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He wouldn’t do it.
There’s not a lot Dick wouldn’t do for Slade, not at this point. Months and months under his apprenticeship (what was it now? 5?) has shaped him into a being just there to do whatever Slade has asked of him. Of course, Dick has enough of himself left to know why he followed Slade’s every whim- why he killed, why he hurts the innocent, why he does all these things that go against everything he stands for. He knows very well that the reason he’s done all these things are solely for the lives of his team, and there was no one to blame for that but himself.
Before he had landed himself into this situation, Dick had been wholly unaware of just how far he’d go for his team, for his friends. He had told himself, not long before the formation of the Teen Titans, that he would never be like Batman. That he would never sacrifice his teammates for the greater good. It hadn’t been a thing of love or care, not for the most part- Dick simply refused to let the death of someone who relied on him for direction be on his hands.
Now, Dick knew better. Dick knew that there was very little he wouldn’t do to guarantee the safety of his loved ones, of his team.
(Some days, Dick wonders if they’d have endured the same for him. He wonders if they’d be just as selfish as he was to trade the lives of many for the lives of the few.)
There wasn’t much Dick wouldn’t do, but something in him froze at the situation he had gotten himself into. It was supposed to be a quick in and out- snipe the guy and be done with it. Slade would be watching from nearby, ready to swoop in and . . . encourage Dick if necessary, but going in, Dick had been pretty sure that wouldn’t be a problem.
Except his target had fiery orange hair with brilliant green eyes. Even through the scope, Dick could see the freckles that splattered his pale skin. His face shape and body build were nearly identical to . . .
He can see it clearly, as if it had happened days ago. It was more like last month. He had stood on the opposing roof, bright ginger hair drenched in rain water, with the most desperate look on his face as he stared. Dick had only been able to meet his face once, and even just the brief look had nearly sent him into tears. The speedster’s quiet pleading for something- anything- to explain why Dick was doing this never stopped ringing in his ears. He hopes the feeble signs of
Didn’t Want- Sorry-
were enough.
He knows they weren’t.
Something catches in his throat, burning and slimy. That bastard, he knew exactly what he was doing when giving this one to Dick. It's fine, it's perfectly fine, Dick can do this. It's not like it's actually-
His finger trembles on the trigger. It's lined up, ready to go. It should be easy. Quick in and out, he had said.
Last second, he jerks the sniper rifle to the side and slams back onto the trigger. The shot fires and misses, not hitting anyone, but alerting everyone there that there was trouble lurking. The distant screams echo in Dick's ears, but none of the words actually reach him- the only thing Dick can comprehend is the throb in his shoulder and the sound of his heart thumping wildly against his chest.
He is silent and deathly still, even as the sound of someone hitting the roof reaches him. Dick does not need to turn and look to know exactly who it is.
“Come now, apprentice. We will speak of this failure away from here.” He refuses to wince even as Slade clasps a hand onto the shoulder that was almost perpetually sore from shooting now and squeezes.
When Slade lets go, Dick follows. There's nothing else for him to do.
---------------------------------------------------
Dick has barely taken a single into the lair when Slade grabs him forcefully by the shoulder and near-slams him into the wall. He takes one sharp inhale, sucking in all the air he can, and prepares for the worst- because Slade had been already expecting the best from him since the beginning, even when Dick was doing nothing but stealing, and failure after so long would be even less than unacceptable.
“My my, Robin, quite the pickle you’ve gotten yourself into. Would you like to explain your complete and utter failure at today's proceedings?” Despite the mask Slade wore, Dick could feel his eyes on him. It made his skin crawl, even after all this time, and it was made much worse by the fact that Dick could barely read anything in his expression because of it.
Still, Dick remains silent because he is fully aware by now that trying to fumble his way through an excuse will only give Slade more ammunition and amusement, and that is quite literally the last thing he needs to do.
“There was nothing different about this target. It’s hardly the first time I have given you one that is supposed to remind you of your old team. Is it because he was like that stupid speedster instead of one of the others?” Despite himself, Dick lets out a low hiss. If he could see under Slade’s mask, he knows the other would be smiling.
“Spot on, then. Perhaps you need a little . . . motivation, to never let this happen again.” Slade lets him go, and his heart quickens in his chest. The moment Slade presses down on the button, Dick launches himself at him. It’s no use, it never has been any use, but maybe-
Every line of thought is squashed instantly because despite having been taught by the man for somewhere around 5 months now, Slade still had the hand up. No matter how many times Dick tried to punch him, or kick him, or get something over him, Slade would come back with even greater skill to trample him down once more. It’s only a few moments before Slade has him slammed onto the ground, boot pressed harshly into his back. His gloved hand, the one without the button, has a steel grip on the hair on the back of Dick’s head, painfully tugging it up enough that Slade is able to force Dick to look at him.
“Beg,”
he says, with this sickly amused tone laced in his voice. “Beg me to call off the nanoscopic probes, Robin. Show me just how low you will put yourself for your stupid little friends.” Dick lets out a wheeze, chest tightening. He takes a few moments too long to answer and he only knows because Slade yanks at his hair again with enough force to cause a low whine to leak from Dick’s mouth. “There’s only so long you can keep quiet before they are gone, Robin. Do you want their deaths to be added to the growing pile you already have?”
“I’m sorry, please-” He tries to wiggle, to do something, but Slade just forces more pressure onto Dick’s back with his boot. “I’ll do better,
please-
I won’t mess up next time, just let them live. I’m sorry,
Slade please-”
“What will you do next time, my apprentice?” Despite his best attempts, tears are burning in his eyes. He blinks them away best he can behind the mask.
“I’ll kill them, I promise- I’ll kill them, even if they- god, even if they look like one of them. I promise, I’m sorry, please-” Seemingly had enough, Slade lets go of Dick’s hair and draws his foot back. All Dick can do is press his head down onto the floor and squeeze his eyes shut to try and force back the tears and headache.
“There we are. Good, obedient boy.” Dick doesn’t see it, but he hears the click of a button. He finally lets himself slump against the floor now that his team is no longer in danger of death. “There is much you have yet to learn, but I hope today was enough of a lesson on obeying to keep you from straying too far in the future.”
The mercenary's footsteps start to fade off into the distance, and despite the fact that he knows Slade could still come back, could still see him, Dick lets the sobs burning in the back of his throat fully take form. There, on the floor of Slade’s lair, head and shoulder and back throbbing in pain, Dick cries.
He cries for his friends to find him.