AN: Yes, the moment you've all been waiting for: Slade and Robin meet again! Next chapter might take a bit to come up; I need to sit down and really just think about where this story is going before I write any more. Thank you so much for all of the support! You guys really do keep me going. Aaaaand here's chapter 10. Enjoy!

For a moment, all Dick could do was stare at the powerful man before him in sheer terror. Slade looked pleased; his one eye glinted smugly behind the mask. And then Dick did the only thing he felt he could in the situation.

He screamed.

"Dr. Carter!" he shrieked, whirling away from Slade and frantically banging his fists on the door. "Please let me out, please please pl-"

He was interrupted by a hand firmly grasping his shoulder and unceremoniously tossing him across the room. Unlike Dr. Carter's office, the floor in this room was uncarpeted cement, and it hurt terribly when he slammed into it and skidded a few feet. Trembling, he leapt to his feet. He was a little sore, but unharmed. He gazed wide eyed at Slade, who was standing calmly with his hands behind his back.

"I think you'll find that Dr. Carter is currently unavailable," Slade said pleasantly.

"Why are you here?" Dick asked shakily.

The man shrugged and began to walk forward slowly; Dick was reminded of a tiger stalking through tall grasses toward its prey. "Maybe I just missed you."

Even through his terror, Dick still had the presence of mind to scoff at that. He backed away as Slade approached.

The one eye narrowed. "Richard, I'm offended," Slade purred, and Dick could almost see Slade's words oozing through the mask's grate like melted chocolate. The boy grimaced at the way Slade said his name; somehow it sounded like an insult. He preferred it when the man called him Robin. "We had so much fun the last time we were together."

"You have a very messed up idea of fun," Dick growled.

"At least I don't use a baseball bat when I'm having 'fun,'" Slade retorted slyly.

Dicks' face paled at that, and then his expression hardened. "How did you find out who I really am?"

Slade tilted his head to the side and, to Dick's relief, stopped moving forward. "You're asking the wrong question. What you should be asking is, what will I do with that information, and what can you do to stop me?"

"Okay," Dick said, swallowing heavily. "So what will you do with it and how can I stop you?"

Slade moved forward again, and yes, there was definitely a predatory glint in his eye. Dick forced himself to stand perfectly still, even when Slade lowered his head to lock gazes with him and was so close Dick's nose was almost bumping the mask.

"Oh, I think selling the information to all of the Dark Knight's favorite criminals would be a good place to start," Slade breathed. "The Joker, Two-Face, Poison Ivy, Riddler... They'd love to know about Bruce Wayne, I'm sure."

"Don't," Dick pleaded intently, eyes wide with fear. "Please, he can give you money, security, anything you want."

Slade tisked lightly and moved away, now walking around the boy in a circle. "Come now, Richard, be a little smarter, hm? Your grades point to a fine mind, and you certainly seemed bright enough when we talked two months ago. I would hate it if you disappointed me." Dick bristled at that and clenched his fists. Slade continued in a drawling, almost bored, voice. "If I wanted money from Gotham's richest vigilante, don't you think I would have simply had this conversation with him? He was just here, in case you've forgotten."

"I didn't forget," Dick said through gritted teeth. He didn't know if it was just his own anger issues or if there was something specific about Slade, but for some reason the more time he spent with the man the more his fear faded into anger. "I just don't understand what you could want from me. I'm twelve."

"Almost thirteen. Your birthday's in March," Slade said with a smirk in his voice and stopped directly behind Dick. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders. Dick stiffened and tried to move away, but the grip tightened painfully and he stood still. "Almost thirteen and so full of anger," Slade mused. "Tell me, Robin, how good did it feel to beat those boys up? Didn't you just feel so alive when you watched them bleed, when you heard that dull smack as the bat hit their bodies? They were so weak compared to you. It must have felt wonderful to finally be stronger, better, than someone else, after being in the bat's shadow for so long."

"Stop it," Dick snarled, and wrenched himself out of Slade's grasp, furious because he knew the man was right. "It wasn't - I wasn't - I was helping someone!"

"Yes, little Barbara Gordon," Slade said softly. "So defenseless and pitiful. But I have to wonder, Robin -" and Dick was grateful the man wasn't calling him 'Richard' anymore - "I have to wonder if hospitalizing her attackers was really necessary." Dick clenched and unclenched his fists, unsure what he could say. "But we're off topic. You wanted to know why I'm here." Slade's eye narrowed. "Any educated guesses?"

