Forgotten Bonds – Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen
Tempers

November 12th, 2008. Wednesday, 7:04 am.

The morning seemed bright that day – although Dick wouldn’t know since he wasn’t allowed outside ever. He’d like to think it was a bright day. But somehow he felt a little more irritable than normal. Even if he could’ve seen the bright morning sunlight and the sparkling blue sky, he doubted it would’ve made him feel any better. The slight tickle in his throat that he had been experiencing for the past few days was getting worse and he was feeling a bit sluggish; but after his shower, he began to feel a little bit better.

The tickle was still there, though; he seriously hoped he wasn’t getting sick on top of everything.

It had been almost two weeks since Slade found out about his… phobia. Dick didn’t really like admitting that it was a phobia, but he knew it was best that he accept it as such. Slade had told him that accepting his fear would be the first step to gaining control over it.

So, Slade was careful with Dick. Every day, Dick was forced to look at guns for a few minutes and learn about them. He wasn’t forced to touch them yet, but Slade told him that with time it would come. Dick was thankful that the man was taking it all slow. He knew some techniques would be to immerse him in it, but thankfully Slade was taking the slow and easy route – so Dick would gradually get used to them.

Thank goodness for that.

It was strange how much time was passing for Dick. It’d been two months since he came to be here underneath Slade’s control; and for the first month, it had felt like that. Dick had felt like a captive, beaten down by his abductor – feeling that he had someone he had to fight against.

However, during the more recent month, everything changed.

Despite where he was and who he was with, life had seemed more normal – perhaps even like the days with Bruce and Alfred. But there was a difference in feeling and Dick wasn’t sure what it was. No, it wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t leave and that he was forced to be with these two men. There was just something else that felt different.

Slade and Bruce were two different kinds of people. Both had their similarities, but they did have contrasting differences – and it wasn’t their occupations nor their morals that Dick was comparing.

Both men were dominant, both demanded total obedience, and both made very well sure that Dick obeyed without willfulness. Dick was also very afraid of both men; not that he’d tell either one that fact – although he was pretty sure that Slade knew. Dick also knew of each man’s power in a very personal way, being trained by both; and each were terrifying beyond anything when furious.

Bruce was very cool and collect in his mannerisms. He spoke in low and short tones; most of the time sounding sharp. His mere presence was intimidating at times. Dick couldn’t recall ever hearing Bruce genuinely laugh or even chuckle once in the five years he had stayed with him. Bruce also demanded perfection. When Dick hadn’t been able to do a move just right, Bruce would train him until he reached perfection. But it never seemed like Dick could ever master anything perfectly; thus, there were times he had felt Bruce’s disappointment, even if he never outright said anything.

Slade was impassive much of the time, controlling most of his emotions; however, he did smirk a lot – as if planning something mischievous. Slade’s voice, much of the time, was smooth and even coaxing in nature. Dick had seen the man chuckle a few times as well. Slade didn’t, however, require perfection from Dick. He did require Dick’s best, though; and expected him to improve every time. Dick always seemed to have the man’s approval, except when he mouthed off.

There was nothing soft about Bruce. Dick had never experienced any kind of affection from him. Dick had always gotten the impression that Bruce just didn’t know how to offer such things, so he learned not to try to expect it or push for it. After living in a very loving and affectionate home and then to come to live with someone like Bruce, it had been as if Dick had been plunged into ice water.

It wasn’t to say that Slade was exactly soft and fuzzy – because he obviously wasn’t – but there was something warm to the man, especially now. There were many times that he offered physical support in the form of a shoulder clasp or a pat on the back as if it came second nature to him; and there was something comforting about the touch, something almost nostalgic about it. It gave Dick a small reminder of his days with his parents – certainly nowhere near that same warm feeling, but just a gentle, light, brushing reminder.

Interestingly enough, there was something more… parental to Slade – dare Dick say it – and Dick found himself responding differently to the man because of it. It was almost as if Slade had been a parent before, but there was no way of knowing that. The man seemed to just know things more – far more than Bruce had ever known. When Slade slid into his more controlled role with Dick, it was becoming more and more apparent to him.

But that frightened Dick.

