IMPORTANT MESSAGE: I'm now also on AO3, and this story will also be posted there. Many of you have asked me to move/get an account there for… years… and now it has happened. If there's any interest over there, I'll keep it up.

A/N: Some of the names I use for background characters are actual DC characters but that doesn't mean their story arch or character is the same, especially not very minor characters.

In Perfect Control

Chapter 1: Damage Control

Robin had of course known that this day would come sooner or later, but not this soon. Definitely not this soon. The church was full of people he barely knew. Next to him, the normally stoic Alfred was sitting, his shoulders shaking slightly. In front of him, a little to the left, stood the flower-covered coffin. Bruce was dead. The priest was going on and on about something or other. Robin was hiding behind his sun glasses, not caring if it might be considered disrespectful in this so-called house of a so-called god. His tears were falling in a steady but silent stream. He thought he would be able to keep it together. He hadn't. He hadn't been able to keep anything together.

At barely eighteen, a weight had landed on his shoulders. Not protecting the world, not protecting Gotham or Jump, no, he had inherited a decisively more frightening burden: Wayne Enterprises. It had been a week since the accident – a stupid, normal car accident! – and he had been drowned in papers ever since. Robin had thought that lawyers would handle it all, that he and Alfred would be left alone to grieve, but as it was, he had barely had any time to process what had happened. He had signed too many documents unread already, nodded at too many things he didn't understand, seen too many insincere smiles that reminded him of cartoon sharks. And it kept coming. People, papers, obligations. He felt guilty as he realized that this was the first time, apart from the few hours of sleep he had gotten each night, where no one was demanding anything of him. Well. Apart from appearances. Robin automatically took the handkerchief handed to him by the old butler by his side. Fuck appearances.

One month later…

"Caroline, can you come in here?" Robin asked over the intercom, his voice somewhat agitated.

The redheaded secretary came into the huge corner office a moment later, looking almost reluctant to do so. She had been Bruce's secretary too, and her normally impeccable look with her hair in a tight bun and black rimmed glasses, making her appear somewhat older than her early thirties, had started to fray a bit in the last couple of weeks.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne?"

The name change had been suggested by the board, 'to smooth the transition', to 'think of the brand'. Robin hated it. Richard was also his only first name now, and, maybe as a quiet rebellion, he had continued to think of himself as 'Robin', something that he was used to from the Titans. It was something that was only his, and very few things were nowadays.

"I asked for the quarterly report, why am I getting papers from December?" he asked harshly. Someone, he couldn't even remember who at this point, had told him he needed to look over the latest numbers in preparation for another endless meeting that went over his head.

"It's… It's February?" the secretary told him, sounding like she wasn't quite sure of it herself.

"Exactly! Why am I getting numbers from last year?"

"Because…" the woman swallowed but then seemed to find the courage somewhere to continue. "We're in the middle of the quarter now. Last quarter ended in December. You… you might have meant the monthly reports?"

Robin stared at her and had never felt this stupid in his life. Well, that was a lie. He felt this stupid every day nowadays, and he was very, very tired of it. He thought he was good at getting by on less sleep than a normal teen, but now he was getting half of that. And no breaks.

"If you knew that, then why the hell did you get me the quarterly one?!" he growled.

"You… you asked for-"

"YOUR JOB IS GETTING ME WHAT I NEED!" Robin yelled. "E-mail me those files at once!"

The woman simply fled and the young man grabbed paper weight on the desk, throwing it against the wall hard enough for the solid crystal to shatter.

"That was a Lalique figurine-" a voice suddenly said behind him. Robin spun around and came face to face with a large shadow. For a moment, for a crazy, hopeful moment, he thought it was- but then the man stepped into the light which caught the two-toned mask. "Worth about 340 dollars, I believe," the mercenary continued calmly.

"Slade!" The name was out of the teen's mouth before he realized that he had just outed himself. But what did it matter? The hero Robin didn't exist anymore. Not really.

The man snorted softly like he was scolding the boy for being that careless, but otherwise just tilted his head a little, like he was curiously waiting to see what the teen would do.

Robin, in the meanwhile, had come to some of his own conclusions.

"Someone already put a price on my head?" he asked, getting no reaction. He considered his environment for any advantages but then just laughed a joyless laugh and threw his hands out. "Well, at least they sent someone good. Get on with it. I don't fucking care." He sat down on the edge of the desk as to prove his point. His shoulder's sagging a bit. No more of this hell. Might be worth it.

"I'm not here to kill you, I'm here to take over," Slade told him, making the teen blink.

"Take over? Really? Great! Do it! There's a list of things to do here," the teen said and grabbed a large note pad, holding it up at the man. "Don't ask me what half of the things means because I don't know. You have a meeting in an hour. Where do I sign?". He was sarcastic, but a part of him meant it. Whatever the mercenary wanted at this point, he could have. Robin was just… done.

