Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air was dead, thick, and suffocating. It was dark and foggy, a little lonely if not deadly. The fog trapped the world in a bottle, like there was nothing else beyond the fog, teasing eyes into seeing things that weren't there, like a dream.

The orange and black-clad mercenary crouched on the edge of a roof, he seemed paralyzed, he didn't even look like he was breathing.

He surveyed the street, not a single soul in sight. Gotham's dark night weighed heavy in the air, thick storm clouds low and dangerous. The street lamps were a sickly yellow, casting barely a haze into the foggy atmosphere. It was a place of dangerous things, deceitful, and dreadful.

Deathstroke didn't shift as a shadow dropped silently behind him.

He didn't even blink.

The mercenary continued to watch and wait, his katana safely strapped to his back and his fully loaded gun in one hand resting on his lap. The shadow grew hands, dark gloves reaching out for the unsuspecting man.

The shadow hurtled forward and tackled Deathstroke.

"Gotcha!" A light cackle filled the damp air, adding a new sense of joy to the dreary scene. The mercenary struggled to remain upright as he found a raven-haired boy had wrapped his arms around his neck. The boy was smiling and his masked eyes squinted with laughter, Deathstroke released a sigh.

"Sure kid, sure." Deathstroke rolled his eye to the heavens and focused back onto the street, ignoring the child clinging to his back. But he couldn't suppress a small smile under his mask.

"Admit it, I finally got the drop on you." The small teen said pridefully. Deathstroke could hear the boy breathing loudly next to his ear and a little heart beating against his back through the thick clothes and metal guards both of them wore.

"If you got the drop on me I wouldn't be able to do this." Deathstroke punctuated his sentence with a shrug of his shoulders, the boy gave a small yelp and a thud as he slid of the mercenaries slick metal plating.

The boy huffed with a scowl and crossed his arms as he sat on the ground in a pout. "Well, I wasn't trying to incapacitate you, if I was you'd be out cold by now."

"Would I?" Deathstroke asked, disbelief clearly evident in his tone as his gaze never shifted from the alley they were standing guard over.

"Yeah," The boy said, a grin slipping back onto his face. "especially since Catwoman taught me that one move." The boy stood and slipped into a practiced stance, he jabbed at the air playfully, imagining an opponent he had just nerve attacked.

The mercenary let the boy play as he kept an ever-watchful eye on the ground. It was times like these he wished he had both his eyes so he could watch both. (He, of course, knew that's not how eyes worked but the sentiment was still there.)

"Settle down Ren, our target is coming." The mercenary scolded with a narrowed eye, returning to a whisper.

The boy, Renegade, dropped his stance and scuttled up to the lip of the roof, peering down into the street.

Gotham was as grimy and dark as the boy remembered, dirt and litter lines the streets, the fog made it impossible to see very far but the hazy yellow street lamps signified where the street ended and started. There were some puddles here and there on the cobbled alleyways, nothing stirred in the dead air. It was peaceful almost, like the whole world just paused for a moment.

Until a dark figure slowly got more defined as it exited the fog.

Renegade shifted his footing and kept an eye out at his mentor for any signs, if he were to do anything, Deathstroke would tell him.

Deathstroke remained stoic, watching the target glide by in a dark mass through his single eye.

"Stay." Was Deathstroke's simple command. Renegade nodded his compliance and watched his mentor.

Deathstroke rose silently, keeping his gun in hand and reached back with his other to slide his katana from its sheath.

Renegade grinned, Deathstroke was about to do something cool.

The mercenary leaned forwards and fell, he somersaulted in midair and kicked off the wall. The flying mercenary dug his blade into the ground, sparks danced where the blade grated against the ground. His speed slowed and he stopped himself a few yards from the dark form.

Deathstroke straightened and twirled his blade threateningly, his gun lowered to the ground but definitely noticeable.

"Deathstroke."

The mercenary glared at the man.

"You know what's about to happen." The gravely voice continued. "You can't stop it."

"Not this time. You overestimate yourself." Deathstroke growled.

The Dark Knight didn't reply. Both men stood silently for a moment before they exploded into action.

Deathstroke brought his katana up to deflect the batarangs thrown at him, he fired off his gun and the shadowed form dodged with ease.

Each man ghosted forward, Deathstroke's katana and Batman's arm guard met with a clang of metal on metal. Batman punched the mercenary's unprotected side, the man took the blow in favor of hitting the bat vigilante on his temple with the butt of his gun.

Batman staggered back, quickly dodging Deathstroke's blade and flipping backward to gain distance.

Deathstroke fired at the vigilante again, but the bullets seemed to harmlessly pass by. Anger riled up inside of Deathstroke, he ran forwards with a guttural yell.

Batman stood still, waiting for the mercenary to get closer.

The next few minutes were filled with flying fists and grunts of pain. Batman was able to knock both the gun and the blade from Deathstroke's hands. Renegade looked down onto the scene with worry, not aware of the man creeping up behind him.

The two men were locked in an intense hand-to-hand fight, each nearly missing their target and if a single blow should land the fight would be over. Deathstroke and Batman went back and forth in lunges and dodges in a deadly dance. Batman rose his arms in an X formation to block another blow, he then kicked out and caught the mercenary in the knee, causing the man to fall.

Deathstroke grunted and sifted so he fell onto his hands, he swiped at Batman's legs with his own, now the vigilante was on the ground. Deathstroke flipped upwards and came down on the Dark Knight. There was no room for error here, every second, every blow counted.

Deathstroke was about to smash down on the vigilante's head to finish the fight but a gloved fist rose up and hit his chin.

Deathstroke's head whipped backward and his balance failed, he stumbled back, a line of blood dripping from his mouth, a section of the orange part of his mask had cracked and broke off.

Both men stood still, heavily breathing and nearly exhausted from their fight. Each man held scuff marks and deep bruises, pain lacing almost every limb and it spiked as every breath was taken. Deathstroke forced himself to stand upright, he knew that if he didn't end it soon, something bad would happen. He couldn't let it happen, not again.

The mercenary wiped at the blood on his chin, his single eye glaring at the vigilante who stood across from him.

And just like that, the fight began again.

Deathstroke grew more weary with each dodge, his own blows became slower and more pitiful. Batman seemed unstoppable. Deathstroke forced himself to go faster, to trip up the man in black, he was fighting for more than just his life.

"SLADE!"

A fearful cry from a familiar voice distracted the mercenary.

Renegade looked beaten up and held roughly against his will in the arms of Green Arrow. The orange half of the boy's mask had been torn off, his piercing blue gaze brimmed with tears, not with pain, but with fear. Renegade struggled against the archer, he only succeeded in giving himself more pain as his arms were held tightly behind him. The boy was breathing heavily and his hair hung in his eyes, blood trickled from his forehead and other places along his body. His orange and black suit was torn in places, blood was smeared on the metal. Renegade didn't go down without a fight, it made the mercenary both proud and angry.

Deathstroke's eye widened in pure fear.

Within the second Deathstroke was distracted Batman lunged and twisted the mercenary around, grabbing him in a headlock.

Deathstroke struggled for air, his concern not for his own life but for the life of his apprentice. The vigilante wouldn't strangle him, he could use that to his advantage, but he wouldn't be surprised if the vigilante did knock him out.

"Give up," Batman growled.

Deathstroke tried elbowing the vigilante in the gut, it had no effect, he couldn't kick at him either as Batman forced him off balance.

"Ne-ver." Deathstroke choked out. His eye bugged and it caught the horrified gaze of Renegade.

The boy struggled more, crying out Deathstroke's name. "No! Slade! Don't let them take me! Please!" The boy was sobbing now, Green Arrow held him back stoically, ignoring the boy's pained cries of anguish.

"Get... your hands... off of him," Deathstroke growled, more like garbled as he was still struggling for air.

"Deathstroke, for your many crimes and murders, and for the kidnapping and abusing a minor, you're under arrest. We're taking the boy." Batman said.

"No!" Renegade yelled, "please! Sla-"

The boy was cut off by a whack to the head by Green Arrow, forcing the boy into unconsciousness. The archer then hoisted the boy onto his shoulder and carried him away into the fog, never to be seen again.

Batman released Deathstroke and the mercenary tumbled to the ground, exhaustion pricking at his bones and air finally returning to his lungs.

Batman stood triumphantly over the wounded mercenary.

"You should be ashamed of yourself. You never saved him from anything. You failed him. He trusted you, and you lied . He will hate you once he learns the truth. You turned a child into a killer." Batman spat, "He deserves better. He deserves to be safe . You will never be his father."

Deathstroke closed his eye, and for the first time, Deathstroke let the tears fall.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Slade woke silently, he had trained himself to wake without alerting anyone, it was rather anticlimactic considering what he had dreamt about.

He rose slowly in his bed, sitting in the pitch-black room. It was probably late, a look at the clock told him it was early morning, only a few minutes until his alarm would go off. He breathed in a deep sigh and slid a hand over his tired face.

His hand met his scratchy white beard, he rubbed his eye and blinked tiredly. He grabbed at his eyepatch on the table next to his bed where a lamp, a clock, and a gun resided.

Another day, another nightmare.

His greatest fear, his only regret.

Slade tossed his covers to the side, he knew he wouldn't go back to sleep, there wasn't enough time anyway, his alarm would go off in two minutes. He rested his feet on the cool ground, thankful for something to wake him up a bit more. His long pants were bunched at his knees, he smoothed them down and sighed again. He'd been tossing and turning again, his shirt was also twisted a little. He wished the nightmares would leave. He understood what they were saying. He knew what he had to do, he just didn't want to do it.

The sleepy mercenary got to his feet and pushed the unwanted thoughts out, yanking the chain that would turn on the lamp next to his bed. Orange light bathed the room in its burnt hue, a simple bed in a room with no windows, a dresser and an office like desk on either side of the room, a door in the middle.

Slade grabbed the gun and put it in his waistband behind his back, he wouldn't be using it hopefully, he carried a gun with him everywhere, just in case.

He sidled over to the door, it opened silently and he stalked through a bare hallway. It was all stone, webs clung to the corners, Slade had tried to keep it as clean as possible but it was a near-impossible task. The hallway was lit with white lights from the ceiling, at intervals of two yards, it made his graying hair seem more white than it actually was. They say raising a teenager can add a few white hairs, and Slade believed it, but those white lights often gave the mercenary a different feeling of age. He felt ancient, like every step was another thousand years, his bare feet plodded along, his eye searching his surroundings out of habit. The hallway curved to the left, the mercenary paused at the first door, he rose a hand to knock.

After waiting a few seconds Slade opened the door a crack, a rectangle of light shot into the room, illuminating whatever was in the square.

Dick Grayson slept peacefully on the bed, his mouth was parted and a bit of drool escaped through the corner. His raven locks were wild with bed head, his closed eyes casting a peaceful look upon the boy's face. His head was leaning off the pillow, an arm raised above his head on the pillow while his other dangled off the mattress. His two-colored mask rested on the cold ground, obviously having either fallen off or taken off during sleep. The boy's chest moved up and down rhythmically and softly, deep with sleep.

The boy's suit and some random articles of clothing lay scattered across the floor, papers rested on the desk and a few books lay open. A few disks and his belt were laid on the chair, Slade would have to get onto Dick about that. The boy knew he should always have his belt on his person, whether he was sleeping or not. A glint of metal caught the mercenary's eye and he snorted softly. Under the boy's pillow was a blade, it's hilt barely visible beneath it.

Slade thought for a moment longer then closed the door.

He would let him rest, teenagers needed sleep, especially this one, he got sassy when he doesn't get enough sleep and Slade was always the one who paid for it.

Slade went off down the hallway again, the worm of worry fleeing his chest. Dick was safe, and Slade was determined to keep it that way.

Slade entered a new room, passing under an archway instead of a door, he flicked on the lights and was met by the kitchen. Slade wandered over to the pantry and grabbed a blue bag, he then went to one of the cabinets and brought out a bowl. He then got a pan out from a drawer and set it on the stovetop.

Pancakes were the best meal on birthday mornings.

Chapter Text

Dick woke up quickly.

He jumped to his feet with his blade in hand. The acrobat glared around the dark room, scanning for danger with only the shift of his piercing blue eyes, the rest of his body being incredibly still.

It was all clear.

He let a smile slip onto his face. Slade had been teaching him how to wake up silently, how to do lots of things actually. Dick looked down when he felt something crunch beneath his foot, he lifted his bare foot and saw his orange and black mask. Oops...

Dick maneuvered around his room, avoiding piles of clothes and papers from his desk, he got to the wall and flipped on the light. His room was honestly a mess, he usually kept it pretty clean (per Slades orders) but he had a busy night and had been too tired to do anything properly.

The grin on his face lifted as he remembered what day it was. It was his birthday, he was turning 13.

Dick hurriedly changed clothes and grabbed his belt, Slade was probably going to scold him for not wearing it but he'd been exhausted last night and had taken it off for a more comfortable sleep. The raven-haired teen slid on a green shirt and some jeans, putting on some socks and clicked the belt across his waist. He ran a hand through his untamable pitch-black hair, and, as the name suggests, it was useless to try to tame it, especially after sleeping. He put his Renegade suit and mask on the dresser and placed all the random clothes in the hamper at the foot of his bed. Usually, Slade would want him in Renegade garb, but today was special.

The raven-haired boy threw open his door and began to run, only to think twice and begrudgingly trudged back into his room. Slade usually told him to make his bed before leaving his room in the mornings, Dick was just so excited. He made the bed as quick as he could then dashed out of the room.

He accidentally slammed it on the way out but he didn't care at this point. Today was his 13th birthday, Slade said he was going to do something special for this birthday.

Dicks smile never wavered as he ran down the hall, he did a cartwheel for the fun of it and slowed at the archway that led into the kitchen.

He silently peered over the edge of the wall, his bright blue gaze intense with barely contained excitement.

Slade stood over the stove in his nightclothes, something was hissing and the man seemed intent on the food. The warm smell of pancakes wafted through the air, there was only one thing missing.

Dick grew an impish grin.

The raven-haired boy slipped silently into the room, he tiptoed to the pantry where he grabbed a certain bag from the top shelf. He watched for any movement from the mercenary as he opened the bag, and stalked up behind the large man.

He rose the bag over his own head, barely able to make it above Slades and held his breath.

Slade spun and around and grabbed his arm. Dick froze with his smile still plastered over his face. Slade's single gray eye glared at the child.

Without breaking eye contact, Dick flicked the bag and it's contents tumbled out over the mercenary. Chocolate chips rained down on the old man's head and scattered to the floor and counter.

"I thought we agreed chocolate chips were for special occasions." Slade broke the silence, he also released the boy's arm and turned back to the stove. The hand that wasn't holding a spatula grabbed at some of the chocolate chips that fell onto the counter.

Dick released his breath and lowered the bag, he sidled up next to the mercenary to survey the food making process, finding milk, syrup, two plates, two cups, and butter next to the stove. On the other side was a bowl with pancake mix remanence inside, a serving spoon rested inside, clearly the device of the mixing.

"Nooo, really? Special occasions?! Today couldn't be a special occasion right?" Dick drawled with heavy sarcasm, rolling his eyes and gasping loudly.

Slade didn't look up from the pancakes, he flipped one and then the other, a few dark splotches where a sweet treat resided. "Not any that I remember," Slade answered curtly.

Dick scrunched his nose. "You're a terrible liar."

"If I was a good liar you wouldn't know would you?" Slade retorted.

The sentence made Dick pause. "True, but you taught me how to distinguish that."

"Yes I did, now get your butt on a seat or I'll have to eat all these pancakes by myself."

Dick spun with a grin and raced for the table, he sat down quickly and it rocked the chair. Dick watched as Slade made purposely, agonizingly, slow movements to transfer the fresh pancakes from the grill to the plates waiting beside the burning stove.

"You didn't wear the 'kiss the cook' apron?" Dick said, his head cocking to the side innocently as his face stretched into another smile.

"Can it Boy Wonder, I could just as easily let these pancakes fall on the floor," Slade replied without looking up.

"You know I would still eat them." Dick deadpanned.

Slade let a small huff escape him, the closest Slade ever got to laughter. "Yeah, but I assume you want to eat these without the questionable goop that's on the floor." Dick couldn't see what Slade was doing with the pancakes but he eagerly awaited his prize, pancakes were a special thing for a boy who grew up with virtually nothing.

"Goop? Since when is there goop on the floor?" Dick asked, he was a little confused and genuinely curious. He and Slade kept the kitchen quite clean, usually it was Dick who had to clean it though. He didn't mind really, it was just a chore, like cleaning his blades.

"Since you started your series of bad attempts at cooking," Slade said blatantly. "I don't even know how you managed to ruin spaghetti but you never cease to amaze me." Slade slid the plate and cup of milk onto the table in front of Dick, a single blue candle stuck in the middle of the tower of five pancakes. The candle was already lit and Dick blinked as he realized what Slade said.

"Wait a second... was that a compliment?"

"Happy birthday kiddo." Slade sat opposite to him with his own plate, plain buttermilk pancakes topped with butter and warm syrup, his own cup of milk on his right.

Dick stared at the candle on his pancakes, he closed his eyes to make a wish, then blew out the candle.

The teen then plucked out the candle and dug into the tower of chocolate chip pancakes with his fork, forgoing the knife and practically inhaling the food.

Slade just watched for a few seconds, mildly disturbed by the animalistic noises emanating from the child as he scarfed down the pancakes. Dick had dinner last night, right?

"The food isn't going anywhere." Slade eventually commented, finally slicing into his own pile of pancakes.

"Yesh ih ish." Dick said with his mouth full, "ish going tuh mah stomak."

"Finish chewing and swallow before speaking, it might spare your victims nightmares."

Dick laughed a little then realized if he laughed he would choke, so he stopped and finished chewing before taking a long drag of his milk.

Dick surfaced for air and had quite the milk mustache, as well as (somehow but not surprisingly) a chocolate chip stain on his cheek.

"You have something on your face," Slade commented, pointing with the knife.

"Really?" Dick said, "could it be two fully functioning eyes?"

Slade looked up with a glare. Dick gave a weak smile to let the man know he was joking.

The mercenary grabbed a napkin and passed it across the table, then he picked up his fork and knife again.

Dick reached for the napkin then snatched his hand back as Slade's knife thudded into the table through the napkin.

Dick yelped in surprise and ducked as Slade's fork was sent spiraling in his direction. Dick grabbed his own knife and threw it at the mercenary, which only increased the teen's danger as Slade caught the knife. Dick reached up and grabbed the knife Slade embedded into the table. 

Slade lunged and Dick parried his attack, the acrobat backed up as the mercenary moved forward, exchanging quick jabs and blocks. The raven-haired teen flipped back onto the counter and jumped to avoid a swipe at his feet. Dick did a single-handed handspring over Slade, using the graying haired head of his mentor as a vault.

The mercenary spun and sliced at the kid, Dick dodged just barely as he twisted his torso to evade the blade, his arm however, got sliced. Dick winced as his attention was diverted to his arm for a split second, where his landing was thrown off and he fell to the ground with an 'oomph'. He landed on his tailbone rather uncomfortably and when he went to stand up he hit his head on the table, the boy flashed a grimace but quickly hid it.

The acrobat rolled to the side but was fully aware Slade gave him time to recover. Dick honestly didn't like it when Slade went easy on him, if he was to get better he needed to be able to take a few punches. Because there's never a time where the victor of a battle is unscathed, each side gets damaged, it's how you deal with the damage and still able to give damage that determines the victor.

Dick popped back up onto his feet and ran forward, he slid under Slade's legs and bent backward to avoid the elbow cruising back to hit him. Dick grabbed onto the limb and vaulted himself up to sit on the mercenary's shoulders.

Slade paused in confusion.

"Hah, I win," Dick said, a little out of breath. The teen's head began to throb but he ignored it, today was not the day to be bested by a simple head injury.

"I'm not beaten," Slade said, but allowed the child to explain, he rather liked how Dick could think outside the box. It was a good strategy, good in combat, good for most life decisions too.

"But you stopped fighting, I confused you, it's a viable technique." Dick defended while placing his hands on his hips.

"One that only works once," Slade responded with his permanent scowl.

Dick flipped backward off his mentor and realized his hands were sticky with syrup from the knife, as well as the cut on his arm was beginning to bleed, it was rather shallow. "It only has to work once!" He quipped joyfully. As it would, making the enemy pause was a welcome opening for a killing blow.

"I hope your room is cleaner than your hands, Selina said she had a gift for you, you know I don't like being late," Slade said as the acrobat moved over to the sink to wash his hands.

It could have been interpreted as threatening, but Dick knew Slade too well, he was being serious, but also sarcastic. It was the only other emotion Dick got from Slade besides anger or seriousness. But he knew the mercenary was just looking it for him, it was just hard to see sometimes.

"In uniform?" Dick asked, he probably could have guessed, but he wanted to ask anyway. When Slade brought him to meet other people it was always for business, very serious business. Selina and the other girls were just too amused by the tiny acrobat raised by Deathstroke to realize he was dangerous, and that he should be serious. Dick trusted them though, a thing he had very little of, he could be more of a goofy version of himself around them, if Deathstroke said it was alright.

"Yes." The mercenary answered, then narrowed his cold eye on the boy. "You have your belt on?"

"Yup!" Dick said happily, but he saw it coming, he was expecting it actually.

Slade whacked the boy upside the head, and none too lightly. It wasn't full force, Dick knew what those felt like, their training sessions saw to that, but it still stung.

"But not last night, I've told you before, never ever be without your belt, it'll save your life one day and you'll thank me." Slade scolded with a narrowed eye, resisting the urge to wag his finger at the wincing child. Dick twisted the faucet off and grabbed a few paper towels to dry his hands. 

"Yeah, I know I know... I just felt weird sleeping in it. It was a long day." Dick said, rubbing his sore head and avoiding eye contact.

"What were you doing? You know the rules." Slade inquired (more like demanded). If he was off doing who knows what and Batman fou-

"I was ...at the cemetery..." Dick said softly.

Slade breathed in a deep sigh in both relief and to tone down his anger. "We agreed you won't go anywhere outside without me."

"I know, but you were busy... and I had time..."

"You missed dinner."

"Ok so it ran a little long, I had lots to say!"  Dick defended. It was his thirteenth birthday, five years since their fall. Four years with Slade, with one dreadful year at several orphanages before coming to the juvenile detention center where Dick did NOT fit in. But no one would have guessed it by the murderous look in his eye and scruffy looks, he was always the one beaten up by the other kids, being a gypsy street rat does that.

"Get changed, we leave in 10, meet me in the garage," Slade said. He knew the sad look in his apprentice's eyes, it was the same sad look he's had since he found him. Slade had hoped he could fix that, but he feared he wasn't enough. "As it is your thirteenth birthday, as promised, you get your wish."

Dick lit up like a Christmas tree. "Really?!"

Slade nodded, "Now get your butt in gear, I don't want to be late."

Slade stayed to clean the mess in the kitchen while Dick ran down the hall, his grin back on and a laugh escaped his lips.

He burst into his room and put on his suit as quickly as possible. "He got it, he actually got it," Dick mumbled to himself, not really sure he could believe it.

Dick shoved his feet into the iron-tipped boots and pulled on his dark gloves, the belt was already around his waist and he strapped on the dual blades across his chest. He grabbed the mask from his desk and put it on, oh how he loved the mask. He could be anyone with the mask, he didn't have to be Dick Grayson, he was Renegade, with the dark R on his chest and the iconic orange and black mask. His suit had stripes on it too, on his torso going out and up behind his back. Right after his gloves near his elbow was some orange too.

Dick loved the color scheme. Orange and black was dangerous, it was his and Deathstroke's. Dick loved owning it.

Renegade made sure to put his clothes away and grabbed the blade from under his pillow, Dick had easily gotten used to that habit, he'd rather not sleep at all if he was without a weapon. He sheathed the blade in a practiced motion and grabbed a few new throwing disks from his desk, he pocketed them and ran out of the room.

He sprinted for the garage, in the opposite direction of the kitchen, moving swiftly under the white beams of light that came from the ceiling. To be honest, Dick wouldn't mind a splash of color in the mostly gray bunker, but it was a bunker, it wasn't technically supposed to be homey. Besides, Dick couldn't complain, the man took him in, thought him valuable things, he could deal with a bland house.

Dicks mind raced with excitement, Slade had promised for his thirteenth birthday, and if Dick was at a high enough training level, Slade would get him his own motorcycle.

Dick was ecstatic, he knew how to drive one yes, but it was Deathstroke's, he didn't have his own. Renegade burst into the garage, not surprised to find Slade in Deathstroke gear next to his bulky motorcycle. Even if the boy had a head start Slade always had a way to be here first, sometimes Dick wondered if the man had teleportation powers. That would be so cool to have.

Deathstroke said nothing but gave a pointed nod to a slightly smaller orange and black motorcycle on the other side of the room.

Dick couldn't help but raise his fists up in a double fist pump, an excited yell exiting his lungs.

"YES!"

Dick ran forward and grabbed the handlebars of the motorcycle, it was perfect, he swung his leg around and sat in the seat. The acrobat checked over its gauges, smiling at all the secret buttons that no doubt would cause mass destruction and mayhem, he couldn't wait to try it out, even if he wouldn't be allowed to use the explosives.

"Thank you so much! Yes! This is perfect! Thank you thank you thank you!" Renegade got off the motorcycle and ran to Deathstroke, wrapping his arms around his middle and hugging the man tightly.

Deathstroke simply patted the boy's back and grunted his welcome. Dick was always expressive, Deathstroke was not, it was a little awkward for him, Deathstroke wasn't one for hugs, unless it was very important. Deathstroke didn't think this was one of those times, he knew Dick had wanted one, he hadn't realized he wanted it this badly.

"Thanks Da-ethstroke." Dick said again into the man's metal plating.

He could feel Deathstroke stiffen and he himself winced. Nice recovery Grayson, the acrobat scolded himself.

Deathstroke grabbed the boy's shoulder to move him back to arm's length. Hugs were over, it was time for business now.

"Let's go apprentice, and keep up." Deathstroke didn't make eye contact as he mounted his bike, Renegade frowned at himself but quickly replaced it with a grin as he ran to his own bike.

He knew Deathstroke wasn't exactly a good father, the man was a murderer, so was he, but he was as close as one as he got. He taught him everything, he was there when no one else was, the mercenary may not be the ideal father, but Renegade couldn't help but think of him as one.

Deathstroke never said he didn't want to be called Dad, but he never said he did either. It was only in certain scenarios where Renegade was allowed to call him that, usually it was when Renegade didn't have control over his emotions. Those days were dangerous, and it had nothing to do with physical harm.

Renegade shook off his darkening thoughts, he heard Deathstroke's motorcycle revv and Ren hurried to do the same. His grin widened into an almost diabolical smile, he twisted the throttle and zoomed out of the concrete cage.

Deathstroke pulled ahead and Renegade followed his every move, the wind pulled at his face and hair, his eyes nearly watering with the speed. He breathed in a deep contented sigh, soaking up the sun and glad to smell the fresh air, even if it was Gotham air, Gotham wasn't known for its pleasant smells.

He wondered if this is what his parents felt like when they flew, the exhilaration and the sheer danger of being an inch away from death. At these speeds, if Ren crashed, he would probably be killed.

It was a feeling that overwhelmed his body with energy, the feeling of truly being alive.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Deathstroke finally slowed to a more reasonable speed and Renegade followed suit. With the wind no longer blasting him Renegade found that his cheeks hurt with the Cheshire grin he'd been displaying the entire thirty-minute ride.

The orange and black mercenary slid to a stop inside a hanger, a large warehouse that was made of more than tacky metal and sheets of aluminum. There was a musty sting to the air, Renegade assumed it was rotten rust, but he didn't see the tell-tale signs of the orange powder along the walls and beams in the rafters. Scouting the area was instinct, something that was quickly driven into him since his beginning with Slade.

Inside were a few familiar faces, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, and  Catwoman all sat around a table in the middle of the room. Each looked up from their card game (that looked suspiciously like slap jack), and each smiled at his entrance. A few more burly faces were across the way, villains Renegade recognized as Count Vertigo and Black Atom.

Both men had sour faces and looked to be discussing something, Black Atom had his arms crossed over his chest and Vertigo looked like someone puked in his food. Renegade didn't want to be disrespectful, another attribute Deathstroke trained him to have, but the face Vertigo was making was very amusing.

"Ren!" Came the giggly and squealy voice of all three girls at the steel round table.

Renegade parked next to Deathstroke but waited before going over to the awaiting villainesses, Deathstroke laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and caught his eye.

"I will be discussing with my colleagues, don't interrupt, and don't make a scene. Standard hostile procedure applies." Deathstroke ordered lowly.

That was Deathstroke's way of saying; 'I'm doing important stuff, stay close but don't do anything stupid, and if there is danger, come to me.'

Renegade liked to think it was worry that drove him to say the last part, but the hard look in his mentor's eye said something else. Deathstroke was still upset with something that may or may not have been Renegade's own doing, he just hoped the man would be mad for too long, it was his birthday after all.

Renegade nodded dutifully and when the hand was lifted he skipped off with a big grin.

Deathstroke eyed the boy as he left, he personally didn't like bringing Renegade to these meetings, it was too exposed out here. Any of these villains could strike any time they wanted to, there was no such thing as 'truce' here, and Renegade was an easy target. That's why he wanted to keep the boy away from these things, it was dangerous, and Deathstroke wasn't sure the small acrobat could handle it. The mercenary sure didn't want the boy dead, and bringing him here is one way to get a child killed. It would be all to easy for these villains to wipe Renegade off the face of the earth. He was just a boy, unlike the rest of the super-powered villains gathered here. Except for Harley and Selina, but Deathstroke trusted them with Renegade, they cared too much to let him come to any serious harm.

With that somewhat comforting thought, Deathstroke walked stoically to the communing villains.

Poison Ivy caught Renegade first in a hug, squishing him in her embrace, Ren hugged back but squeaked as his breath was taken by another squeeze. She always smelled of roses, that, or acid, it was kinda Ivy's thing to smell both pretty and dangerous.

"Ivy you're hogging him!" Harley practically ripped Renegade from Ivy's grip and smothered him in her own hug. Harley always smelled like makeup and Joker gas, two things Renegade wasn't exactly fond of. It wasn't that he didn't like Harley, he just didn't like the Joker. Renegade wasn't stupid, he knew an abusive relationship when he saw one.

"...umm... air...?" Renegade squeaked out as spots began to dance across his vision.

Harley released the apprentice and Renegade sucked in much-needed oxygen. He gave them all a smile and pulled the waiting Selina into a hug.

"Happy birthday baby bird," Selina whispered, petting his raven hair with her slender clawed gloves.

She was the only one Dick ever confided in, he had told her about his life before Deathstroke, she knew it all. If Deathstroke was his dad then Selina would be his mom. The only difference was one relished the role and the other tried not to acknowledge it.

"Master finally got me my own bike!" Renegade said, pulling away from the hug to gesture excitedly to the sleek orange and black motorcycle next to the bigger and bulkier cycle owned by his mentor.

"Is he still doing that 'Master' thing?" Ivy asked, placing a hand on Ren's shoulder and looking at him with concern. Meanwhile, Harley eyed the bike with a grin, she was just happy to be there, as Renegade already deduced, Harley wasn't big on the uptake when it came to relationships.

"I don't mind, I swear the only reason I'm still doing it is for aesthetic, you can't have the 'master and apprentice' thing without the 'master' and 'apprentice'." Renegade explained with an annoyed huff, gesturing to himself and Deathstroke's direction.

Renegade got defensive when they brought it up, and they always brought it up, he knew they were just worried, but he seriously didn't mind calling Deathstroke 'Master'. It was the closest he got to 'Dad'.

Selina ruffled the boy's already wild hair and giggled. "Alright, but training is going well?"

That was her code for; 'Deathstroke isn't hurting you too badly?'

"Not more painful than usual, besides, if I can dish it I should probably be able to take it." Renegade grinned while nodding slowly. "No one learns by staying in their comfort zone."

"Ah! Boy Wonder!" A new voice filled the warehouse and Renegade couldn't help but flinch. Speak of comfort zones and suddenly you're thrown in for a loop, Renegade thought. As good of terms as he was with most villains, The Joker seemed to like him too much, it creeped the acrobat out. He grew up in a circus, he was fine around clowns, but the Joker just made it seem wrong.

Harley squeaked and waltzed over to the mad man, his skin ever the chalky white and his hair it's wild green. His face was always stretched into that horrid smile, a smile too big for his face.

"Mistah Jay!" Harley threw her arms around the Joker with her pigtails bobbing.

"Still hanging around Mr. Death are ya?" Joker ignored Harley and went straight to Renegade.

The apprentice couldn't help but feel threatened, it was the one villain he didn't feel comfortable around. At least, of the villains he had met.

"Yes sir," Renegade would have continued if the Joker hadn't cut him off with laughter.

"Did you hear that Halrs? 'Sir' he called me 'sir'." The Joker's laughter rang through the air and it only intensified Renegades's nerves. Deathstroke looked over at the familiar sound and frowned, Renegade didn't tell him everything but he knew just by looking at him that the boy was uncomfortable with The Joker. His eye narrowed but he returned to his conversation, the boy needed to learn how to face his fears alone.

The joker must have felt the mercenary staring because he twisted around and pointed and winked at Deathstroke who returned it with a glare. "You raised this kid right Deathy." He busted out laughing again and Renegade could hear Selina sigh beside him.

Joker then took a step forward, Renegade stepped back involuntarily.

"Wanna see one of my new tricks boy?" He grabbed his purple jacket and gestured to the innocent yellow flower on his left side. "Go ahead, take a look." 

Renegade went to back away some more but he frowned and stood his ground, backing away was for defense or preparation for an offense. He wouldn't let the Joker know he scared him.

"Umm." Renegade spared a glance to Deathstroke, but he couldn't see him from behind the ever growing closer mad man.

"It won't bite," Joker said, lifting the yellow plastic flower, as if that should console the boy, it may not bite but it would do plenty of other things.

The flower got uncomfortably close to Renegade's face. He didn't want to wince but he felt like he needed to be prepared for something to hit his face.

The Joker backed away and laughed.

Renegade blinked in confusion.

"You didn't expect that, did you? Nothing happened!!" The Joker threw his head back and laughed more, almost violently. Renegade didn't know how to respond to that.

Suddenly something small and metal bounced to the ground, The Joker's eyes lifted upwards for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders with his iconic giant grin. "Oopsies."

Green smoke hissed into the air from the small canister on the ground. The Joker backed away while Renegade was still frozen with momentary shock.

Renegade put a hand to his mouth but it was too late, he already inhaled some of it in and began coughing which led to more getting in his lungs.

Renegade stumbled out of the cloud, doubled over, and gasping for breath. His chest burned, but he wasn't laughing, so it wasn't Jokers laughing gas? Then what was it?

Deathstroke was there in an instant, but instead of helping Renegade he punched The Joker.

"What did I tell you about my apprentice," Deathstroke growled, his single eye ablaze with fury. "Idiot." The Joker kept laughing, even when he crashed to the ground by the force of the blow to the face.

Renegade fell to his hands and knees, his chest burned so bad, he was coughing so much it was making him dizzy.

"Who knew Deathstroke was so... protective?" The Joker cackled breathlessly and got to his feet. "It's harmless really, underdeveloped Joker Venom, it should be out of his system soon."

"That doesn't look harmless." Deathstroke narrowed his eye, pointing to his coughing apprentice.

Selina came up and helped Renegade to his feet, but he still bent over to cough. She asked him if he was alright but he could barely get a breath in, much less speak.

Joker watched Selina bring Renegade to the table, sitting him in a chair. "Oh, well, that's why they call it venom right?" He giggled.

Deathstroke shoved past the mad man and went to his apprentice. Renegade had his eyes closed and his face was red with the need for air, his body shaking with the effort of ridding his lungs of the gas.

The mercenary glared daggers at the mad man who scurried to the other side of the table, seeming to want to avoid another collision of his face and Deathstroke's fist.

"Now now, I didn't come here to mess with the boy blunder, but injustice must be served!" The Joker announced, gesturing to the waiting (and rather annoyed) Injustice league members.

Renegade began to get his breath back, but it was with deep wheezing that he was doing it, he sat up and shook his pounding head. "I'm good... just... a little... cough." He said between body rattling coughs.

Deathstroke dialed his glare up.

"We're leaving." The mercenary decided.

"Aww, so soon?" The Joker asked, "the boy blunder says he's fine! Surely he can stay and have a little fun?"

"Our definition of 'fun' is different than your's Joker," Deathstroke growled, he grabbed Renegade's shoulder and pulled him up to his feet. The acrobat stumbled a little but he made it to the parked motorcycles with the heavy guiding hand of Deathstroke on his shoulder.

"You might be surprised that they are actually quite similar." The Joker mumbled with a sinister grin, "but you're right, I do enjoy a good rivalry, especially when there are so many players!" His hysterical cackle filled the air as Deathstroke put the boy's motorcycle on autopilot (he wasn't stupid, that was the first thing Deathstroke said the motorcycle needed to have).

The two pealed out of the warehouse and were gone, Selina's gift still wrapped on the table inside, forgotten. 

Chapter Text

Deathstroke slammed the crime prince of Gotham into the wall, holding onto the man's purple coat with both hands as the cement he crashed the Joker into cracked spiderwebs. The armored man was fueled by rage but was trying to keep his cool, it didn't help that the Joker was purposefully pushing his buttons, just shy of beating around the bush. Deathstroke was ready to beat the bush with the madman until he was just as purple as his obnoxious coat.

The Joker let out a deep chuckle, lifting his pale-skinned face to meet the metal covered face of the mercenary, though he could imagine a snarl underneath, such was the magnitude of hatred showing through the single gray eye.  A few misplaced green hairs fell into the clown's dark cold eyes, a trail of blood escaped his mouth, proof of previous attempts to get the clown to talk.

"We both know that wasn't Joker Venom." Deathstroke growled, "What was it?" He punctuated his question with another harsh slam into the wall. The Joker's cruel smile never wavered.

"I'm innocent! I never meant to harm the boy blunder! Though I admit it was entertaining..." The Joker drawled while trying to raise his hands in surrender, but he was firmly pinned by the outraged mercenary.

Deathstroke growled and twisted around, slamming the Joker into the ground, a hand around his throat. The Joker still smiled, though his eyes widened just a bit, enough for the mercenary to see his new tactic was working.

"You didn't hurt him. Who was it?"

"For a couple of mercenaries... you do seem to fall for the same old tricks." The Joker said cryptically with a lazy roll of his eyes, keeping that creepy smile plastered all over his face. Deathstroke's grip lessened just enough for the man to answer, but pressure was quickly reapplied.

"I'm not the Bat, I won't hesitate to snap your neck." Deathstroke pushed all his weight into the hand over the Joker's throat. The man flailed as he attempted to get air, his eyes widening fully and his smile stretching into a frown. "Who did it?" The mercenary asked again, his steel grey eye glaring at the floundering mad man.

"Al-ight... a-righ..." Joker choked out, Deathstroke held him a second longer for good measure then released him.

Deathstroke stood back, arms folded, waiting for The Joker to get his breath back. The man in question scrambled to his feet, coughing and rubbing his throat.

"You're right about one thing..." The Joker grumbled with a side glare. "You are not Batsy, it's no fun when everything just gets blurted out. These things have, very, intricate, timing." Each time the clown paused he rose his hand and seemed to pin something in the air, stressing the words he was 'pinning'.

"Joker..." Deathstroke's voice rose slightly in warning, reinforcing it with a threatening step forward.

The clown rose his hands in surrender but was not impressed. "Alright! Alright! Party pooper... If your little mini death boy had looked up he might have seen his real attacker."

"And that is...?" Deathstroke asked, regaining from tapping his foot or lunging at the man, he was becoming increasingly impatient. He didn't have all night, it took him long enough to find the mad man, now it was late enough for the Bat to be prowling. The mercenary had other things to attend to, but this was at the top of his list. Dick had been immobile for a solid day now, it was just this afternoon on the second day that the boy had awoken. Dick tried to prove his ability to function through completing routine tasks, but Deathstroke ordered him to rest because the acrobat didn't get past picking up his socks.

Joker Venom didn't do that, and there were a few toxins Deathstroke knew that did, but when he tested the blood it came back as an unknown. An unknown was unacceptable, Deathstroke needed Renegade back up and running as soon as possible, if not for the boy's wellbeing. Deathstroke wouldn't admit it, but he had missed the boy's quips and jibes throughout the day and felt a pang of sorrow when he saw the boys prone form lying unmoving on his bed. The Joker was his only lead, having been so close to Renegade when he'd been gassed.

The clown shrugged, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets and looking up much too innocently. "Who would want to attack Death's son? Well, there's plenty of people who want you dead, making enemies is part of the mercenary gig, isn't it? But there's only one with the guts to actually go after your only weak spot."

Deathstroke's eye narrowed. Renegade was not a weak spot, anyone who knew Deathstroke knew that.

The Joker threw his head back and laughed. "Well, I guess there's a reason Bats has the 'Greatest Detective' title and not you. Only a mercenary can out mercenary another mercenary."

Deathstroke didn't have to say anything to let the Joker know he was getting angry. Dick would say he was stinking, the anger rolling off of him in waves like a bad aroma, but his quirky apprentice wasn't here to point that out as he usually would have.

"Still no?" The Joker asked, he sighed defeatedly but a smile was still plastered on his red lips. The Joker put his fisted hands on his hips and sighed with disappointment, something Deathstroke knew he wouldn't lose sleep over. "Well alright, rivalries aren't fun unless you know who the rival is, though I would have thought you'd get it by now. Sportsmaster."

"Sportsmaster gassed Renegade?" Deathstroke asked, more rhetorically than to the Joker. At least it made sense, Sportsmaster was a competitor for Deathstroke, both were mercenaries for hire, and both were hired by The Light. That creates complications. Deathstroke had been most recently hired, Sportsmaster alone wasn't 'enough' according to The Light, and they wanted them to 'get along' while they worked. Fat chance.

Sportsmaster should know to keep his hands on his own children, even if the two mercenaries disagreed on how to raise them. Last time Deathstroke checked, Artemis had completely left the villain world to take up the heroic one, a choice that made Deathstroke uneasy about his own apprentice. Does Dick think like that too?

