Chapter Text
The rooftops of Gotham were Robin's for the taking, his own domain to leap and bound across. At least while Bruce was busy working in his study. Sure, Robin wasn't technically supposed to be out without supervision or at least telling somebody where he was going, but he could take care of himself! Sneaking out usually went great for him! The tree incident was an outlier.
There was something about the rush of being up high, high above the world that Robin loved. How could he not, he was practically born on the trapeze! Leaping through the air, flying, was something nothing came even close to comparing to. And it made him feel proud knowing he could be the only thing between some criminals and their heinous acts that evening. Things were mostly quiet out, but you never knew what could happen. Especially in Gotham.
It was nice to be out by himself for once. Robin loved working with Batman, and he loved loved that he was on a team with teens more or less (mostly more) his age, but sometimes it got tough to be around other people all the time. An evening out by himself was exactly what he needed.
Robin paused in his trajectory when his radar picked up a break-in a few streets over. A department store, presumably two-bit thugs, no cops around. Not much of a challenge, but Robin didn’t have anything better to do. He headed in that direction, taking a scope of the situation once he arrived. Broken window in the alley as an entry point. He could see the robbers (three of them) inside, breaking into the register. Your average money-hungry criminals. He smirked and swung in through the same broken window they’d used.
“Y’know, most people spend their Saturday nights at the movies or something, but sure, I guess I can see the appeal of stealing from a small business.” Robin made his landing on the counter, to the total surprise of all the robbers. “But seriously, why come here when you can go after a big corporation? Not enough people rob from LexCorp. Hey, it’s just a suggestion!” Robin added the last bit as he dodged a gunshot, backflipping away onto a clothesrack, balancing precariously.
“I thought you said Batman wouldn’t take notice?” One of the thugs complained to a guy that was probably the boss, who shrugged and looked annoyed. He was the one that had fired the shot.
“He didn’t, actually. It’s just me,” Robin clarified, cracking his knuckles. “But that doesn’t mean you should be any less afraid. I’ve been itching for a fight all day.”
He tuned out the shouts of ‘get him!’ and ‘he’s over there!’ as he focused on landing his flips and kicks perfectly to dodge all the pathetic attempts to land a hit on him and take all three out easily. A little too easily. Robin had been hoping for a little more excitement than that.
“I’d say it’s been fun, but that was underwhelming.” Robin remarked as he tied them together and sent an anonymous tip-off to the GCPD. “Maybe train up a little. Be more whelming next time. I’d really appreciate it.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?” He heard one of them complain as he left back out through the window. He hoped that wouldn’t be too expensive to fix. Maybe he could look into it tomorrow. Make a donation.
Robin was about to continue on his way, maybe find something more exciting, when he heard somebody slowly clapping behind him. That was threatening. Evil. He turned quickly, dropping into an offensive stance.
"Impressive.” The new presence was a tall man dressed head to toe in black and orange, loaded with weapons. Robin had seen him before. “Not every day you get to see the Boy Wonder at work.”
Deathstroke.
“Although, while your skills are impressive,” Deathstroke continued. “I think you’d be even more successful in my line of work. You have quite the skillset for it.”
“What are you doing in Gotham?” Robin narrowed his eyes, ignoring Deathstroke’s words. They were unthinkable. “Would’ve thought you’d be too embarrassed after Batman and I stopped you last time you took a job here.”
“Relax, kid.” Robin couldn’t totally tell but he thought Deathstroke might’ve been smirking under the mask. “I don’t have a job this time. I’m here for you.”
Robin was so surprised he dropped the offensive stance. Perhaps unwise, but he was too busy trying to wrap his head around what Deathstroke had just said.
“...What?” He shook his head, unbelieving. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
"I’ve been watching you, Robin.” Deathstroke moved closer to Robin, who took a step back in response. “You’d make a fine successor. I’ve been looking for someone to raise in my image for a long time now.”
“Forget it!” Robin snapped. “I save lives. I don’t take them.”
“Is that what daddy Bats told you to say?” Deathstroke cocked his head. "You don't have to listen to him. You can be more than just his sidekick."
“I’m his partner, actually.”
“Oh, please.” Deathstroke snorted. “We both know that’s not true. It’s Batman and Robin, not Robin and Batman.”
“Shut up.” Robin didn’t want to think about the fact that Deathstroke was right about that. No matter how much he wanted to be, he wasn’t Batman’s equal. He never would be. But if he could take down Deathstroke by himself… “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you spout crap, alright, Deathstroke? You’re a criminal. And I’m taking you in.”
“Go right ahead, kid.” Deathstroke sounded amused. “By all means, give it your best shot.”
Robin barely waited for Deathstroke to finish speaking before he was leaping into the fight. He had to play this carefully, he knew. Deathstroke would not be an easy opponent, considering it had been so hard to stop him last time, and that had been with Batman. Thankfully, Deathstroke didn’t seem to be using any of his numerous weapons (which maybe meant he didn’t think he needed them for Robin, which was annoying) and Robin didn’t reach for anything from his own utility belt. If he made the first move for a weapon, the game could change, and Robin didn’t really feel like getting shot. As it was, he was barely managing to land a single hit.
“You’re flashy, but precise.” Deathstroke remarked, sounding like this was easy for him. “You know how to use your smaller size as an advantage, and you’ve clearly been well trained in numerous fighting styles. But it’s not enough.”
Deathstroke landed a strong kick to Robin’s chest, sending him into the wall of the part of the roof that led to the building below. Ow. Robin winced and sucked in a gasp, but he tried not to show that he was in pain. He didn’t want to seem weak to this horrible man.
