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The nightmare of his apprenticeship is finally over.
Here Robin stands, amongst all his friends in the safety of his home. After a month of working for Slade, he cannot express the relief of seeing the Titans Tower’s familiar, messy living room once more.
“That’s it, y’all,” Cyborg says with a grin as the screen ahead of him displays Beast Boy’s uncontaminated bloodstream. “The Teen Titans are officially probe-free!”
Upon the news, Beast Boy instantly launches into a triumphant dance, dragging all of the wires connected to him along as he prances through the living room. Starfire laughs as well, joining him in the celebration by contributing her own Tamaranean songs.
“Um… I know this isn’t my style, but… we just kicked Slade’s butt.” Raven remarks, turning to face Robin. “Shouldn’t we… celebrate? Or something?”
Although pleasantly surprised that Raven is the one suggesting a party, Robin opens his mouth to answer her with approval—before being interrupted by a sharp ringtone. Everybody’s head snaps towards the sound, the source of which is Robin’s cellphone on the kitchen counter.
“Huh?” Beast Boy squints. “What’s that for? None of us are calling you right now…”
“That’s my cellphone,” Robin says, walking over to pick it up. “It’s probably the mayor, or—”
Robin freezes when he remembers that the mayor doesn’t have his cellphone number. Instead, he’s greeted with an icon of a bat and the word Dad underneath. Suddenly, all of his terror (that he thought had faded when he returned to the tower) slams back into his chest with the force of a speeding bullet.
He didn’t bother changing the contact after he had left. And now, one year later, it’s back to haunt him.
“...You guys keep talking,” Robin says softly, picking up his phone. “I need to take this call. I’ll be back.”
“Oh—sure,” Cyborg says as Robin walks briskly past him. “Take your time, man. We’ll just—” The sound of Robin’s door opening and closing sounds from down the hall. “—discuss party preparations… Yep. He’s gone already.”
Once Robin is in his room, however, he does not take the call like he told his friends he would. Instead, he sits on his bed with one glove off and stares at the caller ID, struggling to decide if he should pick up or not. He knows why he’s getting this call right now. He’s well aware that Slade had him break into Wayne Industries—which raises another concern as to if Slade knows his true identity or not, but he doesn’t have time to unpack that now—and that attack definitely alerted the company owner… Bruce Wayne.
He can already imagine what Bruce has to say about his situation. And frankly, Robin isn’t sure if he wants to hear something he’s already well aware of (vicious, dishonorable, and ruthless) from his father.
However, his time runs out when his phone stops ringing, his chance to finally press the accept call button for the first time in a whole year fading away right before his eyes. Robin curses himself, slamming a fist down on his mattress.
Yet still, seeing his phone screen finally free of the caller ID lifts a suffocating weight off his chest, and if Robin had currently been in any other situation, he would have thought of this feeling as selfish—but really, all he needs right now is a break. A break from drama, villains, fights, and even unresolved issues with his parental figure. Maybe he should just forget about this call and return to his friends.
Robin pushes himself to stand up, but right at that moment, his phone pings again. You have one new voicemail. Sighing, he sits back down, unlocking his phone and navigating to the calls, only to find that he has fifty-seven voicemails from Bruce, all of which are from the month he left. Feeling a pang of guilt from having ignored Bruce’s calls for so long, Robin hesitantly hovers his thumb over the voicemails.
One year ago, Robin left Gotham, filled with rage towards Bruce for benching him over a mere accident and frustration towards himself for not being able to live up to the Bat’s standards. Bruce had called him fifteen times on that night and at least once a day afterwards—all of which he ignored. Still, despite being frustrated at Bruce “firing” him, Robin could not bring himself to block the number or delete the voicemails. The calls stopped after a month, and there hasn’t been another since. Now, one year later, they sit together in a list on his phone screen, reminding Robin of his foolishness.
Slowly, he taps the first voicemail from the night he left.
“DICK! Answer me!” Bruce’s voice shouts from his phone. “You’d better come back here right now—you’re getting yourself in danger!”
Robin cringes at the harsh tone, but it’s exactly what he expects. The next twenty or so messages are similar, with Bruce shouting at him that he’s being an idiot and that he’ll need to come back eventually. Being an idiot, maybe Bruce was right. But coming back, he never did.
The next voicemail, however, changes.
It begins not with angry yelling but a few seconds of silence, then a deep sigh. “Dick… please come home,” Bruce says, voice raw. “I’m worried about you. I can only hope you’re okay because your phone is still on, but… please stay safe.”
And then it ends there.
Robin’s stomach drops as he listens to one after another. Some of them are just silence and a few mumbles. Others are Alfred’s attempts to get through. Most of the voicemails, however, are just Bruce asking him to come back and wishing for his safety.