Deathstroke focused back on the main issue, Sportsmaster was targeting his so- apprentice, and Deathstroke didn't know why.

"Yup! And did a fine job of it too! I told you I was innocent, I'm just caught in the crossfire!" The clown clapped his hands together, then he pulled a 180. He looked down in thought, his smile still up but seemed to waver as his voice lowered to almost a whisper. "Poor little guy, he has no idea does he?"

"What?" Deathstroke was taken from his thoughts by the Joker's mumbled sentence.

The Joker continued unfazed. "He's just a sad little boy you picked up on the streets, he doesn't know any better."

"What are you talking about?" Deathstroke knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Of course he would follow you to the ends of the earth. He's got no real freedom. He may be free to move but it's his mind you've chained." The Joker lifted a pale hand to his head, pointing to his head with a smirk at the mercenary. "I wonder how you did that."

"Renegade makes his own choices," Deathstroke growled, shifting to make his leave.

"Why don't you let the boy get out and get some sun? He's nearly as white as I am! And this is paint! It's time for the bird to fly the coop." The clown said, raising his arms wide to gesture to the warehouse around them, eyes roaming the rafters, possibly meaning the outside.

Deathstroke glared and went to leave before he did something he wouldn't regret. "What I do with Renegade is my business." Deathstroke wasn't stupid enough to take advice from a madman, he didn't have to answer to him either. Dick was his apprentice, it didn't matter what anyone else thought.

"You've gotten lazy." The Joker deadpanned with a frown, sparing a glance left and right before returning to the mercenary.

"You've gotten crazier," Deathstroke mumbled as he turned his back on the clown.

A batarang thudded into the wall next to Deathstroke. The mercenary lowered himself into a crouch and cursed under his breath, drawing a small blade for defense, he had no intentions of indulging the big bad bat this night. He knew his new target, but first he wanted to check on someone, make sure he followed orders.

"I'll be going now," Deathstroke muttered. He didn't need Batman tangled up in this mess too, as far as Batman was concerned Deathstroke didn't have an apprentice and Deathstroke wanted to keep it that way. It had nothing to do with his nightmares, none, none at all.

Deathstroke jumped up into the rafters, a dark shadow following him, he jumped up onto the roof and ghosted into the shadows, pushing a button on his forearm as he put his back to his newfound cover.

Batman stood stoically as he watched the empty roof, Deathstroke gone from sight and the sound of a motorcycle roared before fading into the foggy Gotham night. The Dark Knight would have given chase but there was still a madman to apprehend, curiously enough The Joker made no attempt to hide or escape while the Bat was preoccupied.

Another thing that puzzled the Caped Crusader was that Deathstroke didn't chat around like most villains, why on earth would he be talking with the Joker of all people?

"Batsy! It's about time you got here, thought I would have to boot him out myself." The Joker rambled with a grin, not at all worried about the probable capture he was facing.

Batman jumped down again and grabbed the man roughly, the Dark Knights' gears turning. There were no goons, no tricks, what was the point of the Joker telling him where he was?

"I don't get caught unintentionally." The mad man said lowly, his smile stretching.

"Why was Deathstroke here, why was he talking to you?" Batman demanded, pinning the man against the wall, which he noted was already cracked. In fact, Joker looked a bit worse for wear, but that wasn't Batman's problem. 

The Joker kept his smile but looked around rather absentmindedly. "Oh you know, a little this, a little that, a little blundering boy."

Batman's white eyes narrowed, he had only gotten the last little bit of their conversation, something about a renegade. "What does Deathstroke want with a boy?"

"Haven't you heard?" Joker tilted his head, a mocking smile on his white face. "Good old Deathy has a son, he's kept him hidden for a while now. Interestingly enough, Deathy seems to like him, when he's not ordering him around."

"Deathstroke has a son?"

"'Es a skinny one, about yea high." Joker's hand laid out flat at his side (as well as he could, he was still pinned), halfway down his chest, which told the Bat the boy was young, but no certain age could be told by height alone.

"How old?"

"How should I know? Deathy keeps him on a short leash, poor boy is as pale as me!" Joker exclaimed.

Batman narrowed his eyes, the way the Joker was talking made it seem like the boy was being mistreated, which wouldn't surprise him. Deathstroke wasn't exactly known for his caring fatherly tendencies. If anything, it was the opposite he was known for. Batman would have to investigate, but another thing nagged at him. "Why would Deathstroke talk to you about him?"

"The little boy wonder became a blunder. I, unfortunately, got caught in the crossfire. Oh, how I love a good rivalry, two sides, attacking mercilessly and relentlessly. Such good fun." He ended his explanation in a fit of laughter.

That wasn't a real answer, but with the way Joker was laughing, he was having too much fun dangling this information over his head. Batman wasn't going to let him think he's won. Batman could interrogate him about the boy just fine behind bars. Batman began to drag the mad man off, putting the man in handcuffs after notifying Gordon (and Alfred).

"What? You're going to lock me up for having a chat with death?"

"There are plenty of charges against you." Batman growled, exiting the warehouse and stalking to the dark plated Batmobile that rested in the shadows ready for use.

"Little bird isn't the only one who needs to fly the coop." Joker muttered, his smile stretching to unnatural proportions. His hand pushed a hidden button in his sleeve and the air was filled with the beautiful sound of exploding buildings and his own maniacal laughter.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Deathstroke walked through the gray hallways with one goal in mind. Sportsmaster was targeting his apprentice, possibly to get to Deathstroke or a simple matter of distracting him to get in better with their employer. Either way, it was highly inconvenient and Deathstroke wasn't happy. He stormed through the hallway, Dick should still be asleep, recovering from whatever Sportsmaster had gassed him with, which was another thing that ticked him off.

He did a double take when he passed the kitchen, out of the corner of his eye he saw the skinny acrobat at the sink, the open dishwasher next to him, explaining the boy's sudden appearance.

At the massive man's stop in the archway, the boy looked up, blue eyes crinkling at the edges with a welcoming (but noticeably tired) smile. "Hey Slade." His head returned to the sink, focused on the bowl he was rinsing.

Deathstroke took a moment to evaluate the boy. He really shouldn't be up and about if his last visit with the conscious world had anything to say about it. The acrobat really was pale, the boy rarely went outside during the day, he had no need to, Slade provided him with everything he needed here. His shaggy ebony hair hung over his eyes but didn't cover the crystal blue orbs, Deathstroke could see a thin film of sweat on the boy's brow, hidden by the hair. Dick was wearing casual clothes, some dark sweatpants, and a loose navy blue shirt, he also wasn't wearing socks.

"You should be resting. It's one in the morning." Deathstroke said in a half growl. He had ordered him to do something, Dick should know better than to disobey. Especially when it pertained to his health.

"I'm fine," Dick protested, putting the bowl in the bottom rack of the dishwasher. When he stood up it was apparently too quick because Slade watched as a nearly physical wave of dizziness washed over him. The boy gripped onto the sink to keep from tipping over.

Deathstroke gave him a pointed look, the words 'I told you so' speaking without sound.

"...Ok maybe not totally fine, but I'm fine enough to help out." Dick said, keeping his eyes on the sink, embarrassed that he was so useless in this state.

"I ordered you to rest." Deathstroke reminded him gruffly, wondering what excuse the boy would come up with this time.

Dick froze. He had? He didn't remember that...

"Oh... I-I don't remember... ever being... uh... sorry." Dick winced and bit his lip. Disobedience to a direct order was not tolerated here, and talking back was only accepted if he had an actually good argument to counter. 'Sorry' didn't cut the bill with Deathstroke, it was a useless word in Dicks vocabulary, a bad excuse for disobedience. His mind spun for any way he could weasel out of this one, but his headache flared and he couldn't think past 'oh shoot'.

"Dick." Deathstroke took off the helmet and set it under his arm, casting a concerned glare to the child. "I'll let this slide just this once, but I expect better from you in the future. You don't get better by throwing yourself back in, that's how you get killed. There is a time to rest and a time to get to work, I'm telling you that right now is a time to rest."

Dick let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Slade was being merciful, not a common decision for the mercenary, but he looked angry. Dick couldn't place where the sudden concern was coming from, ESPECIALLY if he was already angry. Slade didn't have many other emotions, at least none that Dick could see.

Dick nodded his head in recognition and gratitude. Then he smirked, the color returning to his drained face. "Well if doing the dishes is a life or death situation, then I'm more than happy to let you take care of it."

"Did you get something to eat?" Slade asked, ignoring the sarcasm his apprentice usually doused his sentences with.

Dick shrugged and went back to picking up utensils from the bottom of the sink. Collecting them in one hand as he rinsed them under the running water. "Wasn't too hungry but I got a snack."

"How long have you been up?"

"30 minutes give or take."

"Are you aware you've been out for nearly two days? Any side effects from the gas I should know about?"

"I get a little dizzy every now and then but other than excessive exhaustion, I'm fine." Dick knew better than to write his condition better than it actually was, there were no secrets between the two mercenaries (mostly, of course, Slade kept things to himself most times, but if he told Dick anything it was always the truth), and Slade would hold him to his word, lies or not. "Well there's also this headache but I've been managing it."

"We have a mission tomorrow, I expect you to be able to complete it." Slade said, the mercenary clearly had an air of anger around him yet everything that came out of his mouth was somehow soft, it was rather confusing for Dick. Besides the odd tone, this is how their conversations usually went, more like a check-in then onto business, though with Slade 'check in' usually had something to do with business.

Dick nodded, reading between the lines of his mentor's seemingly uncaring expectations. He expected him to do well during the mission, which meant he needed to get better, which meant he needed to follow orders and get some rest.

"Usual day then?" Dick asked as he dropped the rinsed utensils into the rack one at a time with a soft 'thunk, thunk, thunk'. Renegade and Deathstroke did stuff at night, sometimes the evenings, days were filled with school and training. This had been their routine for years, Dick rather liked the nights out, it spiced things up a bit.

Slade surprised him though. "Not this time, after lunch, in civilian clothes, you can decide whether to do your morning routine." He spoke as if he was about to continue, then looked down in hesitation, an action Dick wasn't used to. Slade was hesitating? "I'll tell you more tomorrow, for now just get some rest."

Dick paused at Slade's hesitation and he gave the mercenary a quirked eyebrow. Slade never did anything without meaning, Slade wanted him to know that whatever it was was important. "Alright..." Dick wasn't sure what to expect, he'd never been out in civies before, much less during the day. And his mentor had hesitated, whatever made him hesitate he kept to himself, it tugged at Dicks curiosity but he waved it away, if Slade was going to tell him something he would have said it, so it shouldn't concern Dick.

Dick turned off the faucet with still a few dishes left in the sink, Slade had said to get some rest, doing dishes was not resting, wouldn't be his fault if the dishes weren't done.

"After you finish the dishes."

Dick's smirk twisted into a frown. Dang it.

Dick groaned loudly and dramatically, bending backward with an arm over his forehead. "But I'm much too tired!"

The acrobat was surprised when he was rewarded with a smile and that single huff-like laugh from Slade. "Tired or not, finish the fight."

Dick knew if he complained more he'd cross the line so he straightened himself and folded his arms dejectedly, but he wasn't one to complain. Well, he actually was, he just knew when it would be most effective. Slade always turned whatever they were doing into some type of lesson, there was always some advice somewhere. It made it difficult to joke around but if Slade was willing they could get into some real witty banter with no real repercussions. Those were fun.

But this was not one of those times. 

"Fine..." Dick returned to the dishes, flipping on the faucet, Slade moved from the doorway and off into the hall with the audible thumps and clunks of his armor.

The acrobat was left alone in the kitchen, eyes down to the sink where he scrubbed at a pan they used to cook frozen chicken, his mind adrift in a sea of thoughts.

Dick wouldn't call Slade a bad dad, but he wasn't exactly ideal either. But Slade what all he knew, besides his circus life before...

Dick's scrubbing slowed as his thoughts darkened, the bristles of the brush grating against the stone pan in a drawn-out hiss, the gushing water hitting the pan making a familiar roaring sound.

"La aaaaaadieeeesss  and Gentlemen!"

Dick closed his eyes to shut out the roar of the crowds.

...t hump ... thump ...

"I present to you ; T he Fearless Flying Graysons! With their famous quadrupole flip and, as always, the use of the trapeze without the safety of the net!"

Dick shook his head to clear his thoughts, now was not the time to get lost in memories. 'Come on Grayson, stay whelmed!'

The once-quiet crowd roared with renewed vigor as the spotlight was beamed up at two people up on the trapeze post.

...t hump ... thump ...

Dick stalled, the water running over his frozen brush and the stone pan that leaned against the side of the sink. His bright blue eyes stared unfocused, his grip on the scrubbing brush relaxed slightly as his chest tightened.

A kind smile was sent to him, the tall form of his mother looking down at the small acrobat, her sky blue eyes crinkled as she smiled. A  big  hand rested on his shoulder, calloused, but soft, his black haired father let out a deep chuckle, a genuine laugh.

Dick felt his breath catch in his throat as his eyes widened a millimeter.

Thump ,  thump ...

"Time to fly my little Robin."

Thump ,  thump ...

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Thump, thump...

"The orphanages are all full, there's no room for  his kind  here."

Thump, thump...

"What are ya gunna do gypsy freak? Cry to your mom? Oh wait, SHES DEAD!"

Thump  T hump ...

"You want revenge don't you, justice for their deaths. I can help."

Thump  T hump ...

"Don't be scared my little Robin, it'll be just like practice, there's just a lot more people watching."

Thump thump

"DICK!"

...thump ,  thump...thump ,  thum-

CRACK.

Dick jumped at the sound, jolting back into reality as the pan slipped from its leaned position to fall into the sink, causing the crashing sound echo around the silent room.

Dicks breathing shuttered, as if he just then remembered to breathe. He was sweating profusely though he shivered, his ebony hair was slick and stuck to his wet forehead. He felt sick. He could still hear his heart thumping loudly in his ears, throughout his body, every limb tingled with blood rushing through it, like his entire being was throbbing.

He panicked for a moment, wide eyes searching, shaky hands reaching, looking for the bodies.

He pulled his arms back and took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around himself as shivers traveled up and down his spine. His unfocused eyes looked down, not aware of the many tears streaming down his cheeks.

He stood there for a moment, breathing, calming his body, soothing his mind.

When he felt ready the acrobat released himself, not realizing his hands were on much too tight and might cause bruises. He mentally cursed at himself for being so stupid but felt too mentally strained to do so effectively. He kept his breathing in check as he forced himself to focus on the dishes again, his head spinning and throbbing worse than the rest of him. He reached a shaky hand for the brush, already missing the self hug, and got to work. 

Scrub... scrub... scrub... back and forth like the swing of-NO. Scrub. Scrubbing only.

He screwed his eyes closed to keep the tears at bay even though many had already fallen. It's been five years and he's still traumatized... pathetic.

Dick turned off the faucet and cleared his mind of everything, using one of Slade's techniques in a mini-meditation. No, no panic attacks tonight, it had been close, too close, but it was avoided. At least... the heavy panic attack was avoided.

Feeling void of emotion, the acrobat left the sink and went to find a towel to dry the pan. He put the white towel he found on the counter and poured the soap into the designated container in the dishwasher. He closed it with a click and went for the towel again, reaching into the sink for the wet pan.

Big arms wrapped around his small frame.

Dick couldn't hold back the sob. He twisted around and hugged Slade, burying his wet face in the man's shirt. Slade returned the hug in kind, knowing the boy didn't need much but a good squeeze. The mercenary wouldn't admit it but he didn't mind the hugs, even if he outwardly expressed his dislike for them. He'd 'tolerate' them when Dick needed him to, a secret to this boy was most times any emotional issues could be solved with a hug, Slade suspected this was because of his circus upbringings.

The man rubbed the boy's back gently as Dick tightened his arms, relishing the contact. Slade knew what he needed, he always did, Dick was grateful for that, he would have been in a much darker place without Slade. But he didn't want to think about what could have happened if Slade hadn't 'adopted' him, he just wanted to exist in the warm embrace, relish the physical, live, person he was holding onto. His parents may be dead, his surrogate father was a bit rough, but it was what he had, and he didn't want to lose family again.

The acrobat didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually the tears dried up and he felt numb all over, his headache painfully pounding on his head. Dick felt even more exhausted after crying, and the warmth of the man was comforting, if he wasn't careful he might fall asleep on Slade.

Dick leaned back, breaking the hug, and rubbed at his puffy but now dried eyes. He didn't mean to break down, he should have stopped it somehow, just like he should have gotten over his parents death by now.

Slade put his hands on the acrobat's shoulders, the boy's face contorting into hatred as he looked down, refusing to meet the mercenary's eye, hating himself for being so weak.

"Dick." Slade tried to get his attention, make the boy meet his gaze.

Slowly the bright blue eyes looked up, meeting his cool gray.

Dick was prepared for a reprimand, he had left a huge damp spot on the man's shirt where the fabric had absorbed his tears. He would probably say something along the lines of 'you owe me a shirt' or 'mercenaries don't cry you big baby'. Okay, maybe that last one wasn't very accurate but he wasn't expecting what actually came out of the man's mouth.

"Don't be surprised or upset. You know these things happen regardless of how well you're doing." Dick did know, Slade had dealt with all his panic attacks as a child and still did to this day. They've already had this conversation, and to be honest, it wasn't exactly hitting the same way as it did as a helpless child. Slade gently clapped his shoulder, "Get some rest, you look tired."

Slade then moved off, stalking through the halls like usual, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His whitening hair a little messy and the black strap of the eye patch creating a long since made line across his head.

Dick stared after him, his brows furrowing the slightest bit as his mouth opened to gape in confusion. Slade didn't just drop the subject like that though, usually he'd talk it out with him. If he had to drop the subject it would be for a good reason, so Slade must have a reason for doing it this time even though there was nothing pressing for their attention. But if he dropped the subject he really did want Dick to rest, Dick should trust his mentor.

The ebony haired boy quickly composed his features, pushing his confusion away. He was done crying, it was time for business, and he had some serious business to do with his bed. Dick abandoned the dishes, taking solace with what had just happened that he wouldn't get in trouble for it. He didn't bother changing as he flopped on the bed, nearly instantly falling asleep. 

Chapter Text

Dick wrenched open his eyes, however much his lids didn't want to listen.

His sight was blurry for a moment before it focused, his room was dark, and being that there were no windows he couldn't tell what time it was without looking at the clock. The wild ebony hair shifted as the boy twisted his tired body to look over his shoulder at the clock on his haphazardly neat desk.

11:17 A.M.

Dick blinked slowly and shifted to a more comfortable position, snuggling into his pillow and closing his tired eyes. He began to stretch his legs out, a tired sigh escaping as he did so. Then it sunk in.

11:18 A.M.

"Crap." The acrobat shot out of bed, a nearly panicked look in his sky blue orbs.

Dick threw the covers to the side, he thought he had set his alarm last night, maybe Slade snuck in and turned it off. Whatever the case, he had a mission in less than an hour and he had just woken up!

Dick winced when a pounding headache made itself known, nearly forcing him back onto the bed. He wavered where he stood, closing his eyes and raising a hand to his head as if that would make the pain go away. He clenched his jaw and moved off anyway, headaches were minor, he wasn't going to let a mere headache keep him from the mission.

The ebony-haired boy ran to flip the light switch, flinching at the sudden bright light, and ran to his desk which had his dark Renegade suit draped across it. As he reached for his suit he remembered Slade's words, he had said this mission was in civilian clothes, which was odd, but Dick wasn't about to question it, Slade would explain when he thought Dick was ready. The acrobat redirected his hand to the belt slung over the chair, he clipped it around his waist under his clothes, he should probably change considering he had slept in this but he was on a time crunch. As fast as his pounding head allowed, Dick scoured his room for socks and grabbed his shoes, tying them a little too tight.

He stood up fast and slightly became dizzy, he waited for a few precious seconds for the world to stop spinning and wracked his brain for anything else he might need before going to get brea-lunch. He seriously couldn't think of anything, but Slade would remind him if he did forget anything, so he figured he was safe.

Dick ran out of the room, shoes lightly slapping against the stone floors, he ran a hand through his hair but knew it was utterly hopeless to tame his hair. He latched onto the lip of the wall that rose into the arch that separated the kitchen from the hallway, he used the edge as leverage as he spun into the room.

"Cutting it close are we?" Slade asked, rising a cup of coffee to his lips the moment he saw Dick enter the room.

Dick was a little out of breath with his panicked running, he let out a huff of indignation. "My alarm didn't go off, would you know anything about that?" Dick asked as he went straight for the fridge, giving a side glance at the casual shirt and pants his mentor was in, clothes he didn't often see the big bad mercenary in.

"Are you suggesting I would sabotage my own apprentice?" Slade asked as he put the cup down, eyeing the back of the boy's head, slightly amused by the obvious bed-head. 

Dick threw open the fridge and grabbed the milk, looking over his shoulder to his mentor and then froze in confusion. Slade was eating eggs, why was he eating eggs for lunch? Dick knew their schedule front to back, he could probably do it in his sleep, he had even done it with his eyes closed once, Slade was not for mixing up meals, though he would skip them sometimes.

"Why are you eating eggs?" Dick voiced his confusion, utterly bewildered by the out of place plate of eggs.

"Late breakfast," Slade grunted as he shoulder another forkful of dark yellow eggs into his mouth (Slade liked lots of pepper on his eggs).

"You slept in too." The boy deduced flatly, but he wasn't sure, Slade would just skip the meal if it was too late, and he was pretty sure 11: 27 was too late.

Slade shrugged, neither denying nor confirming the acrobat's deduction. "Maybe the power went out."

Dick shut the fridge door and turned to his mentor with narrowed eyes, something was definitely going on. "Did not, my clock would have been blinking and the time would be messed up."

Slade only shrugged again, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "You forget to check your surroundings my apprentice."

Dick knew Slade had done something, something with the clocks. The acrobat looked immediately to the microwave where the green numbers it said 10:27 A.M.

Dick frowned and gave Slade a 'not amused' glare. "You changed my clock." The ebony-haired boy accused.

Slade leaned lazily back in his chair, let out a slow relaxed sigh. "On the contrary, you forgot to check the calendar. Gather all the facts before making an assumption Dick, you know not to rely on only one source." Slade nodded his head to the calendar on the wall. Dick would have retorted with the fact he and Slade made assumptions with only minimal knowledge (usually only from one source) all the time, until Dick followed and realized the date. November 4th.

He slapped a hand onto his face and groaned tiredly as he dragged his hand down. "Daylight savings... I'm an idiot."

Slade got up from his seat, a low chuckle emanating from his chest. "Only when you choose to be." The casually dressed mercenary deposited his dishes in the sink but kept his cup of milk, taking the jug Dick left on the counter to refill it. "Now I suggest eating before we start this mission," Slade said with a pointed look.

Dick nodded, shaking himself out of his self-loathing thoughts and getting his game face on. There was work to be done, personal matters shouldn't interfere, there was a time and place for personal matters, this was not one of them (at least to Dicks knowledge it wasn't). "I might take an Ibuprofen though, I'm feeling much better but my head is killing me," Dick informed, knowing Slade would want to know.

Slade made no comment as Dick had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the shelf that housed their medicinal drugs. In no time Dick also had a plate of eggs, using the pan his mentor had used and adding lots of pepper as Slade had done (they had similar taste in scrambled eggs). The boy sat in the chair opposite to where Slade had sat, Slade still standing near the fridge with his cup of milk, forking at the steaming yellow and white scrambled eggs.

"So what mission could we possibly do during the day? I thought we worked only at night?" Dick started, punctuating his question by stuffing his mouth full of eggs.

Slade didn't answer right away. "Not all missions can be done at night, this mission is more of a mission-prep. There's a drug deal going down between Two-Face and Black Mask tomorrow. We were hired by Black Mask considering his deals have been going awry lately and wants assurance he'll get his money or his drugs, whichever one comes first."

"And they're doing it during the day? I guess it's one way to avoid Batman but it seems a little risky, more risky than at night I mean." Dick questioned between bites, more confused than ever, if not a little frightened, but he wouldn't let that show. And he definitely shouldn't show what exactly he was afraid of, it was pitiful if he was being honest, being afraid of sunlight. He really shouldn't dwell on his fears, he might need to meditate soon, if last night was anything to go by. Slade had him doing meditations for a while now but Dick had slowly taken overdoing them himself, it calmed him and let him face his fears on a more stable field of battle.

"They aren't." Slade clarified with a grunt. "We're scouting the site, there's a skate park right next to it but otherwise surrounded by tall business buildings. We're going during the day to scope out the site, set landmarks, and make note of anything that could be useful or harmful to the deal."

The acrobat nodded slowly, swallowing his food before speaking. "Oooohhhh ok, so this is more of like an undercover recon mission." Dick clarified, sitting back from the eggs to make sure he was understanding correctly. With Slade it was always better to ask beforehand than go in with the wrong idea, he'd done that a few times in the early days, it hadn't been pretty. One should always check to make sure they're hot wiring the getaway car, not blowing it up.

"Yes." The mercenary said with a dip of his head, then lifted his glass of milk. "I'll be checking out the buildings, you're going to the skatepark."

"ooOoo human interaction!" Dick joked, smirking and making fun of the fact he'd never met a kid his age before. Besides Artemis... but that had been very brief and, technically, she was older than him.

"Don't lose focus my apprentice," Slade said in warning after lowering his drink, his single eye narrowing.

Dick snorted. "Pfft, I won't, besides, it's just a skate park, I've done much more dangerous things."  Dick returned to his food, thinking the conversation was over. His gears were turning at the new information, watching drug deals was a common job for Dick to receive, Slade would get some of the more dangerous ones but occasionally he'd get a kill job too. Black Masks deals had been going bad lately, and honestly, Dick wanted a challenge. He wanted to know who was responsible for such a hard blow to the crime lord that would have him go crawling to Deathstroke of all people. He must be desperate, and his attacker must either be really good (as in goodie-two-shoes) or good (as in good at being bad).

"One more thing Dick," Slade said, the acrobat in question rose his head from the plate to twist around to face his mentor, something in his tone told him this was to be taken seriously, or more seriously in Slade's case.

Slade set his cup to the side and folded his arms over his chest, his single grey eye met Dicks blue ones. "Sportsmaster was the one who gassed you, it put something inside you and I have yet to identify it." Dick felt his stomach drop and grow hard, suddenly the eggs didn't sound so pleasant. "I want you aware of your surroundings today, I don't know what he's planning or why he's targeting you but I want you aware of it."

Dick nodded slowly, mind racing with sudden worry. Sportsmaster? What would Sportsmaster want with him? "Maybe it has something to do with The Light?" Dick suggested, but he knew his mentor had probably already thought of that.

"I won't rule anything out yet," Slade replied. Dick nodded slowly, so he had thought of that possibility. "Now finish those eggs, we have things to do."

"Yes sir!" Dick brought back his carefree attitude with a mock salute with the fork, that was sure to mask how worried he actually was, drown it with joy and no one would suspect a thing. Dick shoveled more eggs into his mouth though his appetite had been soiled by the news of his attacker, he just needed food. Which brought back another question from the acrobat. "Why were you really eating eggs at 10 in the morning?"

Dick was surprised to get an honest answer. "Didn't sleep, I was working."

The acrobat gasped obnoxiously, knowing full well how often Slade skipped meals. "You nearly skipped breakfast! There's some hypocrisy going on around here," Dick playfully pulled up a hand to point accusatorially at his mentor. "You hound me about food but don't even take care of yourself!"

Slade rose an eyebrow, was that concern he heard? Of course, Dick was always compassionate like that. At the beginning, Slade had thought it would be hard to get the boy to take life, but out in the field his compassion dried up and left only cold hard resentment. "When you're an adult you don't have to worry about how many meals you have a day, but you're still growing."

It was Dicks turn to raise an eyebrow, so he does care. The thought was sarcastic but it was still comforting, in a house made of stone it was easy to forget not all of it was cold and heartless.

"Meet me in the garage in 15 minutes." Slade shoved off the counter and walked away, Dicks eyes followed the back of his mentor's large form until it disappeared around the corner.

One minute he's being scolded by Slade, the next Slade is worried about him, then turns around and acts like the worried part never happened.

Such a weird dude.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick's hand clenched over his skateboard, his black helmet obstructing (or protecting innocent bystanders from) his ebony mat of hair and shadowing his sea-green eyes from the sun that rested high in the sky above the iron jungle that was Gotham. Right now he wasn't Renegade on a mission, or a Dick Grayson, he was Robin Wilson, son of Slade Wilson. He wore contacts for his eyes but other than that he was basically the same, Slade had forged all certificates and everything to make Robin Wilson a real person, and right now Dick was putting it to use. Robin Wilson was the alias he took when in public, Dick Grayson was legally dead, Robin Wilson wasn't.

His shaded eyes jumped from place to place with his nerves bubbling right under his skin. He kept finding nice shadowed areas, away from the accusing beams of sunlight he was subject to, but he bit back his complaints because it would do nothing to help the situation. Besides, it was mission time, not facing fears time. He could already tell this mission was going to be bumpy, his mind couldn't get rid of its nerves, but he pressed on anyway.

The well-built form next to the lanky boy shifted as the duo walked, the older man's single eye roaming while his white hair was combed back neatly.

"Remember, don't have too much fun kiddo." Slade hissed under his breath. Dick kept walking as if he hadn't spoken but responded just the same.

"Same goes for you."

"Think you can handle it?" Slade asked, meaning more of Dick's nerves with being so exposed in sunlight along with Sportsmasters threat hanging over his head like Eeyore's rainy cloud. Slade knew of his apprentice's uncomfortableness in the sunlight, it was a side trait he got from spending so much time in the shadows at night with Slade. Of course, that was minimal to the actual reason Dick didn't like the sun, it was like the circus spotlights illuminating his parent's bloodied forms, and that is what made Dick so antsy every time daylight was mentioned. Dick was a broken boy, Slade understood that, he couldn't get the boy to become the perfect apprentice without breaking him further, and that was not the plan.

Slade was taken from his thoughts by Dicks response, then was annoyed by the fact that he had gotten lost in thought.

"Can birds fly?" Dick retorted with a smirk, one that Slade couldn't see but could guess he was wearing by the tone his voice made.

Slade grunted. "Well, I'm not going to wait for you to grow wings."

The acrobat snorted in response, then sensed the need for quietness, they were about to begin the mission, the road was coming up and all traces of banter left as the mission began.

The duo approached the skate park, Slade drifted away as Dick neared the entrance, both had their eyes (or eye in Slade's case) roaming. The mission was afoot, both mercenaries were on their way and on their own, a dark circle in one ear on each person for communication purposes, also in case of emergencies.

Dick held a lazy smile as he had already spotted 5 good stations for sniping right here on ground level, and obvious in and outs from the road, he'd have to keep looking for the really good places but that was the point of going undercover into the skatepark.

The acrobat then adopted a more stern look on his face, because at the entrance to the skate park were two ratty kids, both were staring down anyone who passed too closely. One had greasy long yellow hair and the other with short curly black hair, each were around equal height, a good head or two taller than Dick. Black hair kid had chocolate skin, a rather large nose, and baggy pants. Yellow Hair also had baggy pants, but his nose was long and narrow, like the beginning of the joke 'why the long face?'

Must be some type of kid gang, they both got skull shirts, and plenty of kids inside have similar tastes in clothing. Dick thought, but I still need to get in.

Dick let a smirk befall his face as he marched right up to the two 'guards'. If it came to a fight Dick would win, easy. But the mission didn't call for conflict, Dick would avoid a physical confrontation unless absolutely necessary.

Yellow Hair noticed him first, dark brown eyes narrowing and pushing himself off the gate to meet Dicks pompous march. "Bug off kid, you don't get in unless you know someone inside." Yellow Hair crossed his arms.

Dicks nose turned up, unable to contain the smile his next remark would make, "So I'm assuming you don't know anyone?" Dick put his hands on his hips while holding his board under one arm, tilting his head ever so curiously with his snarky smile.

"He said get lost kid." Brown Hair came up, his voice deeper than Dick originally would expect, but of course puberty comes at different speeds, Dick was still waiting for his growth spurt. The young acrobat's focus came back as Brown Hair stepped forward threateningly.

"I don't want any trouble." Dick raised his hands innocently, his board rising too, exposing the underside to show the black and orange design. It held no meaning to other people besides an interesting color choice considering it was a certain mercenary's color scheme, but to Dick it was simply a familiar affiliation.

The kids didn't react to his skateboard, Dick didn't expect them to, but he did expect them to react to his jumping straight up and using Brown Hair guy's head as a spring board over the fence and rolling to the ground on the other side.

Dick let a cackle slip past him as he started running through the mass of dark clothed teenagers in various stages of goth and emo-ness, the angered and yelling voices of the 'guards' fading behind him. Dick dropped the skateboard and jumped on, keeping pace to his original running speed.

He swerved between kids, getting strange looks for his unorthodox attire that separated him from the other kids. Was an all black shirt really that different from the silver skulls outlined on everyone else's black shirt? Apparently.

The acrobat went down into a stone gully, relishing the speed like he did at night with the motorcycle and grappling hook, but it failed to have the same thrill. As it usually would when one isn't being shot at compared to not being shot at. Dick sped up the side and slid across the lip of the gully before going down again. 

The minutes wore on and soon it was almost an hour he had been here. Besides the odd looks he wasn't given much trouble, though he did have to give the two 'guard' kids the slip every now and then, Dick would have counted the mission more than successful. He found places to hide, places that would be good for cover if a gunfight were to break out, a nice exit and entry that would perfectly fit his motorcycle.

Apparently, Dick was too invested in the mission, because suddenly he was knocked off his feet and sprawled on the ground.

Dick groaned as he sat up, he could hear other kids 'ooo'ing at the collision, some hiding laughter as it usually was funny to see someone fall. He rose a hand to his head but realized the helmet would stop him from that, so he redirected his efforts to his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose to stop his swimming vision, the headache the medicine had been dulling spiked.

Then he realized he wasn't unscathed, his shin had a cut on it, right where another person's board had slid against it. Dick scowled in distaste and looked to the person who collided with him. For all the protective gear his butt still hurt from being landed on and his shin stung like a fire, though his pain tolerance was a lot higher than most kids, they'd probably be crying, Dick was just ticked off.

The first thing he noticed about his collision-er was that she was a girl. Second, she wore a green shirt unlike the other kid's black shirts. Third, (it was embarrassing that it took the third fact to recognized her) she had dark hair that seemed much too big, like a dark mane of a lion, her skin was tan though was a bit on the rosy side. It was Jade, Sportsmasters first daughter.

Dick scrambled to his feet, unsure if he should gain a fighting stance or not. By now the other kids watching returned to their skating and conversations, the show was over, but the tension was tightening between Dick and the possible enemy. His knife was in his boot, it would only take a second to grab it. His fingers twitched at the thought, his nerves were already high as he was out during the day, then he just so happened to run into the daughter of the man trying to ...do something, probably not kill, but something... to him.

Jade got to her feet slowly and elegantly like a cat, she wore a smug smirk and placed a hand on her hip, one of her sais outlined on her black leggings.

"Boy blunder, what a coincidence."

"Jade." Dick nodded curtly. Internally, his nerves were running amuck, outside he was all business. He propped up his board with his foot before tucking it under an arm, realizing he should not be in this situation alone. "What brings you here? It's unlike the adult daughter of a mercenary to be slinking around these types of kids." Jade was connected to Sportsmaster, but that didn't mean she represented him, but it was concerning all the same. It wasn't a coincidence she was here when he was.

Jade's dark hair cascaded down her back as she shifted her position, posing with a hand on her hip, her head tilting ever so slightly as she answered his question with her own question. "Why do you care where I go and who I hang out with?"

"I care when it means you run into me," Dick said tightly, he didn't like this one bit, he raised his hands up to his head and took off his helmet, making it easier for Slade to identify him from afar and secretly pushing the communicator in his ear.

"Where's your stalker?" Jade asked, ignoring his reply.

"Stalking," Dick answered simply, Jade wanted to know where Deathstroke was, so he alerted her that he was watching, which meant she was being watched as well. Witch probably limited her ability to do whatever Sportsmaster told her to do out here.

Jade's face screwed up into an interesting emotion, like annoyance but not really, somewhere deep inside she was satisfied by something but was acting like she was annoyed. Her lips were pursed into a line and her half lidded eyes held distaste but her eyebrows said she wasn't, she looked almost bored. "Pity." Jade huffed. She twisted with a swoosh of her dark mane-like hair and walked off.

Dick was stunned for a moment. What? That was it?

The acrobat ran after the older mercenary, confused and a little angry. He grabbed her wrist and spun her around, she locked eyes with him, making the boy freeze.

"What does your father want with me?" He asked lowly, almost in a growl, his stormy green eyes suddenly cold and angry.

"You got the wrong idea kid, it's not what he wants with you, it's what he wants you to do." Jade smiled smugly, like she just won something, it only made the younger mercenary more confused.

She wrenched her wrist out of Dick's grasp and walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Dick made no move after her, she wouldn't help but make more confusing and morbid statements. He stared after her, gears turning, he rose a hand to his ear and pressed the comms button, his other arm holding his helmet limply, his bloodied shin forgotten.

"Slade-"

"I heard. Let's head back, we can squeeze in a training session before going out tonight, if you're up for it." Slade's grumbly voice interrupted. 

Dick nodded numbly, glad he didn't have to relay his situation, "and what about-"

"Later, clearly if Sportsmaster wanted to do something he didn't do it, let's just get back home."

"Alright, I'm coming to you."

Dick wasn't so sure, Jade had looked much too happy, whatever Sportsmaster wanted to happen happened, and it got under Dicks skin that he didn't know what it was.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Jade slipped the slender metal piece into her hand from her sleeve. A needle was at the end and the glass inside was dark with blood.

"Did you get it?" A voice crackled into her earpiece.

She resisted rolling her eyes but only half succeeded, her green orbs rising to the bright noon-day sky before falling back down on the trapped blood in the metal container. "Of course." She replied lowly, leaning back lazily onto the bricked wall of the alley she stopped in. The metal blinked yellow at the end, then turned a shade of green.

"And?"

"You're in."

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

"Did you have fun?" Slade asked, in Deathstroke uniform, not looking up from his task of sorting and setting aside weapons for Dick to either put away or clean. Dick himself was currently in Renegade uniform, sitting on the garage desk and swinging his legs back and forth as he licked at the chocolate ice cream cone in his hand. His wounded shin had a bandage over it (under the suit of course) but it wasn't bleeding as much as he thought it would, which he was grateful for, shin injuries hurt like heck.

"Sure, it wasn't as fun as going out at night, for obvious reasons, but for what it was worth I guess it was fun. Before Cheshire showed up at least." Dick mumbled the last part but otherwise gave a truthful account. Slade had already asked for his version of the story but this was a different question than what Slade had asked when they got home.

It was after dinner now, Dick had fished some ice cream from the freezer and found some waffle cones in their pantry, deciding a treat wouldn't be declined after the successful mission (he had gotten a nod from Slade when he rose the ice cream bucket up and pleaded with his big round blue eyes, on the condition he eat it quickly and clean the blades Slade would set out).

Slade's helmet was set next to Dick, the smaller mercenary's mask on his lap. Dick attacked the ice cream after he answered Slade's question, silently enjoying talking about his day without the business aspect involved.

Apparently, the young acrobat wasn't quiet enough about his Cheshire comment because Slade addressed the problem Cheshire brought up. "Let me worry about Sportsmaster, you focus on your training." Slade looked up for a moment at his apprentice before returning to the weapons on the metal desk. The garage, like everything in their underground home, was grey and concrete, it housed all their weapons and their larger tools like the motorcycles. The two vehicles were on their kickstands not too far away, pulled out for later use. "How's school?" Slade asked after a few moments of silence, side-eyeing his apprentice.

Dick evaluated the question as he licked around the base of the ice cream, catching any melting chocolate. He hummed in response before explaining.

"School is fine, pre-calc-trig is a breeze, I'm especially good at the trig part." Dick returned to licking for a moment then continued. "History is fine, dates are getting easier to remember which is good, but not exactly fun. Chemistry is fun though, the math in it is almost too easy." A smirk slipped onto his face as he spoke, laughing a little when he thought of one lab that he had needed Slade's help with and it was hysterical that Slade didn't even know what to do, ending with a small chemical explosion and a laughing 12-year-old.

"What about coding?" Slade grunted in question, placing a few more knives into the 'to be cleaned' pile.

Dick eyed the pile of knives and various swords Slade was gathering, most of which were only rusted, only a few had actual blood on them. "It's going good, but it's almost too easy, I want a challenge. I feel like I'm-and not to gloat here-too good and if I continue doing easy stuff I'll lose the edge."

"I'll see what I can do." Slade huffed, inspecting another sword, then set it down to pick up a small gun in its holster draped on a hook, a touchy subject coming to mind. "How's your aim?"

Dick winced, "I... could be better... you know I'm not too fond of gun training."

"Victory often demands sacrifice." Were the wise words Slade had to offer, words Dick heard every time the topic of guns came up. Dick just didn't like guns, there wasn't anything he could pinpoint about them that he didn't like, he just didn't like them. He had used them many times though, per Slades orders, his aim really wasn't that bad, it just wasn't on par with Slade's expectations.

"Be that as it may, I'll do what I need to do when the need arises, not before," Dick argued, frowning down at his ice cream.

"Then when the time comes you will fail"

Dicks swaying legs stilled.

Failure wasn't an option, Dick learned that early, but they've also had this conversation before. Of all the things Slade had Dick do, this was where Dick drew the line, he wouldn't do it. He didn't know what he wasn't going to do because he had killed plenty of times with a gun before, but he knew he wasn't going to do it. Slade couldn't do anything to convince him otherwise, absolutely nothing, and Slade knew it too.

"There's a target tonight, mine, you're coming with though. We can work on that aim." Slade stepped back from the desk, dropping the subject of Dick's stubbornness. Having sorted the weapons the mercenary reached for a different shelf, lifting up a large and long gun, checking its magazine before tossing the smaller gun to Dick.

The acrobat caught it with ease with his frown still in place, the ice cream didn't sound so refreshing anymore, but he finished it off anyway, Slade didn't like it when he wasted food. Dick knew he just avoided a yelling match, Slade didn't raise his voice often, and when he did it was very serious and very dangerous. He could feel his mentors anger and disappointment rolling off of him in waves, he hated disappointing him, it was risky to do so, but there were just some things that Dick would not do. He felt like Slade liked that fire in him, and that turned into respect and that's what made him back down, though he didn't always.

