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It's laughing at him. The blink blink blink of that damned red light. Even in the pitch black cell, all he can see is that light blinking on and off on and off.
When he first got here- Dick isn't exactly sure how long it's been, he expected Slade to use all forms of horrible torture to get Dick to submit. He expected physical pain to be in his life constantly. He was prepared for that. What he would have never imagined being the thing to get to him, though, was cameras.
They're everywhere, all over the haunt. Dick can't go a single moment without those cameras following his every move. Slade made them as obvious as possible, loud whirring motors and red blinking lights. Dick doesn't want to admit it's getting to him.
At first he tried to ignore it, it seemed easy enough in the beginning. He had other things to worry about. His friends' lives were on the line after all. But soon it became impossible to ignore.
Slade must have known it would eat away at Dick. Some days Slade would casually point out what he saw on the cameras. How restless he was that night, how he should work on his sleep. And God- the idea of Slade watching him while he slept was so sickening it just made him want to vomit.
He was a performer once- he should be used to eyes on him. He loved the attention when he was an acrobat. He wore a bright red and green suit as Robin to keep the eyes on him. Ever since he left the shadows of Gotham he could proudly smile and wave on live TV with the news reporters. So why? Why does this bother him?
Every little thing started to get to him. If his brush wasn't where he left it; if he bumped into a corner, the horrible creaking of gears that could be heard from every inch of the haunt. It's all exhausting. And it's because he knows Slade sees it all.
He tried to destroy the camera in his room once. That resulted in the worst beating Slade had ever given him. Slade lectured Dick on how rude it was for an apprentice to break his master's things. He forced Dick to apologize. And when he tried to fall back asleep the next night, the red light was back once again.
And so even now, Dick just stares at the light. He hopes that the rhythmic pulse of it could lull him to sleep, but he knows he's just being naive.
Is Slade watching him now? Is he storing these for his own sick pleasure? What could he possibly be doing with them? These questions just stress him out even more. He rolls over on his obnoxiously firm bed, keeping his back to the camera as he slowly falls asleep.
The next morning, Dick is eating silently across the table from Slade, who simply watches with a curious eye. As if this is the most interesting movie the man has ever watched. It's hard to tell his expression through the orange-clad Slade mask that he has never taken off. Who knows? Under that mask the man could be wearing a creepy grin. Maybe an evil and devilish smirk. Like the Grinch or something.
Dick almost snorts at the thought, but he successfully keeps his face neutral as he chews on the flavorless sludge. Nutritious, he knows, but gross nonetheless.
Dick sighs, quietly placing the spoon on the table and looking at Slade.
“Don't you think the cameras are a little unnecessary, Slade?” It was meant to be a taunt, a jab, something Robin was typically good at. It didn't come out that way. It came out exhausted, just one step away from broken.
He never wanted to mention them. Mentioning them is an admission that they're bothering him, that it really is getting to him. But… Some part of him is desperately hoping something will change.
“You can't expect me to trust you so soon.” Slade says flatly. “They'll be removed in time. If you keep being good, that is.”
Dick wants to growl. Being good. Like a dog who needs to be trained and supervised.
To stop himself from arguing more, he grabs his spoon in a tight fist and starts to eat once again. The breakfast stage of their arrangement won't last much longer. He needs the energy for the hours of training coming ahead.
“The Titans seem to be doing well without you.”
“Shut up.” He spits between bites.
Slade clicks his tongue in amusement. “Robin, you know better than to speak to me that way.” His masked face tilts slightly to the side. “I'll allow it just this once. I know it's a sensitive topic for you… Do you know how long you’ve been here?”
And no, he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. Slade knows that.
“A month.” Slade’s voice comes out dull. “It must be hard, boy. Knowing they abandoned you, they’re not coming for you.” Slade leans forward with a narrowed eye. “It’s okay,” he says in a hushed whisper, like the tone used to comfort a crying child. “I’ll be here for you.”
Dick’s stomach lurched, nausea overcoming all of his senses. All Dick wants to do is shout and scream, start fighting Slade and try to spoon out his other eye. Instead he keeps it together, though his nostrils flare angrily as he breathes. He can imagine the smug face Slade is proudly wearing.
But isn't that what he wants? He doesn't want the Titans to struggle without him. But… the idea that they've moved on already hurts more than he would ever want to admit. Slade's getting in his head. He knows that. He knows better. But that eye looks at him with such confidence and pride that somewhere deep down he almost believes the man. The same eye that watches him when he walks down the halls, when he trains, and when he sleeps.
Maybe Slade got the memo that he wasn't going to get a verbal reaction from Dick, or maybe he realized that what he said got more to him than Dick lets on. But Slade just continued to silently watch him until it was time for training.
The alcohol stings the cuts on his knuckles and Dick flinches back, hissing with clenched teeth. Never in his life would he have ever believed that a bathroom would be his safe space. It's dingy, and the creaking gears can still be heard in here to drive him crazy. But Slade can't see him. That’s all that matters.
Slade never put cameras in his bathroom, and for that Dick is eternally grateful. Though, he wouldn't put it past Slade to do it one day. Maybe if Dick is “bad.”
