Hola! I know it's been a while, but you'll be happy to know that I have a general idea of where this story is headed. Three cheers for outlines! I need to refine it more, but I figured you guys had waited long enough for a new chappie. Also, I know I say this a lot, but THANK YOU for the reviews. You guys seriously rock. Enjoy!
The rest of the night, Dick acted perfectly normal. He ate everything on his plate for dinner. He was polite. He was engaged in conversation. He even smiled, something that had been a rarity in the past few weeks. He knew Bruce and Alfred were encouraged by his behavior; they kept raising brows and smiling at each other when they thought he wouldn't notice. After dinner he proclaimed he was tired and ready to go to his room. Bruce and Alfred both heartily wished him a good night's rest. He smiled and thanked them and calmly went up the plush, carpeted stairs, all the way to the third floor. He walked down the hall to his room. He then changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth. He turned off the lights and got into bed, snuggling under his covers.
Then, very calmly, he grabbed his pillow and proceeded to scream into it for about forty five seconds.
Oh my god, his inner self panicked. Oh my god ohmygod ohmygod. What did you do?! What were you thinking?!
What else was I supposed to do? he mentally cried indignantly.
Anything but what you did! Inner Richard replied frantically. You just signed your life away to the guy who beat the snot out of you! Remember that little incident? Or were you too busy fawning over his compliments and cool armor?!
He does have cool armor, Dick admitted to himself. But I did not fawn! I am not a... a fawner!
It was his use of the word "fawner" that made him realize he was acting like a lunatic and that if he had any hope of preserving his sanity he needed to end his imaginary conversation. Taking deep breaths, he pushed Inner Richard out of his head and thought through his options.
Option 1. Tell Bruce the truth
Pros: 1) I wouldn't have to deal with the guilt of lying to my mentor.
2) He could help me out of this situation... Somehow. With his super-awesome-Batman skills. And we could put Slade behind bars.
3) I wouldn't have to survive Slade's training.
Cons: 1) Slade could find out that I told Bruce, and before Bruce has a chance to defeat him...
a) ...Slade could get mad and reveal Batman's identity.
b) ...Slade could get mad and kill me.
c) ...Slade could get mad and kill Bruce and Alfred.
d) ...Slade could get mad and kidnap me and I'd never see Bruce and Alfred again.
2) Slade wouldn't train me. And I'd be stuck being schoolboy Dick Grayson forever.
Option 2. Lie to Bruce and keep up the training with Slade
Pros: 1) Slade doesn't reveal Batman's identity.
2) Slade doesn't kill us all.
3) Slade trains me and I get super-awesome-Slade skills.
4) Slade gives me Zucco.
Cons: 1) I have to deal with the enormous butthead that is Slade three times a week.
2) I have to lie to Bruce.
3) This is dangerous and stupid and I'm in way over my head and no matter what I do I'm basically screwed so why should I rationalize this anyway?!
Dick decided to scream into his pillow one more time for good measure. Once that was over, he stared blankly up at the yawning darkness of his ceiling.
He didn't want to admit it. He really didn't. But if he was honest with himself, he was really only trying to think this through for show. He already knew what he wanted.
He wanted to be strong, like Batman. He wanted to be cunning, like Slade.
He wanted to be the best.
And right now, training with Slade was the only way that was going to happen. The truth was, even if he knew with absolute certainty that Batman could find a way to defeat Slade before the criminal found out and revealed Batman's identity... Even if he knew that, he would still probably keep his mouth shut and train with Slade. He wanted the man's tutelage, because even though Slade was totally evil and the jerkiest of all the jerks, the guy knew how to fight. And Dick was going to do whatever it took to learn how to be just as good. He had made up his mind, and nothing was going to change it.
All the same, he didn't sleep very well.
Tuesday passed in a blur. Everything was fuzzy, nondescript. Focusing in class was impossible. All he could think about was training with Slade, training with Slade, training with Slade...
The only event that really stuck out to him was when he ran into Barbara Gordon in the hallway after English class. She stuck her nose up in the air and haughtily walked by him without saying a word. He rolled his eyes and ignored the very slight sting he felt. He was far too distracted with far more important things to care about stupid ol' Babs... Much.
Before Dick knew it, Wednesday afternoon had arrived. Time for his second "therapy session."
He fidgeted restlessly during the entire drive over to Dr. Carter's practice. He had a change of workout clothes with him in a small black bag, and he nervously zipped and unzipped the bag over and over. When Bruce asked him what was wrong, he quickly replied that he was nervous for his first "real" therapy session, since the last one had just been about getting to know one another.
He was only partly lying. After all, this was his first training session with Slade. He had no idea what to expect. Would the man be cruel? Almost certainly. But maybe not. Maybe Slade would be encouraging while also expecting a lot from Dick. Or maybe he would just have no idea how to train someone and the whole thing would be a disaster. Or maybe -
"Dick?" Bruce said softly, gently interrupting the boy's thoughts. "We're here."
