Forgotten Bonds – Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen
Cooking Troubles

November 12th, 2008. Wednesday, 6:07 pm.

The rest of the day had been pretty average, except for the fact that Wintergreen was absent through most of it. Slade made a simple lunch of sandwiches before he continued with the schedule. Dick was tired through much of the day, but he didn’t say anything. The tickle in his throat was quickly becoming sorer.

Yup, Dick figured he was getting sick, too. But he could endure it. The cold wasn’t bad – hopefully he wouldn’t have to cough through it too much. He really didn’t want Slade to notice it. Dick was worried, though. If he really did get pretty sick, he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to handle it. Alfred always flatly told him after dealing with him while getting over a virus or cold that he was the most difficult thing to grace his presence upon the planet.

Dick really didn’t need Slade to see that side of himself. The man would strangle him, probably.

Slade had given him some free time since something came up with a contract. The man was currently in his room. Dick wasn’t really sure what to do at that moment. Slade probably would be busy for awhile and Wintergreen wasn’t in any condition to do anything. So, there was no one else to prepare something for dinner.

Dick felt the need to do something helpful. He usually loved the feeling of helping others – like with his crime fighting. But here with Slade and Wintergreen there wasn’t ever a chance for that. For a moment, Dick supposed that Slade was right – people really did do things for the thrill.

But there was a difference between the thrill of something for excitement or pleasure and the feeling that you got inside your heart when doing nice things for the sole sake of being nice or helpful.

Thus, Dick found himself inside the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets in search of something to make for dinner. He wasn’t exactly the world’s greatest chef, but he did pretty good for himself. Honestly, it didn’t take much skill to fry up some eggs in a pan or toss some ham into the oven. Surely there was something he could whip up around here.

But as Dick looked through the cabinets, he didn’t really find anything that interested him. It was then that he caught sight of some blue boxes of pasta. He pulled one out of the lower cabinet and read the label. It said Rotelle and the pasta inside was in the shape of corkscrews.

Smiling with his find, he grabbed a second box and a plastic jar of pasta sauce. Well, that just decided it: he was making pasta for everyone. He went into motion – grabbing a large pot, a metal colander, and a lid from beneath the countertop. He turned on the hot water and waited for it to heat up before filling the pot with water.

With the colander inside the pot, Dick carried the sloshing hot water to the stovetop. Once he got the gas fire going, he grabbed the salt shaker from the table and sprinkled a heavy pinch into the water. Finally, he placed the lid on top. Then, he turned away, putting his hands onto his hips; eyes searching through the kitchen.

He needed something more.

Dick walked to the fridge and looked inside; hoping that Wintergreen had some kind of meat. What was pasta without some meat? Luckily, he found some fresh ground beef and with a happy smile, he pulled it out of the fridge.

Soon, there was another pan on the stovetop – now sizzling ground beef inside. Dick used a large mixing spoon to keep the ground beef from burning. He was quickly content with his tasks. It was nice doing something simple. During the past two months that he had been here, he never really had the chance to feel completely normal. It always felt like a major boarding school. There were quiet moments, but it still felt like a school.

Just cooking seemed like a small relief from everything. Yeah, he had the free time and yeah, there had been that day where Wintergreen forced Slade and Dick to spend the day together doing nothing except games; but, overall, it still felt extremely abnormal and rigid.

And he was getting to do something nice for another person – even if that included Slade; it didn’t matter.

The water in the pot was finally up to a rapid boil now, and so Dick set the lid aside and opened the two boxes of pasta. He quickly dumped them into the pot one after another. With another mixing spoon, he stirred the pasta carefully so that it wouldn’t stick together.

Soon after, the meat looked done and Dick turned off the heat. He left it on the stovetop, though, to keep it warm. As he waited for the pasta to finish cooking, he stirred it occasionally. The pasta slowly began to expand and become larger within the pot. A few minutes later, Dick was testing one of the noodles; carefully cooling one and popping it into his mouth.

Perfect.

Dick shut off the fire and began to search through the drawers for some hot pads. He found some flat ones and grabbed two. He grabbed the edges of the colander and prepared himself to lift it up to place into the sink so that he could rinse the pasta.

Everything was going great until the steam puffed up in a large, misty mushroom shaped cloud – right over Dick’s exposed fingers. It passed over his hands, a burning heat washing over his skin. Then, the pain came. It surprised him so much that he dropped the colander back into the boiling water.

That wasn’t exactly his best idea.

