okay, imagine everyone gets the Robins mixed up. look, it’s hard, their color themes are all too similar, two of them have ‘red’ in their name and two of them have ‘robin’ in their name, and apparently one of them was a girl, and honestly this is too much background reading to be a goon. and it doesn’t really matter if you get their names mixed up, because it will inevitably end with you beaten unconscious and ziptied to a telephone pole. can’t keep things straight with a concussion anyway.
so, fic where a random group of thugs decides to kidnap a Robin and sell them off to their nemesis. only they get the Robins wrong. every time.
Hood squints up at Deathstroke. Deathstroke stares down at him. “in which universe does this look like Nightwing to you?” “he’s got wings on his chest!” “that’s a bat, you moron.” “oh, uh--wait, where are you going?” “you managed to snag the one Bat that’s not opposed to killing, and I’m not going to sit around here and wait while he blows this warehouse up.” “but we searched him--urk!” the warehouse explodes when Deathstroke is two blocks away.
Red Robin groans and pulls himself off the floor of the warehouse. Black Mask makes a hissed growl. “you got the wrong Red, you utter moron!” “s-sorry, but you said--” “I gave you a very clear description! I said red helmet! does this idiot look like he has a red helmet to you?” Red Robin yawns, politely covering his mouth. none of the goons notice that his hands are free. “what am I supposed to do with this skinny-ass creativity-challenged kid, huh?” snick of a bo staff extending. “oh,” Red Robin smiles, “I have a few ideas.” screams.
Spoiler stares unblinking. Ra’s al Ghul stares back, also unblinking. the cave glitters with green light. there is a marble chessboard between them. “would you like a game?” “sure, sounds like fun!” both of them ignore the screams of the hapless goons in the background.
Robin snarls like a vengeful rattlesnake, trussed up with a giant bow on his head. Cluemaster fights the urge to break something. “I’m sorry, but which one of you idiots identified this kid as my daughter?” “I--we--um--” “he’s the wrong age, gender, race--” “we didn’t want to assume!” “aw, how progressive of you!” everyone looks up. Nightwing is perched there, smiling. Batman is perched there, not smiling. “oh shit--”
Deathstroke stares upward, as though searching for patience. “you called me here, wasting my considerably expensive time, to tell me that you have Robin.” “yessir.” “why do you think I give a flying fuck about Robin?” “you--you hate the Teen Titans, right?” “that was ten years ago--you know what, fuck it, fine, show me the kid.” the goons haul in Nightwing. Deathstroke stares, and then smiles. “well, what do you know, you idiots finally managed to get your Robins right.” the goons perk up. “so you’ll buy him?” Deathstroke unsheathes his sword.