He couldn’t allow himself to become dependent on the man for any emotional needs. But Dick was well aware that as time continued to pass without the companionship of his friends, that he would more easily turn to Slade for such things. But he couldn’t; that was what the man wanted, wasn’t it? To trap Dick physically, mentally, and emotionally – then, it would be all that harder for him to escape.

It was a trap; a trick, wasn’t it? It was crafted by Slade, for Slade’s purpose, no doubt. The man was a mastermind at things like this; the best in the world. Of course, he was manipulating everything. There was no way he wasn’t carefully and perfectly setting the trap for Dick to fall in.

And somehow deep down in Dick’s heart he knew that he’d fall right into it. His greatest weakness – far more than the just a small little phobia, like the fear of guns – was simple human kindness. Whenever Slade offered physical encouragement through a clasp on the shoulder or otherwise, it always seemed to unravel Dick in a positive way; the stress, the tight knot in his stomach – everything loosened up inside. But it wasn’t exactly a good thing to keep him emotionally apathetic to the man.

How long would it be before Dick completely gave in? Did the man really realize that by becoming softer with him it would sway Dick easier? Wintergreen was the one who gave Slade the advice, probably. Wintergreen seemed to know everything when it came to relationships. Was he the mastermind in all this? But Dick could perceive the old man’s heart and there was nothing but kindness and pure intentions inside. Perhaps Slade didn’t realize the effects of his actions now. But surely Slade was aware…

So, the true question was: how long would Dick last before he became completely and emotionally attached?

Once that happened… Dick was as good as Slade’s; it’d be almost impossible to escape – in fact, he could already feel such things tugging at his heart now. Would he be lost forever once he reached that point? There was no stopping it, Dick knew all too well; but, even in that moment, would he still be able to stand for his ideals, for his beliefs, for his morals? Would Slade be able to completely drag him down into the darkness?

Dick couldn’t help but pray not.

His thoughts were clouded as he walked down the hallway that morning and entered the kitchen. He stood at the entrance for a few moments, running a hand through his ungelled black hair and thinking heavily, when he saw Wintergreen hard at work preparing breakfast. Dick stopped and raised an eyebrow. There was something a little different about the old man and he wasn’t sure what it was at first.

Well, maybe it was because he wasn’t preparing the usual type of breakfast.

There were a number of types of vegetables on the table. There were two cutting boards and a colander of freshly washed tomatoes, carrots, grapes, celery, and cucumbers. There were also some black beans, olives, avocados, and a few hard boiled eggs on the table. Lastly, there was a large mixing bowl. Dick raised his eyebrow. That was a huge amount of vegetables if ever he saw before – looked like the produce section at a grocery store. Seriously, where’d Wintergreen get all this stuff? It was enough to feed an army.

“Um… Good morning, Mr. Wintergreen,” said Dick. “What… are you doing?”

Wintergreen looked up at Dick and his expression darkened slightly. Dick got the strange impression that the old man wasn’t feeling perfectly well. There were dark bags beneath his aged hazel eyes and the light in his eyes were clouded as well.

“Child!” cried Wintergreen, almost hysterically. Dick flinched from the old man’s unusual sharp tone; becoming a little apprehensive. There was something nerve racking in Wintergreen’s tone. The old man was a different force to be reckoned with – he had that glint in his eyes. He was the one, after all, who started the nonsense of… that. The way he was looking at Dick made him feel wary and have a good mind to tread carefully around him. He also wished the old man would come up with a different way of addressing him.

“Um… yes, sir?” said Dick. “Did I do something wrong… or something?”

“No, no, no,” said Wintergreen in that same sharp tone; waving his hand and shaking his head dismissively. Dick noticed that the old man’s voice sounded a bit hoarse and scratchy. “Come sit down. You’re going to help me.”

“O–okay then,” said Dick; slowly walking over to the table while keeping a sharp eye on the old man. He was about to sit down in a chair, but Wintergreen stopped him with a stern click of his tongue.

“Not that chair, child. This chair,” said Wintergreen, exasperated; firmly tapping the chair in front of himself. Dick raised an eyebrow before obeying without another word. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but Wintergreen was acting very strangely. Was he a bit snippier than normal?

Wintergreen tapped the chopping board. “Chop the vegetables for me.”