"Right!" the boy squeaked, and then coughed and said in a gruffer voice, "Er, I mean, right." His heart thudded in his chest.
"It'll be fine, Dick," Bruce said sympathetically, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I promise, you'll do great."
Even though Bruce literally had no idea what was going on, his words still bolstered Dick's confidence. Nodding at his mentor and offering a small smile, he opened the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, clutching the small black bag in a death grip.
"So I'll see you at six o'clock sharp, alright?" Bruce called out to him. Too nervous to speak, Dick just nodded. Bruce looked concerned. "Okay, I'll... See you later, I guess. Good luck."
"Yup," the boy managed to croak out, and Bruce nodded once before driving away.
He felt very small, standing there by himself on the sidewalk and watching his only possible protector drive off into the distance.
It took a moment, but he managed to gather the courage necessary to walk into Carter's practice. He found himself in the waiting room. An older woman was busily typing away behind the reception desk. The whole thing felt very surreal.
The woman looked up and smiled. "Hello, Richard. Dr. Carter is waiting for you in his office."
It suddenly struck him that Carter's employees probably had no idea what was really going on. The situation suddenly became even more absurd, if such a thing were possible.
"Thanks," he said softly, and walked past the desk, down the hall, stopping only at the bathroom so he could change into his gym shorts, tennis shoes, and old gray shirt.
What seemed like decades later, he stepped into Carter's office. The man was slumped over his desk and looked fast asleep. His face was pale and worn, and Dick felt a swell of pity. Deciding there was no point in waking him, he tiptoed over to the fateful door behind which Slade would surely be waiting. Feeling both dread and excitement, he turned the knob and slowly stepped into the large, empty room.
No one was there.
Furrowing his brow in confusion, he closed the door behind him and walked into the middle of the room. "Uh... Hello?"
Slade gave him what could only be described as a chipper greeting by sweeping his feet out from under him. Wide eyed, he crashed to the ground with a yelp, painfully landing on his butt. Glaring, he leapt to his feet and whirled around, expecting to find Slade standing in front of him.
The man wasn't there.
He wrinkled his brow. "What the -"
This time it was a blow to his back that sent him careening across the room. He barely had the time to fit in a hand spring and prevent himself from crashing once more onto the concrete. Stumbling a little, he clenched his hands into fists and glared around the room, trying to find his attacker.
"You're a little old to be playing hide and seek, aren't you?" he cried out in frustration, his eyes darting to every corner of the room. His gaze snapped to the left just in time, for Slade's fist was hurtling toward him. Gasping, he ducked and narrowly avoided the blow, but he wasn't fast enough to dodge Slade's kick that left him sprawled on the ground once more. Groaning, he looked up and saw the man standing over him, looking calm and at ease.
"Unlike you, Robin, I have the power to do whatever I want," Slade said pleasantly. "It must be so frustrating to always be too weak to do anything about your situation." Dick gritted his teeth in annoyance, and was about to stand up when Slade's next words froze him in place. "Tell me, Robin, how useless were you exactly when Tony Zucco murdered your parents? Did you stand there and drool stupidly with shock? Or did you just scream and cry and throw a little tantrum?"
Dick lay on the ground, stunned. For a moment the words didn't process; when they did, his eyes widened with hurt. "I..."
"But you really shouldn't blame yourself for your parents' death, even if you were useless," Slade went on, tilting his head slightly. "After all, it was their own idiocy that got them killed. Rather stupid of them, wasn't it, Robin? To perform such a dangerous act when they had a young boy to take care of. You would think they'd be more careful, knowing they were all you had in the world..."
"Stop it," Dick said in a low voice, feeling his anger rise. He had no idea why Slade was bringing this up. This had nothing to do with training. This was just... Petty. Cruel.
Slade carried on as though he hadn't heard him.
"But maybe it wasn't stupidity. Maybe they just didn't care about you enough to quit circus life. They must not have loved you at all, really. Or at least they didn't love you enough."
"I said stop it!" Dick snarled, standing up. "I mean it, Slade! Stop talking about my parents like that or I'll -"
"Or you'll what?" Slade said with a scoff. "You're weak, Dick. You're slow and pathetic, so pathetic you could do nothing to save your parents. You failed them. Do you cry yourself to sleep at night because you miss them? You shouldn't, you know. Your parents were selfish, and they hated having to raise you. They probably welcomed death with open arms so they wouldn't have to deal with such a disappointment like you."
"Shut up!" Dick screamed, lunging forward and swinging wildly at Slade. The man easily dodged his attack.
"Pathetic," he scoffed. "Your parents were right to resent having to raise you."