“I see you have a new team there,” Bruce says in one message. “You guys are doing pretty well. I read you saved the city again, good job.”
So Bruce had been tracking his activity. He must have known that Robin moved to Jump, but why did Bruce not send for any searches if he wanted his son back so badly?
Fortunately for Robin, the final voicemail answers his question.
“Dick,” Bruce starts the message after a moment of silence, voice firm yet gentle. “I know you don’t want me bothering you, but Alfred and I both miss your presence at the manor. Even though I want nothing more than for you to come back, you’ve made it clear that you don’t want to talk to me, and I’ll respect that from now on. I just hope you’re doing okay out there, and good luck with the Teen Titans. Goodbye.”
After the message ends, Robin sits silently with his shaking hands clutched around the phone. He can only imagine Bruce hunched over his phone, speaking to a caller ID he’ll never hear back from. Or the amount of times Bruce must have called with a hope to someday hear his son’s answer rather than an automatic response. Or the number of times Bruce heard that robotic “Hey, Dick Grayson here. Sorry, I can’t get to the phone right now. Please leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you later,” and left a message despite knowing he’ll never get an answer.
The guilt burrows into Robin’s gut and twists his insides. He knows why Bruce called him earlier, and he already knows what Bruce will say. Still, he owes, at the least, an explanation as to why he was breaking into Wayne Industries. Bruce may never call again after this, so now might be the only chance he’ll get.
Robin decides to call back.
As soon as he presses the call button, the dial tone barely rings once before the other side picks up instantly.
“Robin,” Bruce says, voice as harsh and firm he remembers. “Are you alone?”
“I’m in my room,” Robin answers. “The others can’t hear me.”
“Good… because what were you THINKING?!” Bruce demands, exactly as Robin expects. “Robbing my company, destroying the building’s property, and then fighting your friends on the roof? Wearing Deathstroke’s outfit, too! You’d better have a good explanation for this!”
Deathstroke? Is that Slade’s alias? Doesn’t matter now.
Taking a deep breath, Robin replies, “Look. I know it seems really bad—but trust me, it’s not what actually happened.”
“What is it, then?”
“I…” Robin’s words trail off. If he explains the situation to Bruce, that might just be proving the point that he’s not ready to handle being out on his own if he had let himself be extorted by the enemy. But even still, he can’t bring himself to outright lie (not like he can think of one in time, anyway).
“Well?” Bruce asks impatiently. “What happened, really?”
“Okay, fine.” Robin pinches between his nose bridge, inhaling sharply before making his response. “I was being blackmailed by Slade—or Deathstroke, as you call him—to be his apprentice, or else he’d kill my friends.”
“Dick, you know better,” Bruce says, voice sharp and unemotive.
“Will you just listen to me before you make any conclusions?!” Robin yells back desperately.
Bruce stays silent on the other side, which Robin takes as a signal to continue.
“He placed these nanoscopic probes in their bloodstream without their knowledge, and then he told me I had to follow his every order and never speak to my friends again if I wanted them to live.” Robin grits his teeth, recalling Slade’s cold voice threatening him as if he’d already won. “He could destroy them all with a single press of a button if he wanted to, so… I complied.”
The silence from the other end squeezes Robin’s throat from the agonizing suspense. He’s glad Bruce is actually listening to him, but also, he has no way of seeing Bruce’s face. For all that he knows, Bruce can be scowling with shame or shocked from anger. Robin shakes that thought away and continues.
“I trained with him for a month.” As much as Robin hates to admit it, Slade taught him a lot. Though, using those moves always filled him with disgust towards himself for giving in so easily. “He molded me into the perfect soldier, even though I resisted every second.
“In that time, he made me break into a few smaller companies and warehouses first just to test the waters. And finally, just earlier tonight, he had me steal from your company. I’m mostly certain this wasn’t because he knew I had a connection to you, since he would have done a lot worse had he known.
“That’s when my friends caught me.” Robin can never scrub clean the memory of the horror on the Titans’ faces once they saw that it was him in the costume acting as a criminal. “He forced me to fight them under the threat that he would activate the probes right there if I refused. And he did. So I ended up fighting and running away. That is what you saw in the footage.
“Once we made it back, I finally fought Slade on my own, letting him know I wasn’t going to take his command anymore. And to my luck, my friends found Slade’s hideout as well, so we beat him together.”
For an entire month, Robin had never heard anything as satisfying as Slade’s shouts of defeat. The smallest grin creeps up on his face as he remembers how Slade’s mask cracked right in half after taking a hit from him.
“He did end up getting away and destroying the hideout, but not without sustaining a lot of damage. And… that brings us to now,” Robin concludes.
