, and Robin had seen it in those bright, blue eyes – eyes that had reminded him very much of his own.

We're similar Robin…you and I…

But the freedom and joy in those eyes had been stripped away. The experiment had left behind lifeless, dark, gray eyes that struck fear into the hearts of his enemies. Slade had exposed a side of himself that Robin in all his hours of searching had never dreamed to discover, but now that he knew…the boy didn't know how he felt. In a way, Robin almost wish he never found out this information. It continued to make Slade seem…

Human…

Slade was still a mystery to him. He was still a terrifying, coldblooded assassin. He was still a man who had tormented the life of his friends and himself. He was still a man who had killed innocent victims.

But he was also so much more. He was a man who had saved him, who cared about him –

Robin abruptly stood up, physically shaking the thought from his mind and began pacing the length of the wide pipe. He was high up in the air, but towering heights always helped to quell the storms in his mind. Slade cared about him. The man wouldn't have gone to the great lengths to help him and save him if he hadn't.

Robin tried to swallow as his mouth began to feel very dry. He was torn, and perhaps that was at the very heart of Robin's problem.

The gears continued to churn around him.

For now on, I want you to call me master…

It's going to be okay…

Robin shivered. Even now, the memories still haunted him. How could the same man who had threatened his city, endangered his friends, and coerced him into an apprenticeship, bring comfort to him in his darkest moments.

Now that Robin knew what the Joker was doing, his stress was at an all-time high. He needed someone who he could trust. He needed someone who could think the situation through clearly. He needed someone to guide him.

He needed Slade.

And that frightened Robin.

He had thrown his lot in with a villain, but even then, Robin didn't consider the man a villain any more. He could imagine the Titan's shock, anger, maybe even disgust if they saw him now.

And that mere thought broke him to pieces.

With a scream of frustration, he pounded his fist into the pipe, only to curse when a stab of pain leeched into his knuckles. He hardly made a dent into the impenetrable wall of metal.

What was Slade to him? Who was the man he had now placed his indefinite trust in?

Robin listened to the gears clinking around him, disappointed when the monotonous rhythm was the only response to his questions.

Slade stared at the computer screen, resisting the urge to rub his eye.

He was not tired. The man refused to acknowledge the weariness seeping into his bones. He had gone far longer without sleep before, and the man knew he could continue working for another day perhaps. Sleep deprivation didn't affect him like normal people as his body was constantly repairing and healing itself. He didn't need a lot of sleep and frankly, the man thought it to be a waste of time.

Why then, did he feel absolutely exhausted? Slade growled as he finally gave into the urge to rub his eye. Even the caffeine hadn't done much to energize him. It had only starved off the edge of his sleep deprivation and helped him get through the conversation with Robin.

The conversation had gone surprisingly well. However, Slade couldn't help but wonder what the boy was thinking now. It took every ounce of his willpower not to check the cameras. If Robin decided to leave, that was his decision and as much as it pained Slade, he would not stop the boy.

Perhaps he had said too much. Perhaps Robin would take the knowledge of Slade's past and run. Slade wouldn't put the idea beyond the boy, however the thought of Robin running now left Slade feeling…

He closed his eye, taking a deep breath. No, Robin would not run. He was in a vulnerable state, and the boy – dare Slade say it – needed him.

There were so many layers to the boy that Slade was still trying to unravel. There were so many secrets Robin kept buried behind that mask of his. Slade snorted. It appears the two were more similar than he had originally thought.

But now, Robin had seen a sliver of the past behind the mask of Deathstroke the Terminator. He had seen how Slade had been shaped, changed and created into a perfect soldier. He had seen the truth Slade kept buried under layers and layers of pain. He couldn't shake Robin from his mind now. Whenever and wherever he was the boy remained like a pestering fly in his thoughts. Every time he swatted the boy away, he came right back.

And those eyes. He had finally seen those striking, blue eyes. Slade couldn't help but lean back in his chair and gaze into the mirror hanging across the room. Those eyes had reminded him of the person he had once seen a long time ago in the mirror. Now as he gazed into the reflection, Slade only saw the single, gray eye of a heartless, cold-blooded mercenary.

He wondered briefly what Robin saw.

Slade turned away, thumping his fingers on the desk. He pushed away the feelings of fatigue that began to creep into his body and rose from his chair. He was not in the mood to dwell on his feelings. He had done more than enough of that these past few days.

