Chapter Text
Robin didn't know what he had expected to see when he had woke up, but it definitely wasn’t this.
Sitting up from a bed way too large than usual, he scanned his surroundings.
And damn, was it all weird.
At the Titan Tower, he was used to his room being bare. He was used to blank walls, a basic mirror, a small closet, and a dresser. He liked it clean, except for the occasional times where he would bring a case to his desk and work for longer into the night.
But this room? It was personalized. And really, really messy.
There were gadgets all over the floor, random chips and wires scattered haphazardly in the corner. He also saw a familiar domino mask on a nearby desk, with a gun placed right next to it.
An actual gun.
There were even some bullets next to it, lying casually on the table like spare change.
And if Robin thought that would’ve shocked him the most, then he was dead wrong.
No, because in the dead center of the wall was a poster.
A Flying Graysons poster.
Robin genuinely had no idea how that had ended up there. Because what the actual fuck was happening?
Feeling disoriented, the boy immediately scrambled out of bed. As the covers fell, he noticed he was wearing a white t-shirt and some sweats. And of course, he had no mask on. He hurriedly bolted to the desk, grabbing the domino mask. Robin plastered it onto his face, checking for bugs as he did so.
Surprisingly, he found no bugs and cameras in the room, which honestly made this whole thing even weirder.
If someone kidnapped Robin and somehow knew he was Dick Grayson, wouldn’t they have installed cameras to watch him?
Actually, why would they even leave a gun with him unsupervised? This whole ordeal was strange.
Making sure the safety was on, Robin lifted the gun and kept it on his person. He obviously wasn’t going to use it, but it could be a good bluff. He looked around the room further, opening random drawers. He mainly found clothes, all of them perfectly tailored to his size. Robin had to hold back his disgust as he closed them.
Was someone keeping him hostage? God, he already hated the apprenticeship he had with Slade, and that had only lasted two days.
Grumbling, he made his way to the bedroom door. He placed his ear to it, listening for the other side. After hearing no sign of people, he grabbed the handle and swung it open.
Just to be greeted by a normal hallway. Huh. Okay.
Robin looked down both sides of the hall before cautiously stepping out. He walked to the left, which seemed to be longer in passage. As he did, he noticed a door left open.
A bathroom.
And a pretty damn good one too.
He raised an eyebrow as he looked inside. This house is pretty nice. It wasn’t Bruce Wayne money, but still wealthy nonetheless.
Like, who gives a hostage a bidet? Why would Robin even need that?
Maybe they thought Dick was just an extremely rich kid. But then why put a Flying Graysons poster up?
His eyes glanced down at the gun in his hand. Whatever, he could find a way out of this. He was Robin. Leader of the Teen Titans. The Boy Wonder. He could do this out of all people.
Think like Batman. Look around and analyze. Where are you? Why are you here? Who has you? Find a motive.
But the more he found, the more confused he got.
He was currently standing in a living room, his demeanor like a deer in the headlights. Robin could tell this house, although small, was expensive. It was homey too, adorned with comfortable couches, a wall mounted deer head, and a huge TV screen. Robin stalked forwards, his eyes observing things, before freezing up at a table.
There was a picture frame here. He couldn’t recognize the man in the photo, a guy with white hair and an eyepatch.
What he could recognize though, was himself. Maskless. Grinning widely, as he held up a fish on a fishing rod. The man next to him looked proud, ruffling his hair.
Robin merely blinked at the picture.
…What sort of sicko photoshops me onto their photos?
But the thing is, he couldn’t remember a single photo he had ever taken that was similar to this. Not a single pose or angle.
He placed down the picture frame warily, opting to head to another room. As he stepped into it, Robin was welcomed by a large wooden dining table.
This was all so uncanny. The house was really…regular? Nothing was out of place. It looked like an average family home.
Suddenly, Robin heard footsteps approach from behind. He quickly twisted around, lifting the gun and aiming it towards his captor.
Unsurprisingly, he was met with the real life version of the man in the photos.
He was tall, around his forties, and had white hair. An eyepatch covered his right eye, with the other being a stunning blue. He was clearly muscular, and had visible scars and bruises. The man simply raised an eyebrow at the gun, an intrigued look on his face. Then, he surrendered his hands up, the gesture done jokingly.
“Well, aren't you eager?” He snorted. “Don't you think it’s a bit too early for this?”
Robin kept the gun steady in his hands, undoing the safety. He needed to look serious. Dangerous.
“Who are you?”
The man blinked. “Who am I?” He rolled his eye. “C’mon, Richard. It’s too early to be playing games. Are you still upset about what happened yesterday? I’ll ask Wintergreen to make your favorite buckwheat pancakes.”