"Target practice, before the mission. Let's go."

Dick felt the pit of his stomach fill with dread.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Renegades hand was steady, even in the complete darkness of the alley he saw his target with startling clarity. He cleared his mind, void of all emotion, his masked eyes half lidded in his calm state. His finger didn't even tremble, his heartbeat steady as a rock. He closed one eye to straighten his aim, and closed his digger over the trigger with zero hesitation.

The shot rang out and echoed in the streets, going up the brick alley and into the cloudy sky. It was dark as always, dreary really, almost raining but not quite.

Renegade breathed out and shot three more times, almost emptying the barrel and hitting each target head-on in quick succession.

Until the last target, he faltered.

Deathstroke stepped in front of the target calmly, with his hands behind his back casually, and looked to have no intention of moving. Renegade's eyes widened with terror as he realized the trigger was still being pulled. He yanked the gun to the side, his training finally kicking in after the wave of panic that washed over him. The sudden movement of his arm swayed the rest of his body, his ebony hair slick with the mist hanging loosely over his eyes.

The bullet was spun out of the barrel, the end caught by the tip of the gun, tilting the bullet's direction. For a horrifying second, the bullet sped straight for the stoic mercenary, then it went wide and hit the brick building a few hairs away from the armored man's shoulder, a few inches to the left and he would have gotten his heart.

Renegade lowered the gun, reminding himself to breathe.

"Good. Sharpen those reflexes, anything can happen in a battle. It won't be like practice where the targets are staying still and no other force impedes your aim." The heavy voice of Deathstroke said, almost softly.

Renegade nodded silently, going to reload his gun from the bullet pouch on his waist. Deathstroke rose a hand to stop him, a simple gesture that signaled his apprentice his meaning.

"That's enough for now, I expect less hesitation, you don't have time to hesitate in the heat of battle." Deathstroke strode forward with powerful steps, though they were silent. Renegade nodded again and Deathstroke almost tilted his head in question, what had him so rattled? Usually Renegade was bursting with quips and jibes, he had barely spoken a word since they left the house.

"My target is a few blocks away, spot for me from above, I'll be on the same level as the target just in a different building."

"Yes sir."

Deathstroke eye narrowed, something was definitely up.

As Renegade passed his mentor, Deathstroke laid a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder, staring at him until he met his gaze.

"Something is wrong." The mercenary stated. It wasn't a question.

Renegades frowning face threw up a smile, he was trying to get Deathstroke off his case, it was a horrible attempt. "It's nothing I can't handle."

"I'm not mad at you," Deathstroke said. Though he was disappointed by their earlier conversation he wasn't angry at the boy, and sometimes he needed to remind him of that.

Renegade looked down and grumbled, "...I know that..."

"Then why are you suddenly deciding to cease the assault on my ears with that high pitched voice of yours?" He attempted a lighthearted jab but only made his apprentice's face screw into a scowl.

"It's not high pitched."

Deathstroke sighed, knowing only one way to get his apprentice to spill the truth. "Whatever is bothering you is affecting your ability to carry out orders."

Renegade sighed in defeat, looking down and mumbling something intelligible.

"Renegade," Deathstroke said in warning, alerting the boy to the fact he had not made himself clear.

The younger mercenary listed his head to the side, biting his lip as a war raged in his head. When he finally spoke it was hesitant but also conveyed his frustration in an almost kind tone. "I just... don't like the idea of someone I care about being in front of the bullet."

Deathstroke withdrew his hand from his apprentice's shoulder, he knew it'd be something about the guns but he didn't realize it would be about him too.

"Unfortunately, Renegade, that's the kind of life we live in, there's always a gun pointed at me, and you."

"Yeah, but this time... it was me holding the gun..." Renegade said lowly.

"If that's how you feel about it then we should have nothing to worry about. From that distance the bullet would have grazed off the armor, so even if you did hit me I'd be fine. There's nothing to worry about." Deathstroke moved on, heading for the motorcycles parked in the shadows.

Renegade felt something lift from his shoulders, and it wasn't his mentor's hand. Deathstroke was right, from that range it wouldn't have killed his father figure, and he counted on the fact that besides from practice, his surrogate father would never be in front of his gun.

Renegade ran to catch up with his mentor, giving a side glance to the sheets of metal set up for his target practice, he did a double take when he saw something familiar. The orange street lamp bathed half of one sheet of metal, the hole his bullet had made looked more like an eye, the shadowed part of the metal like the second half of his mentor's covered face. It made him freeze for a second, seeing his mentor's firm gaze in the soulless pit of the bullet hole. He shuddered and moved on, smacking a smile back on his face as he returned to his mentor's side.

"We leave the motorcycles in the alley below our target, you take the roof." Deathstroke relayed, giving his apprentice a stare as he watched the young acrobat get on his smaller motorcycle.

Renegade didn't answer for a moment as he adjusted his seat, he turned and tilted his head in mock confusion, a smirk plainly evident. "Our?"

Deathstroke rolled his eye but couldn't suppress the small smile that rose on his features, not like Renegade would know anyway. "You know what I mean, now get going, we don't have all night."

"In that case, I'll just sit back and enjoy the ride," Renegade said with a shrug. Contrary to his words, Renegade sped off, doing a small wheelie as he exited the alley.

Deathstroke let a deep chuckle resonate from his chest, quiet enough to be unnoticed, his apprentice had too much energy, it amused the mercenary.

It was a quick ride to the target, Renegade was already scuttling up drainpipes and windows to get to the roof as Deathstroke rolled in. He parked quickly and quietly, lifting his larger gun with one hand as he entered the old building he chose to stake out for this mission. It was a very old building, everything was brittle and dusty, there would be clear evidence of his position here if the cops would even check this area, but then again he was Deathstroke, the cops wouldn't come after him unless they wanted a death wish.

It was nearly pitch black inside, just enough light from the outside street lamps to navigate the old building. He went up the stairs (not trusting the elevator) slowly as to not create more noise than necessary and the boards didn't seem to get the memo and squeaked with every slight movement. Renegade would already be up these stairs by now, a benefit of being so small and light. In reality, Deathstroke hopped Renegade was silently sitting on the roof, waiting and observing.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Renegade resisted the urge to itch his nose, sitting still was a hard task when he was so full of energy, and this mist didn't help at all, made his hair damp and hang over his eyes in an annoyingly itchy way.

The clouds above him were a soft orange, reflecting the lights of Gotham back down on the city of crime. He felt a bit exposed up here but he had already made sure his surroundings were well scouted before hunkering down near the lip of the roof, waiting.

He didn't flinch when the gunshot when off, he didn't flinch when he heard the target scream. He flinched when he felt the building shudder and the sound of wood and concrete breaking, he looked down to see two forms getting to their feet.

Deathstroke and Batman.

Batman must have gotten word of their mission, Renegade shrunk lower into the shadows but still kept his head over the edge to see the fight, unaware of his heart rate rising with worry. Batman was bad news, Deathstroke didn't like Batman, at least not when Renegade was around. Deathstroke had told him he thought of Batman as a formidable opponent, but when Renegade was in the picture he was to keep out of sight and away from Batman. The young mercenary always thought it was because Deathstroke didn't think he was ready, and he was scared because he didn't know what else he would need to take on Batman.

Renegade refocused on the fight, realizing they had begun to clash while he was in thought.

Deathstroke and Batman were both weaponless, though each kept pulling from their pockets a new knife or batarang. But right now they were locked in a fierce hand to hand fight, and Renegade couldn't tell who was winning.

His heart clenched when a sudden sound made it to his ears, his masked eyes widening.

-0o0o0o0o0o0-

Batman threw an elbow into Deathstroke's face, making the mercenary stubble back and give the Dark Knight some breathing room. He slipped a batarang into his hand and ran forward, hoping to finally catch the mercenary but knew from many close calls before that it most likely wouldn't happen. He was here for answers though, not to catch him, although it drew a wedge into his heart at the fact he wasn't able to stop the murder of one innocent businessman who was one of the few Justice League funders who had no ties to the actual League.

Deathstroke dodged the batarang and rammed him with his shoulder, Batman twisted and with both fists pounded down on the shoulder.

There was a sickening 'crunch' and Deathstroke grunted in pain. Batman backed away for a second, he hadn't meant to maim him, but both men look up when a young voice broke the silence.

"DAD!"

A small black haired boy had a horrified look on his face, a black and orange mask covering his eyes. He stepped forward over the lip of the roof, giving Batman a full view of the fabled son of Deathstroke. His suit was dark gray and black, two stripes of orange going over his rib cage and bigger band around his gloves that extended to the boy's elbow. The young mercenary has a utility belt like Deathstroke's, two leather straps crossed his middle and behind his shoulders were two hilts were visible.

Batman's eyes narrowed.

Renegade's face twisted into a sneer, he scowled and jumped forward, doing multiple summersaults through the air before landing in a roll that the boy quickly ran from. Renegade took out a single blade and with a war cry, he advanced on The Dark Knight.

Batman sidestepped the blade, a little confused, worried, and angry this child was attacking him. The boy looked no older than 11, he should NOT be running around with the likes of Deathstroke, son or not.

"Renegade," Deathstroke growled, there was a hint of warning in his voice, the surprising part was Batman could have mistaken it for worry.

Renegade ignored his mentor's comment and rolled under Batman's legs, he sliced at the vigilante's feet where Batman jumped but slammed down on the blade, forcing the boy to stall.

Renegade discarded his katana in favor of rolling away from a kick sent in his direction.

Deathstroke tried to put his shoulder back in place but it wouldn't work, he half knelt with a glare pointed at Batman.

Renegade threw a few smoke bombs and tossed a few disks into the fog, hoping to distract the Dark Knight. Renegade turned his back on the fog and ran up to Deathstroke, he placed his gloved hand on his mentor's shoulder and the other on his back. With a jerk of his hands, the shoulder popped back into place.

"We're partners, sorry Master but your getting your butt handed to you." The young voice of Renegade said, sounding so sure.

Deathstroke grunted and stood, Renegade stood with a hand rising to his back to grab his other katana. Deathstroke's hand caught his shoulder, the look in the mercenary's eye told the boy there was no more use for the blades in this fight. Renegade let his hand drop and settled his gaze to the Batman coming from the dissipating smoke.

"So you have a son?" Batman asked with his permanent scowl, his eyes narrowing on the shorter mercenary.

Renegade opened his mouth but was cut off by Deathstroke.

"Renegade." Again his voice was laced with warning, the boy in question tossed a glare up to his mentor.

"I wasn't going to answer him, I was going to ask when we can start beating the crap out him." A smirk crawled onto the boy's face as he spoke, a child-like air following his cool demeanor. A tiny bit of Batman was scared by this, no child should ever find joy in beating up someone else, much less a hero.

"Scramble him, we shouldn't be here long," Deathstroke ordered.

Renegades' smirk grew. "Heck yes, I love scrambling."

Batman's stoic form figured enough was enough, the two were talking as if he wasn't even there, but their odd number of eyes never shifted from their hard look on him. The Dark Knight dashed forward, heading for the bigger mercenary first, Batman needed more information about 'Renegade', he was going to get it by observing.

But before Batman came anywhere close to Deathstroke a body slammed into his torso, he felt something slam onto the sides of his head, effectively discombobulating the vigilante, and legs wrapped around his chest. The Dark Knight staggered backward as the weight made him dip back, he was going to fall. His arms went up to grab the small mercenary on his head but suddenly the weight lifted, forcing Batman's head to hit the ground instead of Renegade who was on his back. Batman recognized the move, Catwoman used that move on him many times, though the figure on top of him was much smaller.

Renegade swung his own punch to the confused man's face, then he stood on the man's chest and backflipped out of kicking range. The boy held up a hand dramatically, he pushed a button with an evident smirk. Small explosions erupted where Batman had felt Renegade slap his hands, right over his ears.

Batman got to his feet by rolling back, giving himself some reprieve to figure out what was going on, his head ringing and if he wasn't being attacked from all sides he might have been impressed. Deathstroke lunged at him with a punch, one Batman dodged by moving to the side and delivering his own blows to the mercenary's now unprotected side. Batman then grunted as his back became pelted with sharp jabs, he didn't need to look to know it was Renegade. He twisted into a kick, one that almost landed, while he kept the bigger mercenary at bay with another lunge. Renegade was driven back, the boot scraped his chest but it was barely a scratch, Renegade had turned to avoid the full brunt.

Renegade rolled off to the side, Batman was focused on Deathstroke, he didn't see the small mercenary scamper silently over to the Batmobile.

Renegade placed small devices on the edges of the vehicle, each small, circular, object blinking red before turning a shade of green, then he jumped inside. Warnings started blaring but he ignored them in favor of plugging a wire from his glove into the dashboard. His masked face was illuminated by the holo-screen that appeared from his forearm, casting himself and his near vicinity into a blue hue.

His free hand flew over the holo-screen, typing with practiced speed, his narrowed eyes never blinked. The warnings and the flashing lights died away and Renegade smirked.

"Yeah, real scrambled, I know someone who isn't going to be feeling any aster any time soon," Renegade mumbled to himself, his smirk growing with every code typed. "He's gonna have to take this into the shop, heh."

Finally, he unplugged his holo-glove and peaked into the darkness to find his mentor and Batman still at it. Both looked worn out, Renegade could tell they were hiding it from each other but he could see it in the way their chests heaved and they hesitated for a tenth of a second before throwing themselves back into the fray.

Renegade hopped out and quickly changed position, shooting a grappling hook to a nearby roof. He flipped up and crouched on its lip, he tapped a button on his glove and smiled down on the duo. He waited a second more before putting his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle.

Smartly, neither fighter wavered at the sudden sound, but Deathstroke knew what it meant.

Deathstroke sent one more smashing kick to the Dark Knights's leg, causing the man to kneel for a moment. Renegade jumped down with a cackle and grabbed onto another ledge, breaking his fall and giving time for two slender vehicles to appear, the motorcycles being on autopilot.

Renegade slipped onto his easily, flipping a switch to turn off the autopilot. Deathstroke leaped backward away from Batman and ran after his bike, he jumped and ran across a nearby wall to mount his motorcycle.

Deathstroke took the lead and sped away, Renegade trailed after him, pushing yet another button that caused dark smoke to exit behind his vehicle, covering their escape.

Batman stood wordlessly, a disembodied cackle fading from the air. He glanced at the Batmobile and saw it was smoking and sparking. A wheel popped off with a crash of metal on concrete and it rolled in front of the vigilante, the tire circled and circled before coming to a rest, the calculating eyes of Batman still narrowed in the direction of the young mercenary. Batman rose a hand to his ear, calling the Batcave to inform his sons of his encounter.

Chapter Text

-One day later-

Gotham was clear this night. Even with the low clouds hanging across the city like a blanket, though the streets were free of fog and the precipitation that often accompanied the dark clouds. The street lights were a sharp orange, reflecting off the wet ground courtesy of the afternoon rain that had cleared out. Although new clouds rolled in, they merely threatened a downpour, the wet scent of rain fresh in the air. Just after midnight the criminals of Gotham crawled about like rats, sniffing around for weak prey to make a few bucks on.

A long white commercial truck crashed through a puddle, bouncing out of the pothole, rocking on its axel and creaking as the rest of the truck settled. The dark tinted windows hid the driver from view, the silhouette of a human head shifted from side to side, looking for its destination.

The truck pulled into a large alley right next to a skate park, the headlights of the vehicle washing over the scene in an accusatory beam of light. There was a gleam from the shadows as a small motorcycle became visible for a moment before the light was swept away. The tires crunched across some loose gravel and grime that was ever-present in the rotting city of Gotham. The headlights turned off as the car stalled, though the engine stayed on.

There was a moment of quietness before the passenger side of the truck opened, a gruff looking man in heavy clothing stepped out carrying a long gun. His free hand went back to shut the door, a loud echo sounding around in the dark alley. His coat was thick and brown, a dirty red bandana bunched around his neck. His sun-darkened skin was wrinkled on his forehead, a fuzzy patch of blonde hair adorning his head. The man's beady eyes shifted from shadow to shadow, lifting the gun to a more usable position with his second hand on top, ready for anything.

The man gave a subtle nod to the driver in the vehicle he had moments before exited, soon after there was a sound of clunking metal. At the back of the truck, the latch was lifted and the door lifted up in a smooth motion. It was a quiet sound, but not silent. 

More men poured out, all carrying their own guns and a jacket-like article of clothing. They came in varying sizes and shapes, crime has no limits nor expectations, except a desire to commit. One was a young man, blonde hair and blue-eyed, wearing a snarky grin and much too excited about the drug deal he was apart of.

The men drifted over to the man awaiting their congregation. The man with the red bandana nodding to some men and pointed to others, clearly giving out near-silent orders. The men cleared out, each casually shifting into position, eyes adrift for the cops, or worse, Batman.

What they got was a little smaller, and much less righteous.

A dark figure slid silently onto the roof of the vehicle, going slow and smooth to avoid detection, his own smirk unable to be schooled into a professional look. The figure watched the men gather and disperse, noting points that would be safe if they opened fire, and points he could drop in and take care of any unnecessary complications.

The lanky form jumped lightly down onto the hood of the driver's side of the car, amused he was not yet found as his dark suit was stark against the white van and he had purposefully made noise in his last jump. He laid his hands on his hips and shook his head with distaste, tutting loudly as to finally catch the attention of the lead man.

The man looked up at the noise and instinctually rose his gun as well, ready to fire, the only thing that stopped him was the half orange and black mask.

"Not bad... I've seen better," Renegade said from his perch. The acrobat flipped down over the front of the vehicle, landing solidly and stepping forwards to the man who hesitantly lowered his gun.

The man looked disgruntled, brown eyes wanting to search his surroundings for the bigger threat but knowing this boy was not much less a threat. "Where's your boss?" He asked, shifting his gun in hand.

Renegade tilted his head in thought. "Deathstroke? He won't be joining us tonight. Rest assured if something does happen I'll be sure to do just as well." He gave the man a winning smile but was met with an angry grunt.

"Not here? Why not? Black Mask hired Deathstroke, not his brat." He said. The man's already wrinkled forehead creased more as he frowned, the sour look not even remotely intimidating to the young mercenary.

Renegade sauntered over and threw an arm around the man's shoulder. "The thing is buddy, we're a package deal, a buy one get one free kinda deal." Renegade grinned as the man under him shifted with unease. The mercenary patted the man's chest with his free hand, flashing a toothy smile. "Don't worry your pretty little bandana, I wouldn't be here if Deathstroke didn't think I was capable."

The boy let the man go and cackled as he backflipped up onto the van again, crouching as he planned to leap for his next perch. A voice caught his attention.

"Hey wait! Deathstroke sent you?"

Renegade found himself looking down at a blond haired young man, probably only a few years older than himself. If this kid kept yelling he'd blow their cover, and Renegade thought he was working with professionals.

"What's it to you?" Renegade responded rather rudely. He liked talking with the people he 'worked' with, he didn't have many other people to talk to. Besides, he loved seeing them uncomfortable, tripping them up was half the fun!

"How's a kid like you supposed to be as good as Deathstroke? I don't plan on being six feet under any time soon, and sending an amateur is only going to cause problems for us and our boss." The older boy said with a scowl, accusatorially raising his voice and sweeping an arm out to gesture to the other goons.

Renegade narrowed his eyes. Was he serious? Was he seriously attempting -and failing- to threaten him? Renegade resisted the urge to laugh and adopted a scowl instead. There was always this issue. Those meat-heads never accepted his skills, nor his mentor's decisions and ability to teach. He found an enjoyable way to solve this issue -enjoyable for Renegade at least.

The acrobat straightened, choosing his next words specifically and deepening his voice to add to the morbidity of his next statement. "Bold of you to assume you'd be buried."

Renegade walked slowly along the edge of the van, hands behind his back in a stiff walk, lifting his eyes from below to further imitate a formal march. "I've found that in Gotham, no one does their job right unless they're at gunpoint." Renegade couldn't help the grin on his face as he stopped at the end of the truck. He spun on his heel and slammed his feet together with his back completely straight, looking down at the goons with his utterly cold smirk. "If Black Mask wants a job done he must also send someone to hold the gun. I must say, I rather like holding the gun."

Renegade released his stance, schooling his face into passiveness as he let his hands free from behind himself, lifting a small gun from a hidden holster. He let the gun go down, sticking its barrel down into the mass of goons, a solid aim for the young man who spoke against him.

The group of hired men took a step back, the young man being threatened gulped dryly as he came to the internal conclusion that he shouldn't have decided to test the fully capable young mercenary.

Suddenly the older man with the bandana stood in front of the young man. "You don't want to shoot him." He said slowly, an edge of fear along his voice.

Renegade looked down mercilessly. "At this range, I could just as easily shoot him through you." His arm extended more, clicking the safety off.

Renegade stared, watching the two men squirm just barely, a little foot shift here, and arm arching back there, chests rising in falling quicker in panic. It was nice to see he still got the same reaction when he pulled a gun on someone, making them do amusing things, it was fulfilling in Renegade's mind. It wasn't fun until someone squirmed, not in a torturous, psychopathic way, no. He was a troller, misdirection and lies were his trade, its only worth it for the satisfying reaction.

The mercenaries piercing gaze never wavered as the men's fear grew, sweat beginning to trickle down foreheads and Addams apples bobbing as they swallowed.

Renegade lifted the gun, releasing the two men from their life-threatening position. The old man deflated with a stressed sigh, though the young mercenary wasn't done yet. Ren shrugged with a lazy tilt of the gun, grip still dangerously sharp on the trigger. "But you're right, killing the weak one only tells you I'm stronger than your weakest player." A smile crawled up onto Renegade's face, his free hand moving to his belt. "But if I kill your strongest... well, then you know I mean business."

The mercenary crouched and spun, throwing his arm out to send a bladed disk around the goons like a boomerang. As the disk traveled, it sliced at the two men the acrobat had previously held hostage, cutting their cheeks respectively before embedding itself into the truck side, slightly rocking the vehicle on which Renegade crouched.

He observed the group flinch collectively, his eyebrows went up as his eyes remained half-lidded, clearly unamused. "And you call me the amateur? Alright, I get it, I'm not the best of the best -yet-, but did you really think I'd compromise our position by using a gun?" Renegade slumped down into a sitting position on the rim of the vehicle, letting his feet dangle as he rolled his eyes, seeing the goons below him look up confusingly. The acrobat leaned forwards with a smug grin. "Lesson one; Bats are attracted to gunfire. Got it?"

He got a few grumbles in response, a few men straightening their jackets and casting their eyes about to check their surroundings, either embarrassed they were scared of a child or checking for any lurking bats.

Renegade smirked, ah the power that came with being deadly. It was actually a secondary motive for his drive to become a mercenary, a second motive Deathstroke helped create. But the first and most important one Renegade made all on his own, Deathstroke just helped him achieve his goal.

Deathstroke saved him really, small Richard Grayson would have died that night, alone in the cold gutters of Gotham's alleys. Renegade liked to think he did though, unfortunately he woke up each day with the same identity he had since he was born. There was some pride he felt though, for getting this far. Richard Grayson lost it all, Renegade gave him something to fight for. Life gave him lemons and all Slade said was that throwing them at the lemonade stand was an option. Dick rather liked throwing lemons, especially when it caught so many people off guard.

Renegade blinked back into reality, he found that not much time had passed in his mini-daydream, he looked down to see the bandana man looking up at him. Renegade gave him a small smile. "If you need me, you won't find me. I'll be watching and if I need to intervene, I will." 

He rolled backward into a handstand, then arched his back (again backward) till his feet hit the ground (aka the roof of the van) behind him. He straightened and quickly jumped off, seemingly vanishing into the shadows of the buildings behind the van.

Renegade stalked along the lip of the building he landed on, it wasn't a proper roof but more of an outcrop, a shelf maybe. He forced himself to sit still, though he'd been doing so for the past two hours, but it was necessary. Slade always taught him that good hiding meant becoming invisible when someone is looking straight at him. Achieving that is just a matter of blending into the surroundings, if he wanted to be invisible he had to become part of the scenery, to be already dubbed safe and no more needed to be watched. It's only when the scenery moves that attention is pulled and the illusion is lost. The sheer dramatics made his blood boil with adrenaline, he loved being so close to danger, made him feel alive.

He remained stationary on the outcrop, he'd been sitting here for some time, waiting for the white truck that was Black Masks (until it showed up two minutes ago), filled with the drugs he was selling to Two-Face. Of course, neither man would actually show, it wasn't a small deal but wasn't big enough for physical appearances from the two mob bosses.

Deathstroke being present would have made this much more fun, then he'd have someone to talk to and tease. He was alone all day while his mentor did other things, their only interaction was training, the occasional meal, and missions. The only reason the older mercenary wasn't here now was because he was called off to a meeting for one of his bigger and more important employers. The Light was definitely more important than some drug deal, and Renegade was fully capable of taking care of it on his own. But still, a little company would have been nice.

The young mercenary sighed through his nose, sitting around and doing nothing was making him tired, when was Two-Face gonna get here? He watched the alley below with glazed eyes, routinely checking Black Masks men's positions to make sure they were all accounted for, no funny business on Renegades watch.

So far the night was clear, not much fog though it was a little wet, the low clouds as condemning as ever. Perhaps even condescending. But it was also clear in the sense of danger, no Bats and no cops, so far at least. Their trading partner was still absent, so It was much too early to tell if anything would go right. Hmm, maybe Two-Face decided to back out without telling Black Mask, now that's just mean. Even in this crime-ridden city the crime was organized and had rules, it's not some crazy town. Leave that for the Joker and his psychotic buddies, they live with their own type of rules, rules that were not Renegades.

Renegade perked when he heard a second car engine, a slick black car pulling into the alley on the other side. He shifted his footing to both get a better view and to keep his foot from falling asleep. He lifted his arm, his holo screen coming to life in front of him. The acrobat would have been alarmed by its bright light but he had stationed himself in front of a lit window, his light would be masked by the other behind him. Besides, no one was looking up, hardly anyone ever did.

He peered down below, watching the black car slide to a stop, headlights still on while Black Mask's men shifted to surround the vehicle in a semicircle. Nicely dressed men exited the car, moving forward to meet with the other factions' goons, displaying their own arms. Renegade was too far away to hear what the men were saying but he got the gist with the old reliable 'you got the (insert either money or drugs)' spiel. He didn't particularly care what they were speaking about, but usually Deathstroke would have him monitor the conversation anyway for any verbal cues to check to make sure claims were valid and such. But Renegade had been doing this enough to know when there would be issues and what would cause them and usually how it would turn out. With him walking away with the money.

Renegade's eyes drooped as he put the hologlove away, this was seriously underwhelming. Goons talking, eyes shifting, normal drug deal stuff. He refocused when Two-Face's men went to the back of the black car, pulling out a case. The men were followed by Black Mask's, and together both parties went to the white van, each side-eyeing the other for any not-so-funny funny business.

The dark figure watched silently, sensing a new tension underneath the normal tension that came with drug deals. They were shifting too much, looking around too often, if Renegade had super hearing he would have heard their accelerated heartbeats. Something was happening, and it irked Renegade that he didn't know what.

If he had thermal vision he would have found there was one too many bodies in the ally.

The sound of gunfire shattered the air. Echoing around like a sonic blast, such was the quietness that was before the gunfire.

Renegade stiffened. He knew what was happening now.

His attention was pulled as there was a roar of a motorcycle, the gunfire going silent for a moment before lashing out again. Men dove for cover and returned fire, a few goons already down and out. Both sides were confused as to whom was firing on them and decided it must have been the opposing side.

Renegade muttered under his breath as he watched the gangs turn on each other. "Stupid goons, someone else is interfering." He slipped down and raced silently across the outcrop, dipping down into the shadows behind the black car. He ignored the gunfight for now. He had more pressing matters to attend to. Like how the briefcase Two-Faces' man had was a fake, and the real one was inside a hidden compartment in the car. That's what the hologlove scan showed him, classic, and easily fixed to his advantage.

He drew a sword silently, keeping tabs on where the gunfire was being pointed at. He slid up to the vehicle, crouching and using the vehicle as a buffer between him and the fight. He lifted his hand to his belt as he leaned up to see through the windows, he grabbed four black bead-like objects, he knelt down again and shoved one into the treads of the nearest wheel. Renegade delivered three more to the other wheels, no one noticed him, as if he wasn't even there.

The mercenary went to the back of the vehicle, attempted to lift the trunk lid only to find resistance. Renegade put the tip of his sword into the gap and sliced, the trunk popping open as the latch was cut. Ren kept the lid from going up too far and put on his night vision as there were no lights in the trunk and he was in thick shadows. He moved a few more briefcases out of the way (they were empty according to his hologlove) and found the hidden latch, only to see a keyhole.

This was unexpected, a keyhole? Usually it was a bit more high-tech, a handprint or maybe a lock number. Well of course he brought his lockpick tools, but when he looked up he found that his night vision gave him a clear view of the assailant of the two gangs.

It was a single man on a motorcycle, clearly Renegade wasn't the only one who thought the skate park was good cover because the man was hidden behind a half-pipe. He wore a brownish jacket over a gray shirt and military pants that had lots of full pockets. He had two holsters slung around his chest and both hands held the guns that belonged to the empty holsters. His face was obscured, covered actually, by a helmet.

Renegade narrowed his eyes, this was the guy messing up Black Masks deals.

The mercenary gently closed the trunk, not forgetting but moving the money to second on the to-do list, this guy took first priority. He would get a reward if he found out who this man was, an even better one if he killed him. But first he would study him, then decide if he should be eliminated.

First and foremost, the man was killing Black Mask's goons, this was a no-can-do, Renegade could solve that, give the man something to shoot at that was much harder to hit.

Renegade jumped up onto the vehicle, running across the roof and flipping up to a nearby building, keeping his sights set on the man who hid comfortably and shot leisurely into the battle. He dashed across the lip of the building, running on the edges of windows until he ran alongside the white van. He jumped down onto the van and leaped off the edge, flipping a few times in mid-air and unsheathed his second blade.

He landed in a roll, running straight from the ground to the man in the hood, the hood that he could now tell was red. The man did not expect his sudden appearance and his aim was shifted to the quickly approaching mercenary. Renegade only smirked.

Flashes of light in the shadows signaled the gun being fired before the sound was made, Renegade lifted a blade and the bullet ricocheted off into the wet cobblestone road. A few more rounds were fired off and Renegade easily diverted the paths of the bullets. The mercenary ran to the side and up the gate, flipping over and rolling to be covered by a different half-pipe. The gunfire stopped for a moment when a vehicle crashed into the gate Renegade had previously jumped. The metal squealed as it was crunched by the car, glass shattering. The vehicle was propped up, a body limp in the driver's seat was visible at this angle.

The young mercenary backed away, confused by the sudden intrusion by the vehicle. Sure Black Mask had brought other vehicles but they were all stationed around the block, not in the middle of the gunfight. A roar of a different engine caught his attention, the broken vehicle shuddered and crashed back down to reveal a dark plated tank-like vehicle.

The Batmobile.

Renegade cursed under his breath. Things just got slightly more complicated.

Ren jumped out of his paused state to run across the dangerously open path to get behind the hooded man, finding the motorcycle empty.

"You're just a kid." A voice stated bluntly above him.

Renegade rolled to the side on instinct, finding the spot he had been in moments before peppered with bullets. He leaped up onto the halfpipe the man crouched on, both still for a moment, neither one making any threatening moves.

"I'm not just a kid." Renegade hissed like he was offended, but internally he was loving it. Deceit and illusions, an endless web of lies spun till no escape. This man was about to meet a master of deception. Renegade could be anyone when he met someone new, it was refreshing.

The hooded man passively tilted his gun, considering he had moments ago tried to kill him. "Sure, and this isn't a forty-five caliber gun." He punctuated his sentence by pulling the trigger, Renegade lifted his blade to block but the 'tink tink tink' of the empty gun made him smirk.

"Jeez, in that case, I might just have to flee, because I'm totally screwed now." Renegade laughed, a laugh that made his eyes squint and add an odd light into the air, putting the man on edge. Renegade lunged, still laughing.

The man took a few steps backward, blocking Renegade's swipes with his gun. Renegade was relentless and no longer laughing, he swung and leaped and lunged, the man got nicked a few times but it was all intentional. He didn't want to sever the man's arm, just give him something to remember him by. Renegade studied his opponent as they fought, the man drew a big knife from behind his back and started slashing back. It was a pitiful attempt in Renegades' opinion, but to anyone watching it looked like two professionals. This man was good, exceptional reflexes, martial arts leaked into his blocking. His agility was minimal and he was a rather big man, although it wasn't like this fight had much acrobatics in it, and if it did, Renegade would be much much more advanced in that regard.

Renegade was simply playing with him, letting him recover from harder blows and lightening his attacks that would have incapacitated the man. The hooded man seemed to realize this, the white of his masked eyes narrowing as he continued to step back.

"Skills like that must have a name." The man grunted, lifting his blade to defend another blow to his face.

"A helmet like that must have a story." Renegade retorted, staying his katana in a fake blow and slicing the man's leg with the other. "Hiding something ugly?" The man grunted with pain and took a retreating step backward.

Renegade didn't need the helmet to be off to know the man was scowling. "Red Hood kid, your turn."

The young mercenary took a step back and adopted a casual stance contradictory to their fight, Red Hood was caught off guard by the sudden stop but was able to keep his blade up. Renegade brushed some of his ebony hair out of his eyes, smiling and flaring his fingers to gesture at his face. "What? You don't recognize the color scheme?"

"No, that I recognize, I didn't know Deathstroke got a brat." Red Hood said gruffly. Renegade noticed he was slightly out of breath but was recovering quickly, a little too quickly if he was being honest.

Renegade pointed to himself proudly, "The names Renegade, I don't think I have to tell you to not trust me right?"

"Sure, kid." Red Hood took a moment to flip out one of his guns, but it was no threat considering it was empty.

Renegade flipped to the side, dodging a batarang aimed for his back, having seen Batman exit the Batmobile earlier and knew he would eventually come confront him. The young mercenary slid up next to Red Hood, jumping up onto a rail to watch Red Hood reload and the advancing Bat.

"So why are you so intent on disrupting Black Masks deals?" Renegade asked with a simple tilt of his head.

Red Hood didn't look up, but realized he had bigger issues than Deathstroke's apprentice and as long as the kid wasn't actively trying to kill him he would address the factors that were. "What's it to you kid? Mob bosses come and go, Black Mask is old news."

"You want to climb the ranks, and you're taking it by force." Renegade deduced, raising an eyebrow and seeing the man in new light. "Impressive, not only have you got a bat on your tail but other villains too, gotta give you props for getting on everyone's nerves simultaneously."

"Everyone's got enemies, kid." Red Hood stated, clicking his gun into place, finally all loaded and just in time.

He fired at Batman, who dodged swiftly. Renegade took that as his cue to kill two birds with one stone, stay away from Bats and find the guy with the key to the trunk, he still had a mission to fulfill.

He dashed around back, sheathing his swords so further his mobility, running across obstacles meant for skateboards with a grin on his face. He heard grunting from Batman and Red Hood, he honestly wanted to watch but he had more important things to worry about. Some of the goons were still firing on each other, some were knocked out by Batman, others had blood pooling around their bodies. Renegade was actually delighted to see Black Mask's men had mostly survived, Bandana Man was using the white van for cover as he shot into the fray.

Renegade was just about to clear the skate park and enter the warzone when he felt his legs tangle in something. He looked down and scowled, Batman had shot his grappling hook at him, that wire was almost impossible to cut. Renegade was too late to cut the wire, but was able to stop himself from hitting the ground face first.

He felt his legs being tugged by the wire, dragged back into the skatepark, Renegade grunted and flipped onto his stomach, lifting himself with his arms. Suddenly the line went slack though his legs were still firmly together, he did a handstand and scissored his legs to open the rope. He heard close gunfire and felt sparks fly off the ground at his hands, he twisted into a cartwheel and flung himself into one of the ravines for cover.

He landed roughly on his side and slid down the cement, the wind knocked out of him and his head spinning. He quickly regained his feet and pressed his back to the angled cement, this was not the best cover, but it was protecting him for now.

He grew uneasy as Batman dropped down into the gully with him.

Batman noticed him but didn't come at him, deciding -as Renegade had done- that the need for cover was greater than the threat of the opposing fighter. Renegade watched the vigilante obtain the same position Renegade was sporting, although one hand was fiddling with his yellow-tinted belt, bringing out what was probably smoke bombs.

Batman was watching him though, it was creeping Renegade out but he managed not to show it. He returned Batman's scowlish resting face with his own glare, being reminded of his own scowling mentor for multiple reasons. One, Slade had told him to stay away from Batman. Two, Batman was right next to him. Three, scowls were not unfamiliar.

Renegade remembered Slade saying if he was ever with Batman alone to stay out of a fight, and just in general stay away from the man. Renegade hoped his nerves didn't show. Fighting Batman was a lot more comfortable when he had a Deathstroke to back him up. Renegade was tempted to hit the emergency button on his belt but refrained, Batman wasn't being a threat right now, but that could quickly change.

"Renegade," Batman said, his voice as growly as Renegade remembered it. "Though our last encounter was brief, I seem to remember Deathstroke was there."

Renegade let his face turn dark, Batman wanted to know where Deathstroke was, but if he told him he wasn't here that would let Batman know he was considerably more vulnerable. He swallowed his suddenly dry mouth and answered curtly. "I wouldn't be here if Deathstroke didn't think I was capable."

"So you're alone?"

Renegade hesitated before he hissed through his teeth. "Yes."

"Deathstroke trusts you then, how long has that been going on?" Batman asked, shifting his head to peer over the edge to see if Red Hood had let up the barrage or not. Judging by the fact Batman slid down again Renegade figured not.

"I don't have to tell you anything." In fact, he'd been ordered to not tell Batman anything.

Batman locked eyes with Renegade, dialing up his bat-glare. "You've been trained by a murderer. I don't think you have seen all the consequences that come with that life."

"It takes one to make one, don't it? And I know perfectly well what I'm in, Deathstroke didn't raise an idiot." Renegade replied, folding his arms childishly, also to hide how nervous he actually was. He felt in danger, like at any moment something bad could happen, something he couldn't fight and win.

"You've killed?"

"I'll let you find that one out." Renegade smirked, hearing the gunfire die out.

Red Hood flipped into view, both guns trained on each fighter. Renegade watched both guns fire in slow motion, the flash and the bullet exiting, heading straight for him.

Renegade reached back for his blade but knew it would be too late, he'd get hit, so he began to shift to make the bullet hit somewhere else besides his heart. Which became unnecessary as the dark form of Batman blocked his view, and probably the bullet. Renegade ran up Batman's back, throwing a disk at Red Hood, and used the vigilante's shoulder to backflip up and out of the gully. He didn't wait to find out if Batman was alright or if his disk had hit its target, he just knew he had to get out of there away from Batman and hope he could still finish the mission.

Batman was probably fine, he was met with gunfire all the time, he has the suit deal with the bullets. But why did Renegade care?

He bolted out of the skate park, arms pumping at his sides and chest heaving with large breaths, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to get that close to Batman ever again. At least, not without Deathstroke. He didn't know what it was about Batman, but it just put him on edge, he should have been consoled by the fact every bad guy was scared of Batman, but it just annoyed him.

As Renegade got closer to the gunfight that was still going on he drew a single blade. He blocked bullets as he ran across the warzone, drawing the second one as he got closer to Two-Face's men, searching for one in particular.

He found him using a storefront as cover, Renegade quickly slashed the man's throat and once the man was down he patted the mans pockets. He found the key in the inner left pocket of the dead man's fancy jacket, a dumb outfit for a mobster to die in in his opinion. Renegade paused when he realized he was not alone in the store, he looked up to see a kid on the stairs, obviously woken by the crazy gunfight happening there. Wide, innocent eyes took in the bloodied sword and the dead man.

Renegade lifted a hand, shifting the katana to have the blade point behind him as he flared three fingers. "You didn't see anything." Renegade grinned and dashed out of the building, not stopping to see the kids reaction.

He stalked along the sidewalk's shadows, the gunfire was getting quieter, fewer men were alive to fire them. He slid up next to the white van, a few bodies in the open ground across from him, he peeked in to find only Bandana was inside the van beside the crates of drugs.

"Psst. Bandana, don't shoot. I'm friendly. Sorta." Renegade whispered, trying to get the man's attention without receiving a bullet in his head.

Bandana spun around and aimed but didn't shoot. "Oh, just you." He sounded somewhat relieved, but the relief was brief and he was quickly on alert again. "What's the plan now?"

"You're asking me?" Renegade said, hoisting himself up into the van. He gave the gruff man a smile. "But yeah, I do have a plan."

"I'd be glad to hear it," Bandana said, not at all looking glad but taking the moment to reload his gun.

"Well it includes driving the van, can you handle that?"

"Sure." He shrugged, wondering if this plan included coming out alive.

"You drive, I'll take care of everything else." Renegade pointed a thumb at himself.

Bandana looked a bit weary when he said that but he digressed. "Where to?"

"Doesn't matter, just keep driving and don't corner us."

"Gotcha." Bandana nodded, fiddling with the gun.

Renegade jumped up onto the roof of the van while Bandana went down to the drivers side. He opened the door and tossed his gun in, climbing inside and keeping his head low. He took the mic from the dash and spoke into it, a radio to the other cars Black Mask had appointed to this deal. "We're moving out, deal went sour, gunna need backup." He got a few garbled responses and flipped the car into reverse.

Renegade crouched low on the van roof, watching the chaos from above and keeping out of sight. He pulled up his hologlove and selected a few buttons, the small orbs he placed in the tires of the black car detonated. The tires burst but the car remained unharmed, the money wasn't going anywhere.

When the van began to move underneath him a smile rose on his features, everything according to plan.

Red Hood blasted from the skate park, riding his motorcycle after the white van. This made Renegade frown.

The van twisted around and gained speed, Ren turned as well, facing the motorcyclist following them. He caught a vague shape of a bat behind Red Hood, odds were not leaning towards him right now. But that could quickly change.