"Here, actually," the man shrugged off something that no one who wanted to live would have dared to call a backpack to his face, but it was a bag, and it went on his back. It was really thin, though, made to carry maybe a laptop, Robin guessed, and it seemed to be made from bullet proof material. Slade wore macho backpacks. Robin's lips quirked a bit. He was tired. Really tired. Everything seemed crazy. And that, as it turned out, was just the start.

The man handed him a plastic folder with two copies of the same paper inside.

"This... this is an employment contract?" Robin said, looking it over quickly. "For… you? This is the official Wayne stationary as well, how did you…?"

"Maybe you should be asking questions starting with 'why', instead?" the man suggested.

"I… yes," the teen agreed. "Why?"

"I've been watching you. You're sinking. Fast. I'm here to help."

"If you really wanted to help, you would have shot me by now," the teen muttered. "How is- why… explain?" the last part came out as more as a plea than an order.

"You're out of control. The way you just treated Miss Crown proves it," the man started.

Robin gave the door a guilty glance. "Wait, she didn't hire you, did she?" he half joked.

"I'm sure that, if she had, it would have been a termination contract." The man's voice sounded somewhat amused. "No. We'll get to that in a moment. You're out of control and I'm here to take it back."

"Lovely, I'm all aboard," Robin drawled, but he couldn't help it; somewhere, deep inside, he started to feel hopeful.

"I'm going to start by taking all control away from you."

And then the hope died, leaving only confusion and some anger behind. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to teach you how to act in this world, to stand on your own two feet, but you won't like my methods."

"Well, then I won't hire you."

"You have no choice."

"Imagine that. Here's me trying: no." Robin snorted.

"Then within an hour the word that Batman is dead will spread, and Bruce's name with it."

Robin froze. He had tried very hard to keep people from discovering this very thing. He had used an altered old Slade-bot that Cyborg had sent him, as well as projected moving shadows, used drones, and he'd driven the bat-mobile through the city every other night. Pretending to fight crime had turned out to take just as long as actually fighting it. He wasn't going to keep it up, though. The hero was out of business, he had to focus on the actual business first, he had decided. Alfred had agreed. First, he would find his feet in the business world and then he'd look into protecting the city again. That had been the plan. It had seemed so easy. If Bruce was exposed, the manor would be a target for criminals and the justice system both. Batman had been a vigilante, after all, the authorities would be more than interested. If Slade did what he threatened to do, and Robin had no reason to believe that he wouldn't… then he'd lose both worlds. Let down his mentor completely.

"I'm… listening," Robin growled.

"Good boy. I'll come in through that door in civilian clothes in about 20 minutes. Until then you will apologize profoundly to the young lady out there, and you will arrange for a big bouquet of flowers to be on her desk when she comes into work tomorrow morning, including two VIP season tickets to Gotham Goliaths."

"Wait… baseball?" Robin asked.

"She likes it, and so does her fiancé." The man shrugged like it was somehow common knowledge.

"I… ok."

"Good. Make it happen," the man said and walked up to the window. "You don't have long, Robin," he added.

"It's Richard now."

The man chuckled. "You'll always be Robin to me," he said and simply jumped out.

For some reason that made the teen feel… warm.

Robin reached for the phone the second the man was gone. Somehow, he had decided to obey, because… because he could. And probably should. But at this point the "could" was more important. Two phone calls and one conversation within a time frame of twenty minutes. It was doable. He knew how to do this. He ended up ordering the tickets online as he was talking to the florist and then he reached for the intercom again, swallowing nervously as he did.

"Caroline, could you please come in for a moment?" he asked.

Five minutes later the door closed behind a, hopefully, happier secretary, and not long after that the buzzer on the intercom went off.

"Yes?" Robin asked, knowing fully well what it would be about.

"Sir, a Mr. Wilson here to see you?"

"Send him in."

Robin straightened up in the chair. This was the first time he would see the man unmasked, and the whole weird situation was almost worth it.

Slade walked in like he owned the place, in a crisp and very expensive looking suit and holding a briefcase. He looked immaculate, even with the black eye patch.

Caroline hovered a little bit in the doorway, appearing unsure, as this appointment obviously hadn't been on her agenda.

"It's fine, I expected him. Why don't you go home for the night?" Robin said and glanced at his watch, which was creeping close to seven. She had put in very long hours lately too… and been badly repaid for it.

"Thank you, sir," she nodded and closed the door.

Robin looked over at Slade and fought the instinct to call the woman back. Instead he squared his shoulders and leaned back in the chair, trying to look confident.

"Well?" he asked. "Explain yourself."