Robin was appalled; thoughts circling his brain.
How does he know I like buckwheat pancakes?
Who is Wintergreen?
And—
“How do you know my name?!” Robin shouted. “Tell me, or I’ll shoot you.”
The man, who once looked amused, shifted. His surrendered hands slowly fell to his sides, his eye widening. Concern flooded his features as he spoke.
“….Little bird? Are you okay?”
Robin had to hold back a flinch at that.
Little bird? Someone had called him that before. Not only that, the man’s voice seemed familiar. Robin bit his lip. Who was it? He was verging on the answer, but couldn’t quite grasp it.
“Tell me your name!” Robin demanded. “Now!”
The man tilted his head, confusion evident. He wasn’t even paying attention to the gun, his expression fully fixated on Robin.
“Richard, did you lose your memories overnight or something? It’s me, Slade.”
Slade.
The name hit like a bullet.
Robin held his breath, his fingers shaking. He hesitantly put the safety back on, knowing Slade of all people wouldn’t be affected by a gun. Would call his bluff for what it was. He lowered it, the gun limply laying by his side.
“Slade?”
He tried not to let his fear run into his voice, but he's sure Slade heard it anyway.
“Slade? What the—why did you take me?” He backed away further into the room, dropping the gun on the table. “I already told you!” Robin scowled. “I won’t be your apprentice! Showing your face won’t change my mind!”
He thought Slade would scold him. Frown at him. Forcefully grab him and hit him where it hurts.
But instead, the mercenary did none of that.
Slade’s brows furrowed, his face worried. He inched closer to Robin, but did it in slow, safe steps. “Richard? What’s wrong? Did the contract from yesterday mess you up? Shit, I knew I needed to examine you more closely in the medical bay. I'm sorry. It’s all my fault, okay? It’s my fault.”
Robin felt his heart beat faster and faster. Why was Slade apologizing? Why did it look like he cared?
Why did it look like they shared a bond?
“…What are you saying?!” Robin cried. His back hit the wall, fingers scraping the sides. “Take me back to my team! Why are you treating me like this? I won’t fall for it.”
Slade raised an eyebrow. “Why am I apologizing? You’re my son—why wouldn’t I?”
If Robin had any remnants of sanity, he certainly lost them all now. All the knowledge he carried—everything he thought he knew—fell to the ground instantly. Shattered too, for the hell of it.
“I’m your what?!”
Slade just stared at him.
Stared at him, as if Robin was the one who lost his marbles in this situation. What nonsense was this man spouting? Robin was his son? What?
Slade blinked once, before carrying on. “My son. I adopted you after you lost your parents at Haly’s Circus. You were on the streets of Gotham, a kid who escaped juvie, on his way to kill Tony Zucco. I found you, gave you a proper gun to finish the job, and took you in. You’ve been my son, apprentice, and partner for the past seven years.”
Robin opened his mouth to reply, before hesitantly closing it again. “Huh?”
The details were so…accurate. Haly’s Circus, the time he spent at juvie, and the way he had wanted revenge against Zucco when he was small. What didn't add up though, was the Slade part.
“You…gave me a gun? I killed Zucco that night?”
Slade nodded. “And I adopted you and took you away from that juvenile detention center.”
Robin fluttered his eyes in confusion. “What? Didn’t Bruce Wayne take me in?”
Slade was the bewildered one now, mimicking Robin’s expression. “Brucie Wayne? What—no that rich playboy would never take you in. He doesn’t even have any children.”
“He…he doesn’t have any wards?”
“No—why are you asking me this?”
Robin swallowed nervously. “I don’t believe you. This doesn’t make sense, I was taken in by Bruce Wayne. I’m Robin!”
“Who’s Robin?”
Robin’s jaw dropped. “What?” He stepped closer to the mercenary this time, his eyes meeting Slade’s. “You don't know who Robin is?”
If Slade didn't know who Robin was, what was happening? What was all of this?
It felt like a different world. A different dimension. Even though Batman had advised him to not entertain ideas that were too far-fetched, this just had to be the case. Logical explanations were thrown out the window.
Robin must have woken up in an alternate universe.
Because Robin swore he knew his past. He knew his own origins, who wouldn’t? But Slade had seemed convinced.
Convinced that he didn’t know Robin.
And Robin had looked. He looked. But the man appeared to truly be puzzled by what he heard.
Slade opened his mouth hesitantly.
“…I don’t know what happened, Richard, but that contract must have really fucked you up.”
Renegade was mystified, to say the least.
He had woken up tangled in thick blue blankets, his head woozy as he sat up.