For another excruciatingly long moment, Bruce offers no reply. Robin holds his breath with tense shoulders, awaiting judgement from his mentor.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Robin starts again, hoping to at least break the silence a little. “That I’m unprepared in the crime fighting world, and this just proves why you fired me from being your partner. Yell at me, call me impulsive, do whatever you gotta do as my dad. But whatever you say, I’m not coming back to Gotham.”
Robin cares about Bruce as his father, but no matter what, he won’t accept being called back home to be locked up in the manor for the rest of his life. I would have rather died at the hands of Two-Face if I had known I’d never be Robin again, he said to Bruce back then. He recognizes how insensitive that statement sounds now, but in a way, the sentiment still stands.
“No, it’s not that…” Bruce’s voice finally crackles through the speaker. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay right now.”
Pausing, Robin stares at his screen, trying to process what he just heard. “Wait, what?”
“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot recently,” Bruce says, tone softening ever so slightly. “and you just got back after being controlled by your enemy for a month. So… are you alright?”
“I’m—” Robin starts, but stops after noticing his still-shaking hands. Right now, they’re shaking from general exhaustion and lingering fear, but these are the same hands that are now trained for an instantaneous takedown at a single blink. If he’s not careful, he can end up accidentally body-slamming one of his friends to the ground by reflex if they startle him enough. He might be away from Slade, but he’s not free from the apprenticeship’s influence just yet.
“...More or less,” he chooses to answer. “It might take me a bit to return to normal.”
“That’s understandable,” Bruce says. “You should take your time and not push yourself too hard.”
Robin nods and lets out a quiet “yeah” just to indicate he’s heard Bruce.
“And regarding what you said before—this situation only let me know that I was right in trusting that you can take care of yourself.”
“But… all those voicemails you left me,” Robin mentions. “You wanted me to come back. You said it would be dangerous out there.”
“And you have proved well enough that you can handle a dangerous conflict on your own.” Robin can practically imagine a smile on Bruce’s mouth as he speaks. “In fact, I’m proud of you, Dick.”
Upon hearing those words, Robin’s heart swells. Bruce is proud. Something he would have never expected to come out of Bruce, but he’s pleasantly surprised nonetheless.
“You told me in your letter back then that you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do if you weren’t allowed to help me anymore.” Ah. Robin remembers his goodbye letter to Bruce before he had left the manor. “But you’ve shown me that you’re more than capable of doing good when not by my side. I read every news article about the Teen Titans, you know?”
“You have?” The messages. “Oh—right. Of course you have. Uh…”
“I’m happy you've found a place and friends to fight alongside of,” Bruce says warmly. “and I don’t want to restrict you any more. So, the offer for you to come back is always open—but in the end, it’s up to you to make that choice.”
“Okay, Bruce,” Robin laughs, immensely grateful of his freedom finally being respected. “You know what? Maybe. Just for next Christmas. It doesn’t snow here in Jump, and I’ve surprisingly missed the cold winter.”
“Let me know before you actually show up so I can tell Alfred to make your favorite crab-stuffed mushrooms, ” Bruce replies with a light joviality. “He’s missed making you meals!”
The two share a short laughter over the call, the unresolved tension between them melting away like a ray of sunlight over a frosted window. Robin is relieved to finally get some closure for this issue that has dragged on unnecessarily long, and he’s sure Bruce is as well.
“I’m glad we talked,” Robin says, feeling a grin tug at his cheeks for the first time in what seems to be ages. “Thanks, really. I hope things are fine on your end, too.”
“It’s been harder without your help,” Bruce answers. “Batgirl is good at what she does, but crime has gotten all the more rampant. We are still holding out though, if that’s what you mean by ‘fine.’”
“If that’s the case, then… you should probably look for someone to replace me,” Robin says, a wave of sentiment washing over him despite it being his own suggestion. “I was wrong in my letter. Batman needs a Robin, even if it isn’t me in that position.”
“I can find somebody else to fill the Robin mantle, but I can never replace you,” Bruce assures. “You’re my son, Dick. Nothing can ever change that.”
Something wells up inside of Robin’s throat. Back during the apprenticeship, Slade had told him to think of him as a father, but Robin never will. He already has one right here.
“Yeah—yeah,” he manages to choke out. “That’s—you’re right.”
“Go and take a break,” Bruce says, a gentle command stemming from care. “You deserve one.”
“Thanks. I will.” Robin says, his finger hovering over the end call button.
“—But before you go, can I see your face one more time?”
Robin hesitates before moving his finger and pressing the camera button. His phone screen opens the video feed, revealing Bruce facing right back at him. With an uncharacteristically gentle smile, Bruce holds his hand up, motioning around his eyes.
Right, the mask, Robin realizes.
Reaching up, Robin peels the mask off his face and sets it on his bed, exposing his brilliant blue eyes after being hidden for so long.