The weight of the drop caused a splash, which sloshed over Dick’s shirt. The terribly hot water burned his skin. He couldn’t help it – he screamed. Oh, crap. It hurt – badly. Once he got a hold of himself, gritting his teeth furiously, he quickly shed his shirt and with erratic breathing, checked the damage.

There was a patch of angry red skin on his stomach, along with a few multiple smaller patches near the area.

Well, this was working out just… peachy.

Dick whirled around and looked up nervously as he heard a door slam. Oh, gosh. He seriously hoped he hadn’t woken up the old man with his screams. He was just trying to help – not cause more trouble. But the alarmed face that showed up at the hallway entrance was not Wintergreen, but Slade. The man had concern flashing within his grey blue eye; his eyebrows furrowed.

“Dick, what on earth…” Slade trailed off as he glanced down at his stomach. Dick automatically curled his arms around his chest, feeling embarrassed and self conscious with his shirt off. He had a handful of scars, but that was just his front – not including the bullet wounds from the Joker. His back… was a whole other story. Occupational hazard of being the protégé of Batman and also the ward of Bruce Wayne; getting kidnapped and tortured happened – a lot. He rubbed his arm nervously, trying very hard to think properly through the burning, stinging pain that raged the skin on his stomach and on the surface of his hands.

“Um…”

Slade folded his arms as he stared at the burned area.

“Dick, what are you doing?”

Dick continued to nervously rub his arm. “Um… I was trying to make some pasta for dinner. You know… to help out… I guess,” ended Dick lamely.

“And you decided to add yourself as an entrée, is that it?” asked Slade, thoroughly smirking at him. Dick rolled his eyes.

“Very funny. No.”

“Explain.”

Dick sighed with a shrug. “I was pulling the pasta out with the colander when the steam hit my hands and burned them. That surprised me, so like the brilliant idiot I am, I dropped it back into the pot. Boiling water all down my front. The end.”

“Enlightening story,” drawled Slade, walking up to him. He leaned down to inspect the burns on his stomach. Dick turned his head away, his eyes watering from the incessant stinging and feeling weird without his shirt on. He didn’t like the feeling of being unprotected in front of Slade. He was starting to ease up with the man, but that still didn’t mean he trusted him.

Things were changing and Dick was seeing a side to Slade he had never imagined before. Somehow, very slowly, he was getting used to him. Ever since the man had said that he wouldn’t beat him, he had kept his word. He had not laid one violent hand on Dick, except in sparring – but even then, Dick noticed that the man was holding back more than ever.

But that didn’t mean that the man couldn’t snap at any time. Dick was sure there would come a time when Slade would lose it with him. The man would certainly revert back to his old ways. He wasn’t safe in that way.

It didn’t matter, though. Dick didn’t really care. It didn’t matter at all. It wasn’t as if Dick was getting used to the man. It wasn’t as if he was beginning to feel a small sense of safety and normalcy again in his life. Not at all. No way.

“You have some nasty burns there, Dick,” said Slade, shaking his head. There was a wry smirk that filled his features as he glanced at Dick. “A bit smooth, aren’t we?”

A deep flush raged at Dick’s face and he tightened his arms around his chest even more.

“H–hey, s–so I’m still waiting on puberty a little bit. I’m only fourteen and—” Dick stopped suddenly as Slade began to chuckle deeply, almost nearly to the point of laughing. The man straightened and shook his head, putting a hand to his forehead. This only made Dick flush even more – if that was possible.

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry; I’m sorry. No need to get worked up,” said Slade, putting up a hand as he chuckled more. “I understand it’s a touchy subject. I was just teasing you, boy. I used to do that all the time to—”

All the mirth that was in Slade’s face suddenly vanished as he stopped. Dick had never seen such an instantaneous change in someone’s expression before. He had been filled with such amusement before it slid away completely to his normal impassive features.

What had Slade been going to say?

Dick wasn’t sure what the man had wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to pry. It obviously wasn’t a good subject – especially since Dick lacking manly adult features had been the trigger of it and he honestly didn’t want to be the brunt of any more teasing. No, thank you.

The man’s grey blue eye narrowed suddenly. His hand slowly moved to Dick’s left shoulder. Dick didn’t move as the man’s hand fingered the small scar that lay there. It was one of the three bullet wound scars that decorated his arm, shoulder, and chest. There was a flicker of emotion that passed through Slade’s eye. Dick wasn’t sure what it was – remorse, perhaps?

Slade withdrew his hand.

“From the Joker, correct?”