Frustration began to gnaw away at Slade. He was grasping at a plan here, but nothing was coming to his mind. As long as the Joker had the clone, the ball remained in the psychotic clown's court, and therefore Slade would have to wait until the Joker revealed his hand. The villain was just too damn unpredictable. It was why Slade had stayed away from his territory and anything to deal with the clown in the first place. With other criminals, Slade could deduct their motives, understand their vices, and predict their moves. With the Joker, Slade was always left shaking his head. He could never quite figure him out. The clown was purely insane, sporadic, delusional, deranged, and demented. Why he had ever decided to –

The man pushed open the door to the gym, cutting off his thoughts. What's done was done.

He walked down the stairs, muttering under his breath. Nothing made him more furious than waiting, and right now Slade was beyond pissed off.

A frown creased his face as he realized the lights were on above him. That was odd…His eye settled on a figure cleaning the floor in the middle of the room.

"Will? I thought you were asleep?"

The older man looked up from his work with a gentle light in his eyes.

"Well, it appears you thought wrong."

Slade grunted, "Will there's no need to clean the gym. I've told you before that I'll take care of it."

"Not doing a very good job of it. There was dirt and dust everywhere."

Slade ignored the quip. He had learned by now that his friend had impossible cleaning standards.

The mercenary walked over to the bench and sat down, pulling a roll of athletic tape from the bin underneath him. He ripped off a long strip of the tape and began wrapping his knuckles in the protective layer. The tape was something of his own design. A thin weave of metal was woven into the material, providing an extra measure of support during sparring.

"Will, can I ask you something?"

The older man rolled his eyes. "Slade, you don't have to ask me to ask me something, just ask me what you want to ask me."

The mercenary couldn't manage to keep the ghost of a smile from appearing on his face. He dragged the tape around his knuckles.

"Do you think it was a mistake to tell him?"

Wintergreen frowned. "If by 'him,' you mean Robin and if by 'it,' you mean your past, then my answer is no I don't think it was a mistake to tell him."

The edges of a frown crept onto Slade's face.

"Not like you had much of a choice anyway unless you wanted to make up some atrocious lie."

Slade pulled the tape tighter around his knuckles. "It wouldn't have been atrocious. In case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty decent at lying when I want to."

Will shook his head, "Robin would have known if you were being untruthful, Slade. You did the right thing."

Slade began wrapping his other hand, dragging it around his knuckles in a continuous loop. What was bothering him so much then? Why was he feeling so…so…pensive?

"I saw him without his mask you know," Slade said quietly. The pressure around his knuckles increased sharply as he yanked the tape. He felt Wintergreen's eyes sharpen on his form.

"So, you know who he is then?"

"I've had my suspicions for a while."

"And I'm assuming they were confirmed?"

Slade nodded. He ripped off the edge of the tape and plastered it down on his knuckles. Maybe all he needed to do was burn off some steam in the gym. He flexed his hands, feeling the added stability from the tape. The man rolled back his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head. The cool air ran down the length of his spine as he picked up a workout shirt from the bench. Slipping it over his head, Slade couldn't help but sigh.

"Does that bother you?"

The voice drew Slade out of his thoughts as he turned to face his friend.

"His eyes, Will," the man began as he shook his head. "They were much like my own before…"

"Does that bother you?"

The man grumbled in response to his older friend. He flexed his hands as he started forward, "I don't know, Will." The only thing Slade wanted to do now was feel the satisfying impact of a punching bag underneath his fist.

Wintergreen clicked his tongue together as he held up his hand. "Sorry, but I'll need you to stay off the floor while it's drying. I can't have you scuffing it up, or I'll have to redo it all over again."

Slade snapped his head up as he gazed at his friend. Surely it wouldn't take that long for the bloody floor to dry.

"How long?" Slade narrowed his eye at the old man as his suspicion began to grow.

"Oh," Wintergreen hummed as he picked up the cleaning bottle, studying the back with thick concentration. "A few hours I suppose."

"Hours?" Slade hissed.

Wintergreen held up his hand again, making Slade stop in his tracks. A light warning danced in the older man's tone. "Stay off the floor."

Slade's eye widened as frustration seared inside of him. He turned his head to the side, inhaling a cool breath of air against the annoyance inside of him.

"Fine, I'll just go practice-"

"Bout to clean that next-"

"Then I'll-"

"No can do, I'm reorganizing your weapons."

"WILL-"

Suddenly a hand was over his taped knuckles, and Slade recoiled in shock. Since when had Wintergreen learned to move so damn quickly? And since when had he gotten so sloppy that he couldn't even notice the stomping of an old man?

Slade was about to remark on that fact before he glanced up into the eyes of his friend. The calm gaze that greeted Slade caused the frustration to dissipate from his body as Wintergreen's actions clicked within his mind.

