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“…Can I go talk to him? Please?"
Bruce sighed at that, his fingers pausing on his keyboard. He powered off his computer as he spun around in his office chair, the wheels squeaking quietly.
They were both in Bruce’s office right now, as Dick wasn’t trusted to be alone. Not anymore.
Bruce scanned the boy in front of him, who was curled up on a cushioned chair all alone by himself.
Dick’s feet were tucked close to his body, and his arms were wrapped around them. He held Bruce’s gaze for a second, before wincing and turning away as if he had been burned. He then looked down at his nails, anxiously picking at his already bloody cuticles.
Bruce didn't know what to do.
Batman didn’t know what to do.
It had been only a few days ago, when he had gotten a call from Dick. Bruce had been pleasantly surprised at the time to finally hear word from his ward. Alfred had been demanding the boy to come visit or call, so Bruce had thought that the time had finally arrived. He quickly suited up as Batman to answer the call, ready to hear whatever Dick had to say. Ready for Dick to ask him for help or come back home.
He had been mistaken.
Well, not completely mistaken. Dick was home now, after all.
But the Teen Titans had been the ones on the other end of that line. The Teen Titans without their leader.
They had looked at each other with tearful eyes, exchanging reports to Batman with pure horror on their faces. They said that Robin was hallucinating. That they couldn’t find the reason why. That it wasn’t due to a drug, chemical dust, or magic. It was just there, haunting Robin so much that the boy couldn’t even sleep. They were starting to suspect it was something psychological, and that they no longer knew what to do to help him.
Batman arrived at the tower as fast as he could. He knew that Dick still held resentment towards him, but this couldn’t be ignored. His ward needed help. His son needed help. Even if Dick refused to go back home with him, Batman would ensure that he would go anyway. The Titans were no longer equipped to help him now.
But what he didn’t expect though, was the way that Dick—Robin—had given up without a fight.
Robin had been a mess. His suit was tattered, his cape long gone, and his eyes were a burning red as if he had rubbed at them for too long. His gloves were also discarded, his nails chipped and his skin littered in nauseating purple bruises.
When they had first reunited, Robin had only whispered one thing:
“…Are you real?”
Batman felt sick to his stomach.
He picked up his ward, allowing the boy to lean on him as they walked out of his now destroyed bedroom.
“Shut up,” the teenager groaned.
Batman looked down at him, his cowl covering his widened eyes.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” Robin barked. “I was talking about him.”
Slade.
And it wouldn’t be the last time Batman would hear that name as he took Robin back home.
Before the two had left, the Teen Titans had filled Batman in on everything. What they knew about Slade. The short apprenticeship the two shared. The way Slade had died and fell into a pit of lava.
Cyborg, however, had admitted that Robin still thought Slade was alive. They had never recovered Slade’s body, so their leader kept clinging onto Slade’s mask and the remnants of what was left of him.
They had believed that his mask held a chemical dust that caused the hallucinations, but now, a week later, the visions still persist. Robin was still violent, throwing himself into danger and going into outbursts. He would scream, cry, yell, and lunge at anyone or anything.
Robin had been there the whole time the Titans talked about this, his eyes clearly not present in the discussion. Instead, they were looking into the distance. Looking at something that seemed to fascinate him as much as it annoyed him.
Looking at someone.
At the time, Batman had dutifully nodded, holding onto each and every word and remembering it. He couldn’t show his concern to the other teenagers, as they had needed a hero. Something to have hope towards. Something to ease their pain of being unable to help their own leader.
But now, in the manor, Bruce could only have concern painted on his face as he stared at Dick, the boy breathing far more heavily than he should be.
Bruce stood up from his chair, walking over to sit on the seat in front of Dick. He sat down on the cushion, settling into the silence. Dick said nothing, so Bruce had to speak up first.
“Chum. We’ve talked about this already, haven’t we?”
Dick rustled restlessly in his seat. He was practically squirming under Bruce’s eyes.
“I…I know. I know, B.” His blue eyes lacked their usual light as he talked, staring at the floor tiles beneath. “But I want to. I can’t stop thinking about him—“ he winced. Dick curled up even closer on himself.
