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The sound of classical music floods his ears before he even steps out of the limousine.
A hand rests on the small of his back, a gentle reminder, and guides him into the gala. Cameras flash and candles burn. He isn't all that used to all this light, not after being kept secluded in the depths of his master's bunkers.
A lifetime ago he would have bathed in it. Relished in the presence of lights, cameras, and eyes. Eyes that were glued to his form and all that he is.
Now only one eye graces him with its attention.
He's led up the stairs and into the hall. His clean cut, fitted suit feels itchy after months of tight fitted uniforms and sportswear. He tries not to make his discomfort known. Here, he is meant to play nice.
He knows this is a test.
He can either play nice and hope his master rewards him for such behaviour, or, he makes a scene and hopes no one dies because of his impudence.
"What are you thinking?" His cold voice brushes against Dick's ear. He nearly startles away but he has nowhere to hide.
He glances up at his master. His goatee has been trimmed; a glass eye in place of the one he lost; and his hair slicked back and tied into a low ponytail. He looks an image out of a classic noir assassin plot.
The perfectly groomed killer.
Dick's eyes catch the single steel blue pupil baring into him. He keeps his voice quiet, unwanting of listening ears. "Wether or not an escape would be worth it."
"It wouldn't."
"I know," Dick replies coldly. Hope has dwindled and only acceptance washes through him. Acceptance of who he is and who Slade wants him to be.
Slade's hand trails up, resting on the nape of Dick's neck. His hand is warm and dominating. "Good boy."
Dick shivers at the praise and tries to brush off the touch, but he fails. He always fails. He can never rid himself of his master no matter how hard he tries. Slade's hand slides to his shoulder as he steers him over to Luthor.
"Wilson," Luthor greets as they approach. His smile is strained but nonetheless he greets them as he would any other guest. "I hope you enjoy the gala."
"I'm sure I will," Slade smiles as his thumb digs into Dick's shoulder and he winces. Luthor catches the action and Dick's response, and smirks.
A feeling of unease settles within Dick and he dreads the rest of the night. He knows tonight is another test. A test of loyalty that he can't be allowed to fail. Failure brings punishment, and not just for himself but his friends too.
Slade removes his hand but his touch lingers. Dick follows after him like the good dog he his. Slade takes a seat in the corner of the room. They have the best vantage point out of all guests. The event is evidently high profile, but so far Dick can't seem to understand why they are here.
It cannot simply be for his test, wether or not he would take the chance to escape if he had it.
"Master," Dick starts as he leans towards Slade at the table. Slade glances at him, permission enough to speak his mind. "Why are we he—?"
The words die in his throat as Bruce Wayne walks through the threshold.
Everything seems to stop. In that moment, time pauses and Dick feels something he hasn't felt in a while. Adrift on an endless sea with no land in sight. His instincts scream at him to run towards the safety Bruce—Batman—would be sure to bring him. But he can't.
Slade's hold is all consuming.
He feels it creeping along his skin like invisible chains. He is weighted down by Slade's will and unable to reach out. He slumps in his seat under the watchful eye of his master. He meets Slade's gaze head on.
"This is why we're here," Dick states. "Isn't it? You want to rub me in his face."
"I have no need to flaunt. Everyone here but one knows you are mine. And I mean to make him understand."
Dick is unable to control the gnawing anxiety budding within him. It pumps through him like poison and he begins to grow uneasy. He wills himself to ignore his former mentor as the bustle continues on around them. Blood rushes through his ears.
A warm hand settles on his thigh and he glances up at its owner.
"Mr Wayne," Slade's voice filters through the noise, breaking it apart as he does all. "I don't believe we have officially met."
Dick frowns. His mind spins in circles. He can't look up. He just can't do it. And only then, after he process Slade's words, does he notice the name card on his right. Bruce Wayne. He glares at Slade but his resolve weakens when he hears the voice only present in his nightmares.
"Mr Wilson. So delightful to meet you." Dick can hear the strain in his voice. His eyes are transfixed on Slade's hand as it leaves his leg to shake Bruce's hand. He pulls back. Dick doesn't watch him go. "This is Jason."
Dick's chair scrapes the floor as he pushes away from the table. All eyes follow him. He raises his head and a protest plays on his lips. Slade is cruel. This entire gala was a set up and he wants no part in it.
