Work Text:
Dick sets down a smoke bomb much harder than is necessary. The tap of the keyboard stops, and he hears Slade’s chair turn around, because apparently when you’re charging hundreds of thousands of dollars to kill people, there’s no room in the budget to replace a squeaky chair. He knows he needs to calm down, getting angry has only ever led to consequences for him, but he’s just…tired. He doesn’t want to do this anymore, especially the mission he’s assigned tonight. He hates when Slade makes him fight his friends. He hates more that he’s good at it and that, after four months, they’ve stopped holding back. Even Starfire.
He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and grabs another smoke bomb. He doesn’t bother to look over it. They’re all in perfect condition anyway, Slade just likes to give him busy work. He’s ready to slam it down next to the other one, when Slade grabs his wrist in a vice-like grip. Dick nearly jumps out of his skin. Instinctively, he tries to pull away, only for Slade to grip tighter. He uses his other hand to pluck the smoke bomb out of Dick’s grasp and set it down gently next to the other one. He holds Dick’s gaze for a moment, promising pain without words, and then let’s go.
Dick pulls his hand close to his chest and rubs at his wrist as Slade goes to his chair and turns back around. He has half a mind to throw one of the smoke bombs at Slade’s head. But the jerk would probably catch it and then Dick would really be in trouble. Instead, he continues his inventory quietly and without any further comment. Shame sits heavy in his chest for not standing up for himself. For obeying without Slade having to even say something. He picks up one of the throwing knives he keeps in his belt. He’s supposed to check it for nicks or scratches, but instead he just holds it in his hand.
“If you’re going to throw that at me, you’d better not miss,” Slade says and Dick jumps in his chair, dropping the knife back onto the table.
He turns around, but Slade isn’t even looking at him. He narrows his eyes and mouths ‘I hate you’ at the back of Slade’s head. He doesn’t turn around. Dick feels an inordinate amount of pride and then he immediately feels pathetic for thinking that was a win. He exhales and goes back to inventory. After a while he gets to the last tool that’ll be in his belt. It passes his halfhearted inspection, and he sets it down with the other - perfectly fine - items.
“I’m done.”
“Start over.”
Dick blinks. “What?”
“Are you suddenly hard of hearing? Start over.”
Dick bristles. “That’s ridiculous! I just spent an hour doing this and-“
The slap, like Slade grabbing his arm earlier, takes him off guard. No matter how many times it’s demonstrated to him, he underestimates how fast Slade can move. His head snaps to the side with the force of it and tears spring to his eyes. He presses a hand to his face and stays still in the chair.
“Your mouth is going to get you in trouble, I suggest you shut it. You spent an hour being pissy, do it over, the right way, or your friends get hurt the next time.”
Dick shrinks back and nods.
Slade kneels down to make eye contact with him, reaches out, and grips his chin gently.
“When are you going to realize that you’re stuck here, kid? This is your reality. No one is coming to break you out. You’re here and you’re not going anywhere. Do you understand?”
Dick takes in a shaky breath. Slade’s wrong, He has to be wrong, but even Dick has started to feel like he’s all alone. He takes a minute to gather himself and then he nods.
He understands.