Chapter Text
It was early morning now, the sun barely up in the sky.
Wintergreen was cooking breakfast in the kitchen, while a serious-looking Slade sat at the counter. He was scrolling through his laptop, his eyes tracing news reports and pictures. He hummed to himself, picking up a mug of black coffee.
Wintergreen, who was frying eggs, spoke aloud to break the silence.
“Where is Richard?”
The man refused to call him Renegade, even though he knew the boy could no longer recognize his name properly.
Slade took a sip of his coffee. “He’s still asleep. I’ll wake him up soon.”
Wintergreen said nothing to that.
Slade’s fingers tapped the counter thoughtfully.
Recently, there have been sightings of a new meta-human. They seemed to be able to manipulate rocks, carrying them in the sky and breaking them apart.
However, their control was messy. Natural disasters followed them wherever they went—earthquakes, avalanches, mudslides. It was easy to track the general direction of where they were going.
There weren't any clear pictures of who it was yet, but Slade was sure he could figure it out with some digging. He just needed to be a little…closer. From what he could tell, they were only a state away. Should be easy to find and contain. To control.
It would be nice to have those powers on his side. Renegade was capable, but no operative excelled at everything. A second apprentice with control over the terrain would make future operations significantly easier.
And with the way they used them, Slade could tell they lacked experience and knowledge. Slade knew that he had the skills to teach them—the words to lure them into his hands. The person doing this was vulnerable and clearly trying to be a hero, as every disaster came during a crime.
Slade knew how to deal with heroes.
This would be easy.
And it wasn’t like he had any ongoing contracts right now, as after obtaining Renegade, the job had become much faster.
The mercenary hummed to himself as Wintergreen placed down plates of food. There were three—one for each person in the house. As Wintergreen took a seat, Slade turned his laptop to face the older man.
“What do you think about taking a short vacation?” he asked, the laptop showcasing an article about a sudden catastrophic avalanche.
Wintergreen paused, quickly scanning the article. He held his breath for a moment.
“…Why the sudden need to visit, sir?”
Slade leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “Think of it like an investment. I believe recruiting them could be of good use to me. Prepare the jet, we will leave tonight.”
Wintergreen didn’t respond, choosing to sip his tea instead. Then, in a low voice, he spoke softly.
“I do not know about this idea, Slade.”
Slade looked at Wintergreen, a neutral expression on his face. Despite the lack of emotion, the butler could tell Slade was upset.
“And why not?”
Wintergreen faltered slightly. “…I do not know if he can handle it.”
They both knew who he was talking about.
Slade met Wintergreen’s eyes, before sighing, rubbing his temple slowly. “Not this again. Wintergreen, he’s not a child. He can handle it. You don’t have to keep worrying about him.”
“For someone who isn’t a child, he surely acts like one,” Wintergreen sighed. “It concerns me. And the fact that you do not seem to be bothered by it concerns me even more.”
The butler turned to face Slade, a small frown on his features.
“I will prepare the jet, but do promise me you will look out for the boy. Take him outside, or make him do other things besides missions. He needs you—he’s your obligation.”
Slade reluctantly nodded, typing on his keyboard quickly. “I know, I know. I’ll try to make him relax. He listens to my orders anyway, so he’ll be fine. I’ll use the ear piece.”
Wintergreen raised an eyebrow at that. “And what about Robin?”
Slade continued to type, not looking back up. “I took care of him last night. Shouldn’t show up for another month or so.”
Wintergreen stared at Slade wordlessly.
The two settled into a sort of silence—the only occasional sound being the movement of cutlery and Slade’s fingers.
Then, a scream roared from the other side of the building.
Slade cursed, checking his watch.
Renegade usually woke up around the same time frame, but the mercenary had spent too long at the kitchen. He had lost track of time while talking to Wintergreen, and was about five minutes late.
And Renegade didn't like to wake up alone. He knew that.
Slade ran down the halls, psyching himself up for whatever monstrosity Renegade had today. Whenever the two got physically separated, the boy would go insane.
Once, he had sobbed for hours, throwing objects and watching them shatter. He refused to talk normally, and instead kept pleading for Slade to like him again.
Another time the boy had gone non-verbal, and decided to stand in the corner of Slade’s bedroom. He insisted on watching the mercenary sleep and would move if Slade ordered him to, only to just eventually drift back to the same spot again. That had lasted for a day.
But the worst one was when Renegade had somehow accessed a knife, carving out letters into his arms.
It had only been a week ago when it had happened.
Slade had found him that night sitting on the floor of his bedroom, an exaggerated frown on Renegade’s face. He held the blade tightly, waving it around as he spoke angrily.
“Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you?!” He stabbed the knife into his arm again, etching another letter.
The word read, unsurprisingly, “Slade” in bloody handwriting.
Renegade yelled. “Do you not need me anymore?! Do you not want me anymore?!”