"I can't—“
"Manners, Richard." Slade interrupts and his voice soothes something inside of Dick. He pulls the chair forward and watches Slade for a sign of his mood. Slade isn't upset, instead he seems indifferent. Dick takes it as a good sign.
Dick clears his throat, "nice to meet you."
"Dick, I—" Bruce stops. Dick tentatively looks up at him and spots the boy at his side—Jason. Slade's expression shifts into something more unimpressed.
He expected more.
"May I go to the bathroom?" Dick asks, the words suddenly stumbling out of his mouth. Slade turns to him, gracing him with his whole attention. Bruce frowns.
"Five minutes." Is Dick's reprieve.
He abruptly stands up and rushes off to the secluded bathroom. He passes many guest who ogle at him. He doesn't know how much Slade dressed him up, or if he looks as though he hasn't seen the sun in years. Maybe they recognise him? Maybe they could help hi-
He splashes cold water onto his face and avoids looking in the mirror out of fear of what might be reflected back at him. He hears the door open and quick strides approach him. He glances in the mirror for a brief second and freezes.
"Dick," Bruce cautiously starts with a hand reaching out for him. It ghosts over his shoulder—right where Slade's hand was—and touches him as though he were figment of imagination. A cruel mirage set to disappear and leave him yearning. "I'm here. You're okay now."
A sob breaks out of him. He turns around, finding himself boxed in, and collapses into Bruce's strong hold. His former mentor's hands twitch as they rest on the fabric that separates them. Dick's body burns and his eyes begin to water.
"He won't let me go," Dick tells him. His mind races and he doesn't allow himself to forget that this is all part of Slade's test. This is a game for him. Amusement as Luthor said. "You don't know him. He's—"
"I know," Bruce shushes him with a hand in his hair. It pets him, smoothing his curls, and scratching at his scalp. "I know, Dick, but I'm here. I'm no ordinary man."
"Neither is he!" Dick protests as he tires to pull back but can't. Dick drops his head and continues, mumbling: "He's not normal. I don't even think he's human."
"Don't worry about him," Bruce tells him and Dick feels compelled to listen, but his master's voice ever present in his head convinces him otherwise. "Dick—"
Dick startles when he hears the door open. He squirms but Bruce's hold only tightens around him. If it's Slade then—
"Bruce," a young voice calls. One Dick has never heard before. He peers up at Bruce but the older man doesn't share his worries. "You said to tell you when—Hey!"
The door slams. Dick is unable to see what happened. His arms are pinned under Bruce's and he can't slip free. He does try. He couldn't not try, but Bruce doesn't make it easy for him. For as many nights he would dream of running into Bruce's arms, he needs to escape him.
"Richard."
A full body shiver runs along Dick. He tries harder now, making his escape attempt known to the man stood out of sight, but ever present. Bruce tightens his grip and turns to face Slade. The boy—Jason—is stood wearily at the door and routinely glances down the hallway. Bruce put him on lookout, Dick realises.
"Master, I—"
"Don't," Bruce growls, cutting him off. He isn't sure wether it was directed at him or not. Bruce isn't looking at him. No, he's currently engaged in a one-sided glare with Slade. "He is not a dog for you to boss around."
Slade crosses his arms over his chest. "You're right. He's more than a dog, he's my apprentice."
"Slade," Bruce sounds disgusted as he forces the name out through gritted teeth. "This has gone on for far too long. He's leaving here with me."
"Is he now?" Slade raises a brow. His gaze doesn't leave Bruce. Dick grows weary at the mercenary's confidence.
Jason falters and Dick curses Bruce for including such a child. He must be around the age Dick was when Slade took him. How long has it been? He glances back over to Slade for an answer.
As though he's reading Dick's thoughts, he states something that makes Dick shudder with emotions he can't discern.
"You already have yourself a new Robin. What use do you have with mine?"
If Bruce hadn't already deduced that Slade knows both their civilian and vigilante identities then he should now.
"He's such an obedient boy, is he not? No wonder you liked him so. Richard, kneel."
Slade's words work their effect on Dick. Trained to respond not only to his physical cues but the tone of his voice. Dick feels his knees go weak beneath him as all he knows tumbles to the ground. Bruce keeps him upright but Slade knows what it means. He always knows.
This was a set up.
"But I'm—" The words die in his throat. He isn't Robin, not anymore. Not since Slade came into his life and uprooted all Dick knew, forcing him to change.
"You're what?" Slade questions, his gaze finally returning to its rightful place. Silence washes over the room as Dick ruminates. The answer should be obvious, but to him it isn't.