Dick nodded. He pointed to the other two bullet wounds.

“These as well, plus the one on my calf,” said Dick. More raw emotion passed over Slade’s eye. It puzzled Dick. It was as if Slade didn’t like the fact that Dick had been shot. Dick had lived through it – wasn’t that all that mattered? But if Slade felt this much about it, Dick hated for the man to see his back. He’d been captured and tortured before that event with the Joker. Batman had been livid about it, but he hadn’t forced Dick to quit the job. Batman had merely become extremely and overly protective, which had pushed Dick to disobey and go out by himself; only to get himself shot by the Joker.

But Dick didn’t want that to happen again. He wasn’t some kid that needed to be protected. He didn’t need Slade to get overly protective – not that he imagined the man to ever become like that, anyway. Besides, he could take care of himself just fine. So he got into a few scrapes. Big deal. The scars didn’t hold him back.

Dick subconsciously pushed himself back a few paces against the countertop.

Slade raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh… nothing,” murmured Dick, tightening his arms around his chest and looking down at the ground. Slade frowned and took a step closer to him.

“Dick, what’s wrong?”

“It–it’s nothing,” said Dick quickly, looking back up at Slade. The man didn’t look like he believed him. Dick mentally cursed himself for backing up. That just gave the man a red flag. Slade was going to try to figure out what was wrong and Dick really didn’t want to show him.

“Dick,” drawled out Slade, giving him a look that meant explain. Dick swallowed and shrugged, trying not to wince from the burning on his skin.

“I just have a few scars on my back and I’m self conscious about them, that’s all,” said Dick, trying to sound nonchalant. Slade raised his eyebrow again, his eye narrowing, and he took another step closer to him.

“Show them to me.”

“N–no,” said Dick before he could stop himself. Oh, he seriously hope that Slade wouldn’t think this was defiance.

“Now, Dick. I’ve seen it all. There’s no reason to feel self conscious about scars.”

“Yeah, well; I’d rather keep these to myself, thanks,” said Dick, swallowing nervously. He couldn’t back up any further. There was no escaping this. Dick knew it and Slade knew it. Slade stepped forward and clasped Dick by his shoulders. Dick closed his eyes as he was forced to turn around. He was sure the man was going to make fun of him over them or insult his abilities for staying out of trouble. He hated the scars. They made his skin look horrible.

There was a sharp intake of breath.

“What in the name…” Slade trailed off; there was another sharp intake of breath. Dick felt the man’s finger trail along the top of his shoulder blades, sliding down one of the lines of his scars to his middle back.  “Who… Who in the—Who?!”

Dick flinched at the sudden change in Slade’s tone. He swallowed nervously, feeling unnerved by it. Slade sounded almost… furious about his scars. But why?

“Who?!” snapped Slade, almost to the point of shouting.

“T–Two-Face,” cried Dick, trembling slightly. “He captured me and… and he…”

“He whipped you.”

Dick sucked in his breath. “How… How do you…?”

“You don’t think I don’t know lash marks when I see them?” demanded Slade, his tone fierce. But then, it seemed to break down. “There’s so many…”

“It was one of those flip of the coin days. You know how he is,” shrugged Dick, trying to sound as if the whole experience  wasn’t a big deal. Yet, he could still very clearly remember the white hot lash against his back. It had been like liquid fire against his skin. Not to mention, he never wanted to see Two-Face ever again. He never could understand why Gotham housed such gruesome looking villains.

“How could anyone do this to a child?!”

“I’m not a child, Slade!” protested Dick, whirling around and hating being called that. He was not a child. He had proven that much by now. Slade really needed to stop thinking that. “Stop saying that!”

Dick was grabbed by the shoulders; Slade leaned down to glare at him, nearly shaking him.

“Yes, you are!” shouted Slade in return. “You are a child. You’re fourteen; you have the body of a child; everything about you screams child!”

Dick’s jaw clenched as it began to tremble, feeling Slade’s words permeate through his entire soul. No, he couldn’t be a child. He had to be grown up. He had to be strong. A child was weak and Dick couldn’t be weak. A child had to depend on adults, but Dick never really had anyone he could truly cling to – so, he long grew out of the mold of a child.

He was Robin, the Boy Wonder, after all.

“And you were younger than twelve when it happened, weren’t you?”

Dick turned his head to the side, his lips trembling further.

“Answer me!”

“I… I was eleven.”

“Are you telling me that an eleven year old isn’t a child?” demanded Slade incredulously. “An eleven year old isn’t even a teenager!”