Dick stared at the man blankly for a moment and then let his mind kick into high gear. He bit his lip and stared off into space, thinking hard. "You..." he started hesitantly, "You want information on Batman?"

"Certainly a good guess," Slade admitted, and for some reason Dick was pleased to hear approval in the man's voice. "But no. Think outside of Batman, Robin. This is about you."

Dick furrowed his brow in confusion. "But I'm... I mean, what could you possibly want from me?"

"What did the Dark Knight want from you?" Slade said softly. "Figure it out, Robin. It's not so hard once you think outside the box."

And then suddenly it clicked, the only possible reason Slade would be blackmailing him and him alone. But it was so absurd, so ridiculously self-centered to think that a man like Slade would want anything to do with him, that he shot the idea down almost as soon as he thought of it.

"I saw that look in your eyes," Slade said intently. "You know, Robin. Say it."

Dick's face flushed, certain his crazy theory couldn't possibly be right, certain that Slade would laugh at his stupidity, which he wouldn't be able to bear. He hated nothing more than feeling inferior. "You..." he hesitated and cleared his throat. He didn't look the man in the eye. "You want to... Train me."

There was a silence, and Dick's shame was so great that for a time he didn't look up. Finally unable to bear it, he painfully met the man's gaze.

Slade wasn't laughing. He didn't look amused.

He was nodding, and suddenly Dick was frightened again.

"But - But you can't!" he blurted out desperately. "I'm not a criminal, I'm a hero, I -"

"I can," Slade said darkly, shutting Dick up. "And I will. And don't fool yourself, you're hardly a hero. You haven't even gone out to fight crime once since our little encounter; you've just been playing the timid little school boy. I wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Knight had stopped training you."

Dick lowered his gaze at that, ashamed of the reminder. Slade noticed. "Ah, so he has. Well, as I said, I'm not surprised. But if that's the case, I'm shocked you're not jumping at my offer."

"I'm not working for a criminal," he said determinedly.

"You seem to be forgetting the whole 'blackmail' aspect of this arrangement," Slade drawled sarcastically. "If you don't do what I want, I will give Batman's identity to his enemies, and they will destroy him. I'm hardly asking for much, Robin, and you'll gain far more than you'll lose. Put aside your morals and think of what I can teach you."

Dick shook his head, desperately trying to find some reason that Slade's plan couldn't work. "Batman - Bruce - he'll know, he'll figure it out. I can't hide something like that from him."

"Why do you think I went to the trouble of getting all of this set up?" Slade replied, waving a hand at the room.

Dick scrunched his face up in confusion. "What do you -?"

"Therapy, Robin?" Slade interrupted sardonically. "Community service? You beat three young boys to the brink of death. By all means you should be in a juvenile detention center right this very second. And you would be, except that I... persuaded the judge to think differently."

"You're the reason -?"

"Yes. I'm also the reason that community service would immediately follow your therapy sessions, if you were actually going to do community service or therapy. That way Bruce Wayne has no need to come pick you up until 6:00, giving you and I two and a half hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to train."

"So," Dick started, struggling to understand through the whirlwind of his thoughts, "While Bruce thinks I have therapy and community service, all that time you and I would train here together?"

"Congratulations, you've solved my evil plot," Slade said dryly.

Dick narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Is there even a community service center across the street?"

"There is. And before you ask, Carter is, in fact, a real doctor. You can imagine how pleased I was at the convenience of the locations, although I suppose it was set up that way purposefully for troubled youths like yourself. It didn't take much to keep the volunteer center quiet, although Carter took a bit of work."

Robin felt his anger rising at the thought of the doctor who had thrown him in here. "What's Carter got to do with all of this anyway? Why is he working for you?"

"At first he abhorred me. He thought it was barbaric for me to 'corrupt you.'" Slade's eye glittered menacingly. "But our dear James Carter has a very lovely wife and two adorable children; he had a sudden change of heart when I pointed a gun at them."

Dick's eyes widened, and he instantly felt a swell of pity for Carter. No wonder the man had handed him over.

"Any other questions?" Slade asked, interrupting Dick's thoughts and sounding bored. "Or are you going to lecture me on my skewed perception of morality?"

"No point in doing that," Dick muttered. "Obviously you're way far gone."

"Giving up on me so soon? I'm disappointed. I thought you would have tried to save me."

"You're not worth it," Dick said in disgust. He could feel Slade's smile.

"What an interesting thing for a hero to say," Slade purred.

