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He saw the Titans once. After that sordid fight on top of the Wayne tower.
The rain had been falling hard and Dick had narrowed his masked eyes through the wet sheen of the night. He hadn’t known what day it was. Weeks seemed to merge and blend messily into one another, and moving around from one safe house to another often left him disoriented.
Slade’s contracts were executed with precision and swiftness.
The mercenary life–under the guise of the Terminator’s captivity–was rough, and always demanding. Excessive training. Always feeling that deep, crawling sensation of loathing for Slade and himself each time they threw their fists at each other.
The instructions Dick was forced to take on board.
The lingering threat of the Titan’s lives, resting on his shoulders.
Returning to Gotham had shaken him more than he would’ve liked to admit. Ever since he fled to Jump City, Robin hadn’t looked back at this place for a long time. Perched on the edge of the roof, surveying the environment as lookout. It all but reminded him of the man travelling by shadows. The flap of his cape when he was near. His voice cutting through the harsh combative conditions.
He knew Slade was training him to kill.
He knew that someday, if the nanoprobes were left undiscovered, he would be in Slade’s place right now. Collecting the bounty. Fulfilling the contract.
His throat burned raw when he thought about it. It always came back to that vow he had made in the Bat Cave, the watchful eyes of his mentor, and the repeated words tingling on the tip of his tongue like he’d just said them. Fresh on his tongue.
He blew out a breath of air.
His eyes lifted, and upon the roof, he saw them.
Dick wondered what they were doing in Gotham. He lowered himself to the ground, keeping hidden in the shadows. They hadn’t noticed him; he would’ve liked to keep it that way. It didn’t seem like they were looking for a fight.
Memories resurfaced in a rush. The blinding letters on the rooftop, the weight of guilt heavy on his heart, that horrible, wracking sensation riding up his spine. The hiss of orders in his ear. The hesitation in their voices and the pained look in their eyes. Dick wondered, if they fought again, whether they would hold the same expressions from the rooftop.
He looked at Kory. She didn’t look back.
The look on her face and the thickness in her voice that night haunted his mind, if only for a moment. They faded and suddenly he was back at the Tower, glancing at her carefree and curious expressions on her face. He swallowed, the lump thick.
Dick reminded himself he was doing this for her. He was doing this for them.
Slade must have seen them too, because the comm in his ear crackled with that familiar, deep voice. “Robin, get back inside.”
Without a word, Dick lifted to his feet, and flipped back into the building.
. . .
Contracts could go awry.
But Dick didn’t expect this.
The last of the lackies went down with a single crack to the back of his head. His body shuddered, gasp stuck on his tongue, before crumbling to the ground of the warehouse. Dick was panting hard, staring at the strewn of bodies he’d left in his wake.
None of them were dead. Slade didn’t reprimand him for it, but had ensured he was compliant when it came to utilising his training and maiming the guards near their vital spots. Dick was well aware where to hit to kill. Bruce had taught him all the places to avoid.
He turned away before his emotions clouded his judgement. His heart pumped rapidly, quietly reminding himself to keep grounded. He thought of the Titans. He thought of their safety, and the bloodied and unconscious bodies strewn all around him suddenly washed over him like water.
He slid his escrima sticks away, footsteps quiet against the concrete. Slade would have almost located and taken care of the target, no doubt. Dick moved through the quiet shadows to the meet up location, when something caught his eye.
A figure in the shadows. An outline through the darkness.
Dick was stopped short. His hairs had risen like pinpricks on the back of his neck, heart aching painfully in his chest. There was a flap of a cape, and the familiar black kowl almost silhouetted by the hanging of the moon behind him. His breath hitched in his throat, staring at the window.
Perched on the edge of one of the buildings opposite, was the Dark Knight.
Suddenly, everything in Dick’s chest broke, and he stepped towards the window.
Was Bruce looking for him? Had that been why, however many days, weeks, months ago he’d seen the Titans, was because he was looking for him?
The nightmare he’d been trapped in had flashed with a flicker of light. A hope. Dick wanted to be selfish. He wanted to reach out and hold him, to feel his arms around his shaking frame and hear that soothing voice in his ear. He wanted to jump into his embrace and forget about all of this.
Was it wrong to want to be selfish, if only for a moment?
The black kowl began turning towards the window, towards him, but a heavy weight barreled into his side and sent him crashing to the floor. Pain cracked along his skull, and he wrestled the weight frantically, gloved hand pressed abruptly over his mouth.
It took him a moment to realise he had been screaming, and he hadn’t stopped. Slade’s black and orange mask stared at him from above, easily pinning him beneath the window. The single eye narrowed as Dick’s cries died in his throat.
“Might I remind you,” he hissed in a calculated whisper,” that your friends’ lives ride on what decision you make right now.”
Cold fear gripped his heart. His chest stuttered up and down, and it wasn’t until he fell slack under his grasp, did Slade finally release him. Dick sucked in a laboured breath, the air like fire flooding down his throat. He struggled to get onto his feet until Slade gripped his arm and yanked him violently onto his feet.
He resisted the urge to shrug him off. When they next passed the window, Batman was gone.
Dick let his head hang.