Regressing For The Enemy

Chapter 20

  The remainder of the day seemed to go off without a hitch for Dick. Computer training consisted of different coding lessons and learning to type without looking at the computer. The last detail was only deemed necessary after Slade had grown tired of Dick's many typing mistakes while coding, but it was a worthwhile skill to learn none the less. Sparring was long and tireless, but Dick had managed to land a few more hits on Slade than he had yesterday, so that was an achievement in and of itself. Lunch consisted of stuffed acorn squash chicken tostadas. An interesting combination, but like most of the food Wintergreen had prepared thus far, Dick found it to be quite enjoyable despite the company. Weapons training contained a very rich history on the long and short bow and how to use them. Despite the fact Dick knew very good and well how to shoot both and preferred a crossbow to either. Self training consisted of a solid round around the majority of the equipment in the arena. 

  By the time Dick had finished walking around the remaining exorcises available within the gymnasium, Slade was entering the training arena. Something Dick was beginning to associate as a sort of dinner bell. Knowing his moves were being watched either way, Dick didn't even try anything suspicious today, although he was admittedly taking mental notes of Slade's moods throughout the day. For some reason, the man seemed as stoic and unreadable as ever today. Not only could Dick not seem to get a read on the older fellow, he even found himself confused by the man several times throughout the day. More than once, Slade had bitten his tongue when Dick had very visibly made a mistake in his footing or typing. Rather than coolly lashing out like he normally would, the silver tongued masked man was very pointedly keeping his tone simple and sweet. Almost as if building up for something. And Dick did not like it. He didn't like it one bit. Not even a little. 

  Dinner consisted of apricot chicken with a side of rice and steamed vegetables. The chicken was something new to Robin's shallow pallet but the bland rice and unseasoned greens was something Dick remembered Alfred serving long ago. Something about the flavor of the chicken overpowering the simplicity of the rice. To Dick, this was just an excuse to only season half the meal, but with Slade eyeing him over his own plate of rice, Dick wasn't really up to giving a two star review. Pushing a mush carrot around with the edge of his fork, Dick felt the scowl warming the side of his head, but decidedly ignored it from the orange and black figure. "You will eat what is on your plate, young man." Dick felt his face flush at the wording 'young man'. Furrowing his eyebrows into his mask, Dick considered abandoning the metal fabric just to toss it in Slade's stupid face. After all, it's not like they didn't know his identity long before this point. Still, as silly as it may seem, Dick felt comfort and protection in the eye covering, despite its current lack of function. So it stayed. "I'm eating it, sir. I'm just not fond of carrots." "I do not appreciate liars. Especially those who have been gifted a bountiful meal with nothing asked in return." So much for Slade keeping his temper in check. "I'm not a liar. I'm not fond of these carrots." "Exactly. These  carrots. We had carrots with lunch and you ate them like they were- what are you teenagers always shoveling down nowadays- like-" "Cheese pizza, sir?" Turning his head towards Wintergreen, the older man piping in suddenly recaught his attention, Dick having almost forgotten he was there. "Precisely. You were shoveling them down like cheese pizza." Traitor. Is what Dick wanted to say to Wintergreen. He was supposed to be on his side. Still, seeing the smile reflecting off the older man's crinkled eyes, Dick wasn't so sure about that anymore. "Slade. It's simple. Honestly. You'd think you'd never taken care of a child once in your miserable life." Scooping up a large spoonful of assorted vegetables and rice, Wintergreen lifted his spoon into the air. Dick's face turned an unseemly beat red. "If the boy won't feed himself, we offer an alternative." A tiny voice inside Dick marveled at the idea of being babied and taken care of by two strong father-like authority figures. A voice he quickly shot down. In service of saving himself the future embarrassment Dick quickly decided that shoveling in as much rice and vegetables as possible would be the safer bet from now on. "On second thought, I love these carrots. Never better." Dick managed to spit out between hunks of celery. "Chew with your lips closed, please." With a smile, Dick spat out a very full. "Yes sir."

  Lessons with Wintergreen consisted of World War Two stories and an extensive refresher on algebraic equations. Most of which, Dick succeeded in, minus a few equations he had forgotten with time. Although to be fair,  calculating y=m(x)+b wasn't exactly on his day to day schedule of fighting crime and dismantling Slade's robot minions. Still, Dick couldn't help but wish they had spent a little extra time going over mathematic equations when Slade entered the room. "Alright, William. It's time for therapy. You know the drill, boy." Following behind Slade, Dick couldn't help but flash back to breakfast. Slade had refrained from hitting him, but would that mean time on the naughty step? Slade had almost guaranteed it with the ambiguity of it all. Suddenly, Dick wished that Slade would have just taken him over his knee right then and there. Because the wait of it all seemed to be weighing down on his shoulders more than little Dick could possibly bare. 

  The creak of the door, the stiffness in his joints, the thickness in the silence hanging in the air, one could have assumed Slade was leading Dick to his resting place with the number of butterflies in Dick's tummy. Entering the nursery, a chill crept over Dick, his hands fumbling at his sides. "Mister Slade?" The older man blinked back evident surprise, before turning around, beckoning Dick inside, before shutting the door. Seems that the nursery itself has become a trigger for his regression. Slade pondered the thought before pulling out a set of overalls from the set of drawers. "What is it, my boy?" Dick wrinkled his nose. "M'not your boy." He muttered to himself, believing Slade not to have heard him. Biting back the urge to rebuttal, Slade let the boy have his moment. "Mister Slade. Am I in trouble?" Dick fiddled with his fingers, carefully eyeing the overalls in Slade's hands. "You mean from this morning?" "Yes, sir." Slade did something that shocked Dick. He smiled. A genuine smile. It was a fleeting moment, but Dick had a trained eye for fleeting moments. 

  "You 'miled." "I suppose, perhaps I did, Richard." Dick wrinkled his nose. "Tată always called me Dickie." A dangerous glint shone through Slade's face as he ground his teeth. "What did you say?" Dick paused, looking down at "Nuffin." Slade bent down to Dick's level. "Richard, you know I don't appreciate liars." "I said that Mister Wayne always call me Dickie." Slade nodded, rubbing his knuckles over his chin. "You called him Tată. What does that mean?" Dick grew quiet, staring daggers into his shoes. "I'm waiting." "It- It means 'father' in my mother's native language. I'm fluent but I- I've forgotten some of the complicated bits with time." Dick's eyes involuntarily watered at the thought of his mother. "Mister Slade, sir, can we not talk about Mamă anymore. It makes me sad." Slade lifted Dick's chin with a single finger. "You will never refer to Bruce Wayne as Tată again, do you understand me?" The smile Slade had shown earlier was long gone and in its place stood an intimidating scowl. "Y-yes, sir."