Dick nodded and grabbed one of the knives that were on the table, but he was stopped once again with that clicking noise of the old man’s tongue.

“Not that knife. Use this knife,” said Wintergreen, still sounding thoroughly exasperated. Dick seriously wanted to open his mouth and tell the old man that the two knives were exactly the same; but, with a sigh, he humored him.

Thus, Dick changed knives and grabbed one of the tomatoes. He sliced it in half and then in quarters. As he began to slice the quarters into strips, he heard that same clicking noise from the old man’s tongue. Now that was beginning to grate on Dick’s nerves.

“Good grief, child. Don’t you know how to chop a tomato?” snapped Wintergreen. Dick bit back a retort as he watched the old man take the knife away. It was okay. Maybe Wintergreen was off this morning. Dick could stay in control; no reason to backtalk – biting his tongue, literally, was quite helpful; hopefully his tongue wouldn’t get cut from his teeth. Dick watched the old man grab another tomato and begin to slice it the same exact way that Dick had been slicing it.

Well, that just slipped Dick over the edge.

“With all due respect, sir,” began Dick, not quite in his most respectful tone. “That’s exactly how I was slicing it.”

Without warning, he was grabbed by the ear and forcibly lifted to his feet. Dick winced, but struggled against the hold; trying very hard to pull away from the old man’s firm grasp. Alarm pumped through his chest once he figured out what the old man was up to. Well, he was not going to put up with this – there was just no way. It was obvious with that stern glint in the old man’s eye what his objective was and Dick sure as heck wasn’t going to make it easy for him. He wasn’t doing anything wrong anyway! He was just slicing a freaking tomato, for crying out loud!

“What is going on in here?” came Slade’s curious, smooth voice. A mixture of relief and apprehension flooded through Dick at the sound of the man’s voice. Slade would either be his rescuer or he’d be Wintergreen’s accomplice and Dick seriously hoped it was the former.

“Slade!—Child, hold still and take what’s coming to you!” snapped Wintergreen, turning his attention to Slade once before returning it to Dick with a fierce glare; almost shaking Dick once by the ear as he did so.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” protested Dick; in no way allowing the old man to get near his target. He winced at the terribly firm hold the old man had on his earlobe; pain shooting through the rest of his ear from the harsh pinch. Who knew the old man had such a frightening grip?

“Will, what are you doing?” asked Slade seriously with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m trying to make breakfast. What does it look like?” snipped Wintergreen, lightly shaking Dick once again. Slade tilted his head to the side, his grey blue eye flicking over to Dick and then to the vegetables.

“Will,” began Slade, slowly drawing out the old man’s name carefully. “How’re you feeling?”

Dick stopped struggling to stare at Slade with an incredulous look. ‘How’re you feeling?’?! Was that really Slade’s question? Oh, gosh. Dick had better get this over with; Slade was obviously going to be of no help. This was seriously not fair at all; he was doomed.

“I’m feeling fine.”

“I don’t suppose,” started Slade lightly, “those bags under your eyes are any indication that you were up for most of the night.”

“I was not,” snapped Wintergreen.

“Your voice is a bit hoarse. How’s your throat?”

“I’m not hoarse. My throat’s just fine, thank you.”

“Will.” Slade shook his head; taking a step closer to the old man and Dick. “You only make your massive, colossal salad for breakfast when you’re sick. You are sick, aren’t you?”

“I’m perfectly healthy, thank you, Slade. There’s no need for you to—”

“You’re sick, Will. You need to go back to bed,” said Slade, approaching the old man as if he were a potentially dangerous wild animal. “You need some rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You should probably let the boy go. Wasn’t he helping you?” asked Slade; lifting his hand to rest on Dick’s shoulder. Dick felt Slade gently pulling him back away from Wintergreen. The old man didn’t let him go at first; but then, finally, the grasp on his earlobe was released. Dick quickly retreated away from the old man, coming close to Slade; thoroughly thankful that the man had saved him from Wintergreen – which was a funny thought, if one were to think about it. The relief flowed over him and Dick found himself putting a hand to his ear to rub the painful pinch from it.

“I’m not tired,” said Wintergreen, a little too quickly.