“Is that better?” Dick asks.
“Much better.” Bruce nods.
And for the first time in a year, Batman and Robin—Bruce and Dick—meet face to face once more. Back at the manor, Dick used to think making direct eye contact with Bruce was the most terrifying ordeal ever; wearing a mask was comforting with how it filtered out the hardened glare. But now, without his mask, Dick now finds himself connected, understood, and loved.
“You’ve grown,” Bruce comments, his smile glowing radiantly.
“It’s only been a year, though.”
“A lot can change in a year.”
“That is true.” In a year, he’s made new friends, formed a new team, and found a new home in a city he can help. “I hope I’ve finally become a man in your eyes.”
“You always have been.”
“Even without the HRT?” Dick asks teasingly.
Bruce laughs. “Of course.”
Their banter is cut short by a yell from the living room. “Robin! Are you alright in there?”
“Starfire!” Dick says, quickly standing up. “Yeah! I’m fine! Just give me a second!” Turning back to Bruce on the phone, he says, “Sorry. They’re calling for me now—”
“It has been one second already!” Starfire exclaims from outside.
“Star, it’s just a saying,” Cyborg replies. “He didn’t actually mean a second.”
“You should go meet your friends,” Bruce says. “It would be rude to keep them waiting.”
“Right.” Dick says, throat tightening at the thought of having to hang up so abruptly. “I’ll see you next time.”
“Stay safe out there. Goodbye.”
Dick ends the call and stares at the contact on his screen for a moment. As he reaches for his mask, he feels a splash of hot liquid on his lap—only to realize it’s coming from his eyes. Dick reaches up to his face, brushing his fingers across his wet cheeks.
“God dammit, Bruce,” he lets out a shaky laugh. “All that time apart, and the first thing you do is make me cry.”
Wiping his tears away, Dick presses the mask back onto his face and finally exits the room, meeting his friends waiting in anticipation from the living room.
“Hey, Robin, are you okay?” Raven asks hesitantly.
“The wetness on your face suggests that you have been crying,” Starfire adds, eyebrows furrowed with worry. “Was the person on the phone hurting you?”
“Just the opposite,” Robin says, waving reassuringly. “I’m just… glad that everything’s okay now.”
“Well, if that’s the case, me and Cy have thought of a proper celebration!” Beast Boy exclaims, popping out from behind the counter. “Get ready for an all-you-can-eat…”
“Freeform…” Cyborg continues
“Breakfast Explosion!” Beast Boy and Cyborg announce in sync, waving their spatulas.
“That sounds great!” Robin exclaims. “I’m always down for breakfast…” He glances at the clock. “…at four A.M…?”
“I’m sorry for suggesting a celebration,” Raven groans.
“Well, we’ve gotta make you a proper meal after all that time you spent away, dude!” Cyborg holds up two frying pans enthusiastically. “Betcha Slade was totally ass at cooking!”
Robin doesn’t want to tell them that the food Slade gave him was somewhat surprisingly decent, so he just nods and grins. “I can’t wait.”
As Cyborg and Beast Boy whisk Starfire and Raven away into the kitchen, Robin takes a seat at the counter and takes in his friends’ liveliness. He has no words to express how grateful he is for them to have stuck by his side even in times of doubt, and most of all, he’s just happy to be with them again after no contact for such a long time.
While Robin listens to the familiar sound of Beast Boy and Cyborg arguing over the menu, he reflects on everything that happened in the past few hours.
He had finally broken from Slade’s control after a long-awaited battle and reunited with his friends. Robin knows the Titans have countless questions that he isn’t quite ready to answer yet, but he trusts them to be patient and give him space, just for long enough so that he can collect his thoughts to properly answer those concerns.
Then, after he returned home, he received a call from his father. Even if he doubted it at first, he now knows that if there was anybody he needed to have a heart-to-heart with first after enduring Slade’s command for a month, it was Bruce.
Robin did not expect a single call to be so cathartic, or to release all the built-up tension he never knew he even had. If anything, resolving his and Bruce’s problems was last on the list of ways he had expected for the talk to go. In the end, he couldn't be happier that they talked.
“Hey, do you guys need help over there?” Robin asks with a laugh after hearing a crash and a cat screech in the kitchen.
“No, we are just wonderful!” Starfire shouts back, voice straining. “Please stay seated! This is our treat for you!”
“Too late, I’m coming over!” Robin stands up, hand brushing past his phone on the counter. He glances at the screen one more time. It probably won’t hurt to call a bit more, just to let Bruce know he isn’t ghosting for another year. Maybe he’ll call tomorrow… or next week, at least.
But for now, he has to stop his team from completely burning the kitchen down. Angsty parental pondering will just have to wait in the face of a chaotic breakfast.