Getting frustrated, Dick decided to change the subject. "So if you want to train me so badly and you blackmailed the judge, why didn't you just make him take me away from Bruce? It would have been more convenient," he snarled

"I did think about it," Slade admitted, and Dick wanted nothing more than to punch the man at that moment. "But for one thing, it would have been... difficult. Persuading the judge would have been easy, but the actual process of adopting you would have taken time. On top of that, Batman would have done background checks on anyone attempting to adopt you, and he would have been extremely thorough. I have no doubt that, given enough time, he would have seen through my ruse and chased you and I around the world to get you back, a hassle I'd like to avoid."

Slade paused and tilted his head, contemplating Dick. "But I also knew you would hate me even more if I took you away from your guardian, and I didn't want that. I know you dislike me -" Dick raised his brows in disbelief; that was the understatement of the century. "- but I have a lot to offer you, Robin. I understand your anger, your desire to fight, and unlike Bruce Wayne I am not frightened by it. It's who you are; it's your identity. I can help you learn to control that anger, use it as a tool against your enemies without letting it blind you. I can teach you things Batman wouldn't show you in your entire lifetime. I will not treat you as a child; I will respect your abilities. And Robin..." The man's voice dropped a little. "I can get you Tony Zucco." Slade held up his palms. "I ask for nothing in return, except your willing cooperation."

Dick couldn't reply. He stared, open-mouthed and shocked. After being told for so long that hunting Zucco was forbidden, now Slade was literally offering his parents' killer on a silver platter.

Bruce would tell him to think this offer through, and he really did try to for a minute. Yes, he would keep Bruce and Alfred safe, but in return he would become a criminal. He would learn how to steal. He would probably learn how to kill.

But it was Tony Zucco.

He didn't have to think about it, really, even as he stood there and pretended to contemplate Slade's offer. What choice did he have? Even if he didn't want Slade's tutelage (and he still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it) he couldn't let the man reveal Batman's identity. And more than that, though he hated admitting it, he knew Slade was right, about fighting and anger being a part of his identity. He knew Bruce meant well when he said he wanted Dick to have a normal life, but it just wasn't possible. He couldn't lead a normal life now that he had encountered the criminal filth that crept in the dark, and now that he knew he could stop them.

If Bruce wouldn't train him to be a hero, fine. Slade would train him to be a thief. And someday, when he was strong enough, he would throw Slade behind bars and use all of the man's training to fight crime. It was the only option he had.

"When do we start?" he asked softly.

Slade's eye gleamed.

At 6:00 sharp, Bruce Wayne pulled up in his sleek sports car in front of The Caring Hands Volunteer Center. Dick was sitting on the sidewalk looking pensive. Frowning, Bruce rolled down the window.

"Ready to go?" he yelled at his ward. The boy looked up, nodded, and stood up to get in the car.

Once they were driving, Bruce cleared his throat to break the silence. "So, uh, how'd it all go?" he asked gruffly. Inwardly he was panicking; he wanted this to work. He wanted Dick to be happy again. But the boy had probably hated it, hated him, this wasn't going to -

"Actually, it was really... Good," Dick said softly, and out of the corner of Bruce's eye, he saw the boy smile. "Not exactly what I was expecting, but I think it'll be good."

"Good," Bruce said, feeling an immense wave of relief. He suddenly noticed that Dick's clothes were scuffed up. "So what exactly were you doing?" he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Picking up trash around the neighborhood," Dick said easily. "Caring Hands does a lot of different things, but that's what I've been assigned to do. They told me I should wear better clothes next time. Tennis shoes, shorts, loose shirts. You know, kind of work out clothes."

"I guess that makes sense," Bruce said with a shrug. "And Dr. Carter was good?"

"Yup," Dick said, looking out the window. "Nice guy. Really understanding." The boy suddenly seemed to be bothered by something. "Hey, Bruce..." His voice trailed off, and Bruce raised a questioning brow. "Never mind," the boy muttered, looking embarrassed.

"What is it?" Bruce asked softly, expecting something about crime fighting, or anger issues, or therapy, or whatever else may have been troubling his ward.

Dick looked uncomfortable. "It's just... Well, it's been bothering me all day, to be honest..." He cleared his throat and turned scarlet. "What's a chauvinist?"

AN: Oooh, how long will Slade's plan work before Batman figures it out? ...Actually, that's a really good question. I'll have to sit down and think about it. If anyone has any logistical questions or issues, send me a message or just review! Your input is critical right now for where this story is going to end up, so please give me your thoughts.

Also, I actually don't know when Richard Grayson's birthday is, so I just made it in April for the sake of convenience. Hope that doesn't bother anyone.