Chapter Text
Robin was really gaining a new appreciation for patrol with Batman. It was nice, how Bruce didn't ask him to do anything he wasn't comfortable with or push him past his limits. He didn't ever make Robin feel small or worthless. And he didn't expect Robin to kill. In fact, it was very, very heavily encouraged that he didn't.
Being Robin was just so much easier than being Renegade.
Batman still didn't know that the true identity of Deathstroke's apprentice was his very own Robin. And Robin planned to keep it that way. He was sure Batman had to have his suspicions, that was unavoidable, but he did his best to cover his tracks and not make it obvious.
Robin winced as he made an awkward landing on the next rooftop. His leg was already injured, Renegade had sprained his thigh the other night trying and failing to make a smooth getaway. Deathstroke hadn't been too happy about that.
"You okay, kid?" Batman shot Robin a sharp look as he landed on the rooftop beside him.
"Feeling the aster." Robin lied, voice strained. "I can keep going."
"Okay." Batman said after a hesitation. "Just- watch that leg."
"I am!" Robin assured him. "Like I said, totally feeling the aster."
Batman shot his sidekick a look and shook his head, but he was smiling. After almost a year and a half of Robin saying things like 'whelmed' and 'aster,' he had to accept that that was just how Robin was.
"Break-in at Museum of Antiquities." Batman said after checking up on his radar. "We should check it out."
"Catwoman?" Robin questioned.
"Don't know. Doesn't sound like her style." Batman shrugged and readied his grapple. "Let's move."
Robin nodded sharply and the two were off. In the early days, Robin had had to struggle to keep up with Batman. Now, it came far more easily. It made things a lot more fun.
Gotham City Museum of Antiquities' alarm system was blaring when the Dynamic Duo arrived. Interesting that it hadn't been shut off yet, by the burglars or whoever. Maybe whoever it was wanted to be caught. That didn't bode well.
Batman had clearly come to the same conclusion. "Tread carefully," he said. "Could be a trap."
Robin nodded. He was making sure to keep to the shadows wherever possible. Robin knew how to really disappear when he wanted to.
"Split up?" He whispered to his mentor. "We'll find whoever it is faster."
Batman hesitated. Robin could see, like always, he was reluctant to let Robin out of his sight and potentially send him into a dangerous situation. But Robin could take care of himself! He was Batman's sidekick!
"Okay," Batman finally relented. "But try to keep it covert. I know your team doesn't seem to know the meaning of the word, but I hope you haven't forgotten the skill. Call me if there's trouble."
Robin nodded and the two were separated, Robin easily slipping through the darkness. It helped to be small in these situations, and Robin was small for a 14-year-old boy. He couldn't do anything about that, so he had to make the best of it.
Robin was investigating an exhibit full of old pottery when he heard a small commotion down the hallway that led to the museum curator's office. A scream that was cut short, a scuffle, a crash. Sounded like the curator was still there and somebody was… attacking him. Robin ran down the hallway, getting ready to radio Batman.
And then he stopped in his tracks.
The museum curator sat in his desk, quivering in fear. Standing above him, pistol in hand, the star of so many of Robin's worst nightmares, was Deathstroke. Robin didn't know what he should do here. There was no way he could call Batman on Deathstroke , but if he didn't, something really bad could happen. Maybe he could just… run away, and pretend he never saw anything.
"Hello, little bird." Deathstroke never turned around when he spoke. "Nice night, isn't it?"
Well. So much for running away. He should've known. Deathstroke was always several steps ahead of Robin no matter what he did.
Robin stepped fully into the room, taking in the full scene. It was a mess. Shit strewn everywhere. Deathstroke's non-gun-aiming hand held a white envelope.
"What's that?" Robin pointed at the envelope, avoiding addressing any more pressing topic.
"None of your concern." Deathstroke turned his head to actually look at Robin. "Just know it's for a client. As is this."
Deathstroke pushed his gun into the curator's temple. Robin's eyes went wide. He couldn't just sit back and watch someone die. He was Batman's sidekick. But… this was Deathstroke…
"N-No!" Robin took a quick step forward before stopping himself. Attacking Deathstroke would just get him some extra bruises. Not worth it. "You can't!"
"Can't?" Deathstroke sounded… amused, but there was a hint of annoyance. "Since when do you tell me what I can and can't do, apprentice?"
