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If he was being honest, it was really his fault for not predicting Slade would be in a mood. Enough time with the man had them moving in a rhythm that cruelly mirrored his days as Robin by Batman’s side.
It started like this, Dick forced himself out of bed as he did every morning. When he arrived in the sad thing that Slade referred to as a dining room, he was met not with food, but with a file. Without asking any questions, Dick scanned the information inside, his heart dropping when he did.
“You accepted this already?”
Slade gave a slight hum instead of an answer. When Dick placed the file down, a plate of plain eggs and toast was placed in front of him. His stomach was rolling too hard to even consider choking it down.
Inside the file was a simple request. The theft of a priceless painting from where it was being displayed. Dick’s eyes glazed over the sob story of how it had been stolen from the client’s family as he had learned to do more and more often, quickly learning that it was just a way for selfish people to justify their bad actions.
The problem was not the job itself, but rather where the job was.
Gotham Museum.
The words repeated in his head over and over again. Normally, Slade didn’t take jobs in Gotham. Even before he’d taken Dick, he tried not to get involved with Batman. Now, when he actually had a more solid reason than convenience to stay away, he suddenly chose to visit? It wasn’t like the money was too good to pass up, and even then, Slade had turned down plenty of jobs that would have put a dent in even Bruce’s wallet.
There were only so many conclusions that could be drawn. Dick was not brave enough to voice any of them.
The air in Gotham was the same as it always was, thick with pollution and smog. Dick couldn’t help but glance at the night sky and disappoint himself with the lack of stars. Some of the safehouses Slade had kept him trapped in had a wonderful view of the night sky, though the small obstructions like bars and thick metal locks always kept him from fully enjoying the view.
Beneath the brief sense of nostalgia was a shameful amount of fear. In the days since he’d first read the mission brief, Slade’s motives for taking the job had become no clearer. At first, he’d thought it was a test to simply gauge his reaction which was dismissed when they began actual prep on the plan. That work had also thrown out several other theories while sparking some new ones. In the end, Dick was left with a shamefully strong anxiety instead of answers
Dick slipped through the museum’s security with a type of grace that would make Catwoman proud. Though, if Salena were to see him now, she’d have her fair share of questions which would make Slade-
With a deep breath, Dick attempted to calm himself. He would not run into Salena, her whereabouts were accounted for. Similarly, Batman was busy on the other side of the city, dealing with whatever diversion Slade was causing. That part of the plan shook Dick’s confidence in some of his theories, not sure if it implied that he didn’t think Dick could do the job if Batman were a factor or if he just didn’t trust his own work enough.
He dismissed the last idea, finding it too ridiculous to be true. Slade was sure of himself at all times. If he brought Dick to Gotham, it was because he knew he had enough leverage to stop him from running.
In the heart of the museum, Dick found the contracted painting. It was smaller than he expected, despite reading the dimensions in the file. It reminded him of his trip to the Louvre where he saw the Mona Lisa in person for the first time. It also made his job easier.
Dick walked towards the painting, only to stop when a batarang stuck into the ground near his foot. He silently scolded himself for the way his heart sank before he realized with a dawning horror that it was not a batarang that was sticking out of the museum floor. Batarangs were neither red nor bird shaped.
“Can’t you read?” A young voice called out from behind. Dick turned and saw a boy in a costume. His costume, recognizable even in the shadows where he hid. It was Robin, but not, because he was Robin. That wasn’t- Bruce couldn’t just give his suit away and replace him with some kid… Except, there was a boy wearing his suit. Using his equipment. The bright yellow R displayed proudly made his chest feel tight. “Museum’s closed.”
“What better time to rob it?” Dick tried to joke. His voice was too shaky to come off as lighthearted.
“Are you nervous or something? Good, you should be,” The boy looked small, even more so as he stepped into what little light there was. “Because Robin’s here to kick your ass!”
Dick looked at the child, unsure of what to do. He wanted to move, to run, to scream. His body wouldn’t cooperate, doing absolutely none of the above for him. It wasn’t until the kid was running at him that Dick found himself moving.
The first thing he noted about his fighting was how sloppy it was. He had more form than a regular child, but nothing that spoke of even months of intense training.
Had Bruce only recently come across him? Did that mean he’d given up hope of finding Dick alive? It suddenly dawned on him why Slade had taken this job.