Two cars swerved into the road behind Red Hood, Black Masks men, windows were rolled down and guns sprouted from inside, the sound of gunfire filling the sky once more. Renegade couldn't wipe the smile off his face, as chaotic and bad as this was he was having the time of his life.

The speed of the van picked up, sending Renegades hair into a frenzy, he continued to watch as Red Hood swerved to avoid the bullets and pulled and arm back to return fire.

A few bullets grazed the car then hit the driver. The car spun out of control and hit a lampost before skidding to a sparking stop. Red Hood fell back behind the other car and sprung forward again, he lifted his front wheel up and rode on top of the car, crushing it with its weight while he dashed forwards into the air. Renegade realized he would land on the white van if the airborne motorcycle continued its current course.

Renegade let Red Hood see his devious smirk as he pulled out a long knife from its sheath in his thigh. He threw the blade, and it lodged in the targeted wheel, making the vehicle lose its momentum. Out of the blue, Batman swung around and body slammed Red Hood and the motorcycle. They crashed into a building, breaking bricks and glass, the motorcycle landing on the ground with burning sparks.

Renegade almost laughed, he settled for a snicker and returned his focus to the road. Right on schedule, a black car came screaming towards them. Renegade grabbed a cylindrical stick from the back of his belt.

He stabbed the object into the roof of the van and pressed the button on top. The object began to grow, going up and over Renegade's head, a thin sheet of a fabric-like substance following with until Renegade was almost completely covered like a cave. He set his mask to a special setting and he was able to see through the fabric that would have otherwise block his sight.

Two-Face's men in the black car started shooting at him, Renegade calmly let the bullets bounce off the black covering and grabbed his small gun from its holster. He snaked his hand out of the protective cave and fired. The tire Renegade had aimed at blew, the car lurched to the side and ran into a building.

Renegade closed the gap between him and the roof of the van as the vehicle turned, once it straightened out he pushed another button and the tent collapsed back into the cylindrical object. He clipped it back onto his belt and smirked.

Renegade leaned forward, placing a hand gently in front of him while he crouched to keep his balance.

A black car exited an intersection, crashing into the middle of the white van.

The metal of both vehicles crunched like paper. Screeching tires added to the sound of breaking glass. The force of the car twisted the van longways into the intersection, blocking both sides and sending both vehicles careening down the asphalt.

The corner of Renegade's lips twitched upwards as they parted to exhale slowly, his chest lowering as muscles relaxed and tightened. Eyes unblinking and alert as the ground under him gave way.

The acrobat lifted his hand to his torso, curling his gloved fingers into a fist as he relaxed the arm still out behind him. He bent his head and angled his body accordingly, twisting so he was parallel to the crash happening below him. 

Renegades crouched form lowered even more as the van began to tumble, lifting off its worn rubber. The black car skidded before twisting into a roll, crashing against the white van once more.

The acrobat lifted off with one foot into a side barrel roll, glass sparkling around him like rain. Renegade pulled his legs close to his chest, keeping an arm out and an arm in. Metal continued to crunch and scrape and bend like dough, screeching as they tumbled and broke, sparks dancing amidst the wreck.

Renegade saw the world go sideways, a lamppost across the street becoming similar to the bar of the trapeze he knew so well. He felt his stomach drop and his diaphragm tensed to expel air. He kept his eyes on the lamppost as he twisted in the air, seeing it turn over like a compass as it pointed up and down and sideways as he flipped.

One, two, three, four times the lamppost turned over before he stretched out his legs as the ground became dangerously close. Renegade ducked as he landed, shifting so he continued to roll after his feet touched the ground, rolling over his shoulder and up onto his feet.

He stood still as he watched the vehicles scream away, rolling, tumbling in a never ending song of destruction.

He let his chest move more, realizing he had yet to breathe in. Renegade then smirked, lifting his hand and tossing the keys of the secret compartment into the air, a slight huff of laughter escaping his parted lips. He sauntered away, barely scratched, and having quite the story to tell his mentor. He wondered what Slade would think about the way he handled Batman on his own, 

He kept tossing his keys in the air, chuckling more as he pushed a button on his hologlove, standing to await his auto-driven motorcycle. "Yo, ho... Yo, ho... A pirate's life for me." He whispered into the night, an eruption from the crashed cars lighting up his features, sending his shadow dancing across the ground, his figure bathed in an outline of orange.

Death's son was not to be trifled with.

Chapter Text

-Before/during Dick's mission-

Slade Wilson stood in the concrete garage, the white lights on and his helmet tucked under an arm. He looked down at the apprentice in front of him, the boy looking up confusedly at the words Slade had said moments before.

"Not coming? Why?"

"There's a meeting I must attend. The Light requested me specifically and I suspect they've had meetings without me. So I'm going, and if Sportsmaster is there, I'll deal with him." Slade said. The young mercenary looked down nervously, resisting the urge to tug at his gloves, a tic he was working on getting rid of.

"What if..."

"If Batman intervenes you get out of there. Salvage the mission if you can, but if it compromises yourself then leave." Slade turned and donned his mask, walking over to his parked motorcycle. "It's no different from any other drug deal you've overseen by yourself before. Plans change, adapt or be left behind."

He heard Renegade sigh, then the scuffle of Kevlar on metal as his apprentice slid off the metal desk he'd been sitting on. "Alright... but now it's going to be boring."

"It's only boring if you make it boring." Deathstroke grabbed the handlebars of his cycle and pushed back the kickstand with his boot. "And please refrain from killing anyone without reason."

Renegade's smirk grew. "Pfft reason? What's that? I thought we were murderers."

"Renegade." Deathstroke narrowed his eye and forced his apprentice to keep his steel gaze.

The young mercenary rose his hands in surrender, backing away into the hallway as he spoke. "I know, I know, I was being sarcastic."

Deathstroke refrained from sighing, Renegade was so fickle at times. "There is a time for sarcasm and a time for solemnity, I suggest you work on knowing when that is."

"Yes sir!" Renegade mock saluted and turned to disappear down the hallway. Deathstroke watched for a second longer before lifting a leg over the motorcycle and revving his engine.

Deathstroke pealed out of the garage, going down a long corridor of concrete before an incline gave way to a parking lot. The lot was empty, as it usually was, considering the building and its parking spaces had been abandoned for a few years now. But the foundations were solid and the road had yet to wear with weathering, the bunker itself was underground, under the shopping center with no real connections between the two buildings beside the garage.

The light of the dying sun bathed the world in a burnt color, dusk setting with a surreal feeling.

Deathstroke's mind was busy, filled with thoughts of his apprentice.

Deathstroke had seen the boy once before their first face-to-face meeting. Over four years ago, he had seen the boy running in the grimy allies of Gotham. Fleeing three men in grubby clothing, no doubt part of the homeless of Gotham, and part of the creeps.

The ebony haired kid was out of breath and stumbled a few times in his bare feet, Deathstroke had deduced he had been running for a while. Then the boy slipped and fell, landing on the wet cobblestone ground with a grunt and a grimace. The three men surrounded him, each wearing a perverted grin and the boy's crystal blue eyes widened as he got up to press himself against the wall.

Clearly, the boy was in trouble, this had no meaning to Slade at the time, so he had turned away, returning to his work.

He ignored the boy's warbled cries and the laughter of the three men, it was only when a third party entered when the mercenary's attention was returned to the scene.

"Hey! Leave him alone!"

Slade looked down once more, a 14-year-old kid in a nice dress suit and gelled back black hair with cold blue eyes stood defiantly in the middle of the alley. Slade almost rolled his eyes, that kid was begging for trouble, kids like that got kidnapped every other day, sometimes for ransom and for... other things Slade didn't indulge in. But what stopped him from rolling his eyes was the fact that that blue-eyed boy was the second and youngest ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne. Jason Todd, was it? The newest Robin. Of course, Slade had known Batman's identity for a while, but it was fair because Batman knew his as well. But this ally just got a little more exciting.

Jason stomped forward and shoved the men aside. Slade shook his head in disappointment, the kid would have to act below his skill level, why not take a moment to become Robin and lay the real beat down if he felt so inclined to help this child. The men were confused for a moment but their smiles quickly returned.

Slade couldn't hear what they were saying, but Jason grabbed the hand of the trembling child and pulled him closer in a protective manner, his face wrinkling in anger.

Jason kicked at the men while the smaller boy ran off down the alley, one of the men not preoccupied with the vigilante pulled away after the child. Jason grunted and followed, now a chase with the small child in front, a grungy man behind him, Jason running after him, and the two remaining perverts after him.

The small child ran up a few piles of trash, lifting his feet to hit the wall and pushing off to leap across a high fence in a startling feat of acrobatics. The boy landed in a roll and kept running on the other side, the three men stuck behind the fence and Jason used the men as a vault to get over. Jason ran after the kid and that was the end of his first sighting with the small acrobat he had yet to realize was Dick Grayson.

It was days later when Slade found the boy again, except this time he was in Deathstroke garb and not expecting to find the boy in the gutters, asleep. 

Deathstroke stood over the child, standing so close he could see the child shake in the cold winter air of Gotham. The boy's ebony hair had lost its shine, matted in some places and sticking up in others. His clothes were in tatters, rips and tears along the bottom of his pants suggested he ran often, his bare feet were blackened with dirt and grime, a bit of blood mixed in as well.

Deathstroke lowered himself into a crouch, getting closer to see the details on the boy's face. The boy's eyes were rolling under the tightly closed lids, his parted lips were chapped and had a few blood spots. His body shook with the combination of the freezing rain and a nightmare. Along with the rest of the boy's body, his face had a bit of blood and dirt on it, smearing the boy's chalky skin and making it difficult to see how pale the boy was.

The dark clouds rumbled with thunder, freezing rain began to trickle down onto the duo, slowly getting harder until it made the metallic 'tink tink tink' on Deathstroke's armor.

Deathstroke stood in silence a moment longer, letting the rain be an ambiance to his contemplating. 

Finally, he came to a fateful decision.

He leaned forward and dug his gloved hands under the sleeping boy, he pulled him close to his chest, finding the boy held a stuffed elephant in his dirty hands. The boy didn't wake, but continued to shiver, tugging the little elephant closer and closed eyes tightening. Deathstroke started moving, walking down the alley until he started climbing up, careful to not jostle the child more. He made it to the roof and began running, getting to his destination before he got too wet. Though the water would just roll off his metal plating he didn't want the boy more wet than he already was.

What made him bring the boy anyway? He had no obligation, no one paid him to do it, he didn't owe the boy anything. Well, now the boy owed him, but he had only thought that after he'd picked the boy up.

Deathstroke climbed into his apartment, the open window letting the slight breeze make the curtains sway. He turned to shut the window and he laid the boy on a stiff, cheap, chair while he left to change. He came back quickly and found the boy still shivering, tightening his little ball of limbs while his teeth chattered. Slade leaned over the back of the chair and lifted the boy up, holding him close to give him warmth as he walked to the bed.

This apparent was made for one person, a single bed in the small living-room-like area held a tv across the mahogany comforter and a window at the bed's side. There was no door to the room, but an archway leading to the sorry excuse for a kitchen, a microwave and a counter that held a cheap coffee maker and a desk to the side with an office chair.

Slade shifted the boy to one arm as he pulled the heavy covers back, he laid the boy down then pushed the covers on top and tucked them around the shivering boy. His damp hair was getting his pillow wet but Slade didn't mind for now, this boy needed warmth.

He stood back up and let the boy be, silently wondering if this was a good idea or not. He paused when he left the room, looking back at the small lump under the covers, just a few black hairs peeking out under it. The blankets shuddered and moved with the child's breathing and shivering, but it was slowly becoming more labored as the boy entreated a deeper sleep.

Slade moved off, going to his 'kitchen' to grab some coffee and get to work on a different mission assigned to him.

It was the next night that the boy stirred, Slade had slept in the chair that night but didn't get much sleep as he had many things to do. He checked on the boy regularly but found him ever sleeping, at one point he grew worried he had helped too late and went over to check for a pulse. His cold fingers brushed against the warm neck of the boy, finding a steady heartbeat and deep breathing. Slade returned to the kitchen, sitting at the table and looking over some papers, blueprints of a house he was to break into.

The lights were all mostly off, save it be the one directly over Slade so he could see the paper. The night was dark but the curtains were drawn over the windows to keep prying eyes away.

Slade didn't look up when he heard a shift from the covers, he didn't react when a small thud spoke of the boy's awakening. He heard louder breathing, the small patter of bare feet, then the metal 'shhhnk' as the curtains were drawn back. Curious little one isn't he?

Slade ruffled his papers and gave a casual grunt in an attempt to alert the boy he wasn't alone. The shuffling feet grew softer and slower as the boy came closer, peeking around the archway that separated the bed from the rest of the apartment. Black hair came into view and startling blue eyes were wide as they took the scene in. Slade finally looked up and laid the paper down, the boy stuck to the shadows and didn't come any closer, dirty fingers clinging to the lip of the archway.

"Sleep well?" Slade asked, reaching for his cup of coffee.

The boy shifted his hands up to his chest, clutching that dirty stuffed animal in a meek and lowly manner. Nerves probably, waking up in someone else's bed would probably do that. The blue eyes never left Slade as the boy gave a small slow nod.

"Hungry?"

The boy nodded again.

Slade pushed his chair back and rose, earning a tiny squeak of fear from the boy as he did. He turned and walked to the counter that housed the coffee maker, the water already hot. From the corner of Slade's eye, he could see the boy shuffle back, his limbs shaking. The child was afraid.

Slade ignored this for a moment in favor of grabbing a blue container from the corner of the counter and a paper cup from another. He popped the lid off and shook the container until some of the brown powder fell into the cup, he closed the container and set it to the side. He grabbed the hot water from the coffee maker and poured it into the cup, steam rising as the hot water hit the cold air. He reached for a straw, a coffee straw, and began to stir. He turned and walked back to the desk, with his free hand he pulled one of the random decorative chairs over and set the cup on the table. He sat in his seat diagonal to the one he set for the boy, he found the boy cowering where he had before and gestured to the chair.

"Hot chocolate," Slade said with a grunt, returning his gaze to the blueprints in front of him.

When a minute passed without movement from the boy Slade looked up again, the boy had said he was hungry right? His gaze met the child's and Slade realized the real reason for the boy's hesitancy.

"It's alright, I won't hurt you."

The classic reassurance had obviously been used before as the boy shrunk away more instead of feeling reassured. He could see the boy's pupils grow small and his tremble extended to the rest of his body, his breathing becoming louder, more shallow, and quick.

Slade leaned back in his chair, wondering how he could change the boy's view of him. Obviously time on the streets made him fearful and quick to distrust, which wasn't exactly bad considering it's Gotham. But then Slade realized his simple action caused the boy to distrust him more.

The boy whimpered and stumbled back until his back hit the wall, he slid down and kept himself in a ball. A few tears leaked out and reddened the boy's face, crystal blue against a pinkish red, staring in horror at the calmly sitting mercenary.

Slade thought for a moment before he got up, knowing any movement on his part would only send the boy into more hysterics, he decided to show the boy he meant to harm in the only way a street kid could understand. He walked past the child, who cried harder as he did, and went to the closet on the other side of the wall, there on the top shelf was a cream colored blanket. He grabbed the blanket, scowling as he realized it wasn't as soft as he envisioned it.

The mercenary made his way back over to the child who continued to cry and tightened his fetal position. Slade studied it for a moment before recognizing the paradoxical position of calm panic, the child was scared yes, but not to a dangerous level. The boy wouldn't flee, but he would not let himself be in more danger than he already was, a preemptive panic, the boy should have deduced by now that Slade was not out to hurt him.

Slade sighed and draped the blanket around the kid, he didn't stay long and returned to the desk. He lifted the steaming cup of hot chocolate for the boy to see, "You can sit here when your feeling better," Slade picked up a pen from the table and scrawled something across the paper cup, "This cup has your name on it, if it gets too cold I can reheat it."

Slade was given no response but the cries of the child softened. He settled in his seat and went back to looking over the blueprints. It was easiest to memorize buildings by floors, his target was near the top, thankfully the building next door was so short he could stand on the roof and shoot in instead of going inside and making a scene.

It was an hour later that the boy moved, slowly rising and keeping the blanket wrapped around him as he shuffled towards the seat that was his. He watched the mercenary as he came forward, watching for any threatening movements, when he saw none he climbed up onto the cheap apartment chair. He pulled the blanket around him as he settled in the seat, keeping his knees to his chin and settled his gaze on the cup of not-so-hot-chocolate in front of him.

It didn't bother him that the cup was now cold, or the powder had all gathered at the top, his eyes widened at the words on the cup.

Dick Grayson.

The child looked up quickly, his chest tightening as his nerves claimed him once more. Slade figured he must have found the name on the cup, a hint to the boy that he knew who he was.

"Please, d-don't send me back..." The child spoke, crystal blue eyes wide with fear as he shrunk back in the seat.

"Are the streets really better than the orphanage?" Slade asked, taking another sip of his own drink. He resisted the urge to smile when the boy looked down in thought, actually thinking about the comparison.

"...D-detention center..." the small acrobat mumbled, fearful of the reveal.

"Mmm." Slade acknowledged as his mouth was currently busy with the drink he was emptying. There were only two reasons Dick could have been placed in a detention center. One, he was a genuinely bad kid, which Slade highly doubted, the boy's mannerisms testified of that plainly enough. Two, and the more likely one, the orphanages were full. Either way, the last flying Grayson didn't look like street life was his style, though there was little choice in the matter. Once Slade set his cup down he sighed deeply and looked over to the ebony-haired boy. "The police declared you dead a few days ago."

Dick scowled in thought, fear and relief flashing across his still red features, a fisted hand came up to wipe at his nose.

"You're a ghost now, boy, what are you going to do with your freedom?" Slade asked, leaning forward in his chair to reach a far paper.

Dick watched as the man reached out, grabbing a stack of heavy papers. Slade saw his bright blue eyes narrow the tiniest of bits, the boy was curious, not the first time Slade had made this observation. His hand came back with the desired paper, the newspaper.

Slade slapped the paper in front of the boy, showing him the date on the corner. "Nearly a year huh? How's street life treating you?"

Dick stared at the date, hands coming up to grip at the table edge, Slade deduced the boy was caught in the torrent of memories the date brought up. It was almost a year from the day The Flying Graysons fell, of course that didn't become relevant to the mercenary until their traumatized child ended up in his apartment.

Dick's eyes focused back in and he looked up nervously to meet Slades one eye. "...s-scary..."

"I'll bet." Slade huffed. "How about this, I won't tell the orphanages or any authoritative adults that Dick Grayson is alive, IF," Slade paused, emphasizing the 'if', "you take a shower."

He saw Dicks face twist up in confusion. "I-I don't want to stay..." he said in a small voice, his hands shifting closer together like he was afraid of the mercenary's response.

"I'm not saying you have to stay, I'm saying you have to take a shower," Slade said simply.

Dick looked down in thought, clearly thinking about the proposition that was almost too nice, it made him suspicious. "W-where?"

"In the bathroom, I'll find you some new clothes while you're in there, I'll set them on the counter if you're still showering when I get back." Slade stood from his chair and for the first time the boy didn't flinch.

"Okay..." Dick said in compliance, he shimmied down from his chair and kept the blanket with him as he walked over to the bathroom near the front door. Slade watched with amusement, the blanket dragging behind the kid like one of those hero's oversized capes.

He heard the shower turn on and Slade took that as his cue to leave, but of course not through the front door.

Slade went out in the middle of the night to a Walmart and shoplifted the small articles of clothing in his jacket pockets, he even managed a heavy jacket under his own. His bat-traceable shopping record did not need to know he wanted a t-shirt and jeans for a 9-year-old, a small one at that. He was, although, unable to shoplift from a shoe store, so he used one of his many fake accounts and personas. He smiled at the cashier as she wrapped his shoebox and eyes him as he was noticeably without a child and was buying children's shoes at 1 in the morning. "For my nephew, last minute birthday shopping." Was the excuse he gave and quickly went out the door, hoping to return before the child finished showering.

Slade entered his apartment through the window he had exited and found the shower was still running. He walked quietly over to the bathroom and opened the door slowly to deposit the clothing without the child's knowledge. He returned to the table and brought out a laptop as he waited for the child to be finished.

It wasn't too long before the water shut off but was much later when the boy finally exited the bathroom.

"Oh good, I thought you had drowned, was about to come in there," Slade said, not looking up from his screen and not at all looking like he was about to get up.

Dick shuffled nervously in his new clothes, a big jacket over a short sleeve red shirt and long jeans, a pair of durable black and yellow shoes adorning his feet.

"Fit well enough?"

"Y-yes sir."

Slade huffed through his nose as a smile tugged at his lips, he finally shifted his gaze to the little acrobat. The matted hair was now a little fluffy and shinier, though retained its charcoal black, he looked a lot cleaner and the shoes seemed to fit him fine.

"You didn't drink your hot chocolate, you hungry?"

The boy fingered the zipper of his puffy jacket, looking down at his covered feet, Slade just then realized the boy had stuffed the elephant into the inside pocket of the jacket. Slade found him nodding sheepishly, probably embarrassed he had to get help from this stranger.

"Now I can't give you any hot meals," Slade said and stood, going to the counter and walking past it to the mini-fridge next to it. He opened it and his graying hair was illuminated in white light. "But here's some fruit." He rummaged through the contents of the fridge, when he straightened and shut the fridge with the weird 'slap' of plastic on plastic he tossed an apple to the boy.

In which the boy flinched and braced for impact instead of tried to catch. The apple hit right where his hands would have been, near his stomach, Dick took a step back and calmed his breathing, leaning down to grab the rolling apple.

Slade inwardly winced but thought nothing more of it. He didn't speak again when he went through other cupboards and brought out some granola bars. "You can stuff these in your pockets," Slade informed, the child inched forward and reached up to take a few, the bars disappearing into this coat pockets.

Dick shuffled back, eyeing the window and looking back down at his feet. "T-thank you... f-for..."

Slade watched him stutter and grasp for words, clearly, the boy was still quite nervous. "Leaving right now? It's still dark."

The small acrobat nodded, his eyes trained on the ground.

Slade sighed and knelt down in front of the boy, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I won't stop you, but you have to take care of yourself out there, not everyone is as nice as me." He inwardly winced at the lie. He really wasn't one of the nice people of Gotham, his hit count was much too high, but the kid didn't know that.

"I-I know..." Dick nodded slowly, shifting his feet in a way Slade realized the boy was uncomfortable with his closeness.

"Alright. Now if those three men come looking for you again, if they corner you, you scream as loud as you can and run." Slade said, the boy's head snapped up, eyes wide, surprised that this random stranger knew of his tormentors. "If that doesn't work, you kick them where the sun don't shine, alright? I'm not always here, and I won't leave it open for you, but if you need a place to lie low, you can come here."

Dick must have been in shock because his mouth only gaped as he stared at the man, a few squeaks coming out but no words. Finally the boy shook himself out of his frozen state and attempted to thank him without crying. "T-th-thank y-you s-sir."

Slade was about to respond when the boy leaned forward and suddenly the mercenary was being hugged. Slade was at a loss for words for a moment before he patted the boy's back and grunted uncomfortably. "Slade Wilson. You're real polite you know that?"

Dick released the mercenary and sniffed in to stop himself from crying anymore, "Thank you Mr. Wilson."

"Look after yourself kid," Slade said and the child moved off, heading for the window.

Once the child was gone Slade shook his head to clear it, he needed to focus on his mission, not the small, vulnerable, tiny, acrobat that he would probably never see again.

...Then why did he offer his home to him?

Deathstroke drifted to a stop, his memories ending as he arrived at his destination.

He didn't think much through the casual tasks of hiding his vehicle and entering the building that was to be The Lights meeting place. Well... second hand meeting place. The Light themselves would not show, they would be in a virtual meeting on secure lines and technology, provided by the combined forces of their technological members.

Deathstroke entered the dark and hollow room, eye set for any suspicious movements or bodies. The air was stagnant, nothing had changed in this room for a while, but of course if anyone with a brain wanted to infiltrate this place, they would know to infiltrate months prior to make sure any unnatural objects might become mundane and less suspicious. Only after a thorough scan from his eye and a thermal and electrical setting in his mask did he feel secure. He was alone.

A few screens were displayed in front of him as he dove deeper into the darkness, each screen hummed to life, only a bright silhouette of the figures appearing on each screen.

Deathstroke waited silently until another screen turned on, but it was colored and the silhouette was not a silhouette but a recognizable figure. Deathstroke's eye narrowed and his fist clenched at his side, his burning gaze fixated on the mercenary on the screen.

Sportsmaster.

"Good. We're all here, now we can start." Vandal  Savage began. 

"I'd like to begin with The Brain's folly. For being such a smart brain he did something incredibly foolish." Queen Bee started, her voice laced with venom.

The Brain defended himself, his accent as thick as ever. "I was experimenting with the Kobra-Venom given to us. Kobra-Venom we need to be able to inject in whatever we please and get the results we desire."

"Taking the brain of Captain Marvel is not experimenting with Kobra-Venom! Those kids recognized the drug, and the inhibitor collars from Belle Rev! The League will be onto us, we need to throw them off our scent." Lex Luther intruded. 

"We must get rid of the kids, they've become more than bothersome gnats, they could potentially stop us. This must not happen." Ra's al Ghul stated. "The mole has no interest in the mini-league, its mission is to infiltrate the Justice League, not their sidekick's team."

"And what good does a useless mole do us if we're found out before the mole can serve its purpose?" Lex Luther asked. 

"I purpose a quick and easy solution." Ra's al Ghul said.

"Which is?" Klarion asked, his creepy voice never failed to send shivers down Deathstroke's spine no matter how much he tried not to.

"Another mole." Ra's al Ghul revealed.

"Then what's the point of the mole? Isn't it a little late in the game to introduce another infiltrator?" Queen Bee asked.

"Temporary infiltrator, as you say, so late in the game, the mole's mission is total annihilation of the mini-league."

"Why on earth would the league let an unknown into their ranks when they already suspect a mole?" Lex asked, disbelief accenting his voice.

"It will work because they will let their guards down once he is inside, he will be their age, he will enter their inner circle after the bout of blame, they couldn't possibly think he is the mole. They will take pity and have mercy on him. They will be suspicious, but not to the degree of destruction the mole is capable of. They will not see him coming, he's been trained too well."

"Who?" Black Mata spoke up for the first time, speaking the question on everyone's mind. 

"Renegade."

Deathstroke's eye widened. "No." He didn't even realize he had said it out loud, he was not going to let The Light use his apprentice like a puppet. 

"I'm afraid the process has already begun. You have no say in this matter."

"He is my apprentice. I am the only one who has any say in the matter. And I say no one is using my apprentice." 

"Sportsmaster?" Ra's al Ghul prompted.

"The microbes are already coursing through his body, if The Light wishes it, I will have full control over your apprentice." He gloated, sounding much too self-righteous. "He WILL infiltrate the mini-league, whether you say so or not."

Deathstroke bit his lip, they started this without him, they knew he'd be against it and went through with the plan anyway.

"This is a long term solution, we need something to fix this mess right now." Black Manta pointed out.

"It is a quick fix, the boy only needs to get close enough to kill them. Injustice will come soon." Ra's spoke smoothly, then added a more dangerous lint to his voice. "Presently, I hope that our mercenary will be more willing to corporate because as much as we need his child, we could just as easily take him. And of course, Deathstroke knows more than most that there are worse things than death." 

"Why was I not notified of this plan beforehand?" Deathstroke asked, keeping his temper in check and ignoring the threat even though his mind spun with fear fueled images of his apprentice in various stages of torture and pain.

"You didn't need to know, and by judging from your reaction, The Joker is right, you are getting soft," Sportsmaster said, a sneer plain in his voice even if his face was covered by the ski mask. 

"Have your apprentice ready by tomorrow. Your apprentice has a week to settle in the ranks of the Mini League and take them out before we start our plan."

Deathstroke didn't say anything but shut off the communications, entering himself into the darkness. 

His mind was adrift, fear spiking through him as he fought to keep it down, the Light was not supposed to use his apprentice, that was not up for debate. But the threat still hung over his head, whether Deathstroke liked it or not, Renegade was going to be used. 

Deathstroke stood silently, gun raised to his shoulder, eye set looking through the lens. He had a leg propped on the lip of the roof, gravel crunching beneath his foot, shifting to a more stable stance.  

The night was quiet, about to become much less so, the target settling in its home, unknowing of its predator closing in. The sky was clear, the full moon casting cold shadows, the mercenary positioned so his shadow did not escape the roof and potentially compromising his position. 

Deathstroke was distracted by a sound, a scuffle of the gravel and a metallic thud as someone perched on the air conditioning unit nearby to his left. He didn't move save it be the shift of his eye.

Dick Grayson sat on the metal air conditioning unit, head tilted in question, coat puffed around his face and hands stuffed in the warmer pockets. His breath puffed out into the wintery air, the boy didn't look alarmed by the mercenary in front of him, if anything, he looked curious.

"Waiting for someone?" Deathstroke asked, breaking the silence.

Dick seemed to be taken from his thoughts, perking up and shifting in his seat. "No." He replied rather cheerfully. 

"Then why are you here kid."

"I-I want something." the ebony-haired child seemed sheepish, the persona Slade remembered from a week before.

"We all want something kid, now get lost, this isn't something you should see," Deathstroke said, returning his gaze through the lens to his target.

He was about to pull the trigger when the child spoke up again.

"You kill people?"

Deathstroke sighed. "Yes."

"...Can you kill someone for me?"

Deathstroke rose an eyebrow, not that it'd be seen, but he was surprised by the question. "That's not how it works, I am a mercenary, I kill for money. What business do you have in killing someone anyway?"

Dick looked down in disappointment, then shuffled through his pockets, pulling out a wad of crumpled ones and a few fives. He thrust his hand out, crystal blue eyes pleading with the mercenary. "Please?"

Deathstroke narrowed his eye and pulled the trigger.

The boy flinched but his gaze never wavered, neither did the outstretched hand full of pick-pocketed money. 

Deathstroke stepped down and slug the gun over his shoulder, his target dead and he could now focus on the child. He walked to the boy, his shadow reaching over the small acrobat. That was when he noticed the blood on the boy's hands, a few cuts and bruises along his face, the jeans were already starting to wear thin on his knees. The jacket had some stains on it, questionable substances no doubt picked up from dumpsters, along with the rank smell.

"Now who would Dick Grayson want to kill?" Deathstroke asked, crouching down to be level with the boy with his hands on his knees. 

"T-Tony Zu-Zucco..."  Dick stuttered, shifting in unease at the mercenary's closeness.

Deathstroke straightened to his full height, crossing his arms as he looked down at the boy. "A mob boss huh? What's your quarrel with him?"

Dick looked down, swinging his legs around while his heels bumped together repeatedly, clearly it was a personal offense. "H-he... he is the reason I-I'm... alone." 

Deathstroke hummed in response. "The Falling Graysons was no accident, was it? How do you know it was him?"

"I-I... I-I saw..." The boy kept his head down, his feet stalling as he could sense the boy was near to tears if they weren't already falling.

Deathstroke let him cry for a moment before he put a hand on the boy's shoulder, kneeling to be level with him once more. "You want revenge don't you, justice for their deaths. I can help."

Deathstroke would have to choose. 

His blood boiled with anger, once you care about someone in any regard, it's damaging, you can't stop. He hated it. Renegade was a weakness, but one he was willing to do anything for, and that's what made him dangerous.

He would send Renegade on the mission, only Renegade would not know that it came from The Light, or its purpose, he wouldn't know anything. Renegade would follow orders blindly because he trusted his mentor, Deathstroke would have to rely on that trust, and he would rely on his fears and let them come to pass. Every nightmare of Renegade leaving him, of the heroes taking his apprentice would have to come true, it was the only way to alert the heroes of the plot, save Renegade. If Renegade was kept from him then so be it, as long as his apprentice was safe and happy, that's all Deathstroke cared about.

Anything for blood.

Anything for his son.

Chapter Text

Deathstroke had his eye trained on the table, his hand fingering a bullet, twisting it around his gloved fingers as he stared off into space. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings, the most prominent one being anger, but tamed by the daunting task set before him.

Renegade wasn't home yet, probably a good thing as his next course of action would not make sense to the acrobat. Deathstroke only wished he had more time, he had hoped Renegades last mission would be with him, not alone as his apprentice had hoped it wouldn't be. But of course, life isn't fair, he had to make do with the time given to him.

Deathstroke closed his fist around the bullet. He would have to use his anger for other things, right now he needed to make preparations and get his plan underway. His plan was simple, and he hoped Renegade would understand, but for this mission to potentially succeed, Renegade must be in the dark.

Deathstroke shifted up in his seat, he had been slouching with his legs extended under the table, a relaxed position, a thinking position, one that hid his true anger. He stood and put the bullet back in its pouch. It was still night, if all went well Renegade should return soon. Deathstroke would have to work quickly.

He left the kitchen, the only sound the scrape of fabric on fabric and his boots on the concrete ground, leaving the kitchen where so many memories were made. Memories he didn't want to stop making.

He went to his 'office' as Renegade liked to call it, where Deathstroke 'schemed'- yet another term made by the wisecracking teen. It held all his files and information he had on everything he felt was important. He closed the heavy door behind him and flicked the light switch on, the dark room coming to life as the white lights shown brilliantly down. One wall held a bulletin board, pictures of targets and building schematics pined on by tacks, recent missions still hanging. Another wall held a row of tall file cases, metal containers with locks that harbored his information.

He walked silently over to the file cabinet near the end, closest to the other wall that held a giant screen. He pulled off his right glove and placed his thumb on a scanner, after a green light grazed over his fingerprint a metal 'clink' signaled the cabinets unlocking. He pulled open the drawer labeled 'Grayson' and flipped through the flies inside before pausing at a picture that caught his eye. He gently pulled the photo free and stared at it, the picture was taken by a security camera, the date printed at the top corner.

Deathstroke's eye narrowed as he continued to look at the photo, taken so long ago but it felt like yesterday. He slammed the drawer shut with his free hand, gripping the photo with increasing intensity until it started to bend. He softened his grip on the picture, he didn't want to ruin it, it was his favorite picture. If anyone needed proof of how weak Deathstroke had become because of this boy, this picture would be case closing evidence.

He finally looked away from the photo and walked over to the large table that doubled as a desk, across the table were numerous papers and files out from recent missions. He swiped away a pile of papers and set the photo down carefully, he looked up to the giant screen across from the table, his eye narrowing to focus his mind on the task at hand.

Deathstroke set his closed fists to either side of the photo and leaned forward, his weight balanced on his fists. He was still in deep thought, how to go about this task, he needed something believable, or maybe, being unbelievable would be more beneficial to this plan.

After debating in his mind a few moments more, Deathstroke rose to his full height and turned the screen on, a green beam scanned his retina before 'logging in'.

He stood at his desk, a holographic keyboard rising to his gloved hands. His fingers flew over the keys, his eye narrowing in anger and resolve, casting a hesitating look to the photo before he hit enter. No victory comes without a price.

A swirling icon in the screen signaled the loading of the video chat, the room darkened automatically except for the light over the mercenary. Deathstroke squared his shoulders and steeled his gaze to the screen, no backing out now.

A familiar cowl appeared on the screen, two other faces on either side, a scowl meeting his own hardened gaze.

"Batman. I have a proposition."

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

The waterfall gave a thundering roar, the screech of bats echoing around the damp cave. Stalagmites dripped and gave the cave a harsh and raw feeling, only to be tamed by the lights and metal platforms strewn about the large cave.

Another roar added to the ambiance, a sleek black vehicle burst through the wall of water, bouncing as it landed on a metal track. Beads of water rolled off the dark metal plating as the vehicle rolled to a stop in the center of a platform.

The cockpit of the vehicle opened with a hiss, a dark figure rising from its seat. Heavy boots hit the ground as the vigilante jumped down from the vehicle. With a swish of his black cape, The Dark Knight made his way over to the multi-screened Batcomputer.

He didn't sit but leaned over to reach the mouse and begin his research.

He encountered two mysteries that night; Red Hood and the rising issue of Renegade. Both cases concerning as both didn't have any issue with shedding blood and seemed to have an interest in money and drug deals.

Renegade most of all gave the Bat worry. The young mercenary was just a kid, and by the way the Joker spoke of him, and his own encounters with the boy, the kid was in the wrong place doing the wrong things. Red Hood was most likely an adult, capable of being put in prison and served justice. Renegade might not be the same, Renegade could be a victim of his situation, any jail Renegade would be sent to would not help the kid, probably only make him worse.

As Batman flipped through pages on both criminals he heard footsteps from behind him. Red Robin came up, bringing two cups of coffee with him.

"Meet Renegade again? And who's this 'Red Hood' guy?" Tim asked, narrowing his masked eyes at the screen Batman was furiously looking through.

Red Robin set one of the coffees down, sliding it across to his mentor as he took a sip of his own.

"Red Hood is targeting drug deals specifically related to Black Mask, I believe Renegade was hired by Black Mask to deal with the intrusions his deals keep getting," Batman said, not looking away from the screen. "Deathstroke was absent, meaning he trusts his apprentice, which means the kid is either being controlled some way or he really does enjoy the criminal life."

"How old is Renegade again?" Red Robin asked, tilting his head in curiosity as he watched a batmobile survalence camera catch the young mercenary run into a skatepark, Red Hood being farther away.

"We don't know, I would guess no more than 12."

Red Robin blinked. "Yeesh, they start that young?"

"I started younger." A new voice said.

Red Robin turned to behold a black figure, Damian in his Nightwing suit, he had armor here and there but rather slick and almost completely black. A blue bird stretched across his chest onto his shoulders and down his arms. Damian's masked eyes narrowed as they surveyed the screen Batman was looking at.

"Hey Damian, Bats saw Renegade again." Red Robin supplied, pointing with his cup to the screen as their attention was pulled once more.

"Did he kill anyone?" Damian asked, half ignoring his adopted little brother while he folded his arms and glared up at the screen.

"Only one, other deaths may or may not be caused by him, he certainly didn't try to save any of them," Batman replied gruffly.

"Tt" Damian scoffed, "mercenaries don't usually care what happens to their co-workers."

"I was busy fighting Red Hood when Renegade made his exit, the money was gone and the drugs were a pile of ash by the time I got there. It reminds me of you, Damian." Batman said.

"Similar, but I never went out on my own, or ever for that matter," Damian said, his scowl deepening.

"That is why I don't like this, Renegade acts more like he chooses to do this, but the tip from Joker makes me think it's not his fault."

"It's always complicated when kids are involved." Red Robin summed up tiredly, looking half-lidded at the screen before taking another sip of his coffee. "And what of the credibility of the Joker's words? How would he know what Renegade is being treated like?"

"Despite the origin of the tip, we must consider its possibilities."

Tim frowned. "Don't you think you're relying a little too heav-"

All three vigilantes' attention snapped to the screen, cutting off Red Robin's statement by turning black and a swirling icon appearing to be floating in the middle.

Batman sat in his chair, Damian tightened his grip on his folded arms and Red Robin set down his cup, each scowling at the screen.

The screen turned on again, revealing a black and orange mercenary scowling back at them. The man had his hands behind his back diplomatically, the rest of the room unable to be seen by the darkness of the room.

"Batman. I have a proposition." Deathstroke said, his single eye looking down at them with contempt.

"I met your apprentice again tonight, I noticed you weren't there," Batman replied stiffly.

"Renegade can take care of himself," Deathstroke said, almost gently.

"What do you want Deathstroke?" Batman asked, ignoring his observation for now.

"I think you'll be pleased to hear that it's not about what I want," Deathstroke drawled, "In fact, I think I have something you want."

Batman's eyes narrowed. What could Deathstroke possibly have that Batman would want? Was it a weapon? What would the mercenary want in return? "What do you want for it?"

"Not 'it'. 'Him'." Deathstroke corrected.

Batman's eyes widened a millimeter before narrowing again. "Why would you give me Renegade?" For as much as Deathstroke hides him, he sure was eager to give him away.

"I'll give you Renegade, if you give me your word to stop coming after me and interfering with my plans."

Tim looked to Batman, Damian keeping his scowl even with the mercenary, unfazed by the demand. Batman stayed silent, thinking.

Deathstroke was willing to give up his apprentice he's kept close for such a silly thing as being left alone. Even when Batman did follow after the mercenary he was hard to keep track of, he always slipped through his grasp like water.

But this opportunity was almost too good to pass up, Renegade could be saved. If, of course,  it was a life he wanted to or could be saved from.

The question now was, was Batman willing to risk not interfering in Deathstroke's business if it meant potentially saving Renegade? Or was it all part of a scheme to make sure Batman stayed off his back? It seemed an awful big bribe to get him to do this simple thing.

But yes, Batman did want Renegade.

"I accept."

Damian unfolded his arms and looked to his father in disbelief, turning so Deathstroke wouldn't be able to read his lips as he whispered to his mentor. "What, just like that?"

Tim was equally surprised but showed it more with his widened eyes and glare to the Dark Knight, not bothering to whisper. "Shouldn't we discuss this before making a decision?"

"I do believe the adults are talking," Deathstroke said smoothly.

Tim's face hardened and he turned to his mentor, mumbling something like 'I am an adult' under his breath. Batman made no sign that he heard him or either of his sons for that matter.

"Any other terms and or conditions?" Batman asked, ignoring his two partners for the time being. Damian turned back around but didn't bother hiding his anger on his face, if looks could kill, Deathstroke would be six feet under. Tim leveled his own glare, but Deathstroke seemed impervious to the combined bat-glare, that, or he just didn't care.

"Wayne Towers, I'll be dropping him off there. And unless you want him to run off I suggest you refrain from using restraining force with him." Deathstroke warned, but it was almost like he was doing them a favor by giving them this information.

"And what keeps him from turning on us if he is free to do what he wants?" Batman asked, he of course had to acknowledge the possibility of a trap or trick.

"He follows orders, if I say to attack you, he will, if I say he won't, he won't," Deathstroke said, almost smugly.

Batman's eyes narrowed, he didn't want to believe it, the boy must have some will right? This only made the vigilante want to free the boy more.

"My only condition is that he is not sent to prison. He himself would not be safe, nor to anyone else there."

Batman figured as much, but he didn't know if finding out his theory was correct either made his blood boil or made him relieved. Either way, this boy would soon be free from the death grip of the mercenary.

