Dick twisted in his blankets, brows furrowing as he slept.
It was a clear night that night, the moon shining down upon the city. He had been with Slade for fourteen months at that point, had missed his fifteenth birthday, had missed a quiet celebration with Alfred and Bruce and Jason. It had taken Dick four of those months to stop fighting back, another three for deep conditioning to take effect, and the other seven had been laden with intense training- guns and swords and further stealth and more and more and more--
The Apprentice was poised on a roof's edge, waiting for a flicker of light from the building below. In the beginning of his training, he had been restless. Moving feet, tapping fingers to his thigh- it had always been difficult for a bobbing bird to go still. But that had happened. Broken fingers, sharp rebuke, and further training had taught the Apprentice complete stillness, other than the faint rise and fall of his chest.
There. The flash he'd been told to wait for. The ultimate test about to begin. In the recesses of his mind, Dick knew he'd never be able to go back after this. He'd be arrested or killed on sight at best once word got out. Never able to see his brother again or touch his shoulder, for fear of soaking Jason with the blood on his hands. He balked for a second before the muffled blanket of calm, cold certainty fell about his head. Slade wouldn't give him anything he couldn't handle. Slade had promised him he never would. And Slade always kept his promises, especially to his apprentice. So the Apprentice could do this...
Renegade awakened. Never with a start. Never let anyone know you were awake until you were moving. He wasn't in the cot he was used to, nor was he dressed in his usual nightclothes. Peeping through his dark lashes, he didn't see any cameras, so with a fluid motion the teenager was upright. The small bedroom wasn't familiar to him, crowded with little trinkets on the shelves and bed laden with blue blankets. Confused, he reached out and touched a plush elephant by the pillow, the sight of it ringing with a vague nostalgia that didn't feel right.
After a brief exploration of the rest of the premises, Renegade concluded he was in a small apartment for... some reason. It was locked from the inside, but he was alone, though whoever had hidden him in this place could have left via the fire escape. Now it was time for the deep dive.
Carefully rummaging through every nook and cranny, every hidden spot, Deathstroke's partner was able to find his swords, crossed and hung up neatly behind a hidden panel in the bedroom closet, and his gun, set in the bedside table drawer. However, his uniform was missing. Slade's subcutaneous trackers were missing from his body, and new ones were in other locations. Batman's preferred locations.
They had to go.
Renegade found a long, sharp knife, and swiftly, efficiently removed the trackers, sewing and bandaging himself up after. He left the bloody tech blinking in the middle of the tiny kitchen table he'd set up shop at, then opened the hidden compartment he'd discovered in the living room once more as he scrubbed his hands clean with a disinfectant wipe. A costume hung there, one he didn't recognize, though the make of it reminded him of the man Slade went to for their uniforms. Same sort of specialized material...
But surely it was also bristling with trackers, so Renegade disregarded it and instead snagged a lensed domino mask and some smoke pearls before shutting the case once more. Nothing was out of place, except for his swords in their rightful place on his back, the gun against his hip (hidden under a stolen black hoodie), the clothes, money, and tech he was taking, the cluster of trackers pointedly left behind- and the window to the fire escape left slightly ajar.
As Renegade darted across the rooftops, leaping cleanly from one to the next, his mind whirred. He had to get into contact with Slade... But how?