“Go to bed, Will. You’re dangerous when you’re sick,” said Slade with a wry smile. His hand was still on Dick’s shoulder and Dick felt a small squeeze. “Very dangerous, I might add.”

“I am not.”

Dick’s eyes flittered between the two men; intrigued by the current event now that he was out of the path of danger. Slade only gave the old man a sharp knowing look. Wintergreen sighed lightly, rubbing his fingers over his eyes.

“How long have you been sick without telling me?” asked Slade.

“A day or so,” admitted Wintergreen softly. Slade gave him a hard look and Wintergreen sighed again. “All right. So, it’s been about a week now. I’ve been taking some antibiotics and vitamins in the hopes that it’ll kick it quickly. I don’t know, perhaps I’m just getting older.”

“Go get some rest, Will,” said Slade, placing his other hand on Wintergreen’s shoulder. “You should’ve told us when you weren’t feeling good. It’s perfectly normal to need rest when you’re sick. Dick and I can take care of ourselves just fine for a few days.”

“But—”

“We’ll finish the salad,” said Slade, his tone rising to speak over Wintergreen. “You go rest and I’ll bring you a bowl when we’re done.”

Wintergreen sighed in defeat and nodded. “All right. All right; you win, Slade.”

Slade merely smirked. “I always do.”

Wintergreen harrumphed lightly, before he walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Slade sighed and shook his head; the hand on Dick’s shoulder withdrawing.

“I should’ve known this was going to happen sooner or later. I thought he’d been acting a little strangely,” said Slade, sounding almost tired. Dick raised an eyebrow.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” said Slade with another wry smirk. “He just gets this way when he’s sick. He gets a bit more particular about things. When he makes a giant salad for breakfast, it’s a dead giveaway that he’s pretty sick.”

“A bit more?” demanded Dick incredulously. “He wanted me to change knives, but they were the same exact type of knife. Then, he wanted me to change the way I was chopping the tomato; tried to show me how to do it – Slade, it was exactly the same way I had been doing it.”

“I suppose you pointed that out?” asked Slade with a lifted eyebrow. Dick nodded. “And then, that’s when—Mmm, I thought so. Well, it looks like I rescued you from the old man’s hard hand, hm?”

Dick folded his arms and looked away; in no way dignifying that with an answer. That got him a few chuckles from Slade.

“Come on, let’s fix this oversized sin of salad already. Looks like this is what we’re getting for breakfast today,” said Slade, temporarily placing a hand on Dick’s head before turning to the table and sitting in a chair next to him. Dick fought against the urge to run a hand through his hair. It had almost felt like an affectionate ruffle of his hair, but he tried to ignore it and sat down again.

“All right, you slice the grapes into quarters.”

Dick shot the man an incredulous look.

“Say what?”

“You heard me,” said Slade; a smile tugging at his mouth as he grabbed an avocado and began to slice it in half around the seed.

“You want me to slice grapes? What kind of idiot slices grapes?”

“Respect, boy,” drawled Slade suggestively; his eye rolling over once to look at Dick briefly. “Will prefers them that way and it’s in your best interest to please him. Wouldn’t you agree with that?”

Dick grumbled lightly and began the tedious work of slicing the washed grapes that were in the colander. There were a lot of them. He looked over at Slade as he scooped the seed out of the avocado and then began to slice the avocado while in the skin; first vertical, then horizontal.

It was strange to see Slade doing such a simple task like preparing a salad. Dick just honestly couldn’t imagine the criminals he knew slicing an avocado like no tomorrow. It just was odd seeing the man do something so… something so…

So human; so normal.

If Slade was so normal, then why was he the person that he was? Why did he make his living killing people? Why couldn’t he have chosen something else? What was really so different with being an assassin from someone in the FBI or Secret Service? It almost felt to Dick that the man was wasting his potential for good. Slade was powerful; he could truly make a difference in other people’s lives.

“Sir, can I ask you something?”

“You just did, but I’ll humor you with another,” said Slade with a wry smirk; scooping his sliced avocado out of the skin and into the giant bowl. He then moved onto two sticks of celery and began chopping them expertly.

“Why do you do the things you do?” asked Dick, ignoring Slade’s wit. “Why would you choose to be a criminal? Why would you choose to be a killer for a living? I doubt anything could stop you from achieving anything you wanted, so I just can’t understand why you’d choose those things; why do you like doing those things?”