"When?" Batman asked.

"Sundown, tomorrow," Deathstroke said. Before Batman could respond the mercenary cut off the communication, turning the screen dark before flickering back to life to the page Batman had been looking at before.

"You can't be serious father!" Damian spoke first, turning his burning gaze to his parent. "Deathstroke is not someone we should make deals with, he's a snake. He's willing to give up a human being for a simple request as to be left alone. He's planning something, he wants Renegade here, he wants to be alone, he's dangerous."

"Exactly," Batman said, turning to his son. "Clearly something is going on in the criminal underworld, Red Hood scrambling for power, Deathstroke willing to sacrifice his apprentice for immunity. Renegade can tell us what's going on, he's our inside man as much as he is Deathstroke's."

"Oooh," Tim exclaimed, the information dawning on his face before it turned into a scowl again. "But what if it's all a trick? Why would Deathstroke want Renegade here? Damian raises a valid point, Deathstroke wants Renegade here and wants him free, that can't be safe."

"That's the first thing we're going to address, getting him straight from Deathstroke we probably won't hear a peep from him, we need to soften his defenses first. We will send him to the team, have him be around kids his own age, see what he does, then question him. Of course, we would have to play by ear as we have no idea if he's brainwashed, actively choosing, or a bit of both." Batman said, putting his elbows on the armrests and lacing his fingers together across his lap in a familiar thinking position. "Either way, there's a chance he can be saved, whether we change his mind or put him in prison."

"The team huh? You going to make it a mission?" Tim asked. He wasn't really on the team, neither was Damian, they never went on missions with the team, but every now and then they would be backup.

"No, I want this to be as genuine as possible, but I will alert them before he arrives."

"Are you sure they can handle Renegade?" Damian asked, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms again, scowling in distaste.

"Remember, there is a Leaguer posted at the mountain since Red Tornados' disappearance, as long as a Leaguer is there I trust their safety."

"Are you sure you can handle Renegade?" Damian asked, stressing his question in a different form. Considering his father's track record with black-haired children who were abused he could only imagine how this would end. If they weren't careful someone was going to break if this was done the wrong way. "I don't like this father, I don't like this one bit."

"Yes it's risky, but if it's a chance to save the boy, then I'm taking it," Batman said seriously, meeting his son's gaze with his own stern glare.

Damian rolled his eyes. Why was he even surprised?

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Renegade rolled into the garage, humming to himself after a good night's work and kicking up the kickstand before getting off. He continued to hum as he unhooked the briefcases from the back of his motorcycle, who knew having a bungee cord in his belt would be so useful?

He had to carry the cases with both arms as there were four of them, and he stacked them all up to make it easier to transport. He walked through the cold hallway, wondering if Slade had made it back yet from his meeting. He walked past an empty kitchen, peeking his head in just to make sure, and reminding himself to get a snack before bed. There was one other place Slade would be, the scheming room, the name alone lit his face with a mischievous grin.

He made it to a heavy metal door (as all the doors were) and shifted the cases to balance on one arm as he rose the other to deliver the secret knock.

Tap, tap tap tap, tap, pause. Tap, pause. Tap tap tap, tap.

Renegade chuckled to himself as he got three taps in return, the door opened and Deathstroke stood in front of him. Renegade always enjoyed their secret knock, even if Slade said it was barely coded enough.

"Mission accomplished sir!" Renegade beamed as Slade sidestepped to let his bouncy apprentice in.

"Good, set it on the table. Any complications? There's soot on your face." Deathstroke noted. Renegade quickly set the four cases onto the table, having to push aside a few other papers. Deathstroke came up behind him and swiped a certain paper away, too quick for the young mercenary to get a good look at it.

"Well yeah, first Red Hood started shooting people up. I had to fight him for a few seconds before Batman came in, then I had to fight them both sorta, but I slipped away. I made sure the money couldn't go anywhere while I tried to get the drugs out, a car ended up slamming into us. I was on top of the van so I got out of there pretty easily. Then I went back for the money." Dick relayed, taking off his mask to see if there was any soot on it, which was kinda hard to spot considering the mask itself was half black.

"What happened to Batman?" Deathstroke asked, walking to a different side of the table as he tucked a paper into his belt.

Dick inspected his mask as he answered. "Oh he and Red Hood were duking it out for a bit, they followed me when I went to the truck but I lost em." He rubbed a thumb over the black part and couldn't really tell if any soot was on it because both the mask and his glove was black.

"Good," Deathstroke said in a finalizing tone. "Get some rest, you have another mission tomorrow, sunset."

Dick's mouth twitched up into a smirk, consecutive missions? Usually they were a few days in between, but it was a welcome change. He looked up for a moment, "Sweet! Anything special?" He returned to his task in finding the soot, but soon abandoned the endeavor because everything was black and he couldn't tell texture-wise because of his gloves. That's when he noticed Deathstroke had yet to answer.

Deathstroke seemed to hesitate.

In fact, ever since Dick returned Deathstroke has been acting weird, and he couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was like the air around him was different than normal. Deathstroke said stuff in a very specific way, but it also mattered what he doesn't say, most of the time it's how he doesn't say it that lets Dick know his mood. This mood he couldn't identify. But it wasn't anything serious, at least Dick didn't think so, it happened every now and then and he didn't lose sleep over it. Slade went into this 'thinking mode' after complicated meetings where he wasn't very responsive and wasn't as fun, but it always passes. So Dick wasn't worried by his mentor's slight behavioral change.

"Nothing you can't handle, I'll give you more details tomorrow."

"Right," Dick said, resorting to rubbing the mask on his pants. That was always Slade's response, curtly and short, but even if he said it every time he was glad to know he wasn't going in over his head. "On that note, I'm gonna bring some goldfish into my room and eat it in my bed and get crumbs everywhere that I'll have to clean up later." Dick grinned, putting his mask back on as he raced out of the room.

Deathstroke narrowed his eye in a reprimanding manner but his apprentice was already gone.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

"So, what are we doing?"

Renegade's voice gave a little echo in the surrounding buildings, the acrobat crouching in preparation for another jump and adjusting the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder.

There was an interesting amount of mystery around this mission, first Slade almost avoids him all day(no surprise there actually), then when he finally tells him to do something it's pack. Pack. For what? His first thought was a camping trip, but the lack of luggage Slade was displaying was questionable. Maybe wherever they were going Slade already had his stuff there, Renegade knew he had multiple secondary 'outposts' that had his things in it, but they were still bouncing across rooftops.

Also, he was sure Slade put an extra pair of clothes in his bag while he was in the bathroom. If he needed more clothes why not tell him? He would be lying if he said it didn't make him curious, it also made him a little scared. Only a little though. He trusts Deathstroke. 

Deathstroke just continued to run, Renegade not far behind, lost in thought and memory. He loved leaping across the buildings, it wasn't on par with the motorcycles, but still extremely enjoyable compared to ...ugh... walking. The lack of motorcycles was another oddity that perked his curiosity, if they were going camping why wouldn't they use their motorcycles to get to their destination? Renegade surmised that it was a solo camping trip, due to the lack of packing on Deathstroke's part, word choice from last night, lack of easy transportation, and information.

The location itself was odd, they seemed to be heading to the center of the crime-ridden city. Deathstroke didn't have any outposts near the center unless there was one he didn't tell him about. Renegade was actually quite excited, he gave all the outposts his own personal touch. If anyone went into his room in the outpost by the docks without giving the right code would be doused with gross fish water. A different outpost had a yellow paint can, he wanted orange but yellow was all they had in stock.

A sunbeam hitting Renegade in the eyes returned him to the real world, flinching for a moment before flinging himself over another building. The time frame for the mission wasn't surprising. If the mission started at sunset -and the sun was getting mightily close to the horizon currently- and they were still leaping across buildings, they must be getting close to their destination.

Renegade leaped after his mentor as another building flew under him, climbing up to taller buildings with much farther drops. At times like this, he felt like his parents. Looking down at the world like he could simply jump into the sky and own it all. But one slip, one misjudged distance, and he would fall into an ally and never get up again. It was thrilling, a combination of all his fears and all his dreams, not that he wanted world domination, but he liked the idea of being in charge.

Sunlight shone through the building spires, sending the world into an orange hue, sunset always brought out Renegades' favorite color. Windows reflected the light out into the world, no shadows could form as everything seemed to glow and it gave the city a hazy look.

Renegade's windblown hair was accented with this orange, a smirk unable to be tamed and a joy in his heart undefeatable. Who cares where they're going or what he'd be doing next, Slade was taking him outside, he shouldn't worry, Slade always knows what he's doing.

Deathstroke slowed to a stop in front of him, standing on the lip of the roof of a tan building, as they had climbed up Renegade recognized the logo and the black letters. Wayne Towers.

Renegade sidestepped and stoped in time next to his armored mentor, the grin still on his face died as a black shadow crawled across the graveled roof. A shadow with two pointed ears.

Batman stood across from them, the sun behind him casting his lone shadow across the building. His cape was ruffled by the slight wind, sending the shadow into oblong and disproportionate shapes. It was eerily quiet, like a reverenced tone, or a calm before the storm, except for the quiet shuffles of Batman's cape.

It was hard to see his face because of the sun right behind him, making the two mercenaries have to glare at the light to make out the vigilante's facial features. And of course with the cowl it wasn't like they could see much anyway.

"Deathstroke. Renegade." Batman called out in greeting, nodding to each like an old friend.

Renegade's nose scrunched in confusion as he looked to his mentor. Batman knew they were coming here, was Batman part of the mission? Again, Renegade was unable to decipher his mentor's silence, it was confusing, like trying to read the emotions of a dead fish. 

"A deal is a deal," Deathstroke said.

Renegade would have snorted at the cliche choice of words, but given the situation he put a lid on his laughing box. Running into Batman was not a laughable situation. Instead, Renegade's eyebrows crumpled with even more confusion. Deal? What deal? Why was he not aware of it? Was this a test? Renegade should just follow along, his trust in Slade would work out. Slade wouldn't put him in a position he couldn't handle. Obedience was a great fallback when improvisation grew dangerous.

"He will not be imprisoned?" Deathstroke asked.

This time Renegade schooled his features as the words rang out, but he was even more confused by the statement. Who was he talking about? Did Deathstroke have a victim tied up like a cow somewhere to trade with Batman? But then why would not being in prison be so special? He kept his questions to himself and let the scene play out, the second Deathstroke gave the order to do whatever he would do it without hesitation.

"You have my word," Batman replied, dipping his head like that would make him more credible. Batman was so weird.

It suddenly got quiet on the roof, and Renegade didn't like the odd feeling that was growing in his gut since the silence fell. It kept twisting and flipping, and not in a fun way, was he getting sick? No, he was familiar with this feeling; dread.

Deathstroke turned to Renegade, the acrobat was almost too eager to get his orders, he wanted to know what to do, what was going on, what the goal was.

"You are to take orders from Batman now."

Renegade blinked.

And blinked again.

...What...?

Chapter Text

The rooftop was completely still. The dying light cascading over the young mercenary in sudden turmoil, his mind churning with uncertainty.

Renegade drew a breath to voice his confusion, he might need to hear it again to actually process what was said. He bit his lip to keep the words from tumbling out, looking down in hopeful thought.

Did he mean it? Was he actually going to not be with Deathstroke, and go to BATMAN of all people?

He looked up again, searching his mentor's faceplate with renewed fervor. This had to be a mistake, a dream, a nightmare.

Deathstroke was a blank slate, a stone wall, absolutely no emotions whatsoever. Renegade knew the order would not be repeated, even if his mind was still reeling with the surprise. His eyes lowered as he stopped seeing the world around him, buried deep in thought. All the sudden meanings and possibilities were crashing down on him at once. Through the chaos, his mind slowly pieced it together.

The packing.

The avoiding.

The mysterious mission.

The sudden appearance of Batman.

Renegade was so confused. He looked up again, trying to find some hint as to what was going on. Deathstroke met his gaze, his steel eye almost unnerving, it narrowed ever so slightly. Deathstroke would not say his orders twice. Never has, never will. Which meant...

Renegade turned his head to face Batman but had to pry his eyes off his mentor. This was not a negotiation, there was no arguing, no way to weasel out.

It was an order.

Batman just seemed to stare as well, watching the young mercenary's face change from confusion, to fear.

"Your past is yours to do with, he cannot order you to share that which you do not desire to share," Deathstroke said quietly, Renegade almost didn't catch it, still staring at the faraway shadow that was soon to be his new master.

Renegade was still stuck in the first order. Wait, so, Deathstroke was giving him to Batman? Why? For what? Did he do something wrong?

"Go," Deathstroke said louder, Renegade nearly jumped.

Batman's shadow grew as the sun dipped lower, the orange slowly fading from the sky, the mystic glow devoured by the elongating shadows. Renegade squared his shoulders, Deathstroke ordered him to do something, he wasn't about to disobey just because he didn't understand. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Trust Slade. That's all he had to do was trust Slade. 

Either way, Renegade would have to think on it, and he would have to think on it while Batman was the one giving the orders. The idea sent chills across his arms, making his hair stand on end. Batman was the enemy, what would he make him do? Sure he was a goody-two-shoes hero, but he wasn't exactly nice to criminals. 

Renegade forced himself to take a step forward, the first, and the most hesitant.

He gave one last look to his mentor, his confused and angry face slacking into fear for a moment before he forced it back into a hardened scowl to cover his true feelings. But he wanted Deathstroke to know he didn't want to, his allegiance was with the mercenary, not just anyone giving orders to him. The betrayal felt in his heart was gone as quick as it came, he trusted his mentor too much. Was it temporary? Would he ever see Slade again?

The young mercenary stepped forward again.

And another.

And another.

Left.

Right.

With each step, he drew away from his surrogate father and closer to the man who was the enemy. With each step, his mind both unraveled and built itself back up. A fight between panic and resolve. Trust against fear.

He kept his eyes on the ground, not sure if he looked up that he'd either be crying or glaring. He really shouldn't make such a big deal out of this, he was fine, he's not dead, he was just walking into his enemy's clutches while his mentor only watched.

Too many doubts and questions swirled in his mind, he had to break things down, make them simpler to understand. But he could do that later, right now he had to focus on what was happening at the moment. What was happening was betrayal.

The idea bubbled up again. This time taking a foothold.

...Betrayal?

It wasn't like Deathstroke... to... betray. 

That was a lie.

Did he feel betrayed?

...

Yes.

He would have been resentful, if it weren't for the fact he wanted to turn around and tackle his mentor in a hug and plead with him not to make him go.

He didn't want to go.

But the crunch of the gravel under his boots rang throughout his mind, adding to the clutter, adding to the fear and dread piling in his stomach.

Renegade felt numb as he stopped in front of the shadowed vigilante. He felt in danger in the prescience of the Dark Knight, even though the man simply watched him. His skin prickled with goosebumps and his rising pulse pumped in his ears. He was sure dread radiated off of him in waves and his face was drained of blood. He felt cold all of the sudden, the sun was gone, the warmth leaving the atmosphere. The cold wasn't the only reason his body wanted to shake. It was too much.

Too much.

Renegade gulped his dry throat, his breath coming out in a short gasp. The world blurred.

This only happened once, he made sure it only happened once.

His hands clenched at his sides, squeezing his eyes tight to get rid of the tears gathered there. Not here. Not here. Anywhere but here.

He let out a breath steadily, he didn't care that it was noticeable. He just needed a moment of peace.

He didn't look up, he didn't trust himself to do so without wanting to murder the bat so he didn't have to go with him. The only thing that stayed his hand from going to his blade was Deathstroke.

He... he ordered him to do this. He didn't have to understand to follow orders, Deathstroke did this all the time, blind trust. But it's a completely different story when he was ordered to become the tool of his enemy. Renegade had no doubt Batman would want to use him, whether it be his skills or his information, Renegade was prized by the man, like a hostage.

A hostage. That is what Renegade felt like. A hostage to his own feelings. He wanted everything to stop just so he could finally make sense of it all, but he had too little information, and he doubted Batman would approve of stopping the rotation of the earth.

"Have a grappling hook?" Batman asked, his voice was more gritty up close, and actually quite loud considering the low tones he used. This only added to the underlying fear that coursed through the young mercenary. Renegade couldn't help but feel threatened by the casual stance Batman displayed, it shouldn't, but it did.

The question drew him from his thoughts, his first instinct not to answer, but to check if this was truly happening. Renegade looked back, his eyes widened as the empty roof finally settled his situation in his brain. This was really happening. Deathstroke was gone. Left him... alone... with Batman.

He blinked profusely and tried to keep his breathing under wraps, Batman shouldn't know how much an empty roof was affecting him. He nodded to Batman's question, heaven knows if he tried to use his voice he'd probably start crying. It just... didn't... make any sense.

"Follow me." Batman took his own grappling gun out and shot into the fray of buildings.

Renegade played with the idea of running off, as it would be almost too easy to do so, but then Batman would come after him, and Deathstroke would be no help. He felt like a fish out of water, strung up high and dry. It felt worse than being trapped. It felt like a hole.

Batman didn't leap off until Renegade got his own grappling hook out, a wise choice on Batman's part. Batman swung down, Renegade took a deep breath before he leaped off the building. The cold wind blasting across his face didn't have its usual thrill. Seeing the ground come so close didn't give him any adrenaline. The world was cold and dark, the sun long gone and so were the last rays of warm light.

He followed Batman because he didn't know what else to do. He felt lost, he felt betrayed. This shouldn't be happening.

But it had. It is happening.

He couldn't change that. He could only work with what he was given.

The remorse he felt for Slade faded into a throbbing ache, his need to trust Slade at this juncture was pivotal. He had trusted Slade, he needed to keep trusting him. Slade always knew what he was doing, Slade would never tell him to do something he couldn't handle. Even when Dick didn't think he could.

But that didn't shake the doubt that plagued his mind. It was too fresh for reason to break in, logic was a stranger.

Whatever was going on, he just needed to power through, huddle into a little ball of emotions until everything passed him by and things were normal again. But the sinking feeling in his gut was not from the pull of gravity, it felt... permanent. And that's what scared him most.

Renegade locked down his mind, another trick meditating got him, he shut down all thoughts except for basic motions and simple cognitive abilities. Ignoring everything that happened in the past ten minutes in an effort to not break down. Essentially, Renegade was on autopilot.

It was the only way he could survive this shock, he just had to keep it up until he was alone, then he could begin trying to piece together this awful nightmare that was reality.

He could get through this.

Right?

Batman swooped down into an alley, Renegade followed behind, hardened eyes shifting in a practiced motion. Checking for danger was always near the top of the to-do list, and right now, Renegade was clinging to that list like a lifeline.

The Dark Knight wound up his grappling gun, looking over his shoulder to see Renegade doing the same, eyes down to the chord he was wrapping methodically, almost in a trance. Batman rose a gloved hand, flicking his fingers in a silent order. "This way." The man moved off, the verbal reinforcement wasn't needed, but Renegade followed all the same.

Renegade found himself nearing the batmobile, a memory bubbled up, himself inside as he hacked in ready to- no. Simplify. Keep moving. Don't look back. Keep the mind clear. What's next on the list?

Batman climbed into the open vehicle, Renegade hesitated outside for a second before he jumped in as well. His boots thudded against the metal floor, two seats at the front, the rest of the vehicle in a cramped cave-like hole. Clearly this vehicle was not meant for many passengers, it was more like a battering ram on wheels. This was good, Renegade liked small spaces, small spaces were safer. Batman didn't have to tell the young mercenary to take a seat, he was already putting the seatbelt on.

The young mercenary kept his backpack on as he took his seat and Batman noticed he had yet to look up. He figured the boy was in deep thought considering it didn't seem like he knew that he was being given to the vigilante.

Batman felt the undertone of the silence, it felt like panic, but one look at the kid said he was completely calm. He was breathing regularly, he wasn't shaking or spasming, he only kept his head down, an ebony mat of hair where his eyes should be.

Batman punched the vehicle into drive and pulled out of the alleyway at an alarming speed, and started covering lots of ground very fast, going faster than most speed limits allowed. Gothamites were actually quite used to this and parted to let him through like an ambulance when they heard the guttural roar of his engine.

Batman had been keeping an eye on the boy since Deathstroke disappeared off the roof. The boy was silent, it was almost unnerving, but it was what Batman expected.

"He didn't tell you did he?" Batman asked, sparing a glance every now and then from the road to see if the young mercenary would do anything other than sit still.

The boy shook his head, keeping with his silent vigil.

Batman wanted to sigh, he knew Renegade would probably not be a fan of this change, not many people ever wanted change. The silence didn't give him much to work with, he wanted to know if it was safe to let the boy be with other people.

The risk here was the validity of Deathstroke's claim. He was a mercenary after all, and Damian raised the point often enough that Batman should not believe everything Deathstroke told him. Deathstroke said the boy would follow orders, so far it had been true enough. The scene he witnessed between the young mercenary and his master proved that, as did the boy's actions when Batman told him to do something. But something about it didn't smell right, it was too easy, too simple. A criminal's mind was simple and straightforward, something Batman could predict. But a mercenary like Deathstroke? His mind was one whisker short of a cat.

There had to be a flaw, Deathstroke would never let Renegade loose like that without precautions. There was a secret identity to worry about, what happened if Batman were to ask about that? There were no records of Slade Wilson having a second family, Adeline shot him in the right eye and left him before any children came about, nor did she currently have any interest in children. That begged the question. Where did Renegade come from?

Batman pulled into an alley, parking the batmobile in a secure hidden garage next to a ratty alley with a blue phone booth in it.

Batman turned to Deathstroke's apprentice and was internally concerned to find the boy shrunk under his gaze. "Deathstroke advised against putting you in prison. I agree. But, that being said, if you hurt anyone, I will not hesitate to put you behind your own personalized bars. Understood?"

The boy seemed to recoil just ever so slightly. His right hand to clench around his left arm too tightly, his feet shifting to the side away from Batman. Batman then noticed how loudly the boy was breathing, it wasn't gasping breaths but long and drawn out, measured, labored almost. It was completely silent save it be the young mercenaries intake and exhale of air.

Batman knew he was being a bit harder than he should have, but this was a serious matter he wanted the boy to listen and understand. He was going to be different from Deathstroke and wouldn't tolerate activities a mercenary would deem necessary. And hopefully, this would be a step up from how Deathstroke treated the boy, but nothing was certain until the boy started talking. But for now, Batman would assume the worst on both sides, he was either a victim or a completely turned assassin.

"Understood?" Batman asked again when all he received was silence.

The boy visibly flinched and nodded quickly, shifting more in his seat, something like a gasp or whine escaping his throat. It was more emotion he got out of the boy in the past ten minutes.

Batman let up on his glare a little bit, Renegade was probably still confused, like a culture shock, he was unable to process everything and keep up appearances. It wouldn't last long, but right now the boy was raw and vulnerable, the most unstable. But once he was settled in Batman figured the boy would acclimate quickly, he was much too smart to let himself be this vulnerable for long.

"I decided you're not going to stay with me in the Batcave, you're going to spend some time with kids your age. The Justice League has recently, in the past few months, created a Young Justice League made of our protégés. They are stationed at the Leagues old headquarters. Mount Justice." The boy was still not looking at him but he knew he was listening by the stillness of his body. His steel-toed booted-feet had stopped shifting and his gloved hand had stopped its clenching and unclenching around his forearm.

"You will stay there until further notice, an adult Leaguer will be stationed at the mountain, they will know who you are and what your limits are. You will not be permitted any weapons. You will have your own room, and meals are three times a day provided by the mountain." Batman paused, letting the information sink into the young mercenary. It didn't look like the boy heard him at all, but he continued anyway.

"There are five members, Superboy, Miss Martian, Aqualad, Kid Flash, and Artemis. They know you are coming but they don't have any details, those are yours to share if you wish." Batman was hoping by having the team ask him questions he'd open up to them easier than he would in an interrogation room with a Bat glaring at him. And he was right, mostly.

Renegade nodded, his mind had been a flurry of panic and peace in the last few minutes. The second he had strapped himself into the batmobile it settled into his brain that this was his life now, whether he liked it or not, it was happening. He had needed to calm his mind and decided to start doing those breathing exercises Deathstroke had taught him, but that thought alone made him want to punch the Bat and flee. But then he'd be directly disobeying an order.

He tried to use a positive outlook, treat it like a mission, he was going undercover or something, five targets, minimal resources, and a singular base of operations. He could work with that. Right?

"I'll need your weapons."

Batman's voice shattered his train of thought. Right. Out of the comfort zone and into the fire.

Renegade slowly released his arm, the one he had been squeezing the life out of to keep from both attacking and crying in front of the vigilante. During the lecture, he had forced his mind to be blank, because he knew in that moment if he thought of anything pertaining to his old life he'd be gone. He reached up to his chest and quickly unlatched the two scabbards of his katanas, the sooner he did this the sooner he could figure out how to make a homemade weapon. He had to take off his backpack first, but then shrugged the two katanas off, sure to keep his eyes lowered, and placed them in Batman's outstretched hand.

He took the hidden daggers from his gloves, then his boots, then his thighs. He felt numb as he did so, he imagined himself taking them out for cleaning. Yeah, just a simple cleaning. If it weren't for the already sharp edges and shiny look in the silver blades he might have convinced himself, but the reality of handing them over to the Dark Knight crushed any chance of trying to think things were normal. He felt caught, torn, ripped apart in two. He had to follow his enemy's orders because his trusted mentor had ordered him to. It was so simple yet so complicated, too many moving parts and yet everything felt at a standstill.

"Belt." The growling voice returned.

Renegade's hands hovered over his belt, it was the last weapon him, he was about to go headlong into enemy territory with nothing but his suit. He unlatched the belt before he could think any more on it, handing it over to the vigilante. He breathed in a sigh, but it hitched, and he panicked for a moment before he rained it in and continued his breathing exercises.

"I'll give it back," Batman said, he had noticed Renegade's apparent fear in losing the belt, an observation Renegade wanted to kick himself for. What else was he going to mess up? What other proof did he need for Deathstroke to get rid of him?

Once the belt was empty it was returned to the young mercenary. Its weight was gone, but it felt better having the empty belt than no belt at all.

"Anything dangerous in that bag?" Batman pointed in question. Renegade picked it up and set it in his lap. He opened a few zippers and brought out a few blades and some smoke pellets, he handed them over before zipping the bag up again and keeping it in his lap.

"Is that it?"

The boy nodded.

Batman gave him a look but realized he would have to trust the young mercenary.

"The entrance is in the phone booth, I'll have to give you clearance," Batman informed, rising to step out from the batmobile.

Renegade followed silently, slinging his bag over his shoulder, his eyes focused on his surroundings, something to keep his mind off of his situation. The alley was dirty and quite dark, street lights were on but they didn't reach this far into the shadows. Trash and grime lined the alley, the blue phone booth was in decent shape, a few scuffs here, bird poop smeared there, a shattered window near the bottom. There was a little black box on top with a lightbulb embedded in it, with the color scheme of the phone booth Renegade was reminded of Doctor Who.

Does Batman have a glowing screwdriver in his belt? The corner of Renegade's mouth twitched upwards at the thought. If the phone booth was the entrance to the entire inside of a mountain, did that mean it was bigger on the inside?

These thoughts comforted the young mercenary, it was still possible, he could have fun, maybe. He recalled his joke a few days ago about having no social interaction with people his age, he honestly didn't expect it to come back and bite his butt. Because yeah, he definitely didn't know what to do in a social situation by himself without a motive.

He remembered Batman said someone named Artemis was in this team, if it was the Artemis he knew he might have a chance, he knew how to poke fun at her, she was Sportsmaster's daughter. 

Wait a second.

Sportsmaster.

Was he behind this somehow? There had to be a connection somewhere, this can't be a coincidence. Gassed by Sportsmaster, ran into Sportsmasters first daughter during a mission, now he's being 'introduced' to his second daughter. Deathstroke must have known about this, Deathstroke knows about everything.

That was the first puzzle piece into place, if Deathstroke gave him to Batman, he needed him here. For whatever purpose, he needed to be here, where Deathstroke wants him. He didn't need to understand to be a pawn, he didn't need to know what's going on if not knowing what's going on is what needs to happen. Deathstroke wanted him here with no knowledge. If an interrogation were to happen, and he was sure it would, he couldn't break under the pressure because he truly didn't know. His next course of action would be his own, he honestly didn't know what it would be but knew that Deathstroke put him here for a reason. And whatever the reason was, he was going to be useful. It made sense now.

At least, somewhat. It was better than the nothing he had before.

For now, his trust in his mentor was restored, not that it really left in the first place. If it had, Renegade would be long gone by now. But his curiosity was suspended for now until he could think more on it later, he had to be social first.

Ugh, people. Cats were so much better.

Renegade let his lips lift in a tiny smile as he stepped inside the phone booth behind Batman. The Dark Knight was illuminated by a soft blue glow, a holographic keyboard, Renegade presumed. He folded his arms and leaned back, wondering how long it was going to take. Because however good he was at his mental exercises, he wasn't the best and especially at the mental state he was now. Best-case scenario; he was on a timer. Once that timer is up, he'd leave sanity behind and all the pent up emotion would spill out, he definitely did not want that to happen in the middle of a bunch of heroes around him.

What seemed like ages later but was actually a few seconds, Batman's form brightened to an unwatchable degree. Renegade lifted an arm to shield his eyes but still, he saw white. The light dimmed after a few seconds and the booth was empty, Renegade scrunched his nose and pinched between his eyes. A little warning would be nice next time, he was still trying to get the white spots out of his eyes.

Then he felt it, like an energy coursing through him, breaking him apart from top to bottom. A burning numbing sensation across his body, he looked down and saw his hand was beginning to glow, he felt panicked but knew it was only a form of teleportation. But that didn't make it any less scary, being disintegrated was not one of Renegades favorite pass times.

He held his breath and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to be over. He realized it wasn't exactly pain, just an odd burning sensation that seemed painful but actually was not. When the white faded from his eyelids he opened them, finding Batman in front of him again and in a new building. Mount Justice most likely.

"This way." Batman started off, going down some stairs next to a reservoir of water. Renegade trotted up and kept his pace, head turning to analyze his new surroundings. Most of the ground was concrete, nothing new there, but the ceiling was much higher, there was even a helipad to the side. He didn't like that, open spaces made him uneasy, he'd rather have his back to a wall than to an open field, much less chance of getting stabbed in the back.

But he kept in stride with the Dark Knight, they didn't need to know his Agoraphobia, the fear of open spaces. As big as mountains were he had hoped it'd be more cramped inside, apparently not.

The walls were all dirt, packed dirt, possibly the actual mountain, but he was sure they put stabilizing structures under it, they didn't want a cave in and it'd be much too easy to get in. The ground was pretty clean for the ceiling made of earth and stalagmites, there was also lights embedded in the ceiling, big ones that spread lots of light.

They went through a hallway, suddenly the dirt walls went away and it was more like a square tube, still with chalky and earthy colors. There were no doorways in this hallway, odd, considering he might have thought this to be the more homey part of the mountain. They came to a crossing, four identical hallways meeting in the middle, Batman just plowed through straight ahead.

Renegade wanted to pause and look at the other hallways but he decided to stay with Batman and avoid any unnecessary complications. He started hearing voices up ahead, young ones.

He fidgeted with the strap of his backpack, he really wanted his weapons back but he could deal without them. He was just nervous to meet them, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited, only a little bit though. Batman exited into another big room, but it held a lot more things inside, a kitchen island, a table over there, and what looked to be a living room to the side. There was a green couch and a few other single chairs, a screen across from those, and a coffee table in the middle. The most notable part of the scene was it was occupied.

A lanky red-headed boy stood in the kitchen, eating from a bag of chips as he lazily leaned on the counter, talking with a familiar green archer. He looked like a mustard bottle, half of a face mask was covering his head but let his red hair free, his eyes weren't exactly covered and were an emerald green. Artemis had her yellow hair up in her normal ponytail, the only dash of color on her besides the overbearing green everywhere. His first thought was that she was a plant, a mole, but then he remembered reading about the rouge daughter that switched sides. He wondered how she liked it compared to her old life, of course, her father was Sportsmaster, so he was sure this was better.

Another girl was also in the kitchen, mixing a bowl of something as she listened to the two teens talk, well, more like argue. Her skin was green, her hair auburn, and seemed right at home with the mixing bowl. Her outfit held nothing special, casual clothes, civilian clothes. Interesting, what was she supposed to be? Renegade failed to recall her name, Batman had only given names, not who they were assigned to.

Two boys sat in the living room, the TV was on static but the big boy with a black shirt seemed to stare at it like it was the most intriguing thing on the planet. There was something red on his shirt but from his standpoint, he couldn't tell what it was, he was also wearing tan cargo pants. A dark-skinned boy sat in a chair reading a book, if he wasn't mistaken he saw gills on the side of his neck. He wore a red shirt and black pants and was oddly barefooted.

"Team," Batman called their attention, the five teens looked up and abandoned their stations to come closer. Renegade took a deep breath, here we go.

Once all the teens gathered closer they took varying positions of attention. "This is Renegade. Renegade, this is Kid Flash, Artemis, Miss Martian, Superboy, and Aqualad." Batman waved a hand in the direction of each member, giving each a name as he gestured.

Wait. A Martian? Crap. He was definitely not in the right mental state that could deter any mental invasions. She could probably tell he was on the brink of collapsing. Hopefully she wouldn't prod, because that would definitely break him. He'd have to end this quickly.

All five teens regarded him with various looks of caution, Superboy just plain glared, and Artemis was almost angry looking, but he knew she recognized him. Kid Flash was sort of glaring as well, but he and the Martian seemed the most 'friendly' of the group. His shifting eyes caught white fur, and suddenly a two-ton wolf was next to Superboy, easily coming up to the clone's head.

"That's... a big dog," Renegade said, eyebrows raised, the first thing he's said since the roof. "What did you give him? Kobra Venom?" He said it as a joke, a small smirk planted on his face, but everyone seemed to tense when mentioned the chemical.

Batman turned to him, as the team members glanced at each other and seemed to share hidden messages with their eyes before settling back on Renegade. Even the wolf was eyeing him, he was fine with the people glaring at him but the wolf was actually quite concerning. People he could handle, a giant wolf would tear him to shreds before he could even try to make a weapon.

"What do you know of Kobra Venom?" Batman asked, narrowing his eyes in an almost accusatory tone.

"You know what it is, I don't see why I can't. It's not that big of a deal. Kobra Venom is old news." Renegade said, folding his arms and losing the smirk.

"Wait but how do you know?" Kid Flash asked, pointing with a chip in hand, emerald eyes narrowing.

Renegade rose an eyebrow, pointed to himself with his thumb, and said, "Mercenary. It's my job to know things."

"Then you know where the Kobra Venom is from," Batman said, sort of like a question but it was more of a statement.

"Yep." Renegade said, popping the 'p' and shutting his mouth after, they weren't going to get very far this way. It was amusing if Renegade was being honest.

"...Are you going to tell us?" Artemis asked, folding her own arms in defiance and glaring with renewed intensity.

"Now why would I do that?" Renegade asked, unable to keep the smirk from rising.

"Leave the interrogating to me, tonight your job is to introduce yourselves and the mountain." Batman started, then he turned from the team to the young mercenary. "Your room will be locked at night, during the day you are to stay with the team. Black Canary does team training and will keep an eye on you."

"Got it, babysitter," Renegade said, complete deadpan. "Do I get a cookie for going potty?"

Kid Flash snorted into laughter but was cut off by Artemis elbowing him in the gut which ended his laughter into a grunt. Superboy and Miss Martian seemed confused while Aqualad didn't react, neither did Batman for that matter.

"I'll leave you to it," Batman grunted and turned away.

Kid Flash's face went slack, "Wait you're leaving us alone with him?"

"Yes." Batman walked off.

Renegade watched him leave back down the hallway. Batman was so confusing, he was harder to read than Deathstroke, but it was a similar concept. Renegade figured he'd just have to spend more time with him to figure out how to read him correctly. But currently, he had five very easily red teens looking at him with unease. And one very big dog that looked like he wanted to take a bite. The only problem was Renegade was bite-sized.

"Let's get this over with shall we?" Renegade said, letting a little sigh escape as he spoke. The pressure was less now that Batman was gone, but it lingered, it didn't matter if he was here or not, he still felt in danger. Heroes were the enemy, not to mention the room was HUGE, he wanted to put his back up against something quickly.

"Well, here's the kitchen." Miss Martian started, turning to gesture to the room. Renegade wanted to roll his eyes, he could see that.

"Really? Never would have guessed." The young mercenary mumbled under his breath as the group moved forward to the kitchen. Superboy gave him a harder glare, which he promptly ignored.

He got a tour of the main rooms, including the kitchen, living room, and mission room, he was shown where the training room was but he wasn't permitted inside. The only issue he had with any of this was the lock-in at night. Yeah, that ain't gonna fly. Bats should know more than most nights was when he was most awake. He actually hadn't been paying much attention to the tour, trying to keep his mind from the very open rooms by reading the team's emotions.

They were all so different, Superboy was just one big glare, his dog thing was intimidating as all get out, and he could help but feel like lunch under its gaze. Aqualad was calm and collected but he could see the weight of leadership the Atlantian felt. Miss Martian was almost too kind and didn't take any of the young mercenary's taunts. It's not like he wanted to taunt them, it's just the only way he knew how to communicate. Kid Flash and Artemis were inseparable, but they seemed to act like they hated each other, a confusing combo but one he was quickly realizing was a relationship.

They ended up in the kitchen again, Miss Martian back to her bowl and the rest of the team splayed around. They certainly didn't want to leave the mercenary to his own devices, but at the same time, they weren't eager to spend time with a murderer.

"So... Deathstroke is your dad?" Kid Flash asked quite bluntly, sitting at one of the barstools across the kitchen island. Artemis was to his right and Superboy and Aqualad decided to stay standing, Miss Martian was on Renegades side of the island and was mixing whatever was in the bowl. Wolf went off into the living room, Renegade being both worried and relieved by it, he'd rather know where the big dog was but he didn't exactly want him in his face.

Renegade huffed through his nose, folding his arms as he leaned against the counter and his backpack, better than nothing but he would have preferred a solid wall. "What did Batman tell you about me?" Renegade inquired instead.

"That you're dangerous," Superboy said with, you guessed it, a glare.

"He's not wrong." Renegade shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

"He said the mercenary Deathstroke trained you," Aqualad spoke up. For being the leader he didn't take charge very well, but now that he started speaking Renegade realized why. Aqualad was the logical one in this group, no one else here was qualified to lead. Kid Flash was too impulsive and Artemis too hot-headed, not Superboy for obvious reasons and Miss Martian was too kind.

"Also true," Renegade said, nodding.

"Then you lived with him, right? What's that like?" Kid Flash asked, almost eager. This made Renegade frown, he could understand curiosity, but he was too excited.

"What are you expecting?" Renegade asked, did they think he was being mistreated or something? Deathstroke may be a mercenary, but that doesn't mean he's a monster.

Kid Flash shrugged, suddenly trying to be nonchalant. In fact, the entire team acted like they weren't interested, but he could tell by their tensing and shifting eyes that this is what they really wanted to know. "I don't know, does he do normal dad things?"

Renegade narrowed his eyes, he was not going to make this easy for them. "Well I'm sure I'd love to answer your question, but considering I don't know what normal 'dad' things are, I don't have enough information to correctly or accurately answer."

A silence settled over the team, he could see them looking at each other, but no words seemed to be shared. Then it clicked. Miss Martian, telepathic. No doubt they were talking about him. Great, juuuuust great. He really needed to get behind a door or something, his timer was almost up, and bringing up Deathstroke did not help his attempts at mental stability.

"Hungry?" Miss Martian looked to him, rising her bowl of... whatever it was... in an offer.

Renegade frowned. "No thanks. Already ate. If that's all you need from me I'll be going to my room now."

"I'll show him." Kid Flash immediately said, raising a hand and walking over.

Renegade walked silently after the speedster. Going down a darker and smaller hallway the young mercenary realized this was where the rooms were. Not exactly home-y like he thought the other hallways were, but it was smaller, and that made him like it more.

"So, sidekick to the Flash." Renegade started, unsure how to proceed but he wanted to know more about the team members themselves, and more accurately, how to take them down.

"Partner." Kid Flash corrected quickly, "The team was made because the younger partners of the adult heroes felt held backs."

"Ganging up on the adults. Respectable. But not in that yellow mustard bottle you call a suit." Renegade couldn't help himself, he wanted to see him riled up, how much could he annoy him before he broke.

"It's friction proof so I don't catch on fire every time I run." Kid Flash defended, frowning at his feet. "This is your room by the way." Kid Flash opened the door and Renegade stepped in tentatively.

"Sure." Renegade continued, "but the name literally has 'Kid' in it, you want to be respected, it doesn't start with a degrading name." He turned and folded his arms after taking a quick look around the room.

"I like it, it makes me part of something. Kid Flash, fasted kid alive." KF smirked, puffing out his chest just a tad and squaring his shoulders.

"Is that supposed to impress me?"

"Well..." Kid Flash was flustered, clearly unused to being sassed. "You're short!"

Renegade almost laughed. Really? The short card? He snorted. "Jeez, then the air really must be thin up there." He grabbed the door handle and started to close it, but paused when Kid Flash spoke up again.

"You know wha-"

"If I ever need something from the top shelf, I won't come find you." Renegade shut the door before the speedster could say anything else.

Renegade out his back to the door, he shouldered off his bag and let it slip to the ground. He breathed out a sigh of relief and slid down the door to sit on the floor. He was mentally taxed, stretched too thin. The timer was out, he could already feel the tears gathering.

He grabbed blindly for his bag, he unzipped the top and reached inside, pulling out the singular comfort that was available to him.

He was beyond thankful he decided to stuff Peanut inside at the last minute.

Chapter Text

"Did you see that?" Wally exclaimed, gesturing over his shoulder to the hallway the visiting mercenary left through, green eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion. "He totally dodged every question!"

Artemis put her hands on her hips, leaning slightly forward and giving a small glare to her speedster friend. "He was raised by Deathstroke, of course he's going to know how to dodge questions. If you hadn't already noticed, he doesn't want to be here."

"He did answer a few questions." M'gann pointed out, giving her own thoughtful glance to the young mercenary's room.