"I said shut up!" Dick attacked blindly, pouring all of his rage and hurt and sorrow into every blow. Slade easily evaded every hit, and it made him even angrier. Through it all, Slade didn't attempt to strike back even once.
And then, moving smoothly and quickly, the man easily knocked Dick to the ground and pinned the boy down. Dick writhed and screamed in his grip, still attempting to attack the man.
"Calm down, Robin," Slade said softly. "Calm down."
"You - you - I hate you!" Dick spat out, clawing at the man's arms. "You're wrong about everything, you're wrong!"
"I know," Slade said calmly.
"You don't know anything about my -! Wait, what?" Dick was so surprised he actually stopped trying to get away and just blinked up at Slade in confusion. "But... But I -"
"I know nothing about your parents, Robin," Slade said quietly, still keeping the boy pinned down. "And you are not pathetic, or weak; if you were, I would have no interest in you."
"But then why -"
"Look at yourself, Robin," Slade said intently. "Look at where you are right now, and think about the way you just behaved."
Obediently, Dick did. And then his face flushed with shame.
"Now," Slade continued, still in a soft voice, "Did your anger aid you in the fight?"
"No," Dick said quietly.
"Did you think rationally? Did you face me with a clear head, attempting to assess my weaknesses and determine the best course of action?"
"No."
Slade's eye narrowed. "I am a dangerous enemy, Robin, not just because I have more experience than you but because I know what makes you tick. Words can be just as powerful as fists, and I will not be the last enemy you face who understands what makes you angry. With that in mind, did you handle this situation the best way you could have?"
"No," the boy said in a small voice, feeling more ashamed by the second.
"You might think this to be a cruel lesson, especially for our first session together," Slade said softly. "And maybe you'd be right to think that. But until this point, your anger has not actually made you weak. True, it's gotten you into trouble, but it has never put your life in danger, has never left you vulnerable. Batman was kind to you, so you never fought him with anger. The bullies who attacked Barbara Gordon were weak and stupid, so you were able to blindly attack them with rage and still win easily. But when you are fighting an opponent of equal or greater strength, your anger will only hinder you, and you will lose. I chose this as the first lesson because the only way to understand the weakness of emotion is to experience it firsthand. Your anger is a part of you, but it does not define or drive you; allow it to control you and you will be weak. After this point, you will not attack out of rage again, Robin. From now on, as my student, you will do better. Do you understand?"
"Yes," the boy said softly, nodding abashedly.
"Excellent," Slade said approvingly, and his voice was suddenly pitched back to a sly purr. He stood up, and Dick did the same, brushing some dirt off of his clothes. "Well then, now that that's over with, we can begin. Let's start with the basics, shall we?"
Hours later, Slade relaxed in bed with a glass of wine. He had a soft smile playing on the corners of his lips. His one eye stared off into things unseen, things yet to come; it gleamed in the dim light of the room.
He knew he had hurt the boy today with his words, even after he had rescinded them. Robin had tried his best with the training, but after the verbal beating Slade had given him the boy had been troubled, distracted. Not unexpected; Slade didn't have to be a mastermind to know that his words had probably mirrored some of Robin's darker thoughts. Words cut deepest when they were true. And that had been his plan anyway, to sew some seeds of discontent in the boy's mind. After all, if Slade had any hope of becoming the sole guardian figure for Robin, he needed to crack the boy's rose tinted glasses when it came to matters of his parents.
But it hardly mattered that Robin had been upset, because despite that fact the boy had genuinely tried. Slade's biggest worry about the situation had been keeping the boy motivated to train; he had expected surliness, disrespect, anger. But after the first "lesson," Robin had not displayed any of these traits. The boy seemed genuinely eager to learn from him. He hadn't had to bring up the blackmail even once.
Simply put, things couldn't have gone any better.
He took a long sip, savoring the richness of the wine. With the serum for immortality rushing through his veins, his metabolism acted too quickly for the alcohol to work as a depressant on his body. However, despite the fact that he couldn't exactly get that warm buzz, he still enjoyed imbibing as an act of celebration. And there was much to celebrate tonight, for things were finally going his way. Tiny steps in his plan were suddenly starting to come together. Finding Robin and beginning training with the boy was only a small (but key) part of the grand machine.
He thought of the chip he had stolen the night he had met the boy. He thought of the sladebots, able to function on their own now. He thought of the army assembling itself far beneath the earth. And he thought about what he would accomplish with that army when the time came.
But mostly, he thought of Robin, and wondered where the future would take the two of them. He had plans for the boy, of course, but he recognized that plans could change in the blink of an eye. Still, today had been an excellent start. With this in mind, he raised his glass in a silent toast to the boy. "Apprentice," he murmured, and swigged the last of the wine. Then, turning out the lights and lying down, Slade stared into the swirling darkness of the room, waiting for sleep to come. And when it did, he dreamed of the eternal end to his loneliness and of a bright and distant future.