“I–I know… Why are you getting so mad about this?” said Dick, beginning to feel uneasy and shifting his weight. He realized the anger that Slade was displaying wasn’t towards himself, but he was unnerved and frightened when this man was angry. He didn’t like it at all.

Slade withdrew his hold on Dick’s shoulders. He took a deep breath and put a hand to his forehead. Dick bit his lips, trying to ignoring the growing sting his stomach and hands were still experiencing. He wrapped his arms around his chest again. There was a moment of quiet between them.

“I am merely appalled and infuriated that this could’ve happened to a child—to you,” said Slade, his tone dropping to a soft undertone. “What on earth was that bat doing, drinking coffee?”

Dick felt a rush of anger heat up his chest.

“Don’t blame Batman for this! It wasn’t his fault; it was mine!”

“Oh?” drawled Slade, his eye narrowing in irritation. “Is that right? So, that bat had no responsibility to keep you safe and protected? I can assure you that something like this would never had happened had you—”

Slade stopped suddenly. He clamped his mouth shut, a sudden wave of sorrow flashing over his face. His jaw tightened as he turned his head to the side. The man took a few deep, rising breaths through his nose. Dick was shocked to see a deep remorse – even self hate flow over the man. Dick couldn’t have imagined such a look on the man. What could’ve caused such feelings in him?

Then, a dark light flittered through Slade’s eye.

“I am going to kill him.”

A chill slid down Dick’s back. His eyes widened as he looked up at Slade. It was very apparent in the man’s tone that whoever ‘him’ was would most certainly die. Dick hadn’t ever heard this tone before from Slade. It was his most chilling and terrifying tone yet.

It scared Dick to death.

“Wh–who?”

“Who? Two-Face, of course,” snapped Slade, looking back at Dick. “A single bullet right in between the eyes will do nicely. Yes, very nicely.”

Dick’s mouth dropped in shock. “Bu–but he’s in Gotham—in jail—on the other side of the country! An–and the Joker almost killed me. Two-Face only tortured me.”

“Only tortured you?” cried Slade, his face completely pulled with incredulity. “That’s like saying the Joker is only a little bit crazy. I know torture when I see it. I was in `Nam, remember? What Two-Face did to you was horrific. How dare he do that to a child!”

“Yeah, well; you don’t have to kill him,” protested Dick. He didn’t like the thought of Slade going out and killing anyone in his name, even if it was Two-Face. While it almost heartened him that Slade would be so furious in his defense, he still didn’t want the man to kill anyone. “I mean, why him and not the Joker? It doesn’t make sense. So, just drop it, okay?”

“You’re right,” said Slade, almost too quickly. Somehow Dick took this as a good thing; oh, but he was wrong. “I should take out the Joker while I’m there, too.”

Dick could only stare at Slade, his mouth dropping even further. Was the man serious? Was he really going to kill Two-Face and the Joker because of what they did to him? But knowing Slade, the man was deadly serious. And that frightened Dick. He just didn’t like the thought of Slade killing anyone. That was wrong; it didn’t matter who they were or what they had done – no one had the right to kill.

“Slade, please…” murmured Dick. “Just drop it, okay? It’s over and done with. I’ve moved on. Please? Honestly, you don’t have to go out of your way. They’re in jail. They’re being punished for what they did.”

Slade looked down at Dick and his eye softened. He placed a hand onto Dick’s shoulder and squeezed it once. Dick looked directly into Slade’s eye and saw a glimmer of pride within that grey blue orb.

“You’re a strong kid,” said Slade, a smile lifting his lips. “A lot of men in `Nam would’ve cracked under what you’ve endured.”

Dick’s eyes glanced down as his chest glowed from the praise. He was strong – he knew it, but it was nice to hear someone else think so as well.

“Well, we’ve gone off on a bit of a tangent,” commented Slade dryly. “And have completely forgotten the most important topic at hand.” Slade nodded to the burns on Dick’s stomach. “They hurt, right?”

“Burn like crap, actually,” nodded Dick, almost cheerfully. Slade chuckled lightly and held out his hands.

“Show me the other burns,” said Slade, motioning his fingers towards himself in beckoning.

Dick uncurled his arms from around his chest and proffered his hands, palms down. The skin on the ends of his fingers were slowly becoming an angry red. They felt hot and the sting – man, he needed the stinging to stop. It wasn’t fading at all, but building in strength. It was not fun at all. Plus his face was beginning to feel a little warm as well.

