Chapter Text
Robin didn’t know when the days started blending together. He wasn’t sure it had been a sudden occurrence. Some part of him thinks it was always that way; some part of him thinks that’s all it’ll ever be.
Robin was tired. He had been fighting for as long as he can remember. But at some point between Jump City and this concrete room that reeked of mothballs: — he had gotten lost.
He told himself he was in control. He repeated it like a mantra, over and over again until it was engraved into him. Something for him alone, something Slade would never have. Something only his. And he was in control, of course, he was. He was always in control —
until he wasn't.
He wasn’t sure what changed, or even when it changed. But he made a promise, and on that journey to keep it, he had gotten sidetracked. This is why Robin is currently standing in front of a mirror, dressed in his old tattered costume with the signature R placed on the front.
He had been with Slade for four months and twelve days. But somehow, in that time- he had gotten confused. Robin knew where he stood, that was for sure. He just needed a refresh of sorts. Robin had morphed into just a nickname, Renegade replacing the original. Renegade —and that's what he was: - a traitor.
He still knew who he was — and that was Robin. But that was the only thing he was, and that was the issue. The only person in the mirror was Robin.
Four months of isolation, grueling training - and absolutely no socialization had scattered his memory elsewhere. Through maladaptive daydreaming, non-stop training, and the god-awful fear — Robin had forgotten. So when taking his mask off and staring into the mirror didn’t help- Robin was stumped.
Pacing corridor after corridor, Robin looked for a connection. Something to tie him — well to him. He knew he wasn’t home, and he knew that he didn’t wanna be here. So where did he belong?
You see, Robin had an overgrowth inside of him. Overfilling with rage, and pride. and grief. He hated that it existed, he hated that it was a pure manifestation of him— and he hated that that’s all that he would ever be: An overgrowth, a parasite. Something icky, not to be touched.
Robin wasn’t even sure he was real. He had no memories beyond the past month or so. This was all he knew, and this was all he was. Yet somewhere in the void- Robin had stuck out to him. That name alone. Once he had heard it- he knew that’s who he was, and he knew that's who he would be. But that’s not the only person he was.
“Renegade.” a Traitor. That’s what his ‘Master’ called him. And deep down Robin knew that it had suited him best.
-
Robin's first kill was an animal. an Elk, to be exact.
He knew that it was wrong - and somewhere inside him, he knew that it wasn’t normal.
But as much as he hates to admit it: he liked it. After months of working for a stranger (his enemy?), he had been on the receiving hand of punishment. Robin hated being vulnerable, he hated it down to his core. Even without his name — some things never changed. Being able to hold something like that in his hands, astonished him. After not knowing control for months on end - having control over something this important, meant something.
-
Robin knew he was losing when the approving smiles from his ‘Master’ and the compliments he offered began to bring him joy. He may not know his name, but he knew whatever was left of him would fight like hell to keep his distance from whatever he was attempting to morph him into.
He had lost his footing, a minor setback. Robin would find a way around, he had to.
Robin would go days in a dissociative state, mocking some sort of doll. He did as he was told with ‘no strings attached.’ Because sure, he might have done what he was ordered to — but he wasn’t there. Not really. This was one way Robin was able to get around growing attachments.
-
Around the sixth month of training, things had gotten hard . The punches got more brutal, and the light had gotten dimmer.
“Robin.” he wrote on the bedside wall. That's who he was. He had to make sure he wouldn’t forget. Forgetting meant failure. Failure wasn’t good.
It became a ritualistic sort of thing for him. Every time he had a bad day, he would add his name once more. Hammering it into his mind through forms of repetition. This had worked, and this was good.
Halfway through the sixth month had proved to be the most difficult. He had branded a new weapon. His ‘Master’ had given him a weapon. He had said he was proud of him for making progress.
Progress was the last thing Robin wanted to make. He didn’t need a reminder of how his memory is getting worse, or how he was barely holding on. He didn’t even remember why he was here?! He was suffering, and he didn’t know why. He knew he had made a promise, but no matter how hard he thought, he just couldn’t fucking remember.
Progress was good, yeah? But to Robin, it felt like the end of the world. He wanted, no — needed validation. He strives from it - but this, this he couldn’t accept. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t.
Robin had thought many times about breaking his promise and starting a new life here. He didn’t know who the hell he had made a promise to, why did it matter then? But whenever he tried, his mind ridiculed him. It wouldn’t let him.
-
The eighth month had brought some clarity.
Clarity in the form of some old dude dressed up as a bat?
His ‘Master’ had sent him on his first mission: stealing important blueprints from a warehouse that operated under Wayne industries.
“Whatever it takes.” his ‘Master’ told him. And he had fully intended to listen to that order.
Robin had never raised a gun to a human, no. But his judgment went out the window as soon as he saw the smile that crept its way upon his ‘Master’s’ face. Pride. He was proud of him. That was good, wasn’t it? He was going to chase this feeling.
Halfway through the mission, a worker had found his way out of Robin's sight, and to the panic button. This had to go right, of course, it did. If it didn’t, nothing would matter.
