Forgotten Bonds

Sixteen - Weakness Made Strong

October 31st, 2008. Friday, 8:00 am. 

Dick lived in constant fear now. It wasn't one of pain or getting hit across the face. No, it was one of being forced to learn how to use a gun – or anything to do with the horrible things. 

Luckily, Slade hadn't mentioned guns all week since the previous attempt at it. 

But Dick did not want to learn how to use one. He didn't even want to touch the freaking things. He didn't want to remember. He couldn't remember – he refused to. But the moment he got near those unfeeling metal objects his entire body began to panic. Every part of his entire being rejected the things. 

If only he had his mask. Robin could face it as if it were an enemy: take it down with no mercy. But without the mask, his blue eyes saw the object in its unfiltered, tainted purity. It frightened him to no end. 

Dick noticed something different with Slade as well. While he was still the task master, there was something unusual about him. The routine had been lessened up a bit. Dick found himself with an extra hour of free time every day. He also noticed that Slade was more cordial with him – almost to the point of being pleasant, even. 

But Dick still didn't trust him. It didn't matter how much effort Slade put into trying to be nicer or whatever – the man just wasn't trustworthy. He had actually apologized for beating Dick, too. Yet, there was no way he could believe that had been sincere. But as a week passed by, Dick noticed that Slade really was changing his way in dealing with him. 

The man held his temper quite a bit. Dick had tried to see how far the man could go, trying to test his limits. He really didn't think the man would hold back if he snapped. If he did, then Dick would just prove he was a liar. But when Dick did push the man's limits, he was never struck across the face or punched. 

No, he only received that embarrassing clout across the backside. 

He had pushed the man to that point a few times this week. It completely confused Dick. He didn't do anything to outright disobey the man, though; knowing full well what that led to. The mere knowledge that the man had not once but twice taken him over his knees was enough to put Dick into pure mortification. So, he didn't have another awkward episode since last week. He did not need to experience the man's new preferred way of discipline again. 

But he knew it was only a matter of time. The man would try again and Dick would refuse, only to get yet another one of those. But at that point, it didn't matter. Dick would never touch those things. Even if he had endure torture, he just would not touch a gun. 

But life was cruel – totally and completely cruel to Dick. 

And it was about to get even crueler. 

Dick was following Slade down the stairs into the basement after breakfast that morning. Slade had told him they were changing up the schedule today. Whenever Slade did that, it always made Dick feel uneasy. Slade's rigid schedule was the only consistency that the man had for him; and Dick depended heavily on it. 

Dick was led into a large room in the basement he hadn't been in before. His heart stilled as he entered. Wall to wall, there were numerous different types of guns hanging up. At one end of the room, there were many racks of long rifles. There were rows and shelves of countless types of weaponry, ranging from knives, swords, foreign blades, bō-staffs, and more. In front, there was a target range as well. 

Dick had the sudden urge to throw up. 

He backed up against the closed door in fear. There were too many – far too many guns. He seriously needed them to go away. He whirled around in a panic and frantically tried to flee the room as fast as possible.