Slade grasped him by his wrists strongly, yet with such gentleness, Dick hadn’t even imagined it was possible with the man. Slade looked over the burns carefully before letting one of his wrists go, while still softly holding the other.

“Come with me. Will has some magical spray for burns like this,” said Slade, walking away and pulling Dick carefully with him. Dick just followed the man, although he raised his eyebrow at the comment.

“Magical?” questioned Dick.

“Yes, he swears it’s magical. But as I heal quickly on my own, I never get to try it out,” said Slade, pulling him into the bathroom in the hallway. “They stopped making it, actually. Years ago. Will was in a total uproar over it and bought enough to last two lifetimes, at least.”

“If it’s so magical, why stop making it?” asked Dick, as he watched Slade begin to rummage through the cabinets in the bathroom.

“I have no idea. Apparently the disease of stupidity is rampant in our society,” said Slade, deadpanned; closing the door of the one cabinet before trying a different one. Dick snorted at that. The man’s satirical humor was funny when it wasn’t directed at him.

“Aha, here we go,” said Slade as he pulled out a light blue bottle. Dick eyed it carefully.

“Sunburn Relief Spray?” questioned Dick, noticing that below the title there was another line that said, ‘with aloe’. Slade looked at it skeptically.

“I suppose it’ll work with steam and boiling water burns, too…” Slade’s eye narrowed slightly as he read the back. Dick couldn’t hold back the wry thought that was crossing his mind.

“Sure there isn’t anything of you in there to make it magical?” asked Dick with a grin. Slade looked down at Dick with a smirk.

“Sorry, there’s no ‘saliva of Slade’ in here. Too bad. I could do that, too. Just have to work it up a bit.”

Dick held up his hands hurriedly as the man pretended to work up a spit.

“No, no! That’s okay. I’ll use the magical sun spray, thank you very much.”

Slade chuckled as he motioned for Dick to sit down on the lowered toilet seat. Dick quickly did so, ready for the increasingly painful burns to ease up even if it were only just a little bit. He really hoped the spray would take away some of the sting. His face was getting hotter and his mind was getting fuzzy.

Slade knelt down in front of Dick and shook the bottle harshly. The heat in Dick’s face was making him feel slightly disoriented, so he didn’t have the time to feel too astonished by the soft way the man was truly helping him with his injury. Slade carefully aimed the spray and began coating his skin with the cool liquid.

Almost instantly, an eased sensation ran over Dick’s skin. The stinging faded quickly. He let out a soft, satisfied sigh. He felt Slade’s fingers rub the spray into his skin and there was more spraying afterward. Then, Slade took Dick’s hands and sprayed the burned areas on his fingers. The sting disappeared just as quickly and relief flowed over Dick.

No pain, whatsoever. It really was quite magical. His face was still greatly flushed, however; and he closed his eyes, thankful for the relief from the burns.

“How’s that?” asked Slade, after rubbing the last of the spray into Dick’s fingers.

“Mmm, perfect. Burns don’t burn no more,” murmured Dick. Slade raised his eyebrow before setting the bottle onto the countertop of the sink. He slowly reached out towards Dick’s forehead and placed a hand on it. Dick was too tired and hazy to notice. In fact, the man’s hand felt cool to the touch, easing the flushing in his face; and he found himself leaning into it, sighing in relief again.

“You’re hot,” said Slade, sounding slightly perplexed.

“Mmhmm…”

The hand moved its location; another one coming as well to fully enclose Dick’s flushed cheeks. The cold hands eased the flushness in his face and he sighed contently again. It didn’t matter whose hands these were, they were lessening the annoying warmth in his face.

“Did you stay close to the fire while you cooked?” asked Slade as he continued to check Dick’s condition.

“Mmmhm…”

“You really did cook yourself up good this time,” said Slade with a shake of his head and a light chuckle. He removed his hands and Dick let out a soft, unhappy whimper as the heat returned to his face.

“Come and we’ll get you an ice pack,” said Slade, helping Dick to his feet. He swayed slightly, not fully understanding what was going on. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t feeling well. Was it really because he stood too close to the stove? Oh, right… no – his throat hurt, too. So, it was the cold. No need to mention that…

“Or you could just leave your hands there,” murmured Dick, leaning against Slade slightly for support and wishing for the coolness again. He was too unsteady to notice the look of shock that slammed into Slade’s face at his comment.

“Now I really know you’re out of it,” muttered Slade under his breath, not loud enough for Dick to comprehend what he had said.