The man smirked and raised an eyebrow, studying him. "A for effort," he was told. "We need to change the furniture in here though. That chair dwarfs you, and so does the desk. They have to go."

"This desk is an antique! It's been with the family for generations!" Robin objected.

"We'll put it in storage until you grow into it, then," the man shrugged. "Besides, you're a Grayson. Why do you care? Why not sell it all?"

"I'm a Wayne now… and it… it's his legacy!"

"Yes, his. Not yours."

"The company stems from the 17'th century!" Robin objected. "I'm not going to throw it away! It meant too much to him, to the whole city! Lex Corp is already sniffing around, and I won't let it take a single bite!"

The man's smirk grew slightly into something that more resembled a smile.

"Good. Now that I know what it all means to you, I'm sure we can come to an… agreement."

Robin glared at him. "You need to explain what it is you want first."

"You're going to sign that contract stating that you have hired me as your personal consultant. From there, I will make all decisions in your life until such time that you are able to stand on your own two feet. This arrangement will be kept within the family, so to speak, on the outside it will still seem that you're running the show. Well… it will start to seem like you're running the show, because it sure as hell haven't looked like that for the last month."

"Fuck you."

"Noted. I will be with you 24/7, Mr. Pennyworth has already prepared a room for me-"

"Alfred knows about this?" Robin asked, shocked. Suddenly it all seemed a bit more real.

"He has been informed, yes. Furthermore, I will, on a few occasions, impersonate Batman, for as long as you chose to keep the charade up. If you wish to, we'll arrange his 'death' at an appropriate time, or you take over the mantle when you're ready to do so."

Robin shook his head. He wouldn't become Batman. Someone else, perhaps, or he'd be Robin again, but not Batman.

"That, at least, is up to you," Slade shrugged. "Very little else is from now on."

"What do you gain from this?" the teen asked angerly.

"Funny you should ask…" the man walked up to the desk, put down his briefcase, opened it and withdrew another paper. "You need to sign this too."

Robin took it and skimmed through it. His initial surprise changed into a form of glee. "This is a parole form."

"Yes."

"You need to show proof of employment or you'll go to jail?"

"That's the idea, yes." Slade didn't seem as troubled by this as Robin wanted him to, but it at least made the teen feel better.

"So if I don't sign this you go to jail?" he wanted to clarify.

"No, of course not."

"But-"

"They wouldn't be able to arrest me unless, possibly, they sent Clark," Slade shrugged. "And even he would have to find me first."

The teen blinked at the fact that the mercenary knew Superman's real identity, but decided not to comment. It was clear the man knew quite a lot more than was healthy for… well… probably humanity as a whole.

"So… why do you care if I sign it?"

"It would help in future endeavors. I've been offered some government work, but they require a blank slate, so to speak, this was part of an offer they made."

Robin slumped a little in his chair. With the man's threat hanging over him he really didn't have a choice about any of this, but he still wanted to find out more. He looked over at the employment contract again.

"The wage… it's… reasonable."

"Of course. The media is watching you like hawks, if you hired someone too cheaply or too expensively, they would get too curious. I will be in the spotlight enough as it is."

"You couldn't just be, like… my bodyguard?" Robin suggested. Gesturing vaguely to the man's build.

"I considered it, but no. I might need to speak up and handle things at times, a body guard wouldn't have that authority."

"Will you… this…" Robin now indicated the papers, "really… help?"

"Yes. But like I said; you might not like it, at first. In a while you'll understand."

"And for how long?"

"However long I deem necessary."

"So you're holding all the cards, is that's what you're saying?" Robin snorted.

The man smirked. "Exactly."

The teen closed his eyes for a moment. He had no choice, and his life was in ruins anyway. Why not just sign it away? How could that possibly be worse than what was happening already? What was he trying to hold on to? His pride? What use was that now? He opened his eyes, nodded curly and reached for a pen. His hand still wasn't used to signing 'Richard Wayne', and the signatures looked a bit clumsy to him, but at least it was done. He looked up at Slade tiredly.

"Now what?"

The man collected the contracts and, which made the teen smile slightly, put one in his 'out' box for his secretary to file.

"You have a meeting in thirty minutes. Cancel it," came the order.

Robin opened his mouth to question it, but then just shrugged and pulled his keyboard closer. A few seconds later the participants had gotten an alert that the meeting was cancelled. Robin had barely double checked that the message had really been sent when his phone rang. He looked at the number.

"It's Pete Burke, he's in charge of Wayne Construction, what do I tell him?"

"Put him on speaker, introduce me, and I'll take it from there," Slade told him.

"Pete?" Robin answered.

"Ricky, my boy, I just got the message, not a good time to cancel, I have to say," the overly chipper-sounding man said. The teen always had a feeling he was talked down to when this man addressed him, and that was saying something considering what had just gone on with Slade.

