Regressing For The Enemy

Chapter 15

((This chapter is late because I genuinely had no idea what to write. So, apologies for that.))

   "Off to your room now, I think that's enough eavesdropping for one day." Wintergreen shuffled Dick out of the kitchen. Allowing himself to be led away, Dick mentally debated between the two bedrooms, before choosing the oak door to the left. The safer option, Robin thought. Pointedly entering the royal blue room, Robin attempted to swallow the lump of spit at the back of his throat. Might as well start inspecting the furniture that can be broken apart and used for tools. Pushing the door shut behind him, Dick decided to check out the four poster bed first. Poking the mattress from afar, Dick observed the bed as if it may swallow him whole. Sitting down, the blankets and pillows were immediately silk-soft to the touch. Unlike the blankets at the teen towers, which had been thoroughly loved and worn down over the months, these blankets were clearly brand new. Cold and vacant; a blank slate. And suddenly, Dick felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness. 

    Flashing back to the toy treasure chest in the other room, Dick remembered seeing his circus themed baby blanket tucked away there. Sneaking to the door, Dick made a mental note of which floor boards creaked and which were silent. He'd have to remember that when sneaking out, later on. Slowly turning the handle on the adjoining room, Dick peaked the tip of his head out, looking left to right. Seeing no visible signs of Slade awaiting him, Dick creeped up to the toy chest. Silently pulling the blanket from the wooden chest, Dick turned on his heal and swift as a feather, booked it back to the safety of his room before shutting the door. Letting out a sigh of relief, Robin clutched the baby blanket close to his chest. 

  Breathing in the soft material, Robin felt his wits slowly dulling. All of the sharp remarks, the sassy comebacks and the need to escape suddenly became less important to the young hero. Whimpering into his blanket, Robin pushed his back against the wall. This way he could see the whole room from a distance. How did it come to this? Had he always been so weak to fall to a foe? Even one as powerful as Slade, was it really an excuse? Tucking his thumb between his teeth, Dick suddenly felt a pang of guilt for losing the pacifier Alfred gave him. Maybe Slade would buy him a new one for being "cooperative". No- what was he saying? Was he really going soft, already? Developing a sense of Stockholm syndrome this early in the game? No wonder Batman abandoned him to live out in Jump City. Suddenly raising a hand to his cheek, Dick felt a leaky sort of wetness there. Had he been crying? No. Impossible. Robin didn't cry. Robin never cried. Not even when Bruce failed to reach out to him on his birthday. Not even when Jaylad's death anniversary came and went, and Robin didn't leave his room for a week. No, Robin didn't cry. But alas, Dick did cry. Because Dick was a small thing in a very big world. And sucking on his dirty, bruised thumb didn't seem to make things any easier. 

    Standing up, Dick wobbled back and forth on his feet, making his way to the mirror in his room. What did he see?  Dick saw a scared little boy, with a thumb in his mouth, shaking and crying for some hero, some big black caped crusader to save him. Save him from Slade, yes. But more than that, save him from his loneliness that threatened to gobble him up, if he dared to even shudder. Creeping closer to the nursery door, Dick put his ear to the door. Listening for any signs of Slade, Robin weighed the options of picking out a onsie. On one hand, he'd have to accept the gift of his mortal enemy, something his pride would never let him live down. But on the other side, Robin would be able to regress much more comfortably. Holding his breath, Robin shook his head. No, he'd just have to go without it for the night. Sitting criss cross on the floor, Dick rubbed his blanket over his hands and knuckles, getting the familiar sensory sensation of home. Slumped over, Dick cradled his old treasured friend in one arm while gently sucking on his thumb with the other. As his eyelids came crashing down slowly but surely, the world around him seemed to blur. The last thing Dick could comprehend was the sound of angry voices in the hallway seemingly growing closer, before he passed out from exhaustion. 

Slade POV

    "You will not tell me how and when I will raise my  pupil." The old man in front of him, scoffed. "Raise him? You barely know the poor child." "He needs a father figure in his life, Will. You said this. Not me." Slade put his finger in the air, as if pointing to the moment in time where Wintergreen had stated this information. "I did say that. But I also said you should be softer with the boy. If you keep up all this sass and angst, he's never going to see you as his father figure. He's going to see you as the enemy, Slade." Slade barked out a brute of a laugh. "Is that not what I am, William? The enemy?" "If you keep this up, you will be." With that, the older gentleman turned away and went wandering back to his room. 

    Slamming his fists into the table, Slade cursed himself aloud. "How the hell am I supposed to leverage this? The boy needs a father, and I am clearly the perfect candidate. I've already made myself available. What more does he want me to do?" Gripping his fingers through his hair, Slade sighed. "It was never this difficult with Grant." He pushed the thought away. "No, what Richard needs is different. He's not my son. He'll never be. Not by blood. What Richard need is strictness, rigidness, and discipline. Wintergreen doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. Dick is the perfect boy for a perfect position as my future apprentice. He's going to become the ultimate power in my arsenal. Whether I have to kill him to do it, or not."