Teen Titans – ReBel Yell; If I Had Stayed a Renegade
/
Another Year Older, Another Year Broken – Hearted and Homesick
His watch had said five – thirty.
Dick looked again.
He looked at the door to the safe house; a complex and second apartment he'd adjusted to, owned by his new teacher and keeper.
His patience had worn out for that man, just as his old mentor's had run out trying to beg Dick to come home.
Bruce had tried, he truly had…
But Slade…
The doorknob turned; the lock moving mechanically as the boy's hackles rose up, unexpectedly making his shoulders string - tight.
He'd expected no more than a "hi" or "I'm Back and covered in my latest target's entrails" again. The last time Slade had told Dick he'd be getting something from him for today – and of all days, well…Dick Grayson really didn't want to know what "it" was going to imply this time...
Being taken into the throws of the League of Shadows as one of its newest members?
Getting to go after the Bat as a way to thank the kid for not running away in over a year?
He had no idea. He was closing in, the door failing as a barrier. It could no longer keep the teenager safe from his worst fears come to life.
His grip against his seat by the kitchen island stiffened, tensioning even mode so like a bow string.
Ready to set loose onto any intruders.
And this one, as the door slowly opened to his shock…
Was a sight for sore eyes.
Slade was there, with a package.
Yes. A gift. A rather large cardboard parcel.
"Happy Birthday, Grayson."
It was, surreal. Dick's mouth opened and closed on its own as he eyed the villain up and down.
In full casual wear.
He'd gone out.
Shopping.
Leaving Dick all by himself…
Because?
And THAT was the real question.
WHY?
/
"You didn't have any other visitors I assume by the hall camera's feed."
"Nope." Dick leaned into his seat. Cheek in his palm, he frowned up at his keeper.
"Is it the trigger?"
"I wouldn't be so daring to give you what you want." Slade chuckled. "It only just arrived from Gotham."
"Oh." Dick nodded at the package, as Slade took the thing in…not worrying about bombs or…
Gotham? As in…!?
"Has anyone else contacted –
"I didn't say it was your Daddy Bats." Slade sat the box onto the counter and eyed Grayson's worrisome expression. "It's not a bomb. I did a thorough check and nothing I receive to my addresses around the country would have made it this far – even if it had been." He casually shrugged off the last part.
"Right. But…You were thinking I wouldn't find out."
"About what?" Slade asked, perplexed that the kid wouldn't want to open his gift since now that he had a clear opening to do so. "That it might be something useful for stopping my plans?" He wondered to the boy. "Or that today, you wanted to not be left alone to remember the man who took you in as a child, who'd just –
"Did you have to ruin it?" Dick huffed, eyes rolling back. "Slade. I know Bruce can't touch this place. You know I won't let the Titans get hurt again."
"Then why don't we…" His mentor motioned a hand to the living room table. "Go into the den and open up your present? It took a lot of effort getting this from the correct address and I, would love to know who has any idea about our deal, besides your former friends." The man hissed to the kid, who just rose to do as he was expected.
/
It was in cardboard; reinforced and not at all prettied up with a bow and ribbon. Dick tapped the sides and checked for any marks or openings other than the top and base. Maybe a spy had found out? Had Bruce gotten desperate enough to use a secret weapon from his vault?
"You look confused." Slade sat on one seat in the den; a long loveseat with one leg crossed over hiss broad knee, his chin balanced by his fist as he leaned in to see what his little bird was thinking.
"It's just a gift, Richard."
"I'm trying to –
"And will you trust me if I do I again, check every perimeter – diameter, a fourth time?" The man asked, a little annoyed by the wait. "I told you to trust your master."
The sound of that word made Dick's lips tingle. He wanted to spit back, to spite the man for EVER having used that title again.
"Mentor" Dick grumbled under his breath.
Slade sat back, relaxed as he tilted back his head with a sigh through his nose. Hair hiding the rest of his face and patch, that was to show how tired he was of dragging his own combat - booted feet around with their endless games.
Throwing Dick a metaphorical "bone" by giving him some extra minutes to perseverate, the hero act was utterly, boring him to tears.