He dropped the blade, standing up slowly. Blood pooled onto the floor as he moved. The frown was still glued onto his face, his anger apparent.
“I want to be good! I am good! I listen to you. I serve you. I kill for you—and I thought you liked it! I do everything you order me to. I thought you liked your apprentice—I thought you liked me—master, do you hate me?”
Renegade crossed his arms, stamping his feet. “I feel like you don’t need me as much as I do…like—“
His breath hitched.
“—like it’s not mutual!” He sobbed, his fingernails now digging deep inside the Slade-shaped cuts he had made along his skin.
The mercenary had hurriedly ran to the boy’s side, forcing him to pull the bloody fingers out of his flesh. Slade clicked his tongue frustratedly.
“I don’t understand—why can’t you just do as I say?! Why can’t you just be normal whenever we’re apart? If you want to be good, then listen to me and be normal!”
“I can’t!” Renegade sobbed, his knees wobbling. His face twisted to an ugly cry, as blood continued to seep out his flesh. “I can’t—I’m sorry! I want to be good, but I can’t be good! I’ll try better, I swear! Master, please believe me! I’ll learn!”
He fell to his knees. The teen scrambled on the floor, reaching out for the knife again.
Slade grabbed it first, throwing it out of the bedroom. His voice was grim. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Renegade cried. “I just—you’re my everything! So I thought,” his breath hitched again. “I thought I could show it to you!” He raised up his bloody arm, showing the cuts as if they were a work of art.
“All for you—I do everything for you…I’m sorry if I don’t please you, master. Do you want me to—do you want me to be Robin? I can be Robin.”
Slade had stopped breathing.
“What?”
Renegade smiled, the same one he had worn those days ago when Slade had made the wish. His voice was childish as he spoke.
“I can be whatever you want me to be. Do you want me to be Robin instead? I—I still remember. You used to be happy with him. Fascinated with him. I remember…”
Slade was speechless. He hadn’t heard Renegade mention “Robin” or “Richard” so explicitly before, that he had just assumed the boy was unable to.
Clearly, that wasn’t the case, as the boy had taken Slade’s silence as acceptance to his offer.
In a few seconds, Renegade changed his stance. His posture was confident, tough, and eerily calm. He had his arms crossed, and was standing in a way that would have allowed a cape to flow in the wind from behind. He had a smirk on his face, the one that Slade hadn't seen in months.
It was like seeing a past memory again, but in orange and black colors.
“Slade,” the teen stated confidently. “This all ends now.”
The mercenary stepped forward, shaking his head disapprovingly. As nostalgic as the memory was, he didn’t see a need for it.
“I don’t want Robin.”
The boy’s facade immediately crumbled. “Oh…” He sadly looked down at the ground.
“…Then what do you want me to be?”
“Just keep being Renegade. Keep acting the way you do.”
The boy had simply blinked at that. “Even though I’m broken? Not normal?”
Slade sighed, walking over to the nearby drawers. He pulled out a box of bandages. “It’s okay if you’re not normal. I did this to you.” He gestured for Renegade to come closer, who obeyed instantly.
After disinfecting the cuts, he wrapped the boy's bloodied arm. “It frustrates me when you act out like this, but what can we do? It’s not like I can fix you. I can’t alter the wish.” He examined Renegade’s condition.
“Do you need another blood transfusion?”
Renegade blinked.
“I just need you to not leave me.”
Slade hummed thoughtfully. “I won’t. Wintergreen wouldn’t let me. And I assume you wouldn’t let me either.”
Renegade had smiled hauntingly again, the action performed with perfect precision.
“Yes, master. I am your loyal apprentice, and I’ll serve you until I die.”
Slade tilted his head.
“And if I die first?”
“Then I’ll join you.”
Slade had laughed at that.
But now that he was approaching Renegade’s bedroom once again—the time being way too early in the morning—he wasn’t sure he could laugh this time. God, if the kid pulled another violent stunt like the previous one, Wintergreen most definitely wouldn’t let them leave the state. The kid wouldn’t even survive the flight.
Slade grumbled to himself as he gripped the door knob. He liked his apprentice, but hated it whenever he got in his way.
He swung the door open, expecting to see damages, but was instead greeted by—
“…?”
Renegade was simply standing there, his hands stuck to his sides. He was smiling, his eyes bright with joy.
“Good morning, master.”
Slade eyed the room cautiously as he stepped in. “Hello, apprentice. Did you have a good sleep last night?”
Renegade nodded. “Yes, my head feels clearer than before. I’m not sure why, but I feel as if I can serve you more adequately, master.”
Slade smiled at that. “Good, little bird. You’re doing good for me.”
Renegade beamed at the praise, before running into Slade’s arms. He hugged the mercenary, his grip tight. “You won’t leave me, right?”
Slade guided Renegade out of the room, closing the door softly. “No. What master would leave his apprentice behind?”