"I-" Robin hesitated before shaking his head. "B-Batman wouldn't let you do this. A-And I'm…"
"A dirty little liar?" Deathstroke cocked his head. "Don't tell me you still think of yourself as his sidekick. You must have burned that bridge by now, even if he doesn't yet know it."
Robin fell silent. He knew it was true. He was nothing but a liar and as soon as Batman found out, he'd never be Robin again. He'd never be Batman's son again.
"Please…." The museum curator speaks up in fear. "P-Please let me go. I gave you what you wanted."
"Shut up. You annoy me." Deathstroke snapped before turning his attention back to Robin. "If you can think of a good reason why I shouldn't kill this man, then I may consider sparing him. But make it quick. I'm sure your father is nearby."
Robin swallowed, mind racing. Deathstroke was giving him a chance. A real chance! But what would convince him? He needed a good reason, a real reason, something someone like Deathstroke would be intrigued by.
"U-Um! It's not part of the contract, right?"
"It's optional, yes." Deathstroke nodded sharply. "Clever boy. However, if it seems more beneficial to kill him, then…"
"B-But you don't have to!" Robin was feeling desperate. "A-And you have what you need! Like he said!"
"He did put up a lot of resistance, though."
"So did I, at first." Robin whispered. "And you let me live."
"You're different." Deathstroke sighed, turning his head to view his target. "This is wasting my time. Clearly you have nothing."
"N-No! Please!!" Robin rushed forward until he was practically pressed up against the front of the curator's desk, Deathstroke and his gun within reach. Robin could go for it, but… "Please, I don't… I can't… I can think of a reason, I just need more-"
"Time?" Deathstroke clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "That is something neither of us have."
Robin let out a fearful, anguished noise as he grabbed Deathstroke's gun arm, not doing anything but holding on tight, as though that would do anything. Deathstroke made no effort to shake him off.
"Richard."
Robin let go instantly. Like Batman, Deathstroke only called him Richard when he was really serious. Robin looked at the curator, staring into the older man's round fearful eyes. He was staring back at him, more than just fear there now. The gears were turning. He knew Robin's name. Deathstroke had just made this extra impossible.
"Ah, my apologies." Deathstroke's voice was not regretful whatsoever. "I imagine you don't want your secrets getting out there, do you? This man knows too much now."
Robin hesitated, and then nodded. He could see no way out of this.
"Good boy." Deathstroke said with a smile in his voice, and then he pulled the trigger. Robin flinched as the blood splattered onto his face and a ringing filled his ears. The man was dead. Deathstroke had completely and utterly won.
Robin was unable to move his eyes away from the corpse in the chair. He'd seen a lot of terrible shit, but it never really got easier, and it was always the worst with Deathstroke. This was maybe the closest he'd ever been, too. And it had had so much buildup. Robin wanted to throw up.
"You could have prevented this, Grayson," Deathstroke whispered in Robin’s ear, and then he was gone.
A few moments later, Batman was rushing into the room. He took in the mess, the corpse in the chair, and his shaking, blood-spattered sidekick. Robin could see him trying to put the pieces together.
"I heard a gunshot." Batman observed the gunshot wound on the corpse. "You're okay?"
Robin nodded, not trusting his voice not to betray him. Batman knelt down to examine his son's face. He was silent for a moment.
"Why didn't you call for me?" He said softly, in a voice normally reserved for 'at home.'
Robin shrugged noncommitally. Batman sighed and stood up, looking at the body.
"Did you see who did this?" His 'Batman' voice was back. Robin took a deep breath and tried to shove down his feelings.
The mission comes first.
"I was too late. He got away."
Batman glanced down at Robin, who wasn't really looking at him. Robin didn't want to have to see the questions on his face. Batman returned to his examination of the body and the scene around.
"Shit." Batman muttered under his breath. "Deathstroke."
Robin flinched at the name. There was no way that slipped past Batman.
"Did you see him, Robin?"
"He got away," Robin repeated, louder this time.
"Okay," Batman sighed. "That's okay. It's okay."
No, it's not, Robin's mind whispered. Batman didn't understand. Robin wasn't worthy of this costume, of the Boy Wonder. Sooner or later, Batman would find out, and all Dick had would crumble away, leaving him with nothing except Slade.