God, he needed to take more painkillers. The contract from yesterday had caught him at a bad time, and a bullet had grazed his leg. Slade had yelled at him for it, which made Renegade upset. It’s not like his father had covered for him, so they were both at fault.
And honestly, the man just didn't understand how painful things were for non-metas. Renegade couldn’t heal as fast as Slade could! Why couldn’t he understand that?
Getting out of bed to annoy Slade to give him more painkillers, his actions stopped altogether.
This room…did Wintergreen clean it?
He narrowed his eyes, scanning the walls. No, the entire layout of this room was different. Huh?
He walked up to the curtains, pulling them back. He was instantly greeted with a five star view of a random city. Weird, because he was currently staying with Slade at a rural base in the middle of nowhere. Or was supposed to be, anyway.
Clearly, something had gone wrong while he was asleep. He groaned, making his way to the other end of the room. He analyzed the bedroom, but it all seemed to be rather innocent.
There wasn’t even a single gun in sight. All he saw was a random bo staff. He picked it up, swinging it a little. Slade had trained him with staffs once, but Renegade was a little rusty. Oh well, he'd make do with what he had.
He opened the closet, hoping to find more weapons. He found a familiar domino mask, which he wore happily, but frowned as he saw a whole row of traffic lights.
Well, not literal traffic lights. But the colors were the same.
It was a uniform, the main colors red and green with a black and yellow cape. It reminded Renegade of the circus, and there was just a row of them.
And I thought my clothes were boring.
The teenager was about to close the door when he spotted something. A poster, hidden under all the clothes. He quickly pushed the clothing hangers away, opting to get a better look at the wall.
A Flying Graysons poster.
The boy blinked.
Okay, this just got ten times weirder.
Renegade was trained for weird things like this though, so he’d probably be okay. Probably.
The teenager, who was wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, quickly lifted his pant leg up. Even though his clothes were different, he could luckily still feel the tracker surgically implanted into his skin. Nice. Slade could retrieve him!
Unfortunately though, his other leg still had the grazed bullet wound. Fuck.
I hope this place has a medical bay. He frowned as he stood back up, making his way to the door. It was a sliding door, and didn't have knobs. Weird, but still easy to open.
He stepped outside, staff in hand as he blended into the shadows. He was a good apprentice, and he knew how to stay quiet. He made his way through the hallway, before finding himself in a huge open area. He made his way to the main monitor of the room, walking past the couch and the table, and placed the bo staff down.
After making sure no one was around to stop him, he activated the monitor and began hacking.
He found out he was in Jump City, California. He was a bit bewildered to find himself in a completely different state, but that was nothing compared to the building he was in.
Titans Tower.
As in, superhero vigilante tower. The people who usually try to stop mercenaries. The people Renegade usually fought on a weekly basis.
He swallowed nervously, before looking through the tower’s files. The inhabitants seemed to be: Beast Boy, Cyborg, Robin, Starfire, and Raven.
Renegade didn't know who Starfire and Robin were, but the others rang a bell.
Beast Boy, Cyborg, and Raven were three vigilantes that operated in Jump City. They were individual heroes, but sometimes teamed up to fight against a bigger evil.
Like the one time Renegade had stolen a piece of tech from Wayne Enterprises.
He winced. Renegade had won back then, but if they had two more operatives working with them now? The fight would be harder.
He quickly pulled up profiles of the two unknown superheros.
Starfire, an alien from Tamaran. She could shoot starbolts and had laser eyes. How fun. Her strength appeared to be stronger than a human’s, and she was fairly attractive in appearance. Renegade wondered how he had never seen her before. Couldn't recognize her at all.
He moved on to Robin next, before abruptly halting. His fingers hovered above the keyboard as he looked up at the screen, starstruck.
He was like—99.9% sure this Robin dude was him.
Even though he was wearing a mask in the photos, the similarities were uncanny. The hair, the mouth, the nose…
And the outfit matched the exact one that had been in the closet from this morning.
Why did I wake up as Robin? Am I Robin? But then what are these memories? I was raised by Slade. I’m Renegade. Not a hero, just a mercenary in training.
…Aren’t I?
Renegade didn't know what possessed him, but he suddenly felt the urge—the need—to look up Slade on the Titan computer.
And surprisingly, there was a file. Slade was there, his black and orange mask on. The profile seemed to not know his full-name, and used Slade instead of his alias, Deathstroke.
No information about an apprentice showed up.
Feeling lost, the teenager looked up Renegade.
No results found.
What was happening? Why couldn’t he remember all this? Was he Robin? But there was no way—
A thought hit him suddenly. Was he…in a different dimension? But how? And how was there a world where Richard became a hero instead of a mercenary?
The boy grimaced. He needed answers. He needed—
He needed to see Slade again. His father again.