“Your thinking is warped,” said Slade, not looking up from his chopping. “Not everyone is the Joker, you know; completely insane, one who delights in bloodshed. Most criminals have their own motives, their own reasoning to why they do the things they do. Some, yes, are so hardened that one could consider them completely evil and lost to humanity, but others have an exact purpose in their designs.”

There was a quiet moment as the two of them continued to chop. That didn’t really answer Dick’s questions. There wasn’t anything in life that Slade couldn’t obtain through conventional methods – Dick was very aware of that. It was more than obvious that Slade was an extremely wealthy man. He was beyond intelligent and physically the best.

So, why?

Why had he chosen differently? Why had he chosen a path that was littered with the blood of others? In a way, Slade was similar to Bruce – so, why had Slade chosen the path of ‘Deathstroke’ instead the path like ‘Batman’? The more Dick was shown the human side to Slade, the more he was convinced that there could’ve been more to Slade’s life.

Was Slade truly simply selfish in his motives and desires?

Dick took a deep breath as he looked up at Slade.

“What are your motives, then?” asked Dick. “Why do you want an apprentice? Why do you want me?”

Dick had lessened his tone to a soft whisper as he asked the last question. Slade merely observed him for a moment; the only sounds that floated through the room were the chop, chop of the knives.

“Why does anyone do anything in life?” asked Slade in response.

“I dunno,” shrugged Dick. “To satisfy their own desires, I guess. To be powerful, rich, famous – whatever worldly desires there are.”

“Good answers, but not quite,” said Slade in a low tone. He stopped his work and leaned forward; a wry smirk lifting the edge of his mouth. His grey blue eye glinted with light – a light Dick hadn’t ever seen before.

“For the thrill,” breathed Slade. He leaned back as he continued to smirk at Dick. He then elaborately shrugged with his hands. “Why does anyone do anything? For the thrill of it; the mere enjoyment of it. Why does an artist paint? For the thrill of watching the canvas develop into something that was not there before. Why does a novelist write? For the thrill of saying something that was not said before or the same message in a way that had not been done before. Why does an architect build? Why does a programmer code? The list goes on.”

Dick’s mouth went dry. That was true and all, but it sounded as if Slade was justifying the acts of stealing and killing simply because he enjoyed the mere thrill it gave him. Was it really all that simple?

“So, you kill people because you get some thrill out of it?” began Dick in a low whisper. His voice rose in volume as he continued, “That’s the same excuse drug addicts give to justify their addiction to harmful drugs.”

“That’s completely different, Dick, and you know it,” said Slade with a shake of his head. “Drugs make the body dependent on them and alter the brain chemistry. Shooting someone does not.”

“Of course, it does,” snapped Dick. “It’s basically the same thing, isn’t it? The more you kill, the easier it gets; the more desensitized you get. I’m sure you could get that same thrill from a drug. But instead you rather shoot someone and deprive their family of their loved one!”

“Dick—”

“You said you joined the army because it was exciting,” continued Dick, no longer careful with his tone. “Was it because you enjoyed killing people even then?”

“Of course, the army was exciting,” said Slade, his grey blue eye flashing once dangerously. “But I’ve told you before, war is purgatory. I simply wanted to serve my country.”

Dick scoffed elaborately. “What kind of bull crap is that? I bet that’s just some cover up for your real desires. You just wanted an excuse to shoot people and war was the best place to do it. Now you just do it anyway without needing a war.”

Slade stood up; his grey blue eye flashing with terrible, incensed fury.

“And wait a minute,” snarled Dick heatedly, looking down at the table as the anger began to lick his insides; not at all noticing Slade’s recent movement. “So, you’re all about the thrills, right? Am I just a part of this thrill that you need to have? Does having me in your control give you some kind of high or something? Why do you really want me?!”

Slade growled deeply; the sound nearly rumbling through the room. Dick flinched by the man’s terrible tone and suddenly noticed that he was standing up. Dick scrambled to his feet and backed away; extremely frightened by the man’s fury. He swallowed nervously; his throat protesting lightly in its soreness. His stupid tongue had gotten away with him and now Slade looked terrifying.