Slade gently helped Dick back to the kitchen, leading him to settle down into a chair. Slade went to the freezer and pulled out two thin ice packs; handing them to Dick afterward. Dick placed them on his face and sighed happily, although the ice packs were very cold and he ended up pulling them off occasionally. Dick’s mind began to clear as the heat subsided in his face and strength began to flow back through him.

A few moments later, Slade came back into the kitchen with a fresh t-shirt for Dick, who gratefully accepted without a word. He slipped it on before putting the ice packs back onto his face again.

While Dick recovered, Slade finished with the pasta; cooling it down with cold water. Soon, the table had a dripping colander full of cold pasta. Some of the pasta was sticking together from staying in the pan too long. Then, Slade turned around and observed the stovetop.

“You cooked meat, too,” said Slade, sounding a bit amused by the fact.

Dick grinned, taking the ice packs away from his face. His mind felt much clearer now from the cold that had come from them. He was feeling a bit better and the stinging hadn’t come back from his burns. That stuff had really worked. His throat was getting rawer, but that wasn’t something he couldn’t deal with. He felt kind of happy at the moment and surprisingly normal, too.

His tongue loosened as a result.

“Yup, I mean what’s pasta without the meat, you know,” said Dick with a smile. He stood up, swaying for a brief moment before he gained his balance; and went to the cabinet, pulling out two white, medium bowls. He handed one to Slade and continued, “Beast Boy is great and all, but he has got some weird taste in food. Have you ever tasted tofu?” Slade merely shook his head. Dick gave a shudder. “Good, that stuff is nasty. I know a lot of people like it and Asian cultures use it a lot, but they must know how to cook with it. Beast Boy does not.”

Slade chuckled at that. He scooped two large spoonfuls of pasta into the bowl, filling it and trading it with Dick; doing the same for the second bowl. He moved to the meat and scooped one large spoonful of that into the bowl he was holding and traded with Dick again.

Once both bowls were filled with pasta and meat, Dick took the bowls to the table and Slade looked for the pasta sauce that Dick had laid out on the countertop; having not noticed it right away.

“I dunno how Beast Boy can stand the stuff,” continued Dick with a shake of his head, setting the bowls onto the table. Slade finally found the pasta sauce, popped the lid, and commenced pouring a generous amount on each serving.

Dick frowned suddenly. “There’s no microwave up here. The food’s gonna be cold.”

“Which is why,” started Slade, taking a bowl in each hand, “we go downstairs. Will hates microwaves and refuses to use one.”

“Why?” asked Dick, following after Slade as the man strode to the basement door and began to walk down the stairs.

“Thinks they don’t cook food, but fries it,” answered Slade. “I agree, but I still have one for convenience. There are just some things a microwave can do to make life easier or faster.”

Slade stopped suddenly, midway down the first flight of the stairs. Dick hadn’t noticed and bumped into the man’s firm back. He looked up at him curiously as Slade turned around and smirked down at Dick.

“Forgot something. Go get the cheese.”

With a nod, Dick bounded up the stairs with a burst of energy that he probably didn’t really have. He tore open the fridge door and grabbed a bag of shredded cheese before running back to the basement stairs. Slade hadn’t moved from his spot; but once he saw Dick with his bag of cheese, the man smirked and continued down.

Dick followed Slade all the way down the stairs; passing through the training room and into the family room. Slade passed by the couch and went straight to the small kitchen. Covering a bowl with a paper plate, he placed it into the microwave and set the time to four minutes. He turned around and leaned against the countertop; his arms folded as he observed Dick lightly.

“I tend to avoid eating anything with large amounts of soy,” said Slade. Dick raised his eyebrow, surprised by this statement. Slade chuckled as he watched Dick’s reaction.

“Tofu is made from soy. Didn’t you know?” asked Slade; an eyebrow raised wryly. Dick scowled and turned his head away.

“I–I knew that…”

“Mmm…”

“So, I forgot!” snapped Dick, whipping his head to look back at Slade. “Give me a break, already. I’ve got enough information rattling in my brain to remember something like that.”

“Yes, well; as I was saying,” began Slade, stilling smirking heavily. “I avoid soy. Screws over hormones at times.”

“Really?”

“Yes, your green friend shouldn’t eat so much of it,” said Slade slyly. “Might be affecting him.”

Dick considered that, ignoring the obvious snide remark. For a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if all that soy wasn’t doing Beast Boy any good.

“Do you really think so?” asked Dick. The man looked a little surprised by Dick’s sincere question; but then, he shrugged lightly.