Dick did his best to evade, which frustrated the kid. His body felt like it was on auto-pilot as he stepped out of the way of attacks. It brought him back to his sessions with Slade, to the days where he couldn’t land a single hit on him. Where everything he did land was returned with a vicious brutality.
Maybe that’s why he grabbed the kid’s arm when he got too close. It wasn’t a conscious action. Honestly, no part of the fight had been, but he might have blacked out when he saw frustration melt into fear.
He didn’t remember exactly how he hurt him. He barely remembered him screaming. All he knew for certain was that he did not stay for long after.
Dick sat on hard gravel. His back was pressed against an uncomfortably cold metal vent while his knees dug into his chest.
He’d left the museum empty handed, and that frightened him more than it should.
Logically, Dick knew he should have already gone so far underground that Slade would never see him again. Maybe make his way to the Batcave or one of Bruce’s safehouses around the city. Shame and self-hatred were what kept him rooted to his spot.
Dick laid his head back against the vent behind him. He looked up at the dull, empty sky, and waited. He thought, distantly, about the time he’d hidden on this same rooftop after a fight with Bruce. He didn’t remember what it had been about, only how angry he’d been at the time. How stupid he was for not understanding how good he had it.
It wasn’t long before heavy boots landed on the roof. Dick struggled to hear them over his own racing heart. There were only two people who could possibly be approaching, and Dick wasn’t sure who he dreaded more.
“You did well tonight,” Dick found the slightest sense of relief when he heard a familiar low drawl. “Much better than anticipated.”
“This was never about the painting,” Dick’s voice sounded strained to his own ears. He looked down at the large shadow that loomed over him, but not at the man casting it. “You wanted me to meet him.”
“I thought you deserved to know.”
If that was true, he would have just told him. He didn’t want Dick to simply know that a second Robin existed, he wanted him to be too blindsided to sort out his feelings. It was just another manipulation in a long series, but he’d be a liar if he claimed it didn’t work.
“You took a big gamble tonight.”
“Did I?”
“There’s nothing stopping me from running to Batman.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“Then go,” Dick flinched, then curled further into himself. “If you’re so certain he’ll take you back when he’s found a newer model, then by all means, I won’t stop you.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
Dick bit his tongue before he could lash out. He wished he could yell at Slade, demand he stop being so fucking frustrating and just talk to him like a normal person instead of answering every statement with a question.
“You want me to stop you, don’t you?” Slade kneeled down beside Dick. He grabbed his face and forced him to look at him. Even so, Dick avoided eye contact. “Now that you know the Bat’s discarded you, you’re afraid I’ll do the same.”
It wasn’t true. At least, he thought it wasn’t. He also thought Bruce would hold out hope. Now he’s replaced him.
“Do you hate him?”
Dick wasn’t sure which one he was referring to. He stayed silent, allowing Slade to continue.
“His name is Jason Todd. He was adopted by Bruce Wayne six months ago.”
Adopted. The word bounced around in his head. Bruce had adopted a child. The thought of it made him feel sick, not with envy but something else that he couldn’t quite name.
He hadn’t wanted another father when Bruce took him in. Years had not softened his stance on that, he didn’t think it ever would, but he’d never considered the other end of it.
Had Bruce been looking for a son this whole time? The thought of Dick denying him something so important brought with it a fresh wave of guilt.
“I think I broke his arm,” Dick admitted. He finally forced himself to look at Slade, as though doing so would absolve him of his sins. “I wasn’t thinking-”
“If Wayne wanted to keep his son in one piece,” The word son hit like a punch to the face. “He shouldn’t have let him challenge my apprentice.”
There was a hint of pride in Slade’s voice that Dick quickly latched on to. He hadn’t realized until now just how hungry he’d gotten for Slade’s praise.
Slade’s grip loosened into something more gentle. It was the first non-violent touch he’d received in a long time. Dick stopped himself from leaning into it. Instead, he closed his eyes, breaking the moment as Slade pulled away.
“Stand up,” He commanded. With shaky legs, Dick did as he was told. Any thoughts he’d had before of running off into the night felt so distant now. So impossible. “I’m taking you home.”
Home. The word sparked something almost warm in his chest. He chased away the aching memories of the Tower and Manor with quiet breakfasts and the thrill of training. “...Yes Master.”
It almost sounded nice when he thought about it like that.