"Something came up. You're on speaker with my new asset, Slade Wilson," the teen said, using the name on the employment contract. "He's going to step in as a consultant. Slade…?"

"Wilson here," the man said clearly. "We have to confirm the meeting in cancelled. You will soon receive a notification for a meeting tomorrow morning, regarding a different, but more urgent matter."

"I don't think you can-" Pete began.

"Russel, let me assure you I have full authority to do anything I please," Slade said and leered down at Robin, who suddenly felt like a rabbit having been discovered by a fox. "I'm here to turn this ship around, and I can fire and hire anyone to make it go smoothly," the man continued. "Now, we have things to prepare for tomorrow, like I said, you'll get a message shortly. And this is need to know, for now."

"I… yes, sir," the man said, albeit reluctantly, and after a short farewell greeting to the teen, hung up.

"I rather enjoyed that," the young man admitted.

Slade chuckled. "Now, send a message to the board. Meeting, tomorrow morning at nine, here at Wayne Tower, main conference room. No press."

The teen nodded and did as he was told. Slade read through the message and nodded his approval before Robin sent it.

"Good. Let's go," the man ordered.

Robin was very ready for this strange day to end, although he had enough to do back home to keep him up until dawn. Again. He stood up and started to pack his laptop.

"Leave it. Leave everything. You won't need it tonight," Slade told him, waiting impatiently by the door.

"But-"

"That was an order."

The teen grumbled but accepted and was almost at the door when his phone rang. Slade snatched it from his hand and turned it off.

"You can't do that!"

"Were you in the room before when I told you about taking control?"

"Yes, but-"

"Did Bruce have to answer phone calls at all times of the day?"

"No, but-"

"Then neither do you. They have their orders. No more objection, we're going home," the man said and placed a hand at the small of Robin's back, firmly enough for the teen to comply.

They took the elevator down to the garage, and Robin fished the key out of his pocket when he approached the car, a ten-year-old silver Mercedes that didn't stand out too much. He had picked it out from Bruce's collection for just that reason. Just a few months ago he had drooled at the thought of driving around in any of the man's pricier vehicles, but now he just got a bad taste in his mouth thinking about it.

"Give me the keys, you're not driving," Slade suddenly said, standing in his way.

"Why?" the teen asked, closing his fingers over them defensively.

"You're questioning me far too much, but we'll work on that," the mercenary growled. "You're exhausted, distracted and, most importantly; because I say so. Give me the keys. Now." His whole demeanor screamed out 'warning' and Robin heeded it. He was tired, he told himself. He dropped the keys into the man's palm and rounded the car to the passenger seat.

They didn't speak on the drive back, and the teen's mood grew darker and more irritated by the second.

"Master Richard," Alfred greeted him kindly. "Mr. Wilson," he added a little colder.

"Alfred, did you know about this?" Robin growled, gesturing to Slade in general.

"I was informed earlier today," the old butler answered cautiously and then straightened a little. "I was made to understand that it would be your decision to proceed?"

"Not much of a choice," Robin muttered.

Either Alfred didn't hear him or ignored him, because the old man continued. "I need your approval for the cocktail party menu. The caterers are suggesting-"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE FUCKING MENU!" Robin yelled, having the old man recoil slightly. "JUST ORDER WHAT THE HELL YOU WANT AND-"

Suddenly he was grabbed and slammed into the marble floor so hard that he lost the ability to breathe for a moment. When he tried to get up a heavy foot landed on the middle of his back, pinning him.

"Apologize."

Robin snarled incoherently and the pressure grew until he let out a gasp of pain.

"Apologize. Now. Alfred is family. He doesn't deserve you lashing out because you let your foul mood get the better of you," Slade growled.

Robin stilled. Shame colored his cheeks.

"I… I'm sorry. Al, I'm… sorry."

"It's… quite alright, Master Richard," the old man stuttered, seemingly rather shocked at the scene.

Slade was apparently pleased, however, as the pressure disappeared and Robin scrabbled to his feet.

"Go to your room and shower. I'll be there shortly," Slade told him.

Robin, not quite knowing what to do, glanced quickly up at Alfred, mumbling another 'sorry' and fled.

The men watching him flee were closer in age that what seemed possible, but there their similarities ended.

"Do you think you will be able to help him?" Alfred asked quietly, suddenly a new familiarity in his voice.

"Hell if I know," Slade sighed. "But I'll try. I owe Bruce for Azerbaijan."

The butler let out a short chuckle. "He knew that, and I think he enjoyed it. I don't think he ever planned on letting you pay the debt back."

"Well… he doesn't have a choice now." Slade snorted, and met the other man's eyes. "You made the right decision, calling me."

To be Continued…

A/N. There. Setup done. Like? Yes? No? Fears? Hopes? Let me know!