"I, can look?"
Dick had the man's head snap up.
"Yes." Slade answered calmly. A look more mellow than with his mask on, the man looked truly unrecognizable as the great Terminator. He didn't look a day over the days he'd been shown on portraits in his manor back in Jump City. It bothered Richard, because the fact that he could age…might only be temporary.
Dick knew that Slade had hoped the boy would cope or eventually come to terms with his own betrayal. His own faults were in the past. This gift was proof that he'd soon discover what the future held in store.
"Fine." Dick shrugged his shoulders, eyes narrowing forwards and fumbling fingers geared towards peeling back the packing tape with care and caution – in case it was a Gotham original.
Anything could slip. Slade could be wrong, too! He wasn't…
Well, he was Robin's god…once. Now, he was just a guy gone rouge from a faction of assassins in the middle east and Tibet, and dragging his "protégé" around like a kicked puppy…
He had to be up to something. This was all very, very…
A bag, no…
Wait.
Packing material?
"Oh…" Dick sighed, trying to paw his hands down through both bubble wrap and Styrofoam, alike. A jungle of the stuff! Slade had not told him it was this light…
"You have to dig through it deeper." Slade instructed, and then –
"Why do you know that?" Dick shot back at the man.
The merc's unreadable face; passive - aggressively seeking out a way to keep the boy's rage in check, as he sat. Lounging about, watching and…
Treating Richard…Like a kid under a Christmas tree…That sneaky!
"Open the rest –
"I'm not –
"Dick." Slade sat up a bit, warning in his tone and lilt. All of it making Richard's breathing hitch up in worry. Worry that he'd get punished for…
"Just, open it. It's not a question."
Whatever…." Dick licked his lips and scooped up the bubble wrap to push it out of his way. The item was in a strange military grade foil packet by the very bottom. Not just one pack, but a second rectangular…
Set.
This, was bad.
Dick's fingers quaked as he reached in to pull out the stuffed packs. One was heavy in his arms, while the other was…
Light. Feather light as could be…
"You're not done." Slade coaxed the kid. "Open the rest up. There's more inside."
Dick's stomach lurched at what he unwrapped in all haste. He wanted Slade to stop looking at him. He wasn't a killer! It was one…
One very, big mistake.
One bad run in that had made him put Batman's pity aside for good.
This, was obviously more than he could handle.
A suit. Boots, a belt and extra gear.
For becoming a true Renegade.
His throat felt raw, eyes dry. Dick stared at the suit, so high tech and like Slade's…
Ikon tech, the one and only…
~ No…~
Stealth, assassination gear…
He was going to make it –
" Slade!" Swerving around to face the man, he was met with a rather towering spectacle.
"I want you to try it on, see if it fits properly."
"Not interested."
"Why not?" Slade left his hands to swipe the suit from the teen's grip. His apprentice was so nervous that the words wouldn't ring true.
"You'd look the part, get the Bat and Titans to stay as far away from us as possible. I did this all for you, Dick."
"I'm not a killer."
"Was that witness you had sliced apart meant to convince you otherwise, boy?" Slade brought up that pathetic fight in the subway. Richard had tried to run and someone else had taken the hit for him…
He didn't get to them in time and…
Slade had been the one he'd run back to. Even when he'd run away from the man that same time, that same night in the very first place.
"Go try it on, for your teacher." Slade didn't say master. He was messing with the kid's emotions. Making himself seem approachable.
Well, it wasn't going to work.
"It's my birthday." Dick replied. "And that means I shouldn't have to listen to you."
"Just for today, child." Slade crossed his arms, not afraid to counter the boy's back – talk.
"TODAY. But, tomorrow kid?"
Dick's fists gritted anxiously to his sides, hackles once again on end as if he some poor, defenseless animal.
"The suit goes on, and you won't just be saying sorry to me."