"But he confirmed what we already knew, he clearly does not want us learning anything more," Kaldur said, he turned to the martian. "Did his mind reveal anything?"

M'gann frowned and looked down, hesitant in her answer. "He- he did, but-"

"But what? Is he planning something?" Superboy asked with his arms folded. If it wasn't already clear, he didn't like Renegade very much.

M'gann messed with the edge of her shirt, uneasy with the spotlight on her and because of the information she had to share. "Well, um, sort of."

"We need to know," Kaldur said, putting a hand on the Martian's shoulder.

She breathed out. "His mind is fragile." Everyone gave her a confused look, her mind feeling their combined force of confusion. "I didn't try to enter his mind because it was too chaotic. He's deeply troubled, he's all mashed up inside. I didn't want to cause further damage, his thoughts are erratic and panicked. But one thing was very clear, he really doesn't want to be here any more than we want him here." She explained.

"So he's crazy?" Wally asked. Artemis seemed quiet in thought, looking down while Kaldur was intent on finding out more. Superboy didn't seem to change but he felt his attitude towards the mercenary was justified.

M'gann scrunched her nose, unsure of how to explain better. "No? Yes? There was stability in there, but it's cracked, crazy minds are chaotic and usually not many things are solid. His mind had too many solid things to be crazy, but they are cracking."

"So he used to be sane, but now he's insane?" Wally asked, trying to make sense of what the alien was saying.

"Not yet at least," M'gann said sadly.

"Wait wait wait, and you got all of this without going into his mind?" Wally asked, moving his arms in a 'slow down' motion, now he was kinda worried about the kid they were harboring. Crazy people were unpredictable, unstable, and anything could happen at a moment's notice. Definitely not safe.

"His attempts to shield himself was more like a fence than a wall, a small see-through fence. It could be temporary though, he seemed to be caught off guard by a Martian being here, he didn't prepare for a mental attack." M'gann said, looking down. "Even if he did know I was here he is in no state to defend himself mentally."

The team quieted in thought.

"So... the mission doomed?" Wally asked, looking up inquiringly and raising both eyebrows. He looked to each of the other members of his team, his sight lingering on the unnaturally quiet Artemis.

"I do not believe so." Kaldur started. "Perhaps if we were to offer our assistance in fixing whatever cracked his mind, he would be more open."

Artemis snorted, all eyes turned to her as she explained. "That's not going to work, at this point he probably knows we're trying to get information from him. He wouldn't allow himself to be 'fixed' if it also jeopardized himself."

"You seem to know a lot about him." Wally frowned, in fact, Artemis has been acting weird ever since Renegade showed up. She kept glancing at him weirdly, and sure they were all looking at him most of the time but there was something different about it when Artemis did it.

"There's more than enough mercenaries in Star City, I know a bit on how their minds work," Artemis said, taking the question in stride and folding her arms. "They all value their mission above themselves, so before we try and help him we should figure out his mission."

"Either way, we need to get closer to him," Kaldur said. He nodded to Artemis. "Thank you Artemis, any information you have on mercenaries would be helpful. M'gann, is there anything else notable about Renegades mental state that we should know?"

"Every time Deathstroke was mentioned, his mind seemed to crack a little more," M'gann offered, then internally flinched. Coming to earth was different, but after learning about earth customs with all of her friends and remembering her very first lesson... she wasn't sure she liked talking about someone's mind like this. He was just a kid, younger than all of them. He was also a bad guy, she counter-argued, it was okay to do it to bad guys. 

"So it's Deathstroke fault?" Wally asked.

M'gann winced, "Not exactly, it could mean Deathstroke was involved in the incident that cracked his mind but it doesn't mean he's responsible. Whoever or whatever event is responsible might actually break him."

"So Deathstroke is a touchy subject, no wonder he dodged the questions," Wally muttered, folding his own arms and placing a hand on his chin.

"Thank you, Miss Martian, if that is all I will go report to Batman now," Kaldur said, nodding to his teammate. M'gann nodded her head and with that, the Atlantean turned and left, the rest of the team still wondering about the broken mercenary.

"I still don't like him," Superboy said gruffly to the silent room.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Renegades body shook with silent sobs.

He hadn't moved from his crumpled form against the door, hugging onto his ratty stuffed elephant for dear life. He didn't dare take off his mask, security cameras and such, but he let the tears slip from underneath.

At this point he didn't know what he was crying about, it was all just too much.

Nothing was the same anymore, it felt like being thrown off the deep end into a pool of piranhas and sinking to the bottom 100 feet down.

Deathstroke was gone. He had to take orders from Batman now. He didn't bring his laptop so school was out of the question. His weapons were all taken. He was in an unfamiliar room. He had to deal with five kids he wanted nothing to do with. Almost literally everything normal was taken from him, everything but his own skin. That, and Peanut, his trusty stuffed animal that went through Hell with him. He didn't even have the kitchen or his new motorcycle. Not even the pancakes... or the goldfish... the light dusting of dirt on the garage floor because Dick was too lazy to clean it. Or the cobwebs in the corner of the training room that grew so large that Dick was scared to even go near it in fear of Shelob.

Not to mention an entire person, a person who helped him with so many things in life Dick couldn't even begin to lecture on his gratitude for the man. He would miss the little things, the little huff Slade gave when he did something funny, or even annoying. The way they could communicate through facial expressions even when one of them wore a face plate. Sometimes during training Slade would sneak up on him and scare the crap out of him. It was the closest Slade got to joking, though every now and then they could get pretty good banter going. Even through all his training, Dick's heart still freaked out every time someone snuck up on him. That's why he was so adamant to try and sneak up on Slade, to see if he could get back at him and make him jump. It never worked, and it only made Renegade jealous. He was able to never make a sound, but his heart beat couldn't help but accelerate. It was fun to try though, a never ending jaunt.

All of that was gone.

He felt so stuck, he hated it.

But it felt good to cry.

It gave him a headache, made his face burn with hot tears, his limbs numb with emotion. But it felt good. It felt real.

He wanted Deathstroke back, he wanted Slade. He wanted to go back to the way things were, and forget everything that happened in the past few hours. He wanted so many things. Normalcy, his fa-mentor, his weapons, anything from his old life, even the Joker.

It made sense, yet no sense at all. He wanted to hate Deathstroke, but he couldn't bring himself to hate the man who gave him everything. Without Deathstroke, he would be in a much worse place. Much worse. It sent shivers down his spine just thinking about that place.

He recalled his patch job of an excuse when he needed to bar his mind from the team. Deathstroke knew what he was doing, he always did, this was no different. Deathstroke said he could handle it, it may be challenging, but he was handling it. Deathstroke needed him here, needed him here with no knowledge.

Renegade had no idea how long he'd be here, but he hoped it would end soon, he hoped he could find guidance. He felt lost. Sure Deathstroke wanted him here, but what was he supposed to do here? He was tired of the 'why' of the situation, he wouldn't get an answer, as there was no one to get an answer from. He had to accept that this was inevitable, he was here, there was nothing he could do about it.

But now that he's here, what was the plan?

The only thing Deathstroke had said to him besides 'take orders from Batman' was 'Your past is yours to do with, he cannot order you to share that which you do not desire to share.'

So, he was to keep his life story a secret... if he wanted to? So it was a possibility to share, but if he didn't want to, he didn't have to. Not even Batman could order him to share his past. Renegade wasn't even sure Batman understood the extent of his power over him, Batman could order him to do anything, and he'd do it. This thought was not comforting, he was only consoled by the fact Batman wasn't here.

Life, as he knew it, was forever changed. He didn't want it, but it came. Life decided to throw lemons back, and it hit him right in the heart.

But now what? What was he supposed to do here? How was he supposed to throw lemons back if they were now lodged in his chest? He needed a plan.

His heart still ached, a gaping hole where Slade had filled. His body still felt numb, the tears were still falling. He wanted to sleep, sleep off the pain until he could get a good grip on it, but that would be impossible without a weapon under his pillow. He couldn't sleep without one. A habit he didn't think would have any consequence in the future considering his occupation. He was paying dearly for it now.

He wanted the comforting feeling a weapon in his hand gave him, it gave him confidence he could escape if he were attacked at night. In both mental, and physical worlds. 

Dick shot up screaming. His body was on fire and his heart was racing out of his chest. Tears were tumbling down his face as he cradled his knees to his chest, burying his head in his knees and sobbed. The comforters of his bed were tossed to the side in his scramble, wrinkled and slightly damp with sweat.

The closed door swung open, letting light fill the room and land on the suffering child. Slade stood in the doorway, observing for a moment before stepping inside carefully. He approached slowly, knowing full well what the boy had dreamed about.

"Dick," he tried to get the boy's attention, "you're not there remember? I'm Slade, you live with me, not them." The mercenary whispered, putting a gentle hand out to the shaking boy.

Dick cried out when the man's hand touched his back, Slade withdrew his hand and instead sat on the bed in front of the crying child, the cushion dipping with his weight.

"Dick, I'm not going to hurt you." He tried again.

The child only cried, his face red and his hair a mess, although half of it stuck to his forehead, the ebony strands slick with sweat.

"Dick I want you to look at me," Slade said seriously, narrowing his eye to the boy's huddled form. "I won't ask again."

It took a few moments but the boy's head rose, sniffing and whipping the tears from his pink eyes. Slade could see how much he was trying not to cry, his face was an unnatural shade of red and his eyes all puffed up from stopped tears.

His blue irises clashed with the pink and red, looking almost sickly. Slade kept the boy's gaze, making sure he didn't go back under to the nightmare he had just escaped.

"Dick, it's alright to cry when bad things happen," Slade said softly, he held a hand out to the boy.

Dick stared at the hand for a moment before unraveling his curled form to climb into Slade's lap, looping his spindly arms around the man's middle. Slade froze for a moment, still startled and not quite used to the boy's use of contact as comfort. Slade wrapped his arms around the boy, gently shifting to a more comfortable position for both him and the child. The boy shook in his arms, sobbing on his chest and tears leaking into his shirt.

"It's alright Dick, you're safe." He rubbed the boy's back, the child tightening his grip on the mercenary and cuddling closer.

They stayed like that for a while, every now and then Slade muttered comforts and at one point leaned over to grab the boy's discarded stuffed animal Peanut.

Finally, Dick let go and settled to just cuddling on Slade's lap, no longer crying but sniffing in and letting the silent tears slip silently.

Slade sighed and reached into his back pocket. Dick looked up curiously at the movement, hoping he wasn't discomforting the man by his closeness. Slade brought out a small blade.

"Here, hold this."

Dick was confused, but reached out anyway. He grabbed the hilt and looked up, wondering what he was supposed to do with it.

"When the nightmares come back, you can hurt them." He explained, "they won't want to take you back if you can hurt them."

Dicks eyes widened as he stared at the blade in wonder, this would make them go away?

"Just be careful you don't hurt yourself," Slade said, watching the boy drag the blade closer to his person.

Dick nodded, making sure to grip the knife with both hands now, keeping Peanut between his arms.

"Think you can go back to sleep?"

Dick looked up wearily, but then looked down to the knife in his hand and nodded.

"Alright, I'll be in the kitchen if you need me." Slade slid the boy off and walked to the door, he looked back once to see the boy still staring at the knife when he closed the door, shutting off anymore light from coming into the room.

Dick looked desperately to the knife, this would keep them away, he didn't have to worry about them anymore. He let go with one hand, grabbing Peanut with it, and kicked the blankets off. He settled his head back onto the pillow, holding the knife in front of him. If they came back, he'd be ready, they couldn't hurt him anymore. 

He hadn't had a nightmare about them in a while, that part of his life was over, but like his parents fall, every now and then they'd come back with a vengeance. It was simply habit to keep a weapon under his pillow, one he felt was appropriate for his line of work. Now he had a very current issue.

The time to cry was over. He needed a weapon if he ever was to sleep here.

Renegade whipped at his face, he grunted a few times, getting the weird lump in his throat out. He stretched his legs out, they were quite cramped, and he looked down to find his belt had been pressed against his stomach. Now he's going to have a belt-shaped indent on his stomach for a few hours. It would have been funny if he were anywhere else.

He took a few deep breaths, straightening his back as well, feeling his muscles ache with his prolonged stillness. What he'd do for a trapeze set right now.

The young mercenary stumbled to a stand, picking up Peanut and tossing him onto the bed across the room. Trying to sleep was going to be pointless, not without something sharp in his hand.

He grabbed the strap of his backpack, he laid that on the bed too, deciding to not throw that as it could spill everywhere. He could go for some water right now, maybe a snack. Then he remembered what Batman said. He was locked in at night.

He didn't want to disobey those orders, but this was just a tad more important than that. He only followed orders he trusted, he trusted Deathstroke completely, his follow through was the way he showed his trust. Batman, he did not trust. He would only follow orders because Deathstroke told him to, but this one was a matter of self-preservation. Some orders were arguable, if Renegade had a convincing counter Deathstroke would concede and let him do it Renegades way. That's where Deathstroke would trust him, and he did. This was no different. But Batman was not Deathstroke. Batman would not see that his argument was valid, he wouldn't understand his need. Dick did not trust Batman, Batman did not trust him. 

But at this point, Renegade didn't care.

The young mercenary stretched the rest of his limbs out, leaving his things on his bed as he wandered over to the bathroom. It was small, had a shower, a mirror, a toilet, tiled floor with a single small rug. Not exactly decorated, but quaint.

He saw himself in the mirror, his face was still a bit red, at least, the visible parts of his face. His hair was as untamable as ever, he ran a hand through it, just because he wanted to. Then a thought occurred to him, would Batman put a security camera in the bathroom?

He stepped in and looked around, unless the camera was microscopic, he couldn't find one. He closed the door, he really shouldn't risk it, but he wanted to. Renegade peeled off the mask, the fresh air hit his hot eyes was so startling they teared up again. He blinked them away and rubbed his eyes, standing in front of the mirror and sink. He let out a deep sigh, peeking through his fingers to see his form lean over the sink, resting his head on his hands as he used his elbows to prop himself up.

He dragged a hand over his face. He really was tired, but sleep would evade him until he found a weapon. A simple knife from the kitchen would suffice even.

Renegade blinked.

The kitchen.

He straightened and narrowed his eyes, how was he going to get to the kitchen? He was locked in. What time was it anyway?

Then Renegade remembered Batman took all his weapons, his hologlove included. He looked down to his arm, then smacked himself on the face. His hologlove was right there on his arm! Batman didn't take it, he didn't know it was electronic. Renegade didn't even think to give it to him, yet his subconscious thought he had.

Renegade brought his arm up, turning on the glove and reprimanding himself for his stupidity.

"Only when you chose to be." He recalled his mentor's words, mumbling them to himself.

Now that he was away from Deathstroke, he realize how much he relied on him, how much he learned from him. It honestly made his heart warm, it felt like he had brought Slade with him.

His face was illuminated by the blue light, the numbers in the corner indicating it had been a few hours that he'd been crying. 12:34 A.M. Batman would definitely make sure he's locked in by then, but hopefully it meant everyone else was asleep. He didn't want any awkward confrontations so soon after being declared 'locked in'.

But if he had his hologlove, he could easily hack into security and make it look like he was still inside, he'd be practically invisible once he's outside.

His hand flew across the screen, singling out the security on his room and the cameras leading to the kitchen.

He set his codes in place, then waited for the red icons to turn green, his own frowning face turning green and smiling once all the codes hacked in. He shut off the glove and returned the mask to his eyes. He may not know what would be next for him but he knew what he was going to do now, and he would do it efficiently. Strict routine can fight off insanity, his routine was lost now, he would have no way to gain it back, but if he were to have even a little part of what he used to do, he could stay the blade of insanity.

He opened the bathroom door, and walked right up to the door to the hallway. He didn't hesitate to open it, his protocols he embedded into the security system would make it seem like the door is still locked, but in reality it was quite open.

He slid silently down the hallway, it was dark and eerily quiet, both of which did not bother him. He had night vision in his mask and the quietness only helped him know if anyone else was out there.

The young mercenary stepped into the large room, he frowned and was unable to keep a shudder from going down his spine. Large dark places were worse than large lit places.

He edged into the kitchen, keeping his back to the counter as he slid silently around to find what he was looking for. He reached out and gently pulled the drawer open, the slower the better, sound was his enemy right now. The noise was minimal, but sounded like a trumpet to the trained boy's ears, declaring his presence to the entire mountain.

He checked inside and did not find a knife, measuring cups were in this drawer instead. He wrinkled his nose in disappointment and gently shut the drawer. He slid over and tried the next one, finding nothing but serving spoons and ladles. There was a massive bread knife inside but he couldn't hide that anywhere on his person, he needed something he could slip up his glove.

He shut that one and went to the next, but before he could start to open the drawer the room was flooded in lights.

Crap.

He sunk to the ground, barely breathing as his heart pounded in his ears.

He stilled his body, forcing himself to take and release air without moving a muscle. He strained his ears, trying to identify the intruder by footstep or breathing.

It was a light padding, a yawn, no one important, no one searching for anything important. Or anyone, like a rebellious mercenary.

Renegade turned slightly without a sound, putting his back against the cupboard, but hovering with just enough space between the fabric and wood before they grated against each other.

Bare feet came into view and Renegade cursed under his breath, he'd be seen for sure. The person was heading to the fridge, right across from where Renegade crouched.

"Whoa!" The feet took a few steps back and the voice yelped in surprise.

Yep, he was seen, and his discoverer was none other than Kid Flash who was in pajamas and sans mask.

"Hi." Renegade said stiffly, shifting so he was fully sitting on the ground, his legs near his chest as his crouch slipped into a sit.

"What are you- you're supposed to be- what-?" Kid Flash pointed at him and his tired face screamed confusion and mild fear. "How'd you get out here?! Why are you out here?!"

Renegades mind swirled, how should he approach this? He was sitting on the ground in the kitchen behind the counter. Hm. How to explain this one...

"Needed a drink." He said simply with a shrug, looking up to meet the speedster's emerald gaze. Wasn't a lie, but wasn't his true intentions.

"Then what are you doing on the ground!?" Kid Flash exclaimed, gesturing to the young mercenary's strange position with both hands. He was still freaking out, not very whelmed, not whelmed at all.

"Uh... that's a bit harder to explain," Renegade admitted, lowering his gaze and resting his chin on his knees. Truth, as he didn't really want to explain, but in this situation he would have to.

"Umm," Kid Flash also seemed stuck, looking down in thought and resting his hands on his hips. "Okay? Even if it is hard to explain want to give it a try? You're also not exactly supposed to be out here at night."

"I know, I was having trouble sleeping, I needed a drink." Renegade said simply, keeping with his 'I was thirsty' act.

"Then why are you on the ground?" Kid Flash asked again.

Renegade drew a deep breath, this was a definite risk, but he needed an excuse, might as well be a plausible one, even if he reeeeeeally didn't want to. "Well, you see, sometimes... I get... really scared for no reason." Renegade left it at that, he didn't have to explain as to what would cause it, and if Kid Flash asked he'd have a pretty good excuse not to answer.

"A... panic attack?" Kid Flash asked, tilting his head in question and resting a hand on the counter. His tone softened, a reaction to being told the boy in front of him was unstable, a reaction Renegade was expecting. "You... ok?"

"Oh yeah, I'm good now, just... resting," Renegade said, not moving at all from his curled up position.

"Umm." Wally looked around, unsure of himself and of what to do. Renegade shouldn't be out here, how'd he get out? "So how did you get out of your room? Batman said he locked it."

"A simple lock isn't going to do much against me. Besides, Deathstroke and I operate at night, this is the time I'm mostly awake," Renegade said, then he looked up. "Why are you up?"

Wally felt his face redden slightly, he reached back and scratched his neck, his reasons, probably shouldn't be shared with a mercenary. "Oh, uh, midnight snack, I woke up hungry." He grinned and went to the fridge, opening it wide and grabbing an apple. "Gotta keep up with the metabolism."

"It affects your sleep?" Renegade asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

"Sorta," Wally said, he shut the fridge after finding his prize, then went over to a cupboard and brought out a bag of chips. After another thought he grabbed a second one, lowering the bag to show the mercenary. "Want some?"

Renegade stared for a second but then shook his head. "Nah, I'm good."

"Alright." Wally took the chip bag back and bit into his apple, leaning against the counter opposite to the sitting mercenary. Wally was suspicious, he was too quick to deny the food, he didn't eat last night either. Was this another side effect of being raised by a murderer?

The silence was getting a bit uncomfortable, only the speedsters chewing signaled any presence in the room.

"So um," Wally started, talking between bites, "I don't want to intrude on your personal life or anything." He took another bite and he saw the mercenaries gaze narrow. "But, when was the last time you ate?"

The kid blinked, surprised, clearly he was expecting a different question. "The last time I... ate?"

"Yeah." Kid Flash said, gesturing to the apple in his hand.

"Well yesterday of course." He said, the question was odd, why would he want to know that? He saw no reason to share his eating schedule, it wasn't any different from anyone else's.

"Mm," Kid Flash hummed in response, reminding Renegade of his mentor. "Do you cook?"

Renegade half snorted, a little huff through his nose similar to what Slade did. "I try not to, it doesn't always come out... edible."

"I can understand that." Kid Flash said, point with a finger and half shrugging with closed eyes. "So then who cooks?" He asked, folding his other arm under his side while he propped his apple near his mouth.

"S-Deathstroke does, he's good at it," Renegade said, then frowned at his own slip-up. Slade had said he could share his own life story if he wanted to, not Slades. He knew Batman knew Slades identity, he wasn't sure about anyone else.

"Deathstroke cooks?" Kid Flash asked, more to himself than to Renegade, it seemed the thought was foreign to the speedster, something he wouldn't have thought of.

"Yeah, we all need to eat at some point, truth be told, I don't exactly sit around imagining what Batman has for lunch so I understand your confusion," Renegade said, he was getting really tired, but he had yet to get a weapon. Tired? Yes. Sleepy? No. Definitely not.

"Huh, I guess so." The redhead shrugged, staring at his apple while his face twisted in confusion.

"I don't recognize you by the way," Renegade said, he needed some way to get him to leave, or maybe somehow explain his necessity for a weapon.

"You don't?" Kid Flash said, a mix of relief crossing his features. "Oh, well, that's good." Kid Flash was more of the easily recognizable people, he was honestly surprised the mercenary didn't recognize him. "But, as a mercenary shouldn't you know all the hero's identities or something?"

"I know what I need to know, if I recognized you we'd have issues, but I don't, so we're good." Renegade said simply.

"Usually I'm one of the more recognizable hero's, my identity isn't exactly a secret around here." Kid Flash said, half sighing as he looked around.

"I... just don't get out much," Renegade admitted. He knew he was letting him know more information than he should. He was curious, Kid Flash seemed genuinely interested, but he knew the young hero's goals were to get information from him, he just wanted to make it look like it was working.

"Why not?" Was the speedster's next question, a question the young acrobat saw a mile away.

"'Cuz I never needed to, I have-er, had, everything I needed with Deathstroke." Renegade said, catching himself in the tenses. He didn't have everything he needed anymore.

"So you've never met anyone? Never been outside? Is that why you're so pale?"

Renegade snorted. "Yes that's why I'm pale, I don't like the daylight hours very much. And of course I've met people, whether they stay alive or not is the question."

"Oh..." Kid Flash looked a bit disgruntled by the information. Then he was surprised to find the speedster handing him a bag of chips. "Well, you still need something in your stomach."

Renegade blinked, he reached out and grabbed the bag gently, but didn't attempt to eat it. "Okay..." He settled the bag on the ground in front of him. Truth was, he was starving. He ate dinner, yes, but 'dinner' was at 4 that night, a few hours before he and Deathstroke left for the roof. It was now almost 10 hours since he'd eaten anything. Of course this was nothing, he'd been trained to do work on less than a few mouthfuls a day, but it still concerned him because he didn't exactly want to use the hero's food.

Something about it made him pause, something in his gut didn't feel right when he thought about eating the hero's food. It was silly, he was afraid of eating their food, but some little part of him latched onto the idea of poison. Sure the heroes were good guys but that didn't mean they couldn't lace his food with some unknown substance that makes him spill everything. In other words, Renegade would not eat their food.

"...Aren't you hungry?" Kid Flash asked, watching in confusion as the mercenary only glared at the bag of chips in front of him.

"Sort of," Renegade mumbled. "You'll have to excuse my hesitancy, I don't think you'll blame me if I say I don't exactly trust you heroes."

"Oh." Apparently Kid Flash was catching on. "Well it's a prepackaged bag of chips, I'm pretty sure you're good."

"Pretty sure? So anything else is more likely to be tampered?" Renegade glared up.

Wally winced. "No, what I mean is, if you're worried about the food being tampered with, the bag of chips is going to be the last thing that would be tampered with. But nothing here has been tampered with, we don't poison people." He was trying to be funny, but apparently the mercenary didn't take to it very well, and it was quite concerning that this kid would refuse food just because of where it came from. Well, if Wally thought about it, if he was with any villains he sure wouldn't take their food, well... maybe... depending on the situation at least. But he didn't think this situation caused for distrust, it was just a bag of chips.

"I'm not worried about poison," Renegade said stiffly.

Wally stood up abruptly, placing his apple on the counter and looking down on the mercenary with narrowed eyes. He could see the confusion in the boy's face but he wanted to make sure this kid knew he was among friends, he didn't have to be afraid of them or their food. Starting with his fearful position on the ground.

The speedster lurched forward and grabbed the young mercenary's shoulders, pulling him up to stand.

"There we go, no need to be on the floor right?" The redhead flashed the surprised mercenary a grin as he stepped back, reclaiming his apple, and completely missing the ebony-haired boy go rigid and wide-eyed.

"You should rea-" Wally cut himself off as he looked up, finding the young mercenary frozen, a look of terror on his face. Uh, did he do something? "Hey, you ok?" He rose an eyebrow, then his stomach dropped as the boy in front of him started to tremble.

"Renegade?" Wally tried, hoping whatever was happening was temporary and would be over soon. Was Renegade doing this on purpose? What was going on?

The boy's mouth gaped open, but no sound came out and neither was air. The boy leaned forward slowly, shaking uncontrollably, and gasping for air. Wally reached forward, "Hey, breathe, you ok? What's going on?" Wally's internal panic was rising, what was happening? Why was he doing that? How does he make him stop?

Renegade's eyes looked up, even through the mask Wally could see that he wasn't seeing him. Something was very wrong.

The young mercenary recoiled from the outstretched hand, Wally's eyebrows furrowed as more panic coursed through him. "Hey, hey what are you doing? Are you ok?" Wally had no idea what to do, he stepped forward this time, reaching out to grab one of his arms.

Renegade yelped and dodged to the side, twisting around so his back was to the counter, his hands going out to grip the closest objects. One found the counter, the other found the fridge, each hand gripping with surprising ferocity. Renegade was staring wide-eyed at Wally, but it was a look of fear.

The speedster now standing in between the mercenary and the kitchen island, feeling very lost and confused and concerned.

Renegades breaths were coming out in gasps, head lowered in an attempt to gain more air, his body shaking and sweat forming on his brow. The hand one the fridge shifted to the counter, the boy taking in deeper breaths.

"Um, Renegade?" Wally was frozen in his own panic, wondering what was going on in the kid's mind to make him act like this. He reached forward again but was surprised to hear the boy speak.

"Don't-" He gasped out, raising a hand to ward him away as he flinched back. Wally took a step back, somehow feeling threatened by the simple gesture, even though it looked like Renegade was the one feeling threatened. Something was going on that he didn't understand, it scared him to no end. What could make a murderer shake in his boots?

Renegade seemed to be reclaiming his breath now, air going in through his nose and out through his mouth in measured breaths. Wally just watched, unsure of what to do and scared of anything Renegade might do.

Renegade's arms still shook but it appeared he was calming down now. His eyes were shaded by his hair, his face was paler than usual, his grip on the counter tight. They stayed like that for a minute, Wally began to itch in his prolonged state of silence and stillness. When Wally began to fidget, Renegade snapped his head up, glaring with ferocity Wally could only place with the Dark Knights.

"Um..." Wally felt threatened by the glare, he took a step back in preparation for a fight when the mercenary suddenly didn't seem interested in him.

Renegade was yanking the closest drawers open, scanning them before slamming them shut. What was he looking for? He did this to nearly all the drawers, then he found what he was looking for. When Renegade grabbed the steak knife from the drawer Wally's stomach flipped and his face drained of blood.

Renegade was still shaking, but the hand that held the knife was unwaveringly still. Wally gulped his dry throat as the knife was pointed to him.

"Don't... ever... crowd me like that again." Renegade hissed, his voice wavered but it only added to the fear piling in Wally's stomach. His glare rivaled the Bat-glare, and it concerned the speedster that it was pointed directly at him.

Wally swallowed again, he technically wasn't in striking distance, but he didn't think it mattered to Renegade. "Uh... was... was that a panic attack?"

If it was possible, Renegade's glare turned even more sinister. "Yes, of course, that was, what did you think was happening?!"

Wally rose his hands slowly in surrender, he needed to get that knife away from Renegade, maybe get Batman too. "How abo-"

Renegade cut him off. "Clearly you've never been with someone when they have a panic attack. I'll give you some free advice." Wally didn't know how, but just the way he said those words made him feel like prey, like he was about to be pounced on. "Don't. Ever. Try to help, if you don't actually know how to help. Because you could, like you did a minute ago, make it much worse."

"...Are you ok now?" Wally asked, trying to figure out what was going on and get the heck out of dodge.

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say.

"Of course not. What about this situation makes you think I'm ok?!" Renegade half yelled, his knife arm was beginning to shake, adding to the boys trembling crouched position.

Shoot, was it about to happen again? Wally was in a very bad position.

"Let's just put down the knife, and-"

Renegade took a step back, holding the knife closer to his person and shifting his grip so the blade was pointed backward. "Lesson number two, don't take away the thing that calms the person down. Have you seriously never witnessed a panic attack before?" Renegade's glare softened for a moment, sending him an incredulous look before the glare returned.

"Okay, okay." Wally took his own step back, keeping his hands raised a bit and his voice soft, then his brows furrowed. "Holding a knife calms you?"

Renegade let out a deep breath through his nose, apparently calming himself before he answered because his tone was softer than he'd heard it all night. "Depending on what the panic attack is about, the object that calms them could be anything. In this situation, yes, it's a knife."

"Why would a kn-"

"Because then I feel like I can defend myself." Renegade cut him off again. "It's physically impossible for me to sleep without a weapon in my hand. So if you excuse me, I'll be going back to bed now and finally get some rest." Renegade lifted himself from his half crouched position and walked forward, his knife at his side.

Wally frowned and sidestepped into his way, Renegade really shouldn't have a knife with him. Wally then rethought his decision when the knife was suddenly at his throat, and Renegade was glaring at him through his mat of hair.

"If you value anyone in this dirt hole, you won't stop me from taking the one thing that makes me comfortable. I don't need a knife to kill someone, so either way, there's a risk with me being here." The knife slid away and Renegade was running down the hall.

Wally looked back, rubbing his neck and watching wide-eyed at the mercenary's back.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Renegade slammed the door shut behind him, he breathed out solidly before it sped up again. Jeez, he was a mess, at least he had a knife.

But Kid Flash was probably going to report that to Batman, it'd be taken from him again. The only way it would ever work is for him to explain why he needed the knife to sleep, and that wasn't something he wanted to share with a bunch of heroes. He already shared too much with the speedster, he didn't want to share anything else.

He wanted Slade.

His breathing shuddered as he remembered what exactly the panic attack was about. He closed his eyes and shook his head, he needed to get it out. He shakily walked over to the bathroom, he shut the door behind him and settled on the ground, leaning against the door.

He evened his breathing out as he looked down at the knife. He had a knife. He could keep them away. He had felt so vulnerable out there, it was terrifying. And Kid Flash was so stupid, why would he ever try to go towards him? That's the worst thing he possibly could have done. Well, he could think of something else, and it probably almost happened, but it didn't so no use getting anxious over something that didn't happen.

He breathed out through his nose, resting his head back against the door. He needed normalcy, he felt pinned down, he needed something familiar. Something to tell him he wasn't back there.

This bathroom worked well enough, it was small, the smaller the better. He had a knife, he could defend himself.

But what he needed, was Slade.

Chapter Text

Renegade exhaled as he lowered himself closer to the ground. His feet were high in the air and beginning to bend over closer to his face, his body in an arch one might call 'unnatural'. He straightened his arms and legs slowly as he drew a breath, his own form of an acrobatic pushup.

His forehead was slick with a thin sheen of sweat, but he hadn't been doing nearly enough taxing exercises to be counted as a workout, this was more of a warm-up. He had wanted to start jogging, in his training room back home he had a full track, but the closest thing the mountain had was a pathetic treadmill. He could see the metallic abomination from his upside-down position, he glared at it, it was mocking him by existing. No one ever got to his level of training by running on fake terrain, going nowhere fast.

Treadmills were stupid, they were great for shaving off a stomach, but not as efficient in building muscles in places a real run can give. Treadmills lacked reality, there was rarely a time the ground would be that smooth and straight. Nothing would change on a treadmill, terrain always changes, a treadmill was no challenge.

The young acrobat deduced he had warmed up enough, he put his foot on the ground in front of his face and stood up, heaving the rest of his body with him into an upright position. The ebony-haired boy went over to the punching bag, it was still up from another use. He could tell it had been used by the dents and worn fabric where the fists would hit, the fact the bag was still up infuriated the young mercenary. Didn't they know how to take care of their training equipment?

He decided to put the bag out of its misery. He found some tape and wrapped it around his gloved hands before he started pounding on the bag. He danced around it, adding kicks and dodging indivisible backlashes, at one point he rolled under it and gave it a nice thwack to where a head would be on a person. Renegade was increasing speed, chest beginning to heave with the need to take in more air to accommodate his increased activity.

He paused for a moment, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He glanced up through his matted hair, his mind fuzzy with the workout, blank until reality crashed down again. The red punching bag innocently swayed in place, mocking him.

The fight wasn't over.

"Never turn your back on an enemy that could stab your now exposed backside," Renegade mumbled breathlessly, Slade's voice echoing in his mind.

With a growl, Renegade kicked it twice in a flipping cartwheel and gave one last jarring punch. The bag exploded and the sand rained down onto the floor, emptying out onto the training mat and across the ground over his steel-toed boots.

He sighed and checked his hologlove, it was nearly 7 in the morning, the other kids in the mountain would probably be waking up around now. He honestly really did not want to see any of them again, he wasn't used to this much constant companionship and it was starting to get on his nerves. As well as the fact he barely got any sleep that night. It was a miracle he got any sleep at all, having the knife helped but every time he closed his eyes a frightful scene replayed in his mind, jolting him awake. After having a few hours of on and off sleep he decided to do something productive without the interference of a hero. Solitude was his friend in his situation, one very rarely seen. He found himself in the training room to clear his mind, trying to pretend it was his own and Slade was just around the corner doing something Slade-y.

It sort of worked, he was calmer now, routine always helps. But everything about his situation seemed to laugh in his face, taunting him, saying how much he shouldn't be here. It all felt so wrong, like fur brushed the wrong way, nails on a chalkboard, floral and stripes.

He clenched his fists at his sides, masked eyes hardening into a sneer at the limp broken bag. Along with only a few hours of sleep, his emotions were getting a little out of hand. But for the sake of himself, he would bottle them up when the heroes came, they didn't need to know how angry and uncomfortable he was.

He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked down at his feet, sand was beginning to rest around his boots. He sighed and stepped back, freeing himself of the sand and wondering where he could find a dustpan. He also wondered who even used this punching bag, must have been either Kid Flash or Artemis, because Superboy would have destroyed it on the first punch and Miss Martian was probably too sweet to hurt an innocent bag of sand.

He walked around, checking the corners of the room for anything that could help him clean the sand up. He found a trashcan he could put the sand in, but not a way to get the sand inside. Didn't they have a closet for these things? He huffed through his nose, placing his hands on his hips as he realized he would probably have to go search elsewhere to find what he was looking for. The kitchen. He wasn't scared of the kitchen, just the possibilities that could happen there. Like social interaction.

He dragged a hand over his face, his mask hiding the dark circles under his electric blue eyes.

He walked out of the training equipment room, clearly they must have another room for team training because nothing in there was team-buildingish. He walked into the brightly lit kitchen, he had turned on all the lights when he went to go train, before his paranoia of empty spaces ran away with him.

The kitchen was empty, for that Renegade was thankful for, but not for long. It took him a second but he saw a figure in the living room, he stalled upon seeing it, he didn't recognize them at first. The figure was sitting quietly with their back to the kitchen, looking down at something in their lap. Whoever it was, was reading, as the sound of a page turning signaled what was occupying the person.

Aqualad, he finally recognized, why was he up this early reading? This made Renegade suspicious, perhaps they (the authorities (aka Batman)) knew he was awake and decided to send out their waterboy to keep an eye on him. He'd have to be careful with what he says and does now, it made a frown crawl onto his face. He had hoped for a bit more alone time to collect his thoughts before presented with the taxing job of keeping himself presentable and somewhat mentally stable.

He decided to ignore Aqualad for the time being, Aqualad wasn't hindering his process so he was going to continue with what he was doing until he did.

The young mercenary started looking around trying to find a broom or something. He even went up to the high cupboards, he knew the broom wasn't going to be up there but he figured he might as well know where everything is in the kitchen. He was laying on top of the cupboards, half his body bent over so he could see into the storage area, upside down. His hair fell with gravity, reminding him of the times he could hang on the poles in the training room for fun. Then a voice broke the silence and the resurfacing bittersweet memories.

"Hey! There you are!"

Renegade flinched at the sudden noise, thinking Aqualad has finally decided to intervene in his odd activities, but then he released the breath he didn't know he was holding in recognition. Kid Flash... again.

"Hey Ren- what are you looking for? And how did you even get up there?!" Kid Flash asked, he could hear the curiosity in his voice, but also something like fear. The young acrobat would be lying if he said it didn't make him smile.

Renegade twisted over onto his back, looking down at the speedster from his upside down position, a grin stretched across his face. "I told you, if I ever needed anything from the top shelf I wouldn't come find you."

"But what are you even looking for? Did you even sleep last night?" Kid Flash rebutted, eyeing the mercenary with both suspicion and curiosity, the presumably younger kids position reminding the speedster of a cat.

"Of course I slept. I was training in your equipment room and the punching bag exploded. I'm looking for a broom or something to clean it up, you guys have terrible equipment maintenance." Renegade lifted himself into a sitting position and turned around, letting his feet dangle from the cupboards. In his new position he glanced over at Aqualad, the Atlantean was still reading in the living room, seemingly not paying attention. Renegade knew better though. With Kid Flash present and someone to interact with, Renegade would probably be more closely monitored.

Kid Flash blinked in confusion. "Then why are you looking up there?"

"'Cuz I was bored, and I like high places." Renegade chirped with a smile. He was already tired with this conversation, he wanted to be alone again. His smile faltered as a sudden pang of reminiscing loss tore through him. But he covered it up just as quickly as it came, forcing the thoughts and memories out before he got even more depressed.

"The closet is over there." Kid Flash pointed to a hallway, dumbly looking on as the mercenary promptly flipped down and ran to where he had pointed. Renegade glad to fill his mind with things other than his current situation.

"Here?" The young acrobat scoured the hallway but found no doorway or closet-looking space. Was that a trick?

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Kid Flash asked instead, ignoring the young mercenary's quarry.

Renegade turned back and scrunched his nose at the speedster, not amused by the trick. "Why do you care?"

Kid Flash shrugged. "Just a question." Then the speedster started getting things out, the purpose soon apparent. From the fridge he acquired some eggs, from one of the lower cupboards he found a pan, and from a drawer a found a spatula.

Renegade huffed through his nose, Kid Flash had no intention of telling him where the closet was, he just wanted to get him down. The young mercenary folded his arms and scowled, he did not appreciate being tricked. He walked over to the kitchen, leaning his back against the fridge as he watched the speedster begin to cook.

Kid Flash leaned over once the eggs started sizzling, Renegade rose an eyebrow as the redhead whispered to him. "You don't have it on you do you?"

It took Renegade a moment to realize what the boy was talking about: the knife. Renegade scrunched his nose and replied in the same fashion. "Of course not." He'd be an idiot to keep the knife on his person in a mountain full of heroes making sure he didn't have a weapon. He left it in his room, specifically the bathroom vent. It might not be big enough for Renegade to fit in, but the knife was easy enough to slide in.

Kid Flash seemed pleased with this knowledge and refocused on the eggs, then spoke louder as if they hadn't been conversing moments before. "So... not even eggs?" The speedster didn't even look up from the food but raised both eyebrows in question.

"The closest I've come to a decent meal was spaghetti," Renegade said stiffly, completely ignoring the speedster's question about the eggs. It was a bald-faced lie actually, Dick loved making eggs, he just really didn't want to talk about cooking or eggs. Eggs reminded him of Slade, and so did this conversation whilst the redhead cooked. Dick usually bothered Slade while he was cooking, watching blankly as he would ramble about something the older mercenary probably thought useless, but would listen nonetheless. At this point, basically, everything reminded him of his missing father figure and that same everything proved Slade wasn't with him. It tugged at his heart.

"Spaghetti? Well, I guess some meals can't really be messed up." Kid Flash mumbled to himself.

Renegade snorted, oh how wrong he was. Dick may have avoided talking about eggs but other than the eggs he really was a terrible cook. He didn't know he had boiled the water too much and half of it sloshed out onto the stove, or that half the spaghetti seemed to burn and break when he put it in the pot. Or that while draining, quite a few noodles landed on the floor and cemented themselves there. Ever since Slade had forbidden him to be anywhere close to the tomato sauce, the kitchen looked like a bad crime scene by the time Dick was done. And Slade knew a few things about crime scenes.

Renegade must have been daydreaming longer than he thought because when he came back Kid Flash was placing two plates of scrambled eggs on the counter, shoving one in the direction of Renegade.

The young mercenary glared down at his food, he still didn't trust them. This food could be tainted with some evil drug that would make him be a hero and make him hate Slade, maybe that's what happened to Artemis. He, of course, knew that's not what happened to Artemis, but he decided to let his imagination run with it because he was simply tired of raining it in. Besides, what would the heroes do if he decided not to eat?