"I know you too well Slade. You're going to work yourself into exhaustion."

The voice was soft and calm, but Slade tried to shake it away.

"Will, this is how I work. I just need to clear my head."

"And I needto clean the floors-"

"No, you don't," Slade said, cutting his friend off as he began to march back onto the matt. He felt it squish under his feet, and Slade looked down in exasperation. What the heck had Wintergreen put on this? He couldn't practice if his feet were going to slide out from underneath him at any given moment. He whirled around about to vent his anger to the man when his friend's voice stopped him.

"No, but how else am I going to get you to listen to me?"

Slade opened his mouth, but Wintergreen held his hand up, shaking his head.

"I know you don't need sleep like us plebeians, Slade. But the past few days have been strenuous enough to even make me tired and dragging up your past again is emotionally exhausting." The man took a step forward, his green eyes beseeching Slade to listen.

"Please, you need sleep."

"But Robin-"

"Needs some time to think. You just unloaded a lot onto the boy. So why don't you take a break? Even if it's just a few hours."

Slade slowly closed his mouth as he regarded the man before him. Perhaps Will was right…He took a breath, suddenly realizing every muscle in his body groaned with the effort. Perhaps a few hours of sleep would do him some good.

Well played, Will. Well played.

A smile slowly appeared on Wintergreen's face as he registered the resignation on Slade's face.

"Besides you do a pretty lousy job of cleaning - a child could mop better than you."

Slade rolled his eye as he took the insult in sullen silence.

"Sleeping is such a waste of time," he muttered. Before he could make his way out of the gym though, Wintergreen's words stopped him.

"You handled it all very well, Slade."

The man paused.

"I'm very proud of you."

The words caused Slade to hesitate before leaving. He turned to look Wintergreen in the eyes. A soft smile appeared on his face.

"Thanks, Will," Slade said. But as the man continued speaking, a devious glint entered his eye.

"Have fun cleaning."

"Slade-"

William Wintergreen huffed in confusion as the man left the gym without another word. He turned to look at the floor again, and a frown settled over his face.

Footprints. Everywhere.

He had been so lost in thought the older man hadn't even noticed that Slade had marched across the matt all the way to the door, leaving a trail of destruction behind. The older man sighed as he picked up the cleaner again. At least Slade had listened to him – that much he could be thankful for. Even if he only got a few hours of sleep, it would be enough.

Wintergreen ruefully shook his head as he chuckled to himself.

Well played, Wilson. Well played.

He had been afraid that Slade was going to try to work out anyway and use the slippery floors as another 'training' obstacle. Thankfully, he wasn't that obstinate – or that stupid.

Wintergreen picked the cleaner back up as he began to swipe away all the pesky footprints littering the otherwise spotless floor. At least the boy had started to straighten up. Robin's frustratingly stubborn attitude had mellowed out slightly since his time here. The older man shook his head to himself. Those two were going to drive him into an early grave.

He heard the gym door open and immediately groaned in annoyance. Perhaps he had spoken too soon.

"Slade! I swear. If you think for a moment that I-"

"Wintergreen?"

The man trailed off and glanced up at the unexpected visitor. Robin hovered at the base of the stairs, looking hesitantly around the space.

"Where's Slade?"

Although Wintergreen was surprised to see the boy, he let none of the shock show on his face.

"Sleeping, Robin," Wintergreen replied evenly. He dragged the rag along the floor, wiping away another footprint. The man felt the boy's persistent gaze, and with a sigh, he stood up.

"Perhaps you should do the same."

The boy was already shaking his head however. "Can't sleep," Robin muttered. The young boy gestured to the rest of the space, and the stack of cleaning supplies by Wintergreen's side. "Need a hand?"

The older man was about to briskly swat the child away from his domain before he stopped. The boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking as if he were about to burst from the inside. Wintergreen couldn't blame him though. Robin's mind must be drowning in confusion.

His eyes softened.

So much pressure on one so young.

He threw a rag at the child and the boy deftly caught it, hardly flinching as his uncanny reflexes took over.

"Why not?" Wintergreen said with a shrug.

The boy approached him hesitantly, and Wintergreen tossed him the bottle of floor cleaner. Again, Robin hardly blinked as he caught it. As the boy grew nearer to the man, Robin almost appeared to shy away.

Wintergreen raised his eyebrows. "Please tell me that you know how to clean?"

The boy blinked a few times. "Oh what?" he said, as if suddenly becoming aware of the expectant face before him. "Of course, I used to help Alf-" Robin abruptly cut himself off, drowning the word in the light noise of a spray bottle. He dropped to his knees and began to scrub the floor exactly how Wintergreen had moments before. The man couldn't help but feel impressed by Robin's astute prowess with floor cleaning.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Robin mumbled in response.