"I'm—I'm. . ." The arms around him tighten, a reminder of their presence and whose arms he's in. Slade's eyes narrow—his glass eye throwing Dick off—as he wills the answer into Dick.
"I'm Dick Grayson." He states, voice hard and filled with confidence. "The last of the Flying Graysons. I'm Robin."
Bruce's arms loosen, relief flooding through him and causing him to relax, and therefore letting Dick go. Slade, on the other hand, completely changes. His demeanor becomes predatory and disapproving.
He's quick—too quick—quicker than a human should be when he lunges forward. Dick anticipates it, but Bruce doesn't. He has nowhere to go, to nowhere to hide. Not from his master.
Never from his master.
He's thrown across the room and Bruce leaps into action. Dick falters. He looks between both mentors and freezes. Jason is watching with eager eyes as he readies himself to jump into the fight.
Bruce seems to notice Dick's confliction and Jason's growing anticipation. Bruce punches Slade, but it does nothing to deter Dick's master. Slade glances at Dick, who becomes as still as a statue under his gaze. While Bruce takes the moment of serenity to check in on Jason, Slade takes advantage of Bruce's focus on the other boy to close in on Dick.
"You don't want to go back to him, little bird." Slade's voice worms its way into Dick's head and threatens to control him. His hand comes up to cup Dick's cheek. "He doesn't care for you, not anymore. He has a new bird now."
"That's not—"
"Don't listen to him, Dick!"
Slade spins, grabbing Dick and changing their positions so that he faces Bruce. Slade's left hand snakes around his abdomen while his right grips his chin. Dick catches Bruce's eyes.
Jason is at his side. Small, young Jason who has such bright eyes filled with childish wonder that Dick won't ever get back. Slade slides a thigh between Dick's legs as his hand wanders.
Bruce grits his teeth, "get your hands off him."
"Why?" Slade asks, a chuckle in his tone. "He doesn't mind. Do you, Richard?"
"I—I. . ." Dick finds himself at a loss for words.
He's used to Slade's hands, his touch, but that doesn't mean he wants it. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to fail either. He purses his lips and chooses not to answer.
Slade huffs, unimpressed by Dick's refusal to submit. He fists his hand in Dick's shirt and blazer and pulls. The fabric rips open and Dick gapes. Slade holds him in place and keeps his gaze pointed at Bruce. Bruce's face morphs into something of disgust as his eyes roam over Dick's exposed chest.
For a moment, he wishes he was else where, that Slade had kept him chained in his bunker, but unfortunately for him Slade is callous.
Their eyes drop down to stare at Slade's cruel preparation for today. He had collared Dick, but that wasn't all. Dick winces as Jason frowns at him. What right does some kid have to judge him?
Slade presses down on one of the marks he left behind and Dick cries out—trained to express sound rather than stifle it—and Bruce twitches in place. With Slade having the upper hand, Bruce is left frozen under Slade's thumb.
He catches his reflection out of the corner of his eyes and internally winces from the image reflected back at him. His face is flushed and his body is covered in bruises from training and Slade's sadistic sexual torture. They stand out, colour vibrant on his pale skin as the natural tan has long since faded from his time underground.
Dick is nothing but clay, a weapon to be wielded.
He squirms under the room's gaze and his breathing stutters. He feels the heavy weight of the room closing in on him. Slade's hold on him isn't particularly tight, in fact it's looser than his normal grips. All Dick has to do is shake him off.
And go where?
Dick has only one home now. A home that wouldn't be called a home, not by design, but by the person who keeps him there. He hasn't seen Bruce in months, hasn't lived with him for years. They are no different from strangers, estranged after Slade's cruel actions.
All it took was one moment. One moment to infect Dick's team. And in that moment, Dick became Slade's. He lost all that he once had and gained nothing in return.
The fight leaves his body.
The collar hangs heavy around his neck. Ownership settles deeper into Dick's bones. With every passing day, Dick feels a part of himself falling out of his grasp until nothing is left but Slade's image.
"Good boy," Slade whispers, his warm breath tickling Dick's ear as his tone lights up sparks within in Dick. "My apprentice and I should be getting back to the gala."
Bruce grimaces as Slade leisurely strolls out of the bathroom.
And Dick follows.
He leaves Bruce behind. Slade's hand settles on the small of his back as he smiles down at Dick. He leans into Slade's touch.
This is how it should be.