“He’s my master,” he whispered.
Bruce’s breath hitched at that.
It was unnerving to see Dick act like this. The apprenticeship had left a scar on him, one that wouldn't quite heal completely.
Sometimes, during his current stay at the manor, Bruce would catch the teenager as he fell to his knees, rambling apologies with his quivering lips. Other times, Bruce would spot Dick training by himself relentlessly while dodging invisible hits from the air.
Once, Bruce had even caught the boy trashing random items in his room. When asked about the reason why, Dick had stated that he couldn’t have anything orange anymore. Then, the color red came next. Green. Yellow.
Dick had said that he couldn’t be Robin anymore.
That he didn’t deserve it. That Slade was right about him, and that Slade knew him the most.
While Bruce had tried to lessen the damage, a hallucinating, crying, acrobatic teenager was pretty hard to handle. The only thing that came out fully unscathed was the Flying Graysons poster, which Dick had been grateful for once he had come back to his senses a few hours later.
God, if Slade weren’t already dead, Bruce might’ve killed him himself. Might have.
Bruce sighed again, trying his best to not lose his temper. “Dick, stop picking at your cuticles. You’re getting blood all over the seat, and you’re hurting yourself.
The teenager blinked before looking down. He smeared the blood, a poor attempt at wiping it away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t,” Bruce replied slowly. “I just—“ he paused, his frustration starting to slip into his words. “I just don’t know what to do. How to help you. We’ve run tests. Asked professionals. We’ve even been taking you to therapy constantly, and yet we have absolutely no idea what’s happened to you!” His voice thundered.
Dick reacted instantly. Of course he did. His eyes couldn’t meet Bruce’s as he mumbled a string of apologies.
“I’m sorry…I really am,” he started, his voice weak. “I don’t know why this is happening. Believe me. I want to change! I do! But I can’t,” Dick hiccuped, tears threatening to fall once again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry.”
Bruce reached out for Dick’s hand, their fingers intertwining. He needed to backtrack.
“Chum—I’m sorry for raising my voice, okay? I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to take out my anger on you. None of this is your fault. It’s all Slade’s. We will get through this together, no matter how long it takes. Do you hear me?”
Dick nodded slowly, sniffing his nose.
“Dick, look at me.”
The boy raised his head, meeting Bruce’s gaze.
Bruce took a deep breath as he clenched harder on Dick’s hand. “Good. You’re doing good, chum. Do you want to talk about it? Tell me so I can understand. Why do you want to talk to Slade so much?”
Dick hesitated. “I don’t know…I just feel like I should. Whenever I see him, I feel like I need to report something. Talk about something.”
Bruce’s eyes wavered. “Whenever you see him? Is he here right now?”
Silence flooded the room for a moment. Then, Dick slowly raised his hand into the air. He pointed at Bruce and—
“He’s standing behind you right now.”
Bruce felt chills go down his spine.
“So,” the man started, trying to comprehend what Dick was saying. “Is he…watching us? Listening to us?”
The boy nodded. “I feel like I need to invite him in… or something.” He winced. “I’m sorry, I must be acting so weird right now. That’s why the Titans gave me away—“
“Don’t say that,” Bruce grimaced. “Don’t ever say that they gave you away. They only want you to recover, and will happily take you back once you do.”
“But Slade would have taken me back regardless. Even if I was broken. He would have never given me away on his own accord like they did.”
Bruce didn't know what to say to that.
He didn’t even know why Dick was starting to defend his own captor.
Did he really feel that way? The thought alone made Bruce’s chest tighten. Being wanted wasn’t the same as being loved.
Bruce was about to open his mouth and stumble out a random reply when Dick hastily moved. The boy flinched, letting go of Bruce’s hand and covering his ears with his palms.
At Bruce’s confused expression, Dick hesitantly spoke once again. “He’s laughing now. Loudly. Saying that only he and I understand each other the most,” he admitted with a grimace.
Bruce turned around, wishing he saw what Dick saw. His fists tightened, hoping he could strangle the man who was supposedly standing right behind him.
It was unfortunate that Bruce only saw nothing.