Robin took the blueprints and ran . He ran as fast as he could manage and as far as he could go. He had to get back to his Master. Disappointment meant failure. He couldn’t fail.
In his haze, Robin bumped into someone. The next thing he knows, he’s engulfed in a hug. Looking up, he saw a man dressed as a bat. He wasn’t sure how to react. He knew that he knew this person, that was for sure. But he couldn’t identify them. After a couple of seconds, the man released Robin, who stood there dumbfounded.
“Chum. It’s me, you’re safe. I got you.” the figure reached out a hand.
Those three sentences sparked something inside of him, and he knew he wouldn’t have much time. Robin made eye contact, squinting and dawning a confused look, “Who . . . are you?”
This man knew him . . . on a personal level. But he just couldn’t remember who he was. The figure’s mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. He didn’t speak.
Robin was desperate and running out of time
, “. . . Please,” he stared up at the man and whispered once more, “I don’t know what’s happening,” he waited a moment, “You know me — don’t you?” Robin raised his eyebrow.
He spoke, “Of course I do,” the figure looked down at Robin. His voice was wobbly — covered with stern as a well-practiced disguise.
He had fifteen minutes before his Master expected him back. “I don’t have a lot of time,” he hesitated. Robin took a deep breath — there was a 50/50 chance of coming out injury free from this one, “I don’t know who I am. Can you help me?”
Robin was hopeful. For the first time in eight months, he has hope.
The figure reached out and hugged him again. This time Robin's arms wrapped around as well. “It’s Richard. Richard John Grayson, your nickname is Dick Grayson. I'm your father. Please come home, chum.” Robin didn’t want to let go, and frankly, he didn’t think the other figure wanted to either. He knew his name now, and he found someone who cares about him.
He couldn’t leave his Master like that. He wouldn’t know how to function by himself. But this person could help him — And so after eight months, he sobbed. He released every bad thing that had happened. He cried for himself — he cried for his so-called father — and he cried for the life that he had lost. He was free.
-
A gunshot pierced the air. Another followed and so did two more. Slade had found him. His eyes wandered down, stopping on the pool of blood beneath him.
Oh.
Oh.
He had been shot in the stomach. His hand shot to his side, pulling it back as the blood leaked out. Vital organs were avoided. The other two shells lay next to his father. One embedded in his calf, and one in his thigh. Both shots were meant to incapacitate. None were meant to kill.
The world was blurry. He couldn’t faintly hear voices in the background. His daze didn’t last long as Slade grabbed his collar, pulling him into the car and lecturing him like a child.
Once far enough Slade pulled over and carefully removed his shirt, placing a bandage over the wound; he Intended to slow the bleeding until he had proper medical supplies. He looked disappointed.
“Renegade.”
Traitor
“Yes, Master?” he responded blankly.
“You disobeyed me today. You made me do that, you are at fault,” Slade's face remained calm.
“I’m sorr-“ he was cut off.
“That man,” Slade paused, “He left you. He abandoned you, Renegade,” Slade took his mask off and made eye contact. Robin shook.
“No. That's not —“
“I saved you,” a tint of anger added to his voice. “He left you for dead,” Slade pointed to the ‘S’ on his costume. “This is special, Renegade. Did you get that? We're there for each other; always have been. Always will be. You did good work today chum.” Slade smiled. This was the turning point.
“That's not my name,” Robin whispered, his voice was low and meek, but his eyes were filled with determination. He started Slade in the eye.
“Excuse me?” Slade's anger was building by the minute. “That is not your father, Renegade. He left you. I stayed! You got that? I didn't have to stay, did I?” The car was a mess now.
“Stop saying that! My name is Richard, not Renegade! Not Robin.” Robin's voice slightly echoed against the car walls. He was mad. Robin didn't know a lot about feelings nowadays - but he was shaking with rage.
It was silent.
Slade looked down, contemplating his next words, “Don’t disrespect me again,” he paused, “That man left you to rot in a juvenile center for god knows how long. You should be thanking me — I took you in and took care of you.” Slade leaned closer, “If he really cared, then why did he take so long to come get you?” Slade left no room for answers, moving to the front seat.
‘No — that's not fair.’
And so Robin spiraled.
By the tenth month, Robin had given up. He knew that man wouldn’t come back for him, and he knew if he left now - he wouldn’t be able to function without his master. He was stuck. Robin was completely and utterly stuck.
The light had dimmed out — and Robin learned nothing. He didn’t know his name, and he didn’t know what his promise was. He was stupid. Richard couldn’t have been his name. His ‘Master’ doesn’t lie.
Robin layed in bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for dinner to be done, as he did every single day .
But today was different, wasn’t it?
There was a girl at the table, a couple years younger than Robin himself. And so without asking questions, Robin sat at the table.
“I have decided to take on a second pupil.” Slade announced, buried in the newspaper.
Robin looked over at the girl, she was obviously malnourished.
He slid her one of his sides and smiled.
She took it, and so the light brightened — he wasn’t alone anymore.