The eggs innocently stared back, fluffy yellow and white cooked underdeveloped chicks.

Renegade stayed still, making no move to eat the food.

Kid Flash went on his merry way, grabbing forks and salt and pepper and shaking them above his plate. When he saw Renegade doing nothing but scowling at his food, he sighed.

"Alright I don't care what you say this time, you are hungry, so eat the food!" Kid Flash folded his own arms and leveled his own glare at the young mercenary.

The boy's masked eyes flicked up dangerously and Kid Flash remembered what exactly his hungry companion was capable of. But he was adamant, he would not back down this time. "You even watched me make it, I couldn't have put anything in it if you were there." Kid Flash pointed out.

Renegade tilted his head to the side in a half shrug. "Be that as it may, I was thinking of something else and wasn't paying attention." His insides curdled at this conversation. It used to be fun, but when he suddenly remembered he had an audience, his senses heightened as his anxiety rose. Aqualad was hearing all of this, he would get curious, worse, he'd tell Batman. He silently swallowed his fear as he still had to continue this awful conversation, which, if Aqualad wasn't present, he'd be totally fine in having.

Kid Flash's face twisted in confusion, getting lost in thought didn't seem like something the mercenary would allow himself to do. The redhead sighed and shook his head, he couldn't really do anything about that, but he was determined to get the kid to eat.

"Look, I'll prove it to you, I'll eat it and then you have to admit it's not poisoned." Kid Flash grabbed a fork and started shoveling the food into his mouth.

Renegade watched for a moment, amused, evident by the small smirk gracing his lips, hiding his rising internal panic. "Of course you won't be affected, your metabolism would get rid of any poison before it affected you."

Kid Flash put his fork down and glared at him. "You're gonna keep doing this aren't you."

Renegade let his smirk grow. "Now you're catching on."

The speedster huffed and silenced in thought, Renegade was beginning to get comfortable in it when a loud computerized voice interrupted the sweet sound of silence.

"Recognized: Artemis B-07"

Kid Flash pipped up immediately, shouting the archer's name in excitement as he sped out of the room.

Renegade blinked as the wind from the speedster made him sway, his hair blowing in the speedster's direction before coming back to its fluffy unruly self. He shot a glance to Aqualad, who had not changed positions nor looked to be coming after him. It was almost worse than if he had come after him, because then he'd have something certain to fight. But just sitting there, letting the fear fester and bubble inside, was the opposite of what he needed right now.

The young assassin sighed, letting his fear go for the moment, letting himself regain some pride before the speedster and archer came back. Aqualad wasn't doing anything at the moment, he really shouldn't worry so much. His thoughts turned to the more real and current fear.

He honestly didn't know what to say to Artemis. They had quite a few things in common, but he was still on the other side, whereas Artemis seemed fully committed to this hero gig. She probably didn't want to say anything about her past anyway, and Renegade didn't want to share either.

He scowled as Kid Flash's voice reached his ears, saying something along the lines of 'comeoncomeoncomeon'. The yellow speedster came into view, dragging an annoyed (and in-costume) Artemis with him.

Kid Flash pulled Artemis in front of Renegade, their eyes met and both seemed to ignore the sudden tension underneath. Kid Flash was completely oblivious. "Alright, she's like you right? If she eats it, you have to eat it, ok?"

Kid Flash looked a little desperate, it made Renegade want to laugh but everything about his situation made the desire twist into more like a throw-up.

Artemis gave the speedster a questionable side glance. "What are you talking about Baywatch?"

Renegade snorted and put a hand to his mouth to stop from laughing out loud, his tense thoughts fleeing his mind as the sudden nickname caught him off guard. "How did Baywatch become his nickname?" He said through his hand, smiling widely as he watched the redhead sigh and shuffle his feet in embarrassment.

Artemis let her own smile rise and explained. "The first time I met him was when the entire team was here with their mentors, and he comes running in all his beach gear glory only to fall flat on his face."

Renegade let his laugher ring out, putting his hands to his gut as he doubled over.

"We're getting off-topic." Kid Flash said, his face slightly red at the recount of his embarrassing entrance.

"No this is great. Baywatch. I'm so gonna use that." Renegade said, rising to let air fully into his lungs and grinning like a mad man.

"Wait so what do you need me for?" Artemis asked, seeing the untouched plate of eggs next to Renegade and the carnage of Kid Flash's cooking around the stove.

"Renegade thinks we're trying to poison him, he even watched me make the food and he still thinks it's been tampered with." Kid Flash said, gesturing to the young mercenary who adopted a scowl and folded his arms.

Artemis blinked, then looked from the mercenary to the food and then to her speedy companion. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I even ate it to show him it wasn't but then he said my metabolism would have prevented any poison from hurting me."

"Ugh, for crying out loud." Artemis rolled her eyes and promptly stepped forward, grabbed a fork, and took a bite of the eggs. Once she swallowed she took a step back and folded her arms, glaring at the resident mercenary. "See? Nothing, now just eat already." Artemis stomped off, grumbling to herself and heading for what could possibly be her room.

Renegade watched her leave, outside, he wasn't impressed, inside, he still wasn't impressed. The odd thing that did impress him was the look of understanding in her grey eyes. It made Renegade pause for a moment, for two reasons: 1, her grey eyes startled him, for a moment he felt as if he was looking at Slade, causing a reminiscent twinge in his gut. 2, he realized she was nearly in the same boat as he was, the only difference was that she wanted to be here.

Kid Flash looked at him expectantly, Renegade suddenly felt weird that the hero wanted to watch him eat. "Fine, I'll eat, but not while you're staring like it's the first alien sighting."

Kid Flash blinked, surprised that the mercenary finally had nothing to say against the action of eating. He sighed in exasperation and turned around, grabbing his own plate and fork before sitting at the barstool.

Renegade watched and shook his head in distaste, he wouldn't be caught dead eating with his back so vulnerable like that. Especially with Aqualad so close, who knew what he could be injected with when he let his guard down. So he ate where he stood.

The eggs weren't quite on par with Slades (he was probably just biased), but he was sure Kid Flash didn't add a dash of milk like Slade did. It made them fluffier, retained juice more, and was much tastier in the young mercenary's opinion.

But he really was hungry, and he wolfed down the eggs like no tomorrow. He was sure Kid Flash was giving him an odd look but he was used to it, Slade often did the same thing. He really was missing him, wasn't he?

Renegade refocused his mind, he would acknowledge the fact he missed Slade, but he wouldn't let it hinder his ability to function. That would be bad.

Soon enough Renegade finished his plate and felt generally full, he probably could have had more but he wasn't about to ask. Sometime while he'd been eating, Superboy came in and plopped down in the living room, not giving the young mercenary a second glance.

It seemed like a normal enough silence, but Renegade could see they were clearly doing something, their faces kept changing as if they were speaking to each other in their minds. Miss Martian was absent, so he didn't know how they were doing it, but he just continued to eat in silence. If they wanted to speculate, he would let them speculate, at this point he didn't care as long as they didn't get the truth, and they couldn't without him telling them.

He wanted to return to his room now, yearning for the sweet embrace of solitude. But as one more person walked in his desire to flee (for an entirely different reason) skyrocketed.

Black Canary strode in, her black uniform covered by a brown jacket and her golden hair let down around her face. Her blue eyes were set on him, a hand on her hip as she casually stopped in the kitchen. Kid Flash looked up at her entrance, almost done with his food as he internally questioned her arrival. The speedster wasn't annoyed by her sudden appearance but actually hoped for a mission.

"You must be Renegade." She held out a hand to the young mercenary who twisted around to face her.

Renegade gave her a cold glare as he folded his arms, making no move to shake the presented hand. "If you know who I am you know I don't exactly trust the heroic type."

Black Canary retracted her hand, rising both eyebrows diplomatically. "I'm aware of who you are and what you do." Renegade outwardly didn't react, but his insides swirled with uncertainty. Sure he told Kid Flash he didn't care if he told any authorities about the knife, but really he was scared of them finding out, and knowing heroes, they practically shared everything. No doubt she was here to crack down on him, Kid Flash having sold him out. And they wonder why he had trust issues.

His thoughts were interrupted as she continued. "As well as a few finer points."

His stomach dropped, she must know, she had to.

Black Canary gave Kid Flash a glance and settled her gaze back on the stiff acrobat. "Kid Flash said you were up out of your room last night."

Crap.

Renegade remained silent, keeping his glare steady and not making any movements to reveal his feelings. But he could feel his face drain of blood, his heart beginning to thump loudly in his ears.

Canary continued, seeing he didn't deny the fact. "He told me you were rather unstable and threw around a few threats."

Renegades decided he should cut to the chase, so far she never mentioned a knife, so he would act as if she didn't know. Besides, Superboy and Aqualad were within earshot, they didn't need to know. "Don't play therapist with me, I don't open easy." Renegade snarled.

"You seemed to open up rather quickly to Kid Flash." Canary pointed out slyly.

"That's different." Renegade huffed.

"Because you were having a panic attack." Canary bluntly stated.

It shouldn't have caught the boy off guard but it did.

Renegade froze for a moment, attempting to not relive that night. He focused back on the heroine in front of him, listening more intently because he was afraid of his mind at the moment. "Good thing you calmed down without hurting anyone." She paused, but when it was clear the boy was staying silent she continued. "I won't play therapist if you don't want me to, but I'll keep in mind what calms you down. I'm actually here to collect you."

Wait. What? Keep in mind... But it was a knife! Surely they wouldn't want him to keep that, even if it was for his sanity. Kid Flash couldn't have convinced them he needed the knife when he didn't even know why himself. That's when it clicked and it nearly drew his breath away like a punch to the gut. Kid Flash lied. They'd be all over him if KF actually told them he had a knife, he must have told them something else had calmed him down. 

Renegade's gaze softened and slipped to the redheaded speedster for a brief moment before returning to glaring at the woman. Kid Flash hadn't told them. He'd just given him some time ...and hope so he could properly explain himself. That is... if they didn't pounce on him first. That's what the hope was for, Kid Flash was giving him a chance, he just hoped the adults would too. He was cautiously optimistic, but also realistic. Kid Flash was also an idiot. But for now, he would be grateful, because for the first time something had actually gone his way. This was good. Time to play along with... whatever this was. 

"What for?" Renegade asked, his thoughts still lingering on the oddity that was Kid Flash.

"Batman didn't say," Canary said, noticing the quick glance shared between the teens but made no hint that she did.

Renegades eyes narrowed. Of course Batman was part of this, he was actually wondering when the vigilante would muscle up and actually use him. He clearly didn't understand what a valuable asset he had. It was not a prideful thought, but a true one. Renegade was dangerous, but the person who ordered him around was even more so. He knew of his worth, he wasn't blind or stupid. That's why he was so scared all the time. He trusted Slade to not use him, he did not trust Batman the same way, hero or not. 

"How do I know Batman is involved?" Renegade asked, skeptical. He would always second-guess orders that didn't come straight from his master, especially if his master wasn't present to confirm. Right now his master was Batman, and Batman was doing what Batman did best, hiding.

One of Canary's eyebrows went up while the other furrowed slightly, but she was quick to return to neutrality. She was surprised and a bit concerned, that seriously was a lot of distrust. "I'll leave that up to you, if you believe me then you'll come to the library. If not, then Batman will come and he can take you to the library." Canary said simply, if not smugly.

"I didn't say I wasn't coming." Renegade pointed out. Yeesh, he just wanted to make sure this was what Batman wanted, staying in the Dark Knights' good graces was part of his self-appointed mission. A lot of good it would do him if he was shut up tight in prison, especially if Deathstroke had some sort of task for him here. (He hoped so at least, maybe... he might just be searching too hard for an explanation for all of this. He would rather it be something stupid like that than something permanent and important.)

The young mercenary turned and disposeted his plate in the sink, usually he'd put it right in the dishwasher but now he was on a time crunch. He hated how the heroine had manipulated him, but she was right, he didn't want to compromise his position by being stubborn, he knew first hand that there were a lot worse places than a mountain full of heroes.

Renegade followed Canary out, feeling Kid Flash's gaze on his back.

Chapter Text

The walk was silent, while he wasn't exactly relaxed he was a lot less anxious than before, knowing Kid Flash hadn't sold him out. That didn't stop the nerves from crawling into his skin, making him itch on the inside like he was walking to his doom rather than a simple library.

The distance traveled was short, the entrance to the library was a wide, heavy, automatic lifting door. The sigh gave the apprentice a thought, knowing Batman, there was probably a secret passage behind one of the bookcases inside. He couldn't wait to find out where, it could be a good spot to hide in if he were to become too crowded.

His mischievous thought was quelled by a sudden observation. To fuel Renegade's growing fear, the library was wide open, lots of open space, although it was rather dim.

Dim lights... lots of shadows... big open area.

Too vulnerable.

Canary kept walking in, and Renegade couldn't help but feel like a fish on a line, reeled in to be gutted and served for lunch.

On that happy imagery, Renegade was brought to a different room, smaller thankfully, but much more crowded.

Miss Martian was finally accounted for, she sat in a green single chair next to an identical but vacant chair. She sat stiffly and attentively, obviously here to pick at his brain. Again, a dead fish was brought to the young mercenary's mind.

Another being caught his attention, he would have mistaken him for Batman but he lacked the cape and the cowl, but certainly had the dark and brooding factor. The unnamed man's suit was all black, save it be the blue bird-like symbol across his chest onto his shoulders, even his utility belt was black. Now that's just bad style, Renegade critiqued.

He didn't realize he had paused in the doorway until Canary prodded him in, he nearly jumped out of his skin when she did, but he was able to minimize it to a flinch instead.

Batman-look-alike had a deep scowl and watched him with merciless eyes, if Renegade didn't know any better he might have assumed he was a bad guy, instead of himself.

"Sit." The man growled, masked eyes narrowing and head bending slightly down as if to show his dominance.

Renegade promptly sat in the vacant chair, keeping his gaze on the highest threat in the room. Renegade didn't want to show it, but he was really scared right now. This man scared him more than the Joker, more than Batman. His lungs shuddered without his permission and he grunted to hide it. His hands gripped each other in his lap as he felt his forehead begin to perspire.

Big empty room, dim lights, dangerous people.

This scene was screaming disaster, heavy on the dis. His panic was escalating to an alarming height but was able to hide it from manifesting in a physical panic attack.

Canary slid over to the unnamed man, leaning casually against the chair that the young acrobat supposed was the man's chair.

"Renegade, this is Nightwing, he used to be a partner to Batman. He is going to talk to you." Canary said. If she noticed how nervous he was, she did nothing about it. He could only imagine what the telepath was getting from him, he was in no state to mentally shield himself. "He's going to ask you some questions, Miss Martian is here to assure you are telling the truth. But don't worry, anything said in this room stays here with us and Batman."

Of course, Renegade figured as much. 'Talk to' was a bit more like 'interrogate' in this situation, this guy didn't look like he did 'talk'. Besides, they were only trying to get information from him, not much else. The question was, should he answer?

Nightwing didn't sit, he kept standing, his folded arms like a wall. A wall that was about to fall on him and smash him flat like a cartoon character.

"Canary says you don't want a therapist," Nightwing started and sat down, somehow able to maintain his aura of dominance. "You get your wish, this isn't therapy. This is an interrogation."

Renegade shrugged nonchalantly, hiding how much this man terrified him. "Figured as much."

"What caused your panic attack?"

Renegade blinked, surprised this was the first question. His panic was momentarily forgotten. Also, didn't he just say this wasn't a therapy session? Well, actually, if he was in their position he too would ask. Answering would be a good idea, but details wouldn't be necessary. With this amount of pressure crashing back down on him, he was surprised he didn't break right then and there. C'mon Grayson, you got this, Slade wouldn't put you here if he didn't think you were capable. He talked himself out of freaking out, but his face couldn't help but redden.

He barely drew a breath when he spoke, feeling a bit breathless even though he knew he was probably close to hyperventilating. "A combination of things, triggers I guess," Renegade answered vaguely, almost mumbling, eyes lowered in an attempt to keep a lid on his internal panic. He had no idea how much he should reveal, Deathstroke literally left him flailing in the deep end, with only the advice of 'if you want to' to help.

Nightwing's stoic face didn't change. "Triggers made by Deathstroke?"

Renegade's eyebrows furrowed, that possibility never even came to mind. Deathstroke would never purposefully make him afraid of something, every fear Renegade had was his own. Deathstroke helped him much more than he ever hurt him. So why did everyone think everything wrong with him was Deathstroke's fault?

"Not really." He grunted out, a bit put off by the attack on his mentor.

"Then where are they from?"

Renegade clenched his jaw, he refused to share that information. Afraid that if he opened his mouth, the horrors would all spill out. He didn't want anyone finding out, he only trusted one man with that information and that man sold him to the heroes.

"Fine. We'll do this a different way." Nightwing growled. "Do you enjoy killing?"

Renegade didn't answer for a few seconds, still in rebellion to the first question, but then his chest expanded and he spoke. "Enjoy is... a strong word. I don't DISlike it, but enjoy seems a little too maniacal for me."

"Then let's use a different word, how about 'agree with'. Do you agree with your mentor's methods of problem solving?" Black Canary butted in. Renegade wanted to point out she was totally playing therapist but he found a better use of his vocal cords in answering her question.

"Absolutely, yes." Renegade smiled.

"So you don't condone killing?" Nightwing returned to the conversation, eyes ever set on the murderer's apprentice.

"I condone unnecessary killing. But things die, and whether it's by my hand or someone else's, they're still going to die." Renegade reasoned with a shrug.

"And what's happens when you don't agree with Deathstroke? Does he punish you?" Nightwing asked. His voice, if it were possible, became slightly softer. 

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

An 11 (and a half -he insisted) year old Dick jumped around a tall mercenary, clapping his hands and grinning wildly. Slade clad in his Deathstroke armor watched with a certain fear in his eye. This child's excitement about moving to a new base was startling and a little frightening to the one-eyed man. This happy of a Dick Grayson wasn't too common of a sight in recent days, Slade could hardly get mad at him even if it was just a little too much. 

"Alright, let's not get too excited," Deathstroke said, trying but not trying to calm the boy jumping for joy.

"Let's go! Let's go! Where is it?!" Dick yelled, running around the edge of the roof they were standing atop of, as if he could see his destination even though he lacked the knowledge to even know what it looked like.

"You'll miss the surprise if you're too busy being excited," Deathstroke said warily, the child's joy was exhausting to watch. Didn't he ever get tired?

"Is it bigger? Do I have my own room? Can I bring Matthew? Do we bring anything? Does it have a trapeze set?" Dick paused his rambling to gasp loudly. "What about an actual kitchen?!" Dick rose from his crouched position on the lip of the building as he grinned at the disgruntled old man.

"Yes, it has a functioning kitchen. Now get off the edge of the roof." Deathstroke said. Having eyed the boy throughout his excitement, he noticed the boy became steadily unaware of his surroundings. If the boy were to misstep where he was, he would fall into the alley six stories below.

"YES!" Dick threw two fists into the air in celebration.

Only to fall backward.

And scream.

Quick as a snake, Deathstroke lunged forward, grasping at Dicks coat collar before hoisting him up onto the roof.

The boy fell to the ground, his body numb with his near death experience, no doubt the memory of his parents' horrible death replaying in his mind.

"Dick, I told you to get off the edge." Deathstroke reprimanded with a small glare.

The shaky ebony haired boy didn't seem to hear him, his wide crystal blue eyes staring blankly at the ground in front of him. The boy was still in shock when Deathstroke stepped closer, angrily looking down at the boy.

Dick's eyes flicked to the man towering above him, his breath caught in his throat as a hand came up. He flinched away and buried his face in his arms, drawing up his knees to protect his vital organs.

What was supposed to be a supporting hand to help him up was viewed as a scolding hand to beat him down.

Deathstroke withdrew his kind gesture as he recognized the reaction, his frown deepening, knowing exactly what was the cause. Deathstroke knelt down slowly, taking off his helmet and speaking softly to the huddled bundle of jacket and dirty jeans. "Dick, it's all right, it's just you and me up here on the roof. But we shouldn't stay here, we need to go to our new home remember? The one with the fully equipped kitchen."

The boy's watery eyes lifted, staring at Slade's unmasked gray eye before nodding slowly and sniffing up his boogers and whipping away his tears. He stood up numbly, giving the roof ledge a scared glance before shuffling closer to the now standing mercenary.

He reached up and grabbed Slade's gloved hand, swallowing down the rest of his fear. Slade would keep him safe. 

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

"Renegade," Nightwing said impatiently, snapping his fingers in front of the frozen mercenary's face.

The acrobat blinked, all traces of the trance-like memory gone. What was that? His gaze snapped to the telepath next to him, "Did you do that?" He accused the Martian, narrowing his eyes, but she seemed surprised by the accusation.

"Renegade." Nightwing brought his attention back to the interrogation, but the anger in the young mercenary's eyes simply moved to a new target. "You blanked out for a moment, you were remembering something weren't you. Does the idea of punishment scare you?"

Nightwing was pulling his information and questions from experience, one of the reasons Batman himself wasn't here talking to Deathstroke's apprentice instead. Batman figured with Damian's past being somewhat similar to the boy's, he'd be more likely to get more out of the young mercenary.

Renegade scrunched his nose. "No." Punishments didn't scare him before, he didn't know why it would now. Or why he would suddenly have a very detailed memory come back up and replay in this very inopportune moment. It wasn't even about punishment! In fact, it was quite the opposite, Slade had warned him and he hadn't listened and would have died there if Slade hadn't saved him. There was nothing about punishment in that memory at all! Well, maybe that was the point. Latching onto Slade was pretty much instinct when scary stuff happened, so maybe it wasn't too surprising that was the memory that got replayed. It was probably the martian's fault, everything here seemed to agitate him. He really must be fragile if a simple prod from a telepath forced him into such a strong flashback.

Now not only was Renegade nervous, but he was also irritated. Nearly all of his triggers were just waiting to be pulled and everyone was convinced all his problems were Deathstroke's fault. He had to convince them he wasn't the bad guy. Well... he is a bad guy, but in this scenario, he wasn't the one doing bad. It made sense in Renegade's mind, but he knew the heroes wouldn't understand.

"Deathstroke would never do anything to hurt me without purpose," Renegade mumbled, his eyes lowering to the ground as he tried to figure out a way to make the heroes see it without compromising his own position. They'd have no proof unless he split everything that happened to him, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"You think fondly of him." Miss Martian said softly, glancing at Nightwing before settling her aburn gaze on the suddenly stiff mercenary. Renegade couldn't do much about how much the Martian sees, his mind was still a bit broken and crumpled, his mental walls were better now, but they still had holes. Not to mention she probably saw his memory, it was so strong, like he could have reached out and touched it.

Renegade was quick to respond to this question, eager to prove Deathstroke's innocence.

"Of course I do. He raised me, I'm not going to hate the man that-" Renegade caught himself, staring blankly at the ground, his face morphing into surprise with a hint of fear. He was going to say 'saved' but that would imply there was a time he wasn't with Deathstroke, and the details on that time of his life he would not share, even if his life was on the line. That secret would die with him, and the world would be better for it.

"The man that?" Nightwing prompted, noting the young mercenary's reaction to his own statement.

Renegade clenched his jaw and let the silence speak for him. His face heating up as his anger and fear grew.

Prompted telepathically by Miss Martian, Canary stepped in again, leaning forward a bit to make her intrusion. "Why do you hesitate? What do you fear from sharing your past? We just want to help."

"I was better off with the murderer." Renegade hissed, glaring at the heroine. These people had no idea who he was, what he'd been through, they had no say on how he should live his life. If there was ever a time where he wanted to drop kick a person, it would be right then.

"You seem irritated," Nightwing noted. The boy didn't realize his anger was showing a lot more than he probably intended. His fists clenched on the armrests, a snarl-like glare that showed his teeth was pointed right at him.

Renegade stood up, throwing his arms into the air, alarming all three heroes present. "Of course I am! Literally, EVERYTHING about this situation irritates me! The no weapons! The lack of privacy! The constant mental probing! This giant mountain itself annoys me! Deathstroke took better care of me in four years than this hole of heroes in less than 24 hours!"

Wait.

Renegade shut his mouth, eyes widening just a bit. His wildly gesturing hands stilled, and he sunk back into the chair as realization dawned on his face.

He leaned forward and held his head in his hands as his wide eyes gaze stared blankly at the floor. "No, no nononono! Are you serious?! This is the mission!?" He exclaimed angrily. He sat back up and crossed his arms, glaring at the ground and not meeting any of the heroes' gaze. "Not. Whelming." He grumbled under his breath.

Nightwing was the first to speak, giving the young mercenary a second before starting his barrage of questions the kids' outburst created. "What mission? Why did Deathstroke send you here?"

The mat of ebony hair looked up for a moment, when his masked eyes saw all the heroes on edge the corner of his lips twitched up weakly. He would have laughed but the weight of the situation didn't seem like the right time. Nightwing looked ready to leap from his chair and strangle him, Canary slipped into a more maneuverable stance, and Miss Martian was stiff, eyeing him warily.

Renegade sighed, losing his smile but not returning to the glare, his face a bit more sad-looking than anything. "He didn't. He sent me to Batman. Batman put me here. And my 'mission' here, apparently, is to open up. Deathstroke said something to me right before he left, he said my past was mine to share if I choose to do so."

Nightwing turned to Miss Martian, she nodded, the first visual clue Renegade caught that they were conversing telepathically. But he knew they'd been doing it this entire time and he couldn't do much about it, even if he wanted to.

Renegade continued after the pause, taking a deep breath. "...There is too much stimuli here, too many things that set me on edge. I can't survive here without opening up and letting someone who isn't Sl-Deathstroke help me. That's the point, that's the mission. I'm here because Deathstroke wants me to face my fears, and that includes sharing the fears I can't conquer by myself."

The heroes relaxed, each in their own sense of awe, this boy was much more mature than they thought. But still a child, and Deathstroke must know it too if he was sending him here to take care of it rather than do it himself. Although all of that in and of itself was confusing. Deathstroke cared enough about the kid to raise him but not deal with his trauma and then hand him off to someone else? Was that really caring? Sounded like Deathstroke didn't want him anymore and gave it the guise of a mission to Renegade. And... Renegade was blind to it. And now they were back again to the reoccurring problem, this child trusted Deathstroke too much. 

The young mercenary looked up and Nightwing didn't need the Martian to know the boy was in pain, he could see it in his masked eyes. He wore a weak smile, his stance saggy in the chair as he rose a gloved hand in a pathetic wave. "Robin Wilson. I might as well just tell you." His smile was quick to disappear and his eyes drifted down again.

"That would make Slade Wilson Deathstroke." Nightwing deduced. Batman and company knew Slade Wilson was Deathstroke, but he said it just to make sure they were talking about the same Wilson.

Renegade nodded mutely.

Nightwing was about to ask a question when a telepathic warning from Miss Martian stopped him.

'Wait, he wants to say something, just give him some time to get the courage to speak. I haven't touched his mind at all, it's too fragile to be mentally attacked, but his thoughts have been leaking. He needs to get this out on his own.'

Renegade clenched his fist at his side, wishing he has something to fidget with, preferably a knife. His gaze flickered upwards a few times, this fear was really getting to him, he just needed to spit it out. "I- you-..." he paused and swallowed thickly, the gulp audible to even the non-super ears. "Y-you are part of it." He got out, and immediately he regretted it and wanted to hide.

"Part of what?" Nightwing asked. His first thought would have been a grand scheme Renegade and Deathstroke were cooking up, but the earlier information from Miss Martian told him otherwise. His second and probably more plausible idea, Deathstroke was simply dropping him off and now they had to play clean up to the severed ties Renegade had built up for Deathstroke. Doing that to a child, Nightwing couldn't imagine Deathstroke actually cared. 

Renegades chest shuddered as his breathing drew short and he forced himself to swallow down his fear for a moment. "My fears. I-I've always been afraid of heroes... taking me."

"Why is that?" Canary responded with a question, "Are you afraid of the consequences you would take responsibility for or the actual hero?"

Robin replied curtly, "I have no guilt for my actions." Then his gaze wavered and he grew quiet again. "...I'm afraid of being away from Slade."

Nightwing's eyes narrowed as his disgust increased. For sure option two then. Just as he suspected. Robin was too dependent on Slade, and now that he's not there, Robin was in shambles. It made Nightwing sick, Stockholm syndrome was not something he ever wanted to see in a child. Deathstroke really was as cruel and merciless to string Robin along just to drop him here where he knew all his fears would come true. Although Nightwing couldn't get rid of the nagging 'why', because what on earth would Deathstroke gain from this? That could only be answered by Deathstroke himself, and Nightwing already knew he would hate the answer. 

"Why?" Black Canary asked, her gaze on the young mercenary not exactly soft, but it wasn't as hard as Nightwing's glare.

"B-because he saved me, he took care of me, he taught me everything I know. He's the only person I trust." Robin said sadly. The statement reminded him that the only person he trusted was no longer here, he left him. Just, left him. Gone.

'He really misses Deathstroke... it's like he can't function without him.' Miss Martian noted worriedly, giving the young boy a sympathetic look.

'And that would be Deathstroke's fault.' Nightwing stated with distaste. 'This might be more serious than we thought since he's so clearly still very much attached to his abuser.'

'Stockholm?' Canary asked, a knowing look in her eye as she glanced quickly to Nightwing before returning her kind gaze to the resident mercenary.

'Stockholm.' Nightwing confirmed, still glaring but it wasn't meant for the kid.

Canary gently spoke up, leaning forward in an attempt to be more diplomatic. "Well how about we help you, Slade isn't here-"

"I know he's not here! Everything tells me he's not here! You don't understand, I don't want any of this." Renegade cut off Canary as he grew angry again. A look from Miss Martian kept the vigilantes in their seats as the young mercenary continued to cry out in anger. "I never wanted any of this! I didn't know I would be sent here, I didn't- I don't, I don't know anything! I don't want or need your help! I was perfectly happy with Deathstroke!"

Once his spiel was done he folded his arms and looked away from the heroes, silent tears slipping under his mask.

"Robin, calm down." Nightwing reasoned, "That is in the past now, whatever relationship you had with Deathstroke is over. You're here where it's safe now and that is what matters."

"I should be in control of my own life," Renegade growled, still not looking at the heroes. "Shouldn't I decide where safe is for me?"

Nightwing found his way in. "And that's why we're here. We want to give you a chance to live outside of Deathstroke. Just because he isn't here doesn't mean you aren't safe."

Robin snapped his head to the vigilante, if they noticed the tear streaks on his face they didn't mention it. "He's not the one that- mmph" Robin growled and restarted, "It's not his fault I latched onto him, he was the first person to ever be nice to me without any ulterior motives. He doesn't use himself to make me do things, he doesn't control me."

Nightwing felt sad, this poor boy was so confused even though it was so clear cut. More prevalent though, was his anger. He shoved both feelings down, because neither of those emotions would get Robin to understand that Deathstroke was abusing him. Nightwing leaned forward and linked his hands in front of him as he propped his elbows on his knees. "Then why do you do everything he says? You said it yourself, you don't want any of this to happen, but you allow it to because Deathstroke ordered you to."

"That's different," Robin said with a huff.

"How so? Does he have leverage over you? Are you trying to protect someone by following his orders? Does he only give you what you want after you do favors for him?"

"No! He's not... he's not that type of guy!" Robin fumbled, knowing first hand how much of a lie that was.

"Yes, he is," Nightwing said, almost sadly. It was difficult to watch such a young and obviously smart boy be blinded to the obvious.

"He's not to me." Dick grumbled and folded his arms, leaning back as he grew tired of this conversation. They wouldn't see it, they couldn't, and he was unwilling to make the sacrifice to show them how wrong they were.

"...Robin, have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?" Nightwing asked, almost gently.

"What." Robin blinked for a moment, confused, then angry. "You think... no! No no no! Ew no! He's like a dad to me! Ew no! I think I just threw up in my mouth. Heck no! I like him because he helped me, he didn't kidnap me. I wasn't forced into anything!"

Nightwing rose an eyebrow, kinda like a warning. Robin was talking as if Slade wasn't his father, 'like a dad' is different than 'is my dad'. Of course, Nightwing knew Robin (if that even was his real name) wasn't Slade's blood son, Batman had determined that ages ago. Although Robin wasn't saying 'is my dad' so he had to have some deeper cut off from Slade that was holding him back from being all out Stockholm. If Robin really believed Slade was his father then they would have a whole lot more work cut out for them, but there seemed to already be a crack here and it was as good as place as any to start chiseling away at the shroud Slade had cut Robin off from the rest of the world with.

"Kidnap? You weren't with Deathstroke before?" Canary asked. She was aware he said 'didn't kidnap me'  but that still insinuated that he left somewhere to be with him. 

Dick felt the blood drain from his face. Crap.

Dick drew a breath to deny it, but one look at the Martian and he deflated. She would rat him out in a split second if he tried to lie here. "Deathstroke... he... he isn't my actual father."

Nightwing, not at all surprised, asked the important question. "And Robin Wilson?"

"An alias, I use it just the same as I use Renegade," Robin grumbled looking down, clearly upset he had let his heritage slip.

"Then who are you really? Who are your parents?"

The young mercenary gave the heroes an incredulous look. "You really think if I was with Deathstroke that my parents are actually alive?"

"How did the apprenticeship start?"

Dick hung his head, rubbing his face with one hand as he answered. This was a mess. "He saved me, that's what I was going to say earlier... He... he raised me, I'm not going to hate the man that saved me."

"What did he save you from?"

"The streets..." Dick couldn't look up to meet their gazes, hoping the martian didn't call him out on his technicality. 

'He's not lying... but there's more to it than just the streets, he's hiding it. Should we ask about it?' Miss Martian asked, wondering what on earth the boy could be hiding that was worse than what he's already done.

'No, we should push our luck right now, at the moment it doesn't matter.' Nightwing said, they were making progress, pressing him could shut him up. But it was an area that needed further exploration, just at a different time.

"We want to help you too," Canary said. "Deathstroke isn't someone who should be around kids, his lifestyle isn't something that a child should be living."

"I like living with Slade. I've lived his lifestyle for years. I'm fine with it." Robin protested with a frown like he couldn't imagine Deathstroke was a bad role model.

"You need to be around kids your age." Canary continued. "Be a kid for once, a teenager, not a mercenary or a killer."

Robin stayed silent. He didn't want that. He wanted Slade. But the thought was now tainted, Stockholm didn't always mean romantic love, it could be an abusive relationship. Is that what this was? Is that why he was so weak without Slade?

He pushed the thoughts out as soon as he thought them. Slade was his friend, his father, Slade helped him much more than he ever hurt him. No relationship was perfect, he liked his and Slades relationship, it was fun. Slade gave him everything he needed and barely asked anything in return. Slade didn't force this life on him, he chose it. It was the only choice he had. 

"How old are you anyway?" Miss Martian asked, sensing the resolve of the young mercenary was strengthening instead of crumbling. Though she could see there was a sliver of doubt now inside, this resolve he had wouldn't last long the more he thought about it. They would simply have to wait for him to come to the right conclusion. That would apply to the entire situation as a whole really, trying to convince him too soon could hurt his progress and so far they've taken the first small step. Hopefully, the seed of doubt would grow and finally break him out of the trap Deathstroke wove around him. 

"13," Robin answered quietly, still deep in thought.

Then it was silent.

Canary furrowed her brows and looked to Miss Martian. 'What's going on inside his head? He is more subdued than usual.'

'He is thinking." She reported, 'He didn't like what we said about Stockholm. He is clinging to his view of Slade like a lifeline, but eventually, he will face the fact that Slade isn't who he thought he was. I think deep down he knows it too, but he's ignoring it because there's so much other things going on in his head. He's getting overwhelmed.'

'We need to replace Slade with something else, something better. I think the first step would be to help with his triggers, find out what they are and at least make him able to be here without having a panic attack.' Nightwing said.

Canary agreed, deciding to speak first. "For right now, how about we get a better understanding of what causes your panic attacks."

Robin didn't seem to hear her at first, but then he slowly looked up and drew a deep breath. He surprised himself by actually answering, feeling too wrung out and stretched thin to actually combat it. He wasn't sure why he had to though, why not tell them his triggers? In the back of his head he remembered saying 'don't play therapist with me' but he ignored it. "Big... open spaces I guess... Large rooms make me feel in danger. When I can't avoid an open room I try to keep my back against the walls, I feel safer that way."

The boy was very monotone, it made the heroes frown, but they couldn't do much about that right now.

"What would Slade do to help you with this?" Canary asked. She actually didn't want to know what a mercenary would do, but they had no way of attempting to help without knowing first what helped him before.

"Simple. I just avoided big rooms. I'm fine outside though, there's buildings and allies, not just vacant openness."

"Would it make you feel better if someone was in the room with you?" Canary inquired, hoping to at least try and keep the panic attacks from happening.

"Not really, unless it was someone I trusted," Robin stated blatantly.

Canary's gaze grew soft, "Is that why you had a panic attack when Kid Flash was with you in the kitchen?"

Robin hung his head, immediately uncomfortable with the new topic. "That... was... something else. I'm not a big fan of people in general... especially ones I don't trust. Kid Flash startled me and my mind went somewhere else. To something... really scary." Robin said, looking down into his lap where he played with his hands. "I... I just never had these issues before because Slade never triggered them." Robin mumbled, then he glanced up hopefully, "...W-what did Kid Flash say calmed me down?"

Canary frowned while Nightwing's eyes narrowed. "Do you not remember?"

Robin didn't look up but said a simple word, "Please?"

Canary let out a concerned sigh and answered. "He said you calmed down once he gave you some space and you left to your room."

It was Dick's turn to sigh, hoping he wasn't making a mistake by telling the truth. "He lied." He honestly would never even touch the subject if it wasn't his mission. He would've gladly let the lie die with him when the time came, but if the mission was to open up, he had to be honest and hope they understand.

Black Canary frowned while Nightwing folded his arms. Miss Martian blinked in confusion as she knew the speedster wasn't one to lie, or lie well enough to fool a Leaguer.

"A knife. Holding a weapon calms me down." Robin revealed sadly. "I-I still have it."

"Where." Nightwing didn't ask, he demanded, eyes narrowed on the fidgety mercenary.

Robin drew a quick breath as his stomach dropped, he was such an idiot. "No, please! I-I need it, I-I can't..." He swallowed down the sob rising to escape him, even though hot tears were already freely falling down his face. He recoiled from the heroes and pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his ankles and burying his face in his knees. He was such an idiot to trust the heroes.

"Can't what?" Canary asked, raising an arm in front of Nightwing who began to stand up, planning to search the boy.

Robin only cried for a few minutes, not trusting his voice. Canary let him get it all out and made Nightwing sit back down. She mentally scolded the vigilante. Like Miss Martian said, Robin was fragile, he didn't need to be roughed up. Not in this state.

"Robin?" Canary asked once the boy's cries had died down.

He flinched and drew in several deep breaths that didn't actually help him calm down. "I-I can't... I can't sleep without a weapon... p-please, I-I need it."

"Why? Why do you need a weapon to sleep?" Canary asked. She had heard people needing odd things before, but a weapon was new.

Robin shook his head, simultaneously whipping his face on his knees and burying it more.

"Robin, did Slade make yo-"

"NO!" Robin cried out, snapping his head up, "no... h-he didn't."

"He is lying." Miss Martian said sadly, her brows furrowed as she read his thoughts.

"NO. No no! you don't understand the context! I needed that! If h-he hadn't helped me... I'd be... I'd be..." Robin hiccuped and sobbed, no longer caring that he was breaking down in front of the heroes. "I want to go home!"

"Robin, Robin it's alright. Besides a weapon, what calms you down?" Canary asked, starting to reach out to the boy before thinking twice and staying still.

"S-Slade... he knows... I want to go home... please?"

"Robin we can't do that, you need to calm down."

Robin looked up, unbridled fear and tears streaming from his face. He whispered to himself, shaking his head as his mind went a million miles per hour, "No... no no nonono..." He scrambled to his feet and jumped out of the chair, heading to the door of the room.

"Miss Martian!" Nightwing shouted.

M'gann jumped into action and twisted around, rising a hand as her eyes glowed green. Robin crumpled to the floor with a thump.

Canary came over and picked the boy up, he hadn't even made it to the door.

"He is so unstable," Canary said, looking down sadly at the limp boy in her arms. "Whether he knows it or not, Deathstroke has him good."

"I'll contact Batman, he needs to be here," Nightwing said, raising a hand to his ear comms.

"How do we help him?" M'gann asked, "He is afraid of us."

"I don't know M'gann, he will get better with time, but right now he needs sleep." Black Canary said. She walked over to the chair and laid the boy down in it. Even when he slept he looked anxious, his muscles were tight and his face was contorted in fear.

Canary and M'gann stood there for a moment, observing, when Nightwing came up next to them.

"Batman is on his way. If he really does have a weapon, we need to know where it is." He gave the martian a side glance. "Miss Martian?"

M'gann grabbed her own fingers, looking down at the mercenary before her. "I-I don't think that's a good idea, he is unstable enough as it is."

Robin jerked up with a scream, startling the three heroes in front of him.

The boy was a flurry of motion, trying to sit up but ended up falling out of the chair. After hitting the ground he stayed low and scrambled away from the other people in the room, fear rolling off of him in waves. He didn't head for the exit this time, he hunkered down in the corner of the room, crying and curling up on himself.

The three heroes stood quietly for a moment in shock.

Something was wrong, very wrong with this. Robin had looked at them and saw enemies to be feared, but not in a way a mercenary should, but in the way a child would. He hadn't truly seen them, he was just scared, screaming, crying, with no cause and no sign of stopping. All they could do was stare, because every movement made the boy cry out harder. 

"So that's why he can't sleep without a weapon..." M'gann said softly, staring at the huddled form of the 13-year-old boy sobbing uncontrollably. His thoughts were being screamed at her, there were so many so fast she couldn't focus or read any of them. All she could do was listen to his tortured mind. Blood, needles, blank expressionless faces with just holes for eyes. Screaming, blood, knives. A fountain, a raging man soaked in blood, endless white rooms. Fire, crying, a dead child.

"Not again... Not again... Not again..." The teen hugged himself and pressed himself further into the corner.

The three heroes finally tore their gaze away from the boy when the door to the room opened and the Dark Knight entered.