/
Slade pushed past the kid and checked on his watch for the hour. "Well, you have a choice. You can put that suit on tomorrow, and tonight you'll get to pick your poison." He dragged out a small box with a gourmet pastry neatly placed on a paper doily inside it. A flourless torte from some high-end shop in town. "You can eat your cake, and them you can go to bed right after. Or, you can try on the suit and I'll cook you a gourmet meal. Cake included. On me. It's your choice."
"There's not enough cake in the world that can fix what I've done." Dick gripped his own forearm and scowled at the wall. "I'll have my cake though, but I won't eat what you make..."
He'd fight it, go to bed and at seventeen now, he'd keep his head down some more. Until he could think of a way out. Not with Bruce's lawyers, or the Titans' pitying eyes.
Slade would eventually try to force the suit on to Dick, or he'd force feed that torte right into the garbage disposal.
It was a waste, so Richard took the only way out that he could in order to stall.
A spoonful of sugar…
He plopped himself in front of the rather delicate folds of fondant and his heinous sin. Gulping a the presentation, yet a candle not present atop its perfectly shaped mound of cacao and heavy cream…
With a silver cake fork handed to him, Dick let the wallowing pity wash away in one bite, then another.
Until his plate was licked clean.
"How's that for just deserts, master…" Setting down the cake fork with ting* sound to get Slade's attention, Dick got up. He didn't bother looking Slade in the eye before placing his dishes in the sink, soon skulking off to his room for the night without a prayer.
~ Another year older…~
He turned the knob slowly, wrists shaking as he broke down before his cage. The pressure had nowhere else to go…
Another year, still so very, far from home.
~ Happy Birthday to me…~
So homesick for the sun and the city…And he could never go back to it all, not after that blood ran so cold between his fingertips...
Not before he was ready to repent for all of it in front of his former teammates.
And yet, he never would.
~ Happy birthday to me... ~
Slade would force that mask back over his eyes.
While he'd own run away and hid in his shame the entire while...behind a mask of his own creation.
~ Happy Birthday…~
As this perfect "Renegade" He expects you to be.
Because a hero never killed a man and left him for dead.
Never for vengeance, and not by such careless action or unheeded violence as he'd let occur in that subway terminal…
~ Happy Birthday. ~
He was nothing more than some lowly assassin who couldn't even blow out the candles on his birthday to make a wish.
~ Happy Birthday… ~
Dick's lower lip trembled and he bit down forcefully at it to still his useless whimpering.
Even as countless tears leaked from his eyes, there was no stopping what he'd have to do tomorrow.
Another day, and still none the wiser, as he dragged himself off to sleep. The door clinking shut from behind with a single, CLACK. * Locked up tight until morning came to sweep him back to this reality.
~ To me. ~
As Slade's unworthy apprentice, he'd see the sun some other day. Some other time, without the worry of any unneeded celebration to bring him down.
Tomorrow; the suit.
Tomorrow, he ceased to slowly be the boy wonde, anymore.
~ And, to many more…? ~
Because Renegade was all that anyone saw in him. As master and apprentice, for the many more years that were to follow them.
/
My dad's birthday was April first, so the idea hit like a ton of birthday cakes to the large intestine. Not a bad way to start the spring off! The Ikon suit coming from Gotham was just Slade messing with Robin as usual. The kill was while he was running away and trying not to get dragged back to the haunt by Slade, an innocent bystander took the hit and Dick just kept running. He talked about Bruce wanting him to come home, but Richard was in such shock from the incident that he returned to Slade's base instead and wound up back under the man's thumb as before. If you got reprimanded like that on your special day, you'd want to cry about it and go straight to bed too! The probes were also still active, and Dick was fifteen possibly in the show so…two years he's been playing Slade's game and dealing with the constant whittling away of his confidence by a man who wants to erase every part of the boy he finds inferior to his ideals.
An Ikon suit is a big deal! It means Slade is going to have Richard accompany him on a job very soon, so why not hit em' where it hurts? Bruise that ego a little. Dick won't talk to Bruce, not while he's afraid to come clean about what he didn't do to save that poor victim from his own mistakes. If he'd never run away that night, would it have happened eventually?
Read on and enjoy some extra ReBeL Yell!