“It’s possible, but it’s more likely to affect female hormones than male. He probably would feel better if he didn’t consume so much. Variety is best, actually.”

Dick made a mental note that if he ever managed to see his friends again to advise his younger friend against eating so much of the same thing. Maybe his hyperactive ways could tone down a bit.

Maybe…

The microwave finished with the second bowl and soon the two of them were sitting on the couch with piping hot bowls of pasta, each with a generous amount of shredded cheese on top.

“You did a good job,” said Slade approvingly as he ate. Dick gave a soft smile, but didn’t say anything. He felt pleased that he had done something nice for once; thus, the glow of warmth was delightful in his chest. The need to serve others was imbedded deeply into Dick’s core. He loved the feeling he got when he did something nice for someone and today it hadn’t mattered who it was.

There was silence for a few moments, but Dick began to not be able to stand it. Thus, he began to talk. There wasn’t anything he was really saying, he just felt the need to talk.

And Slade listened.

The man didn’t say anything as Dick spoke, but he was very much listening to every word that Dick was saying. Dick talked about his friends and some of their adventures. He spoke of the moments when they fought over what kind of pizza they would order – and afterwards, who’d get the last slice. He spoke of moments when they fought over what late night movie to rent.

Dick also talked about the fun moments they all had when they went to the park to play football. Moments spilled from his lips without Dick even realizing what he was doing.

Then, Dick caught himself suddenly.

He mentally clicked his tongue. His deteriorating health was making him have a loose tongue. He couldn’t believe that he was so easily chatting away like this – to Slade so easily. But… It was sort of nice to talk about these things. It had been quite a while since Dick had just simply been happy to chatter about nothing. He rarely got this chance ever, since most of his time was spent studying and training underneath Slade’s constant tutelage whether he liked it or not.

“What’s wrong, Dick?” asked Slade, tilting his head as he observed Dick.

“You’re… You’re not annoyed?” asked Dick. The man probably didn’t like hearing about the Teen Titans. They were, after all, his enemies and they always did all they could to stop his plans. Slade raised an eyebrow.

“Annoyed? About what?”

“Me talking about my friends,” said Dick.

“Why on earth would I be annoyed about that?” asked Slade dubiously, a wry smirk lifting his lips. “You were enjoying yourself for once.”

Dick was a little surprised. Slade honestly didn’t look or sound annoyed. But wasn’t the man trying to make him a criminal? Did criminals really have friends that were on the other side? And what did it matter to Slade if Dick was happy or not?

“I dunno, you seem like you’d want me to break all ties with my friends,” said Dick. Slade didn’t answer for a moment, considering this somewhat. Then, the man shrugged lightly.

“It’s of no consequence if you have friends,” replied Slade. “You’ll just be on opposite sides. The real question will be: will they still choose to be your friends when you are no longer like them.”

“I won’t change sides,” said Dick swiftly in a decided tone.

“You will change with time.”

“I won’t change that. I refuse to.”

“Growth is change, Dick,” said Slade. “If you wish to grow, you must change. Growth is becoming stronger; different; wiser. That is change.”

“I will never change like that,” persisted Dick. “I can still grow without changing the way I view the world. I don’t want to steal. I don’t want to kill.”

“You have plenty of time to change. You aren’t going anywhere anytime soon,” said Slade with a dismissive wave of his hand. A smirk rose in his features. “In fact, I have all the patience in the world to await such growth.”

Dick studied the man for a moment. Then, his eyes gently narrowed as a thought crossed his mind.

“So, you think that growth brings change?”

“Of course.”

“Are you still growing?”

A hard look flashed through Slade’s face. But it fell away into an impassive one immediately after.

“Everyone continues to grow.”

“Then,” began Dick, believing and hoping in the words he was about to say. “Even you can change your thinking – change your ways. One day, you might grow and change just like you think I will.”

Slade stared at Dick for a long moment, before breaking out into laughter. It wasn’t a chilling sound, but pure mirth as the man shook his head as he laughed. Even though the laughter was towards him, Dick found the laughter nice. It was different than the man’s dark chilling laughter. This felt… normal.

No diabolical villain laughter here.

“Haha, oh… Now that is funny,” said Slade finally, shaking his head once more. “Me? Change? Change my thinking; my ways? Oh, Dick; that’s just not going to happen.”

“But you said you’ll continue to grow and change.”

“Not like that,” said Slade; all previous mirth sliding away in an instant.

“But you have changed,” insisted Dick.