“Dick, you don’t have to listen to him. You know that, right? His opinion does not matter.”
Dick’s hands lowered from his ears. “I…know that. But I can’t help it.”
Bruce thought for a moment. “Have you ever tried ignoring him?”
“Yes, but it never lasts long. He gets all up in my face, and starts saying mean things.”
“Mean things like…?”
“Saying that my parents would be disappointed at what I became. Saying that you would be disappointed in me.”
Dick stilled for a second.
“And sometimes…I find myself believing it. When it really feels that way.”
His ward sometimes…felt that way?
Bruce stood up from his seat, beckoning Dick to follow as he approached the office door. Dick, meanwhile, blinked in confusion.
“Where are you going?”
“We are going to lock Slade in this room and leave him behind.”
Dick’s eyes widened, the blue finally starting to spark like how it used to.
“What?”
“The Titans told me you mainly spent your time in the tower by yourself as you fought your hallucinations. You were secluded in your own bedroom, then the medical bay, and then in a straitjacket after leaving Beast Boy unconscious.”
Bruce sighed, his hand hovering over the door knob. “Those weren’t wrong choices, but they left you…vulnerable. And I say that we should leave Slade and move on without him. Every time you see him from now on, just leave the room.”
“Just…leave?” Dick asked, as if the concept was extremely foreign.
That must have been a long, painful week trapped in the tower.
“Yup. Chum, when’s the last time you went outside? We can go to that fast food place you used to like when you were younger.”
“You’re…just gonna let me go outside? In public?” Dick stood up from his seat, walking towards Bruce. “Why? I could hurt someone. What if I see him again? That’s so dangerous—“
“Well, I don’t think Slade likes fast food, does he?” Bruce asked.
Dick blinked for a second, taken aback by the sudden question.
Then, he doubled over and laughed.
Laughed.
For the first time in what Bruce realized felt like forever.
Dick wiped a tear out of his eye as he regained his composure. “Yeah—yeah, you’re right. He always hated fast food. He ate salads and steak, and he drank the expensive tea Wintergreen bought us. When I told him I wanted pizza once, he freaked out.”
Bruce had many questions. Why does Dick know Slade’s eating preferences? Who’s Wintergreen? Did Dick seriously ask his own captor for pizza once during the apprenticeship?
But those questions could be saved for later. Right now, all Bruce cared about was his ward. His son.
His everything.
He swung the door open, gesturing outside. “Shall we go, then? Let’s buy the greasiest burger in Gotham.”
Dick giggled, walking out of the room. “Okay. Let’s scare Slade away with the power of Gotham’s unregulated health standards.”
Bruce knew that this moment of peace wouldn’t last long. He knew that things would revert to how they were before.
He followed Dick out the door, closing it gently.
Bruce knew that in a few hours, Dick would probably start fighting the air again. Inflicting pain upon himself again.
He waited for a moment, looking at Dick warily. “Do you still see him? Or did we just slam the door in his face?”
It felt like a stab to Bruce’s chest whenever he saw Dick like that.
“B, do you seriously consider that to be a slam?” Dick asked, his eyes narrowed. “That was nothing!”
But…
“Fine then,” Bruce forfeited. “You slam the door yourself.”
Little by little…
“Gladly!” Dick smiled, opening the door once again. He peered inside, staring at something. Someone.
Then, he slammed the door so hard the sound reverberated throughout the manor.
Bruce snorted. “Showy, much?”
Dick grinned as he met Bruce’s face. “I was born a performer. You of all people should know that.”
“That’s true,” Bruce replied, holding Dick’s hand as they left Slade behind. “To me, you’ve always shined the most.”
Dick elbowed Bruce’s side. “B, you’re such a sap! Did you miss me that much when I was with the Titans?”
“Hn,” Bruce grunted. “Maybe I did.”
Dick laughed at that, his face brightening. “I missed you too, B.” His voice softened. “Sorry the circumstances of us reuniting ended up this way. I would’ve come home sooner.”
Bruce smiled.
“You don’t need to be sorry. You never need to be, chum. I will accept you no matter what. I will always be here for you.”
Bruce found himself believing that things would be alright after all.