Renegade grinned even wider. “Did Wintergreen make breakfast again?”
“Indeed,” the mercenary hummed. “Go help yourself and eat whatever you can.”
“Yes, master.” The teen stated, before running off on his own to the kitchen.
Slade followed behind him, pleasantly surprised. It had been awhile since Renegade had acted decently normal.
If speaking to Robin had settled Renegade this much, perhaps suppressing the hero more often would keep his apprentice stable.
Renegade sat next to Wintergreen, picking up a fork. He turned to face the man momentarily. “Good morning, Wintergreen.”
The butler lowered his head. “Good morning, Richard. Would you like some tea?”
The boy turned to look at Slade for permission, who granted it with a nod.
“Yes please,” Renegade answered.
As Wintergreen stood up to prepare the beverage, Slade pushed his laptop towards his apprentice. “Would you like to go on vacation with me, little bird?”
The boy, in the midst of eating scrambled eggs, paused. “…Vacation? With you?” His eyes lit up like fireworks. “I would love to!” He paused, looking down at his plate. “…if you'd have me, of course.”
Slade smiled. “I’ll never go anywhere without you, Ren.”
The two continued to talk, most of it about the location they were going to, while Wintergreen watched from a distance, observing the odd scene skeptically.
Slade grunted, his face visibly annoyed. He was sitting at Renegade’s desk, working on his laptop as the boy packed his clothes.
Noticing his discontent, the teenager walked over to him. “Is something the matter, master?”
Slade sighed. “I just got an alert from Titan Tower.” He showed the screen to Renegade, a video playing. “Batman has been sneaking around.”
Renegade watched footage of the Gotham hero going through Robin’s closet. He felt like he should've been more conflicted, but no such feeling arose.
“Does he know that we did it? That we killed the Titans?”
Slade shook his head. “I don’t think so, but he probably knows I have you now. He’s smart—not to be underestimated.”
The teen took a breath, moving to fold a pair of jeans. “Well, at least we’re traveling. He won’t find us, but if he does…”
He looked up at Slade expectantly.
“Can I kill him?”
Slade blinked, amusement starting to grow.
“Oh? You’ll do that for me?”
Renegade nodded his head fiercely. “Mhm! I can do that thing again—pretend to be Robin. I’ll say that you took me—forced me to do things I didn’t want to.” He smiled.
“I still remember all of his weak spots. I can do it.”
Slade hummed, entertaining the idea of Renegade killing Batman.
“I’ll consider it, then. If he ever finds us.”
“If he ever finds us,” the boy agreed.
They continued to prepare for the trip.
Renegade was inside the jet now, staring out the windows silently. Slade had told him to sit there and stay put, which he had been doing exceptionally well.
The other two men were outside the jet, loading things inside. As Slade sorted them efficiently, making sure everything was organized and precise, Wintergreen posed a question.
“Did you do something to Richard?”
Slade grunted, placing more luggage into a corner. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s as obedient as usual, but he seems to be…happier,” Wintergreen replied. “He can handle being twelve feet apart from you now, which is a new development.”
Slade dusted off his hands, finished with his task of loading the plane. “It surprised me too, if I’m being honest.”
“Did you do something?”
Slade sighed, his hands on his hips. “Last night, Robin talked to me.”
Wintergreen blinked in surprise. “Robin?”
“Yes,” Slade affirmed. “He said he wanted me to kill Renegade, and I said no.” He crossed his arms. “It seems that he has retreated for now, letting Renegade do as he pleases.”
The butler held his breath for a moment—a silent pause in the air—before responding.
“If there was a way for Richard to return back to normal, would you let him?”
Slade glared at the man, his expression cold. “What?”
“I am merely interested in what you would do, sir.” Wintergreen insisted.
The mercenary stared at the older man, before quickly looking away.
“…No, I wouldn’t. He already killed his friends—I don’t think Richard would last if he broke free. He’d just shatter even more.” He shook his head. “He couldn’t even be a hero again. The Justice League wouldn’t let him, and he’d be too mentally gone. Being a mercenary is all he can do, which is what I intend to teach him to be. I won’t leave and abandon him.”
Wintergreen nodded at the answer, appearing satisfied. “Very well. Are you ready to depart, sir?”
Slade smirked, looking back up at Wintergreen. “Very.”
The two walked inside the jet.
Renegade, who had been watching the sunset, sharply turned to face Slade. “Master! Are we leaving now?”
Slade chuckled. “Yes, we are. Promise me you will be good? You must be on your best behavior.”
The teenager ran up to Slade, his eyes burning with energy. “I will, master! I’ll enjoy this vacation with you!” He laughed.
It was at that moment that Wintergreen realized that Slade had yet to tell Renegade the true purpose of their vacation.
And Wintergreen wasn't sure Renegade would take the news too well.
Neither was Slade.