But for now he can breathe, he can wash away the blood until the water is stained in a light orange-red hue. It swirled and stained the water. It was almost mesmerizing to look at.
He looks up at his reflection. Honestly he wishes he hadn't. He's horribly dirty looking. His hair is tousled up in a black mess. Bruises peeked out from every inch of his skin. His fingers traced over the mask Slade provided. The special glue used to make the mask stick has started to irritate his skin, it itches underneath.
And as Dick sees himself, he can't help but wonder what's so interesting that Slade has to see. Lurching paranoia starts to creep in, wondering if Slade was somehow watching now. He would laugh, seeing his apprentice so distraught over nothing.
It's nothing.
Bruce trained Dick to survive the worst tortures. He's been shot and beaten and shocked and everything under the damn sun. Why is this what's breaking him?
His fingers clench tightly against the marble countertop. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, some slipped through and dissolved the already worn down glue until more of his mask could slip off.
What would it matter? Slade has called him Richard on multiple occasions, and although Slade doesn't boast in his face about Dick's identity, they both know that he could if he wanted to. He took a deep breath in, trying to soothe his aching heart with the cool air filling his lungs. He pulls his mask off and gently places it beside the mirror. Treating it as if it were the most precious thing on earth.
In any other scenario, it would be.
He left the bathroom and walked down the orange lit halls. Winding paths with concrete walls, cameras at every other step. At this point he can't be bothered to tense up when he hears the cameras follow his movements. That primal instinct of being watched, all encompassing and terrifying. A feeling he's all too familiar with now. The hairs on the back of his neck still stick up even if he tries to ignore the all-seeing eye on him.
He makes it to his door. He hovers in front of it, waiting for it to open. Slade has to manually open and close it. It's the only way to properly cage a Robin. At least, that's what Slade had said.
The door opens with a mechanical hiss. He keeps his head down as his eyes raise to glare at the camera from behind his hair. Even through the black locs he can still see the blinking light, and he's sure Slade could see his death glare from wherever he's watching from.
The second the door closed there was a metallic click that rang from inside. Even though he knows it's stupid, he tests if the door would open.
It did not.
He throws himself carelessly onto his bed, hearing a high pitch creak from the springs. It was a welcome change for his ears… until it was silent once again. And all Dick could hear now was the faint, distant hum of machinery and the clanking of gears from the main room of the haunt.
Dick groans and shuffles farther into his bed, kicking his boots off and not caring where they landed. He presses his face into his thin pillow, trying to ignore the gears and the sound of the camera still following him.
A few seconds later, the lights in his room completely shut off. Leaving him in a pitch black room for the foreseeable future. Until Slade decides to turn the lights on and let him out. Some days he wonders if Slade would leave him to rot in this room. Never let him out. Never let him leave. Watch, record, and document Robin's slow and agonizing death. Slade seems like the kind of weirdo to get some enjoyment out of that.
His room back at the tower, back home, was never this dark. There was a huge window beside his bed giving him a beautiful view of the California sea and glowing city. He would hear Beast Boy and Cyborg bickering over their video games all throughout the night. It was annoying, but at least it was comfortable.
The manor was much quieter, but never deathly silent. From the lonely mansion he could hear crickets, wind blowing leaves, cars, all of it felt natural. Sometimes he could hear Alfred’s footsteps through the halls. Alfred was the only man in the world who could keep up with Dick and Bruce’s horrible sleep schedules.
Dick turns over on his bed, feeling the ache in his bones, and stares up toward the ceiling. He crosses his arms over his chest almost as if he were in a casket. He thought it would feel relaxing to feel his hands rise and fall with his chest. In the corner of his eye he still sees that taunting blink. His hands tighten into his shirt, but he tries to pay no mind to the watchful eye.
God dammit, he realizes he can't even distract himself anymore without thinking of Slade. More often than not he finds himself completely unable to stop thinking of the man. Even when he's not there, he can practically see the man leaning over a desk, fixated on a screen with his fingers laced under his chin. He’s smiling, probably. Grinning widely while watching his apprentice squirm over such little things.
Those tears from earlier begin to leak once again. At this point he's not sure if it even matters holding it back anymore. He has nobody else but himself and Slade. And now he's starting to think he himself is the unreliable choice of the two.
His face turns to the side, he bites his bottom lip hard to give himself anything else to think about. He should have known Slade would be good at this, he was in Dick's mind long before he fell for this trap. He spent countless sleepless nights trying to find Slade, staring at pictures of the man to try and track him down. The cryptic clues and sending troubles his way. All tests.
Well, now the tables have turned. Dick breaks out into something of a hysterical laugh before it's quickly overshadowed by a loud sob. He curls to his side, pressing a hand to the side of his face that the camera would see. He cries more when he imagines that Slade is seeing this, the stress of him watching Dick cry makes it increase tenfold.
Slade must think he's going crazy. Maybe Slade is enjoying this. This is what he wanted right? He wants to see Dick vulnerable. He wants to see Robin break.
He weakly grabs at his thin blanket and completely covers himself with it, smothering him. Even when it was difficult to breathe, he didn't dare surface for oxygen. Because Slade would see. He couldn't let Slade see his face as he cried.