“I haven’t at all.”

“You stopped beating me,” whispered Dick. He stared at his hands in his lap; tightening his hold onto his empty bowl. Slade’s visible eye flashed with a hard light before it softened. After a moment, he waved dismissively.

“No, I haven’t. I just stick to one area now.”

“You’ve changed, Slade. Whether you think you have or not; there’s no denying it – you’ve changed.”

“You’re mistaken, Dick,” said Slade flatly; his jaw tightening.

“So, you’re not holding your temper more?” asked Dick in a soft undertone. He continued quickly as Slade narrowed his eye. “So, you’re still hitting me out of anger? Still slapping me? Still punching me? Still kicking me? Face it, Slade – you’ve changed.”

Slade was silent as he turned his gaze away. A part of Dick actually wanted to express his thanks on the matter. While he was not at all thrilled at the man’s new tactics, at least he wasn’t wincing minutely in pain from any intense bruises. Despite the undeniable situation that the man had kidnapped him and forced him to stay here against his will, Slade had changed – and that made things a lot easier for Dick to accept his current life. He also wasn’t always afraid – afraid that the man would lash out at him in anger.

Sure, Dick still didn’t quite trust that the man wouldn’t go back to his original ways, but it had been a month since then and Slade had kept his word completely. Slade was proving to make a visible effort in holding back his temper – like he had this morning, even when Dick had been pretty offensive. Slowly, but surely, Dick was beginning to trust just a little that the man would keep his word.

But there was still that nagging voice reminding him of the possibility. Old bruises might have faded, but the fear hadn’t completely. It was faint and getting fainter by the day, but it still was there. It was getting better, though. Dick had to admit: the man had changed some.

But it was obvious that Slade didn’t want to admit that he had changed. Was it such a problem? Wasn’t the man trying to convince Dick that he would change? It was almost as if Slade couldn’t stomach his own words. What was that old Aesop tale? ‘Do as I say and not as I do?’ Or was Slade simply afraid to change?

“Well…” began Dick in a murmur; weakness setting in. His mind was beginning to feel as it did earlier; fuzzy. He should’ve brought one of those ice packs down with him. He was unable to hold back the words that slipped from his tongue. “Even if you won’t admit it, I still… appreciate it.”

He was suddenly getting very tired now. The heat in his face had been intensifying during dinner and his throat was now ragingly raw. He could feel tenseness rising inside his chest – a sign that in a few days he’d be coughing and hacking. Dick was still looking at his hands in his lap, so he wasn’t able to see the taken aback look on Slade’s face.

He also didn’t notice himself slipping away. He was feeling really, really tired all of the sudden. Somehow, he lost himself.

Dick fell, collapsing onto the couch onto his side; his dinner bowl and fork toppling to the floor with a softened clatter.

“Dick?” said Slade, standing up. He was at the boy’s side in a moment, kneeling down on the floor as he placed a hand on his forehead. It was hot – all too hot; worse than it had been before.

“Dick, can you hear me?”

There was a low mumble that escaped the boy’s lips.

“Dick—good grief, what is going on around here?”

“…hurts…”

“What does?” asked Slade in a whisper; matching the boy’s soft voice.

“Throat…”

“You have a sore throat?” There was a wan nod. Slade raised an eyebrow. “How long has your throat been bothering you?”

“Fe—few days…”

Slade did everything he could to reel back the growl that threatened to part through his lips.

“Blast it, boy—you, too!? You should’ve told me sooner and we could have prevented it from becoming so strong. If you weren’t so sick right now, you’d be over my knee right this very second!”

Dick groaned deeply, his head rolling to the side; and with a whine, murmured, “Don’t…”

Slade gave out an exasperated sigh. There was nothing left to do. Good grief, first Wintergreen, now Dick. What was so hard about letting him know when either of them were sick? How on earth did they get sick in the first place? It wasn’t as if they had contact with the outside world – although Wintergreen might… Blast it. The old man probably caught it while doing his blasted grocery shopping. The only exit and entrance out of here and the old man had to bring back disease with him.

Blast it all.

With another heavy sigh, Slade slid his arms beneath the boy’s back and knees, carefully lifting him up into his chest. Dick whimpered lightly; his head resting against Slade’s chest.

“You silly boy,” murmured Slade. “You should’ve come to me with this.”

There was another low whimper.

Well, Slade had been right. But it had come a little late. It wasn’t going to be a long ‘day’ – no, no; it was going to be a looong ‘fortnight’. 

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