“So much of your training relies on Batman being there to save you.” Deathstroke’s footsteps echoed as he walked across the roof to Robin. “So what will you do now that Batman is nowhere in sight?”
Before Robin could scramble back up to his feet, get his bearings, come back to the fight, Deathstroke’s boot pressed down on Robin’s chest, pinning him to the concrete. Robin did his best to wriggle away, but he couldn’t seem to be strong or slippery enough to get out from under Deathstroke’s massive body weight. The mercenary towering above him chuckled.
“You look like a little bird.” Deathstroke cocked his head, one eye looking cruelly down at Robin. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? A little bird.”
“Careful about underestimating me too much.” Robin tried to reach for his utility belt without being too obvious.
“Oh, I would never.” Deathstroke sounded weirdly sincere. It made Robin uncomfortable. “I see your potential. I see what everyone else doesn’t. You’re more than just a wisecracking sidekick. You’re a born killer, Robin. You just need the proper training. I can give that to you.”
“Go to hell.” Robin snapped at the same time as he stabbed into an imperfection in Deathstroke’s armour with a birdarang. It caused the weight on Robin to loosen just enough for him to roll away and gather his bearings.
“Send me there yourself.” Deathstroke regained his own bearings, pulling out a sword. Oh, fantastic.
"Never.” Robin snapped, throwing a few smoke bombs. That would give him time to work out his next move.
He dodged around Deathstroke, laughing as he did so. He liked having the upper hand, plus it totally freaked people out when he did the laughing thing. Deathstroke didn't seem so fazed, and he easily avoided Robin's hit.
"That laughing trick would work better if I couldn't hear exactly where you are." Deathstroke commented. "Is that usually successful?"
"Yes," Robin snapped, backflipping away from Deathstroke's sword. His landing was sloppy. "All the time."
"Well, you may be off your game." Deathstroke sounded like he was scolding Robin, like he was Batman. "You need to stay focused."
"I am focused." Robin narrowed his eyes. "Focused on telling you to fuck off."
"Focus on not getting stabbed, maybe." Deathstroke's blade grazed Robin's side (ow) as Robin did a terrible dodge job. He was fortunate Batman wasn't there to see how badly he was failing. "This is just sad."
"Shut up!!!" Robin leapt for him. Deathstroke lazily swatted him away. Robin landed flat on his back again. He was feeling the cut on his side now. Deathstroke's sword was sharp. The tall man pressed the metal edge to Robin's throat.
"I could kill you, little bird." Deathstroke mocked. "You'd die a failure. Unworthy of all that has been given to you. Unworthy of Batman."
"What's your point?" Robin grunted out, holding as still as he could, pretending Deathstroke's words didn't bother him.
"I can shape you into something better." Deathstroke's tone was… tender, almost. Sympathetic. "Something stronger. I can guarantee you'll always live to fight another day."
"I won't kill anyone." Robin wasn't having it. "I don't cross that line."
"I'm not saying you have to!" Deathstroke reassured, moving his sword away from Robin's neck. He sat up warily. "But what's the harm in just letting me give you a few pointers?"
"A lot, probably." Robin crossed his arms.
Deathstroke didn't respond to that. He just put his hand out to help Robin up. Robin reluctantly accepted.
"Go home." Deathstroke nodded to Robin's side. "Take a look at that wound. Come back same time next week and we can pick up where we left off."
"I never said I'd-" Robin was alone. Deathstroke had left so quickly it was almost hard to believe he was even there.
But he had been there. And he was right. Robin should go home. And think.
He made it back home almost on autopilot. Distraction usually wasn't good, but he couldn't help it. He was too disturbed. He told himself to get whelmed already and slipped back in through his bedroom window.
"Master Dick!" Alfred's voice made him jump. The old butler was standing in the doorway, holding a laundry basket. "Oh, you had me worried half to death! Between you and Master Bruce, I fear my life will end rather suddenly and shockingly."
"Sorry, Alfred." Dick pulled his mask off, listlessly sitting down at his desk chair. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"If that were true, you wouldn't sneak out at all." Alfred shook his head. Then he noticed. "Good lord, Master Dick. What have you done to yourself?"
He rushed to check the wound on Dick's side, fussing over it. Dick was grateful for the care. Alfred always looked after him, even if he upset him.
"I believe it looks worse than it is." Alfred nodded carefully. "Come on, let's get you patched up."
Dick let Alfred take him out in the hallway and move towards Alfred's room, where he had some first aide equipment for occasions such as this.
"You won't tell Bruce?" Dick whispered.
"No," Alfred reassured. "But I should."
"He'll know anyway." Dick sighed.
"Yes," Alfred nodded. "He will."
Dick was quiet as Alfred told him to sit still and worked on bandaging him up. He wanted to talk to Alfred, but he didn't want him to have to worry about Dick. He'd heard about Deathstroke before. Of course.
"Alfred?" Dick finally spoke up.
"Yes, Master Dick?"
"What if I have to decide whether to do something, and it could be really good but it could also be really really bad?"
"Well, that depends on what it is." Alfred paused to look into Dick's eyes. "Are you alright?"
"Y-Yeah, but…" Dick avoided Alfred's searching gaze. "I'm just thinking."
"I believe you will do what you think is best, Master Dick." Alfred resumed his work. "No matter what I, or Master Bruce, might have to say about it."
"That does sound like me." Dick admitted. "What if I'm wrong?"
"You can always come to me for help with anything." Alfred said gently. "You know that."
"...Thanks, Alfred." Dick didn't say anything else about it. Alfred didn't ask anything. Dick appreciated that.
He had one week. One week to decide. One week to figure out if he would betray his father's trust or miss out on an opportunity for- for a rematch, if nothing else.
This was not going to be easy.