Someone who was apparently his enemy now.
But wait. If Slade didn't take him in, then who did?
About to search for answers, the teenager heard footsteps approaching from behind. Multiple of them, actually. Shoot. He hastily closed down any windows he was on, turning off the monitor. He picked up the bo staff, condensing it and putting it in his pocket as he sat on the nearby sofa.
Okay, how hard could Robin be to impersonate? It was still Richard Grayson, right?
He turned around, trying to play it casual, as Beast Boy and Cyborg came into view.
“Good morning, Robin!” The green one yelled, before jumping onto the couch. “Whatcha doin?”
Renegade waved his hand in the air. “Oh, you know. Working on a case.”
Cyborg, who was making his way to the kitchen, raised an eyebrow at that. “Which one? We took down Cinderblock last night.”
Renegade blinked. Who the hell is Cinderblock?
“I just worked on an old one, that's all," he replied.
Beast Boy transformed into a cat, licking his paws leisurely. “Who? Should we watch out for them?”
Renegade frowned. Why did they care so much about what Robin did? Was he the leader? He hadn’t had enough time to read the entire profile. “Uh…I was just looking over my stuff about Slade.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as Beast Boy had instantly turned back to a human. Cyborg, who had been in the middle of pouring cereal, almost dropped the box entirely.
“Robin, are you serious?” The half-robot asked. He put the box away, before stepping closer to the sofa. “We talked about this. This stuff with Slade isn’t healthy, man.”
Beast Boy nodded. “Yeah, it’s kinda weird how obsessed you are with him.”
Renegade blinked.
So…Robin was like Slade’s arch-nemesis? Huh.
It was hard to imagine his own father as his enemy. The man had taught him how to hunt, how to cook, helped him with his homework, and praised Renegade whenever he had the chance.
At first, Slade had been stubborn. He had been cruel at times, his prior family issues haunting his mind like a parasite. But throughout the years, the man had mellowed out. He had grown as a person, as a father, and was someone Renegade could look towards.
Just the other day, Richard had gone to the mall with Joey. They were on good terms now, the animosity only present between Slade and Adeline.
“So you couldn’t give up the idea of having an apprentice, huh?” The woman had stated, her military background evident in her vocal tone.
“Couldn’t raise any of your biological kids right, but you treat your adopted son just fine. What is wrong with you?”
“Richard is my son. He is my child just as much as Joey is.”
“And yet, you treat him better.”
“No, you just never let Joey visit. Haven’t you ever listened to him? He wants to visit, and I want to see him too. Richard knows sign language, and they seem to be having fun. Don't bring our kids into our issues.”
“Then stop making your kids your apprentices!”
Yeah, the situation was still…heavy. But it was fine to Renegade. He felt like he had a family, even if tension still resided on some sides.
He couldn’t imagine a world where Slade would be on the other side of the field—in front of Renegade instead of by his side.
That's why the whole situation right now seemed like a nightmare.
“I’m…obsessed with him?” Renegade asked, prodding for information.
Cyborg grunted, grabbing his bowl of cereal and sitting on the couch. “Yes, ever since the apprenticeship.”
Renegade almost broke his facade, his eyes widening in shock.
Wait, so even as a hero, Robin had been his apprentice? That didn't make sense. “Oh. Yeah, the apprenticeship. Right…at least I’m back with you guys now, right?”
Beast Boy nodded fervently. “Yup! Right where you should be. Titans Go!”
Renegade laughed. “Titans go, indeed.”
Cyborg looked at the boy skeptically. “Why aren’t you wearing your uniform? You usually do.”
“Oh,” Renegade started awkwardly, scratching his head. “Slipped my mind.”
“It slipped your mind to gel your hair too?” Beast Boy asked. “I’ve literally never seen it not gelled.”
Fuck.
“Well I was trying something new today. Does it look bad?”
Beast Boy shook his head. “Nah. Just different.”
Different.
Renegade rested his head on the sofa, his arms crossed. He distantly watched as Beast Boy and Cyborg dived into videogames.
Different, huh? He sighed mentally. What do I do now?
Without thinking, his fingers touched the tracker in his skin. He supposed it was useless now, that he was in another dimension.
Another dimension.
Stuck in a world without his Slade.
Does this world’s Slade have children? Have a divorced ex-wife who shot his eye out?
Has a side to him that cares for Richard? For Renegade?
Renegade traced the tracker in his skin. He couldn’t…imagine being a hero. He couldn’t imagine doing things without his father there to support him.
So what could he do now? The only thing he can do.
Guess I’ll try to find more answers.
More information.
…And I guess I can try my hand at finding Slade, too.
After all, what’s the worst that could happen?