The man shook his head, silently wondering who this 'Al' person might be. Wintergreen bent down and picked up his work alongside the boy. Wordlessly, the odd pair continued to clean, but Wintergreen couldn't help but notice the troubled cloud surrounding Robin's head. The boy's tongue protruded lightly from his mouth as he worked in concentration.

'Something on your mind?" the older man said, prodding lightly.

"No…"

The man frowned at the lack of response. Obviously, that meant yes. Did the boy think he was really that dull?

"More like a lot of things…"

Robin had huffed the last bit of the response out so quickly, Wintergreen had almost missed it. The man fumbled with a list of responses in his mind before settling on remaining silent. If he pushed Robin too much, the boy would simply fly away like the bird he truly was.

A light but not uncomfortable silence passed over them and as they continued to scrub and eradicate any trace of Slade's pesky footprints, Wintergreen couldn't help his growing concern.

"Mr. Wintergreen?"

"Hmmmm?" the man hummed back as he swiped away dirt.

"Can I ask you something?"

The man could have rolled over in his grave right then and there. A wiry smile blinked onto his face as he repeated the same response he had given to a very similar man only minutes ago.

"Robin, you don't have to ask me to ask me something, just ask me what you want to ask me."

Out of the corner of his eye, Wintergreen watched as a small smile perked up at the corner of Robin's mouth. The older man couldn't help but admire the joyful smile. He missed seeing people smile around here. Slade was always so drab and grim, marching around like a stoic beast. But just as he saw it, the smile vanished off the boy's face, leaving Wintergreen with a stab of concern.

"Am I a bad friend?"

Of all the questions Wintergreen had been prepared to answer, the man wouldn't have guessed the topic in a million years that the boy had finally settled on broaching.

"Well, I don't know you well enough to call you a friend. Besides I'm too old for us to be friends. You'd find my taste in music to be quite dreary."

The boy let out a soft chuckle, and Wintergreen felt the air around him lighten softly. He found himself enjoying the slight musical quality in the boy's laughter however hesitant it may be.

"I guess…that's not quite what I meant…" Robin trailed off, the laughter dying on his lips.

"Unlike Slade, I have no superhuman qualities. I can't read minds, Robin."

"I know…I just," A huff sounded from the boy. "I – don't know."

Perhaps a little more prodding wouldn't hurt. "Something about the Titans?"

Robin paused in his movements, and Wintergreen realized he had hit the bullseye – not that it had been very hard to guess anyways. The boy looked up again with the same warm smile on his face.

"I thought you said you couldn't read minds."

Wintergreen lightly swatted him on the head with a rag. He frowned as Robin managed to duck out of the way. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to mention stubborn children were the one exception."

Robin grinned ruefully.

"What a handy talent to have – HEY – "

The boy jumped back as Wintergreen made another dash at him with the rag, but this time the older man just managed to graze the side of the Robin's head.

"A better talent to have is to be respectful towards your elders. Now help me up," Wintergreen said, withholding a grin as Robin extended a hand out to him. He really was getting to old for all this scrubbing and cleaning, but if he ever even asked Slade to help him, Wintergreen would never hear the end of it.

The older man gratefully accepted the hand as he was hoisted to his feet.

Such a small hand.

Such a small boy.

But so much power.

Before Robin could pull away however, Wintergreen tightened his grip and tugged the boy gently forward. He felt the boy tense at the movement, but noticed that Robin didn't snatch his hand away immediately.

"What about the Titans?" Wintergreen asked softly. He could almost feel the boy's strong resolve slip away under his grip. The older man gently placed his free hand on top of Robin's hand, continuing to thaw out the boy's icy walls of defense.

"Am…am I a bad friend because I left without a warning, teamed up with my arch-enemy and haven't contacted them since my disappearance?" The words tumbled out of Robin's mouth in one large, jumbled rush. Wintergreen raised an eyebrow at the sudden outburst.

"Well, when you phrase it like that…"

Robin pulled away. The small hand slipped from his grasp, and a stab of pain coursed into Wintergreen's heart as he realized that the Titans were probably only a tiny piece of what was haunting Robin.

"I just want to protect them."

So young to bear such a heavy burden.

"From what?" Wintergreen reached out again, grabbing Robin's small hand. The boy numbly looked down at the withered hand encasing his own.

"From suffering the same fate I did…"

Wintergreen squeezed the hand, willing the boy to continue.

"…when I went up against the Joker."