He was so dead.

Slade took a step towards Dick, but then he stopped suddenly. The man closed his eye and looked upward; obviously trying to reel back his fury. He clenched his fist and leaned it against the door of a cabinet. Then, his fingers popped up one by one as if he were counting. Once he reached to five, his opened hand curled back stiffly – almost claw like – into a fist again. He repeated the process once more. His other hand clenched and unclenched at his hip. Finally, he brought the hand up to his face; rubbing the fur on his chin as he continued to rest his other hand on the cabinet. Dick was watching him, wide eyed. The man was really trying hard to hold his temper – and he was succeeding, too.

Then, the man open his eye and set its sharp grey blue color onto Dick.

Dick suddenly had the feeling he wasn’t going to like what was going to happen next.

Slade marched to him in an instant. Dick didn’t even have time to contemplate darting away. He was grabbed and sharply turned to the side. Dick winced as the first strike came to his seat. He wasn’t prepared for the second one and he was certainly not prepared for the third that cracked against his seat; making him jump slightly both times. These strikes were harder than normal and his seat buzzed lightly in pain with the sting. Then, he was forced back to face Slade; the man’s hands firmly clasping his shoulders.

“I keep telling you to mind your tongue,” said Slade in a low, dangerous undertone. “Forget again and we’ll make this a complete trip. Do you understand me?”

Dick nodded quickly; biting his tongue so he didn’t say anything stupid.

“Now,” began Slade sharply, shaking Dick once lightly. “I do not get some sort of sick, twisted thrill from having you in my possession. How dare you even suggest such a thing. I want you as my apprentice and no one else. It’s as simple as that. Don’t go complicating things. It’ll get you into trouble, as you can see.”

Dick remained silent as the man sternly lectured him; still biting his tongue. He really didn’t like it when the man did that – it drove him crazy, actually. He always felt that Slade was the one at fault and had no right to be teaching him right from wrong or whatever. The man was a freaking criminal, after all. His moral core was warped, wasn’t it? Who was he to say whether or not Dick needed to show respect? What had the man done to deserve such respect anyway?

But somehow, deep down, Dick knew he deserved this one. He’d been out of line with some of the comments. But still, Slade had and did kill people. But Dick knew he shouldn’t have said anything. It hadn’t been appropriate. He should just keep his mouth shut, his head down; things went better that way, after all. And, no, it wasn’t his stinging backside that was convincing him of that.

Absolutely not.

“Remember this; you’re not just some stupid thrill. You are my apprentice and my heir,” continued Slade, sounding thoroughly irritated. Then, his visible eye took on a dangerous light, sending a chill down Dick’s back.

“And another thing,” snapped Slade, shaking Dick by the shoulders once more. “Don’t you dare assume that I enjoy war and death, because I don’t. I’m telling you right now war is horrific. Your innocent little mind can’t even begin to fathom the terrible things that happened in `Nam. You think what you saw in Gotham was bad? War is a million times worse. You better learn to understand the difference from a clean bullet to the head, from a landscape simply covered in death and carnage.”

Dick’s stomach chilled at Slade’s words. He swallowed once, suddenly feeling even more ashamed by his words. He averted his eyes and bit his lower lip. He hadn’t realized all that. Sure, he knew some things about war, but Slade made it seem all real; all terrible. Words wanted to slip from his mouth, but he couldn’t manage them. He wanted to apologize, but it just seemed as if they were sealed inside his throat. How was it that Slade was in the right and Dick was in the wrong? Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

Wasn’t Dick the hero and Slade the villain? Why did everything seem so upside down?

“Now, let’s hurry and finish making this blasted breakfast, so we can stop with the short tempers. Food usually solves everything,” said Slade, now sounding completely exasperated as he pushed Dick forward towards the table. “Good grief; first Will, now you – what next?”

Dick only nodded, thankful for the escape, as the hands on his shoulders withdrew themselves. He hurried to the table and sat down; grabbing the nearest vegetable, a cucumber, and beginning to chop it. He wiggled once in his seat. A moment later, he heard Slade sigh behind him and let out a low whisper.

“Why do I have this foreboding feeling today is going to be a long day…?”

ooOOOOOoo 

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