Robins voice was a whisper in the emptiness of the room.

Wintergreen could only imagine the horrors racing through Robin's mind. The boy's head dropped to his chest, and he released a shuddering breath. In that moment, Wintergreen saw the depths of Robin's heart. Here was a boy who would sacrifice everything for those he loved.

And Robin had done just that when he had decided to go to Slade for help.

"We do crazy things to protect our friends, Robin," Wintergreen said with a soft hum etched into his voice. "Didn't Slade tell you?"

At the mention of the mercenary, the boys head instantly perked up.

"Tell me what?"

"Oh, he probably told you some gibberish about being so powerful that he left the Army, right?" Wintergreen said with a glimmer in his eyes. He could sense the stormy cloud ease around them. Robin was hanging on every word.

"He told me he learned to think from himself."

"In a way, he did," Wintergreen replied with a light shrug.

"I suppose you know very little about my relationship with Slade. We were in the army together."

"You were?"

"Major Wintergreen," the man said with a strong voice as he gestured to himself. "Slade was just as stubborn then as he was now. He always needed someone to help him stay in line."

A sigh echoed from the man. It was a sound that held many years of pain and regret. The green eyes of the man sunk to the ground as the memories of his past rose around the pair.

"I never wanted him to do that blasted experiment." Robin grew still under the man's hand.

"But neither he nor I had the power to stop it," Wintergreen said. The words left a hollow silence in the room.

"He had been so scared..." The deep sadness that had begun to creep onto the man's face, suddenly faded as he looked up.

Wintergreen gazed at Robin with sullen resignation. "After that everything changed," the man continued. His voice was soft and gentle, wrapping the painful memories away within the musical qualities of his voice's tone. "Slade was different."

The man watched as Robin absorbed every drop of his words.

"And then I got captured…I only found out later that he disobeyed orders to come after me."

Robin tensed at the words. "Slade rescued you?"

Wintergreen nodded his head, picking up on the disbelief etched into the young boy's words.

"I am and was his friend, Robin. And as I said, you do crazy things to protect your friends." The words seemed to have a profound effect on the boy. Wintergreen watched as the dismal haze following Robin began to part ever so slightly.

"But-"

"Slade was always much more than just Deathstroke to me. I wouldn't be here without him." The words caused whatever interjection the boy was about to say to die on his lips. Robin dropped his eyes, and Wintergreen finally felt the boy pull away from his grip. The small form turned around and paced away a few feet, carrying his heavy thoughts with him.

Wintergreen understood the troubles plaguing the boy but he also understood that Robin was the only one who could come to terms with them. He approached the boy, pausing by his side. His withered hand landed gently on Robin's shoulder.

"I can't tell you if what you're doing is right," Wintergreen began, "but I can tell you that it's coming from the right place. In my mind, that doesn't make you a bad friend. And if the Titans are the friends you describe them to be, they'll understand when all of this madness is over."

Robin looked up at the words, questions upon questions pouring from his mind. Wintergreen nodded softly and in an impulsive movement pushed his fingers through the boy's hair. Robin's face flashed with an emotion Wintergreen couldn't discern, and before he could press the boy any further, Robin dropped his head and retreated into his thoughts.

The older man realized that he would get nothing more out of the boy. Best to leave him to ruminate through all the emotions spinning through his head.

The older man's voice was soft. "I'll go start some breakfast. Give Slade a few hours. He should be up soon."

Wintergreen picked up his supplies and walked towards the stairs, leaving Robin alone in the very vast and very empty space. The boy worried him to know end. There were so many thing Wintergreen wished he could change. He wished Robin didn't have to carry such immense burdens on his small shoulders. He wished the young teen could enjoy his youth without the stress of life or death situations. He wished Robin had never been dragged into Slade's whole apprentice nonsense.

With every situation, the boy was hauled into, Robin left behind a piece of himself.

One for Batman… One for the Titans…One for Jump…One for Slade…

Robin may not notice it, but Wintergreen saw the effects – how detached the boy was from his own emotions when things went sideways. Robin needed someone to support him, to protect him, to help him pick up the pieces.

Slade had created this mess, and Wintergreen only hoped that when all of this was over, Robin would be alright.

He would just have to make sure Slade didn't do anything stupid.

The man couldn't hold back the sigh that broke through his lips.

Yet another thing to drill into his friend's stubborn head.

He was getting too old for this.

A/N: The past chapters have been fairly dialogue heavy. Fear not though! Should get into some more action/more Slade and Robin drama soon.

Let me know what you think of this chapter! I appreciate feedback!

Thanks for reading! Until next time!