Batman quickly took stock of the situation. "I thought you said he was knocked out." He growled out as he stepped closer to the ailing boy.

"He was, earlier he told us he couldn't sleep without a weapon in hand, he woke up moments ago and hasn't said anything cohesive. Deathstroke has him practically by the throat, Stockholm syndrome." Nightwing reported, folding his arms next to his mentor and father.

"If we give him a weapon now, he's going to use it. We are his enemy." Batman said, looking down at the young broken mercenary.

"He says he has one, when we asked where he started panicking," Nightwing said.

"It's not with him, it's in his room," Batman said. "He wouldn't risk keeping it on his person."

"...What do we do?" M'gann asked, getting increasingly worried and uncomfortable for the boy breaking down in the corner.

"I'll worry about that. You can return to the team." Batman said gruffly.

Black Canary took her leave too, gently pulling the young martian with her. Soon it was just Batman and Nightwing observing the boy.

"There's more," Nightwing started, but then was cut off by the Dark Knight.

"You can report later, is there any information relevant that I should know now?"

"He has a phobia for large rooms, he said keeping his back to a wall helps," Nightwing replied stiffly. "He also mentioned being afraid of people in general, but I think there's more to it than that. Either Slade conditioned him to stay away from other people or something happened before he got to Slade. Physical abuse, I'd wager, possibly sexual but we'd need more evidence to pin that one down."

"Alright, thank you, you are dismissed."

Nightwing watched a moment more before turning to leave, leaving Batman alone with the terrified boy.

Batman studied the boy's position. Fetal, protecting vital organs, afraid to be hit. Physical abuse for sure then, His head was buried in his arms atop his knees, body shaking with sobs and unchecked air regulation. Batman recognized this position, but given who the boy was, he wasn't sure he could get him out of his panicked state.

"Renegade," Batman said, stepping closer and lowering himself to crouch in front of the frightened boy.

The boy scrambled back as far as he could, which wasn't much, and ducked his head even more.

"Renegade you're alright. You're in the Young Justice headquarters, in the library. Just me and you." Batman continued, softening his voice so the boy wouldn't think him a threat.

"T-th-they're gonna c-come b-back, th-they're gonna t-take me!" The boy sobbed into his arms.

"No one is taking you anywhere," Batman assured, although unsure of who Renegade was talking about.

"P-please! I-I don't wanna go!" Robin begged, his head rising just enough for Batman to see his red face and tear-stained cheeks.

"It's going to be ok Renegade, I won't let anything happen to you."

The boy exploded from the corner and latched onto Batman, fresh tears streaming down his face as he hugged the hero tightly as if he was afraid he'd be ripped away from him. Batman was startled for a moment but he hugged back, there was definitely something wrong here.

"I-I'm so scared Slade..." the ebony-haired boy hiccuped into the vigilante's chest.

Batman froze.

Renegade thought he was...

"Renegade... I'm not Slade." Batman said slowly.

Robin froze, eyes widening as pure fear enveloped his body. A scream ripped from the boy's throat, he began to wiggle and kick at the vigilante. His attempts had no effect, but he relentlessly struggled to get out of the arms of the vigilante, grunting as he screamed.

"NO! NOOOO! SLADE! HELP! NO! PLEASE!" The young acrobat cried out, fear driving out all logic as desperation settled in.

Batman tightened his arms around the boy, making sure he couldn't scramble away. The man sat back so Renegade couldn't escape, unaffected by the boy's struggling. He didn't want the kid to hurt himself, didn't want him to run away and hurt someone else, didn't want him to get hurt at all. It was heartbreaking, he was just a kid looking for safety even as he fought the hero. Batman was going to keep his promise though, he wasn't going to let anything happen to him. Robin sobbed, eventually falling limp as he ran out of energy and his attempts to flee were in vain.

"Renegade I'm not going to hurt you." He promised, minutely shifting trying to get the hug to be more hug-like rather than restraining (while still retaining restraining qualities). The boy only whimpered in his arms, feeling more like a dead weight than a child. It didn't last long however, he was trying to trick Batman into letting go. Soon he was wriggling again, but more lethargically with less power but with all the determination. 

"Slade isn't here." He continued, talking did seem to be helping a little, "But that's okay, it's okay that Slade isn't here." The child let out a whine, a primal instinct of fear and desire. Batman tried to soothe him. "You're alright, you're not in trouble,"

He seemed to settle after that, Batman was cautious. He relaxed slightly but tightened his grip again when the boy tried to bolt. Robin cried, weak and fearful, his mind still too numb with terror to fully ingest what Batman was saying.

"Renegade. Here is what is going to happen." Batman started and the boy tried to shift under the vigilante's steel grip to no avail. "I'm going to trust you with the knife, you can keep it."

Dick let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, going completely limp in the Dark Knight's arms. He felt numb all over, his mind was going to fast for him to comprehend. He was so scared. Caught in the arms of the enemy, while his mind replayed vicious memories, unable to help himself. And the only man he trusted was nowhere in sight and wouldn't ever be again.

"IF, you promise to not hurt anyone with it, including yourself." Batman finished.

The ebony-haired boy shuddered and slowly he placed his arms back around the man.

"...O-okay...ok-okay..." Dick muffled into Batman's chest. Everything felt too fast but also too slow. Too numb, but too sensitive. Slade wasn't here, his mind cried in despair. But Batman was.

Batman slowly released the boy enough so he wasn't being crushed but didn't let go. "You're alright." He repeated, moving a gloved hand along the boy's gently shaking back. "You're alright."

Renegade curled up on Batman, tightening his own grip on the vigilante and finally regulated his breathing so he wasn't hyperventilating. He stayed there, hiccuping every now and then and whipping away itchy tears. Batman moved his hand up to the boy's head, gently scratching at his hair and began to slightly rock to and fro. It had worked on his other boy's traumatic episodes, he hoped it worked here. 

When Renegade eventually stopped crying Batman looked down at the mat of ebony hair he was met with. "I'm going to let go now, are you going to run?"

Renegade shook his head, releasing his grip around the man as the grip around him released. He sat up and then sat back, sitting on the ground numbly while he regained feeling in his limbs. He didn't meet Batman's gaze but could feel the man's eyes burning into him.

"I understand you're homesick," Batman stated, and Robin nearly started crying again. Instead, he bit his lip and swallowed down the tears. He was done crying. He had to be stronger than this.

"And I'll trust you with the knife, if you can trust me," Batman stressed as gently as he could, "You aren't here just so we can beat you and lock you up and call it a day. That's not what being a hero is about. Maybe you have done bad things, but if I don't believe in change then what good am I doing as a hero? We don't want to hurt you, Renegade, and we aren't going to. We want you to be free and live the life you want to live, outside of being a mercenary."

Renegade took a few deep breaths before answering, his face felt so hot and the cold air was really startling after being squished against Batman. "O-okay..." His voice was groggy and sickly. No surprise there really, considering how much he had cried in the past hour or so.

"Will you look at me?" Batman asked, his voice still uncharacteristically soft.

The mat of ebony hair lifted, red-faced and still teary-eyed, but Renegade locked eyes with the man. He swiped at his running nose but kept his eye contact. "I- I don't follow orders because I have to, I follow orders because I trust the man giving them. I don't... I can't trust you the same way I trust Slade," He continued, looking down once more but his voice grew stronger. "I don't trust a lot of people, for good reasons too, but..." The boy rubbed his arms as if he were cold. "I can try. I-if you can trust me when it comes to things about me. Like the knife."

"I'll keep that in mind," Batman said, allowing a small smile to rise on his features.

Renegade scoffed, lowering his head again as a smile rose on his face too.

"What? I can't smile?" Batman asked, his tone lightening. An odd experience for the boy who had only known to fear the vigilante.

The young mercenary rubbed his face, trying to get the smile off unsuccessfully. "You remind me of Slade." He mumbled. "Wasn't much of a hugger, but was when it counted."

Batman stayed silent for a moment, unsure if he should be grateful for the parallel or concerned. "I know this is going to be hard for you, but would you at least give us a chance?"

Renegade sighed, looking up once more, making a sad smirk known. "Sure thing Boss. Just... don't get mad at Baywatch."

Batman frowned and grew curious. "What did he do?"

It took him a moment because apparently Batman knew Kid Flash's nick name was Baywatch, which was funny for some reason. Then he explained with a slight drawl, "Welllll... he lied for me, honestly the first thing ever done for me here. He understood how important to me the knife was, he didn't sell me out, which I thought he would."

"Kid Flash huh?" Batman mused, thinking.

"Yep." The young mercenary looked down at his hands, confused now as to what to do. Did he just go back out? What was he supposed to do during the day? He wanted a nap, but he was a bit too scared to try again, even with permission with the knife. 

"He and I will definitely have words," Batman said gruffly, then changed the subject. "You think you're ready to go?"

Renegade perked up and gave him a lopsided smile. "With a knife? I can do anything."

Batman frowned at him.

"I didn't say every situation needed a knife." Renegade rolled his eyes. "But that doesn't stop the knife from being there."

Batman grunted and stood up, Renegade following his lead on shaky legs. A lot of crap just happened, but not all of it was too bad, right? He had just been gutted for information and had a panic attack in front of heroes who think his dad is abusing him. Worse, they got him thinking it too. Then he panicked so bad he regressed and thought Batman was Slade. How embarrassing... but for now his heart felt a little lighter. Because banter, banter was good. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Slade shoved the magazine into the gun before sharply cocking it and slinging it over his shoulder. The mercenary slid two deadly katanas into their sheaths with a slither of metal on leather. He grabbed a few extra knives and placed them in their hidden slots, then reached for a long orange band and tied it around the top of his forehead. He grabbed his two-colored helmet with a clunk of his metal armored glove on the helmet.

He twisted around and left the room. He stalked down the empty concrete hall, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, white lights highlighting his graying hair.

Slade rose the helmet to his head and clicked it on, the tails of the bandana clamped in place by the leather strap that made the mask isolated and filtered.

Deathstroke kept his steel-gray eye straight ahead as he plodded along. He paused when he saw an open door to his right. He gazed into the room for a moment, observing scattered belongings and crumbs over a rumpled bed.

He shut the door and moved on.

Deathstroke emotionlessly ignored the vacant second motorcycle and headed for his own vehicle. He pressed a button on the hidden panel on his glove, the ground slightly rumbled and the air reverberated with the grumbled sign that the hidden door to the garage was opening. Deathstroke swept a leg over his seat, settling comfortably on it before kicking up the kickstand and revving his engine.

Deathstroke tore out of the garage, speedily gaining ground as he felt the wind rip at the bandana trailing behind him.

He allowed the song of tires on asphalt and guttural roar of the engine to engulf his ears, silently driving until he was free from the shadows of the underground base. The high noon sun beat down upon his dark suit, soaking up the heat but easily cooled by the high speed wind his acceleration created.

He drove lazily but not uncautiously, weaving between cars, people in allies, and the garbage strewn about Gotham's streets. Cars honked at him, a few people screamed, most stayed out of the way of his speeding. Probably because when a one-eyed armored man on a motorcycle is screaming towards you, you keep out of the way.

He let routine guide his motions, his eye single to one goal.

He slowed as he drew closer to his destination, hitting another secret button to open the gate. Deathstroke crept into the small garage, cutting the engine to roll in silently.

He lifted the kickstand with his foot as he slid off his mechanical mount, eye gazing around out of habit to secure his surroundings. Everything was the same, just a bit more dirty.

A few rusted blades hung on the wall, a strip of small bombs in their rightful place. A layer of dust coated the counters and weapons, and the ground had a considerable amount of dirt and grime. Nothing surprising, simply logical after not being used in a few odd years.

Deathstroke didn't pay attention to the details as he climbed the creaky stairs worn with age. The paint was peeling off the walls, some places even had ragged holes where the walls were hit by something. Some were suspiciously shaped like bullet holes, others slash marks of a blade. Scuff marks littered the walls and floor, but Deathstroke had seen it all before and paid it no mind. The mercenary turned to a hallway, the carpet matted and unrecognizable. His footsteps thumped against the once mahogany carpet as he came up to a familiar door.

He stood in front of it for a moment, staring at the not-so-white plastic planks of painted wood.

He violently kicked the door open before stepping calmly inside, eye scanning for any sudden movement.

Deathstroke entered a familiar room, but paid it no heed as he walked forward to a cracked and hazed window. On the wall opposite to the window a slit in the wall held no interest to the mercenary, neither did the giant bloodstain around the slit. He didn't even glance in that direction as he looked down and ran his gloved fingers along the ledge of the window. Then he pried his fingers under the pane and lifted. The window gave way and it opened until it skidded to a stop, the window refusing to shift more than halfway. The mercenary climbed out of the stuck window, boots clunking against the metal fire escape.

He gazed around once more before sending a look upwards. Deathstroke climbed with ease, rising to the roof of the building he remembered so well.

His boots grated on the graveled ground as he stalked forward, a slight wind blowing at his back. Deathstroke stopped at the edge, gazing out onto Gotham with a stern glare.

He placed a foot on the lip of the roof and leaned forward to rest his elbow on his propped knee. The sun slowly dipped, but it was still early, much too early for Deathstroke or Batman to be out and about. But Deathstroke was here, glaring at the world, ready to do what he did best. Vengeance.

Tuning out the rest of the world, Deathstroke stood in deep thought. A gentle breeze tickled the bandana near his legs, then a particularly strong gust pulled the orange fabric away and it rippled in the wind.

"For a mercenary who prides himself in secrecy, you were rather easy to find. Slade." A woman's voice purred.

Quick as lighting, Deathstroke grabbed a katana and slid the blade under the woman's throat.

She only smiled, red lips tilting upwards as she let out a contempt huff of laughter. "You're fast tiger," the black clad woman slid under his blade and danced delicately out of harm's reach. "But I'm faster."

Deathstroke changed his stance, eyeing the woman as he lowered his blade but made no move to sheath it. The woman in black had a mask over her face, covering everything but her lips and cheeks, although a wide stretch left her emerald green eyes uncovered.

"What do you want Selina," Deathstroke growled, not in the mood for the crazy cat lady's antics.

"Where's the cub? Usually you have him bending to your every thought and whim." Catwoman taunted, raising an eyebrow at the stoic mercenary.

"Renegade isn't here right now," Deathstroke replied curtly. "If that's all you wanted to know, now get off my roof."

Selina leaped to the side and perched herself on an air conditioning unit, tilting her head to the side as her bottom lip turned up in a pout. "Is the birdie sick?"

"He is on his own assignment right now," Deathstroke replied gruffly and took a heavy step towards the woman. "If you're finished here then get. Off. My. Roof."

Selina slid under Deathstroke's deadly glare, positioning herself at the edge of the roof. "Cranky are we? But I've got a little something for your mini, I tried to give it to him on the day but you left too quickly to notice." Catwoman slipped a hand behind her back, clearly getting something from her belt, and pulled out a small brightly wrapped box.

Deathstroke didn't waver, staring the woman down as his hand clenched on his blade.

Catwoman rolled her eyes and extended the present to the mercenary. "Fine, If you're so adamant that he stays locked up then you can give it to him." She tossed the small box into the air and Deathstroke barely moved to catch it, a single hand grabbing the box from the air, not unlike the cats Selina was so fond of.

Deathstroke only looked down to the present for a second before snapping his attention back on the woman, his glare intensifying. "Renegade was never locked up." He tossed the present back, Selina caught it and looked down curiously before returning her gaze to the mercenary.

With eyes half-lidded as she nodded, Selina totally believed him. "Mmhm, sure Deathy, sure." Then she blinked as something was made apparent to her, "was?"

Deathstroke didn't react to the question, seemingly frozen. "Yes. Was. Past tense."

Selina stood and folded her arms, putting the box back in her belt and giving the mercenary her own glare. "Is he locked up right now? He's just a boy! You have no reason to drag a child with you on your 'missions', you're going to get him killed one day!" Catwoman lowered into a crouch, ready to leap at the mercenary. "Where is he. And don't play games with me Deathstroke, I will find him eventually." She hissed, voice rising as her anger grew.

To her surprise, Deathstroke pointed the tip of his blade on the ground, laying a lazy hand on the hilt and letting out a deep sigh. "He's gone."

Catwoman blinked, confused. "Gone?" Her face twisted into a nightmarish rage, her crouch becoming more deadly as something like a hiss came from the back of her throat. "If you mean dead I'm going to rip every-"

"He's not dead. Like I said before, he's on his own assignment. I can't get to him, if you want to deliver your present then you'll have to find him some other way." Deathstroke grunted and twisted away, returning to his brooding at the lip of the building, glaring blankly at the horizon.

Selina cocked her head to the side, curious about the mercenary's behavior. Her stance relaxed and her face lost its sneer, instead her lips twisted up but didn't reach her eyes, a sad smile replacing her anger. "You miss him."

Deathstroke didn't meet her gaze, "If that were the case I wouldn't be here right now."

Selina stopped a snort from escaping, she may not know this man well, but she knew this place's significance. That's how she found him in the first place. Of course Deathstroke would come here if he missed his mini, this place was the beginning.

Selina slid up next to him, humming her agreement. "Mmhm, you'd be doing what Deathstroke does best, but you're not." She tilted her head towards the towering mercenary, "So what has the little cub gotten himself into for the big old tiger to stay away?"

"If you want to find him, Batman is your best bet." Deathstroke disregarded her question, opting to change the subject.

"Batman? Little cub get caught?" Catwoman asked, twisting her head to the landscape as she thought.

"In a way," Deathstroke grunted, shifting his footing.

Selina picked up on the lie, noticing the mercenary had shifted position uncomfortably. "It's your fault isn't it."

"Renegade made his choice."

"That kid would give you the world if you asked him to. I see through you Slade, I know what's really going on and I don't approve." Selina folded her arms, glare returning to bite at the mercenary.

"Do you?" Deathstroke asked, turning until his eye looked at the woman dead on. "Well that's none of your concern, the boy is mine, I'll do with him whatever I please."

Selina grew hot with anger, pointing a furious finger at the mercenary. "And THAT is why I'm glad he is with the heroes now! At least he's away from you and your sick master-apprentice subjugation!"

Deathstroke only looked at her, his steel-gray eye unyielding to her green glare.

"I'll find Batman, I'll find Dick, and you can't do anything to hurt him ever again." Selina snapped, turned heel, and stormed off the roof.

Deathstroke stood and watched the woman leave, observing her receding shadow across the rooftops.

"What makes you think I hurt him?" Deathstroke quietly asked the empty roof.

Deathstroke sighed and leveled his gaze to the horizon again, sheathing his blade and folding his arms in frustration. They had no idea, none at all. Selina saw what she wanted to see, Deathstroke just never gave her reason to doubt herself.

The mercenary's mind was made up. It would take lots of planning and diligence, he had a week, he was sure it was possible. He only had one chance, he was going to make sure it counted. Step one was in Gotham, and he knew exactly where to look.

Deathstroke dropped down the two-story building, landing with a slap of his boots on the grimy alley floor. He stalked up to the garage, claiming his motorcycle once more as anger and hate tore through him. Usually Renegade could diffuse him, but he wasn't here, and that only fueled his rage.

Rage was only good for one thing: focus. Too much rage was bad, but just the right amount can make the most impossible feats possible. 

Kicking up the kickstand, Deathstroke flew out of the garage, making sure to hit the button to close it once he was out. He blasted through the streets, again cars honking and people shouting in surprise graced his ears. The rumble of the engine mimicked his internal rage, growling and lashing out, driving him to greater speed and greater focus.

He slowed down as he neared his destination, or more accurately, the spot he would stake out in to watch his target. This abandoned street was less than abandoned, many people still lived here, the houses just weren't cared for anymore. Homeless people gathered here, sitting in allies with their meager belongings, struggling to survive every day. But one house was untouched by homeless hands, sure the house was as unkept and grimy as the others, but it was vacant of all life except those permitted.

Deathstroke slid behind the building across from this apartment building, his target would eventually take residence there.

Then his plan to free Dick Grayson could begin.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o-

Batman escorted Renegade out of the library, Renegade would have been offended by such action but after that emotional ordeal he decided to keep close to the vigilante in the giant rooms he had to cross.

Again the walk was silent, but the young mercenary was comfortable in this silence, more of a time to collect his thoughts and stray emotions before having to be sociable. Miss Martian would probably be confused, he honestly didn't know when she left, he didn't remember much actually. One second he was running for his life, the next he was hugging presumed-to-be-Slade-but-was-actually-Batman. That, and the unrelenting terror that came with those emotional scars.

When the duo entered the kitchen/living room Renegade noticed Black Canary and Nightwing were missing, but the team -including Miss Martian- were collected near the couch, probably discussing him.

He inhaled deeply and steeled his stance, he may not be as ...stable... as he was with Slade, but that didn't mean he couldn't accept help from other places. Even if they were the enemy.

On their way to the group, Batman leaned over slightly and asked, "Think you can handle this?" But before the mercenary could answer he straightened and called out to the group of young heroes. "Team." Batman drew the group's attention their way and pausing the conversation before Renegade could pick out individual words spoken. The group was weary, sending Renegade odd looks of mixed pity and suspicion. Kid Flash and Miss Martian looked the most sad, while it was the others who were more suspicious. Renegade's eyes flicked up to meet Kid Flash's but were quickly averted because instead of Kid Flash being the one who sold him out it was Renegade who spilled the beans. It was very much possible Kid Flash would get in trouble because of him, and the guilt was nibbling at him.

Renegade still had to answer the vigilante, he had just questioned his ability, and Renegade wanted to be quick to dispel any doubt. The young mercenary twisted his head to answer, half folding his arms and pointing a thumb at himself. "I am perfectly capable of..." his eyes glanced around and his voice died in his throat while he felt heat crawl up to his cheeks.

Everyone was looking at him.

He felt his throat tighten with fear and he shuffled his feet uncomfortably. They probably heard what he had said, they would be curious, and- wait a second... Batman was planning on telling the team, wasn't he? He thought it would just stay between them. The young mercenary felt his stomach churn in unease as he realized this fact.

Batman laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, pulling the young acrobat from his quickly panicking thoughts. "Go get your item while I explain to the team."

Renegade nodded dutifully (and without shaking thankfully) and sidestepped around the team, heading for the hallway that housed his current abode.

Batman watched him leave, eyeing the boy for a second before turning to the inquiring team.

"What item does Renegade require?" Aqualad asked, sending a distrustful glance at the retreating mercenary's back.

"A knife. Something Kid Flash was aware of but didn't warn anyone about." Batman settled a glare to the speedster, the other team member's eyes widened at their teammate. Wally, out of all of them, the blabbermouth, was not one they thought ABLE to keep secrets. Wally gulped as his eyes widened too, his mind recalling perfectly the item of which Batman was referring to. "Which was incredibly dangerous, irresponsible, and irrational."

Wally felt his face heat up as the confusion in his teammates grew. He just did what he thought was right, Renegade didn't need a bat breathing down his neck while being so... panicky.

"Otherwise, good job."

Wally's head snapped up, clearly surprised.

Batman elaborated. "It was a risky move, but rightly decided. Renegade trusts you, and cares about your trust, however thin the foundations are."

Wally rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, still worried because he disobeyed the Bat but he was getting praised for it. "And that's a good thing?"

"Yes, the mission is still on, just slightly altered. We suspect Stockholm Syndrome. he has yet to give us a valid reason why he is so loyal to Deathstroke and his dependency on the mercenary is apparent now that he is away from him."

Artemis seemed most affected by the news, looking down with a frown and her forehead creased in anger. She had a way out from her father's clutches, she couldn't imagine actually WANTING to be in the clutches. That was messed up, even for a murderer. Wally just took the information in stride, thinking back on the information he knew it made sense. This information was nothing new to M'gann but was only confusing to Connor and Aqualad.

"And what of the knife?" Aqualad questioned.

"He's has at least three panic attacks since coming here, the only comfort we can give him that isn't Deathstroke is a blade," Batman said, glancing over to see if the resident mercenary was coming or not. "He feels if he has a weapon he can defend himself, if not, he goes into a panic."

"Isn't that dangerous? He could kill us in our sleep." Connor pointed out, folding his arms angrily.

"That is where trust comes in," Batman responded gruffly. "Kid Flash already knew about the knife Renegade swiped from the kitchen, and since he didn't say anything about it to me, Renegade has a reason to trust Kid Flash. But trust is a two-way street. Renegade and I made a deal. We are to trust him with the knife, only a knife, and he is to trust us that we aren't out to get him as he believes." Batman explained.

"So..." Wally drawled, extending a rolling hand to help explain his confusion, "what's that mean for the mission?"

"It is the same, information, but specifically about Slade Wilson, Deathstroke. We ne-" Batman cut himself off when he saw M'gann raise her hand slowly and sheepishly.

Taking his sudden silence as a green light the Martian began to talk. "He said his name was Robin Wilson, but then said it was-"

"An alias." Batman finished, nodding slightly. "That is why you will be trying to get information about Slade, if you figure out when Slade acquired an apprentice we can narrow the search on his true identity. Part of the deal was for him to open up, he may be reluctant at first, but he needs to talk about his life before Slade."

"Right," Artemis said, nodding in determination as she internally wanted to roll her eyes. Getting Renegade to talk about his personal life was going to be difficult. "Get the murderous teenager to talk about his probably traumatic and twisted life to a bunch of heroes. Piece of cake." She shrugged.

Batman was not amused by her sarcasm. "You are more capable of this mission than you think, a teenager is more likely to approach a teenager than a teenager is to approach an adult with any problem."

"But this teenager never had another teenager." Wally pointed out, remembering what Renegade had said about not getting out much.

"Then he will learn," Batman said.

"I'm more of a hands-on learner." Renegade spouted, suddenly walking up, a small smile on his face but his stance was a bit guarded. When he stopped next to Batman he furrowed his eyebrows. "What are we talking about?"

Batman ignored this question, instead he asked his own. "Got it?"

Renegade nodded, slipping a hand up and half brandishing the knife in his fingers. "Yep." He glanced at the other teens, seeing them tense. "And they um..." He trailed off, not really knowing what exactly he was trying to say.

The poor kid was screaming social awkwardness.

"They know, they're to keep an eye on you among other things." Batman supplied, watching the boy gently shift farther away as if to escape their combined stares.

Kid Flash recognized the tension and casually tilted his head in question. "So what do you want us to call you? Robin or Renegade?"

The young mercenary slightly stiffened but he easily relaxed again, rocking back on his heels and lowering his eyes. "Either is fine."

Then it was silent and awkward again.

Half the teens looked to Batman, wondering if the big bad bat was going to intervene and at least lead them in the right direction. Batman was a stone wall, this was their mission, clearly they were to know what to do. The other half had their eyes set on Renegade, but everyone was aware of the sudden undertone of awkwardness that befell them.

Renegade was ready to panic and just leave. He fiddled with the knife in his hand, twisting it between his fingers and gripping it between hard and soft to alleviate some of the nerves. If he hadn't gotten the knife he would have left the conversation by now, he didn't know exactly what he was feeling right now but he didn't like it.

Miss Martian finally broke the silence, although a little haphazardly. "Um, Renegade, what do you eat for lunch?"

The boy jumped back to reality, seemingly from deep thoughts and wasn't expecting to be called upon. "Uh, sandwiches?"

She hovered slightly and smiled warmly, "Then I'll go make that." She flew off to the kitchen a few feet away and started getting out materials.

Wally chose this moment to butt in because no conversation starter was better than food. "What type?" He eagerly asked the boy, a giant grin on his face.

Renegade rose an eyebrow, a bit concerned as to why the speedster thought this was so important. "...Peanut butter and honey...?" When he was met with odd stares he bit his lip and looked down. "Or regular peanut butter and jelly is fine too."

Wally saw his face fall and was quick to correct the boy's assumption. "No no, peanut butter and honey is fantastic! I was just surprised." Wally said quickly. Honestly, it did surprise him but he was digressing. "My favorite is ham and cheese." With a grin he then walked to the kitchen and waved Renegade over, the boy hesitated and glanced at Batman for a moment before plodding quietly forward.

The rest of the team followed, spouting their favorite sandwiches. With a joking comment from Renegade, Aqualad professed his seafood tastes, turns out fish are a food source in the sea. But only enough for eating, and in designated fishing sections. Soon everyone knew a bit more about Atlantan fishing and food procedures than they liked. Some fish were friends, others were food.

Batman watched as most of the team gave the mercenary a wide berth, but Wally seemed to dive right into being next to the kid. Wally would make some dumb comment with a grin and Renegade would respond likewise, but his stiff stance and roaming eyes never ceased.

Renegade would find his place, Wally was doing a good job making sure he wasn't put on the spot too much nor faded out of the conversation. The boy would fumble with his words, a heavy breath releasing every time attention turned away from him.

The knife the boy held so dear was fit snugly inside one of his arm sheaths, a quick draw. It would be too easy to slit the throats within the room. Batman was wondering if he was being too lenient with the mercenary.

'I don't follow orders because I have to, I follow orders because I trust the man giving them.' Bruce remembered.

This entire mission was a trust exercise, a shaky one at that. The boy would try to trust them, but they HAD to trust him with the knife. Batman couldn't decide if that was fishy enough, it definitely put the heroes at a disadvantage, but that might be the key for Renegade to trust them. Either way, someone had to show their belly first, and even though Renegade broke down in the library, he felt as if it was himself who backed down first.

Batman watched a moment more, the sandwiches were made and the team was currently chewing. Renegade was eyeing Kid Flash as he ate at light speed, an almost concerned (or maybe disturbed?) look on his face.

Then Renegade made his own comment, saying something along the lines of 'is that what I look like when I eat?'  Then followed up with a mumbled 'no wonder Slade gives me weird looks'.

Batman wanted to stay, he wanted to ask every question, comfort every ailment, correct every wrong within the child. But that was not for him to do, that was the team's mission.

The Dark Knight spun on his heel and ghosted off, his absence only being noticed by the paranoid mercenary.

The vigilante let his mind wander as he made his way to the Zeta Tubes. His hand clicked in Gotham coordinates by memory, his mind adrift in thought. The boy has lots to do, and probably little desire to do it. But he still would because of one man. Deathstroke was a manipulative opponent, planning, scheming, every action had purpose however unconnected they may seem.

But this puzzle piece he couldn't fit. There was a whole PERSON hidden from him for who knows how long. A person who was a victim but didn't know it, which always makes it harder.

Who would know? Who had known about Deathstroke's apprentice? No one even gave a vague hint until The Joker spouted it, but he treated it like old news, the network of villains must have known. But who would talk? Who would give him information?

"Are you just going to stand there all day?" A tired voice asked.

Batman blinked back into reality, realizing he had returned to the Batcave.

Timothy Drake sat at the giant screened Batcomputer, cradling a coffee mug and slouching in the comfy chair. Scruffy black hair hung over his eyes and his school uniform was replaced with more comfortable clothes. The man grinned as The Dark Knight was shaken from his brooding, knowing full well how deep Bruce could get into the zone. One time he and Damian had a little brotherly competition to see what ridiculous thing they could do while Bruce was under the 'brooding spell' and not get caught. It grew a little too dangerous when Tim told the spaced out Bruce 'I'm on fire' but Damian came up behind him and actually set him on fire. Tim didn't speak to Damian for a week after that, Damian had no regrets.

"Home from school already?" Batman asked, walking forward and pulling down his cowl tiredly.

Tim groaned and threw his head back. "Uuughhhh, college is a bore." He said, closing his eyes as if ready to nap right then and there. "I was hoping something bad would happen and we'd get to do something."

"Tim, we don't want anything bad to happen," Bruce stressed with a small smile as he drew closer. He stalled behind Tim, resting a hand on the chair's back and scanned the screen, finding it blank. "Find anything interesting?"

Tim grew a wicked grin and seemed to burst to life as he threw his hands onto the keyboard (after carefully placing the holy lifeblood of teenagers and college students (and bats) onto the desk of course). Bruce silently hoped it want anything too dangerous.

The screen flicked to certain pages, the billionaire recognizing the page layout as their security camera hacking system. It was rather easy in some cases, the Batcomputer had access to almost every single security camera in Gotham. But this camera wasn't in Gotham.

Tim chuckled evilly as live feed came up in an all too familiar room. 

The young team of heroes were scattered in the virtual living room, but the most interesting person was standing alone in the kitchen. Renegade stood, leaning back on the kitchen counter, his face looking out but his eyes were occupied, his mind clearly somewhere else. A frown stuck on his face, the mercenary seemed oblivious until a certain redhead popped up and the ebony-haired kid grew a more relaxed stance.

"This is very entertaining," Tim said darkly, watching the screen as he put his hands together and drummed his fingers against each other.

Bruce gave a worried glance to his adopted son, then dismissed it as he brought up the issue the young mercenary was. "What do you think? Something bigger is clearly going on but I don't know where to look."

"I think Renegade is a smol bean and must be protected." Tim deadpanned.

Bruce blinked, he was not expecting that. "What?"

"Look at him," Tim said, gesturing to the screen as if that explained everything. "Take away all the layers of mercenary training and he's just a kid, a bright kid at that. He's lost, Bruce. You know just as well as I do that Wally has a great sense of character. If he's warmed up to the mercenary, and the mercenary doesn't want to kill him, then I have hope."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, squinting at the dark figure on the screen. "Hope? But not anything more solid?"

Tim shook his head. "I'm not convinced about the Stockholm, granted there are arguments that can go either way, but he's got more Stockholm for that knife than he does Deathstroke."

"And what does that have to do with his 'smol noodle arms' Drake?" Damian said, appearing behind them, coming from the training room. His mask was off but his suit was still on, his forehead covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Tim growled a grunt and turned to face his adoptive brother. "I'll have you know his smol noodle arms are wonderful." The younger vigilante hastily turned to the computer, going to a certain time and freezing the frame. He zoomed in on the mercenary while one of his arms was extended. He gestured to the screen violently, throwing both arms out to the slender shape that was Renegade's arm. "Look at that noodle! You can't look at that noodle and NOT think it's ADORABLE! Looklooklooklooklook." He sped to the keyboard again, this time zooming in on the mercenary's face. "Look at his messy floof and his squishy lil cheeks!"

Damian and Bruce stood silently, both unsure how to take this information.

"Drake." Damian declared. "You have issues."

Bruce could only agree.

"This child is adorable you can't deny that, I'm not stopping until you agree," Tim said, throwing a pointer finger at the older vigilante, not even denying his elder's previous statement.

Tim set to work again and Bruce rose an eyebrow. Tim went to the time the team, including Batman and the mercenary, were talking together.

"Right here," Tim paused and zoomed in on Renegade who was mid-shift and his eyes downcast, Bruce then noticing the child was biting his lip. "He's so small. It's adorable." Tim put his chin in his hands and stared up at the screen.

Bruce decided that was enough oddly specific observing from Tim. "Alright he's young and that makes him cute, there is a line here that shouldn't be crossed," Bruce warned.

Tim scoffed. "Pshhh, this isn't creepy, he's just a cute kid. And he really shouldn't stand next to tall people, that makes him even more adorably small."

"Back to the pressing issue," Bruce said, leaning over and zooming the screen to its original size(much to Tim's distaste). "My concern is how long Renegade was hidden, it was only when the Joker told me about it did I actually have anything solid to go off of. The villains knew, but I don't know who would know and who would clam up."

"Why would the Joker know something so under wraps, he doesn't keep secrets unless it benefits him." Damian pointed out. Tim sat back, mind now churning with ideas.

"Deathstroke doesn't really have a set base, does he? But it's the villains in Gotham that know, Renegades only been seen in Gotham. So he must have one in this city, I wouldn't be surprised if he had multiple." Tim said, looking up to Bruce who was scowling in thought.

"We can't go after Deathstroke. Besides, even if we know he's in Gotham, that doesn't tell us much." Bruce responded.

"Talkative villains would be most of the girls, Poison Ivy, Catwoman, Harley even. We could start with them." Damian said, adopting the same scowling face Bruce owned.

"But how would we know they have the information?" Tim asked.

Bruce straightened, running a hand over through his cowl-hair, "We don't." He turned to the changing room and slipped his phone from one of his many pockets in his belt. He left his sons to continue bickering as Tim decided to fawn over how small Renegade was again and Damian was ready to snap his neck. The vigilante dialed a number and lifted the cold phone to his ear.

"Selina, I know this is your emergency number so I know you'll get this. Bruce Wayne has a few questions for you, he's going out to a late lunch at his usual place." He hung up and glanced over at his sons, catching the last bit of their argument.

"That's disgusting Damian, he's like a cute dog or cat." The younger professed with a scowl.

"That's killed people." Damian pointed out bluntly.

"Bruce loves you." Tim retorted with a scrunched nose and folded arms, a toothy grin spreading across his face

"Why you little-" Damian was about to lunge at the adopted member when Bruce came back and put a hand between the boys.

"How about we get to the bottom of this?" Bruce said, knowing both boys were curious about this boy, both wanted to figure it out and save the child. Bruce looked to Tim, a thought crossing his mind. "Tim, set the cameras to last night, around midnight, the kitchen cameras."

Tim rose an eyebrow but obeyed, the screen buzzed as the scene changed and an empty dark kitchen was presented to them.

"Fast forward a bit." Bruce prompted after a few seconds of watching the eerily quiet scene.

Still, the kitchen was empty.

All three detectives narrowed their eyes. Something wasn't right here.

Damian spoke their unanimous deductions aloud. "The feed has been tampered with."

"Had to have been an inside source," Tim said with a frown, putting a hand to his chin. "You think Deathstroke could have poped in?"

"No, this would be Renegade's doing," Bruce said with a frown.

"How did he hack it? He has no tools, you took them all right?" Tim asked, looking to his guardian.

"I did," Bruce grunted. "I'll ask him about it later. For now go to the library, around 30 minutes ago. I want to see what happened before I came."

Again the screen changed and the three vigilantes watched as Damian, M'gann, and Black Canary 'interrogated' the young mercenary.

They watched silently, but not without feeling anger and concern every time the poor boy flinched or stuttered. The atmosphere in the room darkened every time Renegade raised his voice, epically when he started to plead with the heroes. Pleading for relief of a pain they caused but were not the source.

Once the boy started sobbing each Bat's jaw clenched with unease. Bruce turned away, heading for the stairs as the boys continued to watch the continually upsetting feed.

"He's so small," Tim whispered as he witnessed the boy curl up on himself and scream in unbridled fear.

Small, vulnerable, and alone.

Tim couldn't stand it. Renegade was one mystery after another, but he could just tell, he didn't deserve all the trauma he had, all the crap he was going through right now. Tim wasn't a field hero too often, but it was kids like Renegade that made his drive to get out there and find all the abused children and get them to safe warm loving arms. 13 was so young when you're an adult, but 13 was too close when your wife is pregnant. The reality check of having his own kid made him look at other kids differently. Having his own kid made him think of his own childhood and his parent's parenting skills. It made him think of all the things he wished happened to him, all the things he wished he was spared. And when he looked at Renegade he saw a kid while everyone else saw a mercenary, a killer, a slave to Deathstroke.

What Renegade needed was for someone to treat him like a kid for once, and love him, because that's what he was. He was just a scared kid sidled with too much responsibility and trauma. If Tim could help that even by a little by not expecting him to be perfect, Tim would take the constant chastisement from his family that scoffs at his infatuation with how much of a child Renegade was. Children grow to be the product of the situation that raised them. Renegade grew up too fast, everyone seemed to be forgetting that his brain wasn't even fully developed yet, hadn't even hit puberty. If Renegade were to get better, he needed to be reminded he was still allowed to be an innocent child and grow properly. Surrounding him with other kids was a good idea, now if only the other kids could get over their own prejudice and see the hurting child underneath the mercenary. 

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Bruce Wayne rose a steaming cup of hot chocolate to his lips, icy blue eyes flicking up to see if Selina had dropped by yet.

The restaurant was quiet and only had a few occupants, a pretty slow business considering this was how packed it was during lunchtime. A single brown-jacketed man wearing a corn gold baseball cap sat on the bar, close to the cracked and bulky TV hanging in the corner. A person in which Bruce paid no mind. Of course this place got most of its action at night, but that had nothing to do with Bruce Wayne.

The little restaurant was a bit out of the way, near the docks of Gotham. It was small and a bit rustic, but it had it where it counted. The food was glorious, and it was the one place Bruce wouldn't be swarmed by the paparazzi. On a totally unrelated note, Red Robin (and perhaps a Bat) could be seen hanging around here with a coffee cup sometimes.

Bruce paid the Mexican owner handsomely to keep the paparazzi at bay, the man was generally a good man, although in Gotham everyone had a dark side. He said he used the money to send his son to school, and generally Bruce believed him, and the restaurant itself had become a bit better after a few new odds and ends.

Bruce even decided to low key protect the place as Batman as well, even if it was Red Robin who mainly used the place at night. Batman occasionally came by, sometimes Nightwing in tow, but oftentimes they all came separately.

Normally he would be worried about speaking so openly in such a common area, but he knew this place too well. For one thing, the owner wasn't very observant and wasn't even at the register most of the time, but he came out when the bell at the door rings. Secondly, the TV was always blearing and made it hard to hear conversations out of close range. This place was safe to speak of secrets.

The billionaire re-adjusted his seat, shifting his feet under the table and settling the cup down to warm the other side of his hands. The detective was just a tad skeptical about Selina, he wouldn't be Batman if he wasn't. Selina was a wild card really, as being more of a thief than a murderer she was more prone to messing with him and his boys than helping.  She was a bit more unpredictable when it came to out-of-suit situations, but generally she could be counted on. In-suit was a lot easier since she was usually out on the prowl for some odd pricey relic, out of the suit her motives were a lot harder to place.

So it came by little surprise to see the sleek figure of Selina Kyle walking up to his booth.

Bruce set his warm mug down, sitting up straight as Selina slid into the booth opposite to him. She wore tight clothing, not surprising, in a shade of gray and a long strapped purse hung on her shoulder. A nice jacket adorned her shoulders, soft gray fur covered the cuffs of the sleeves and around her neck, going down across her chest to where the jacket ended. It was winter in Gotham, even during noonday it was rather chilly. Hopefully there would continue to be no snow for a few more weeks, but that would be a foolish wish. 

"You really do like this place don't you?" Selina asked, green eyes glancing about from the stained floor to the cobwebbed corners of the restaurant. The red and white theme inside was rather dirty, the white was barely recognizable and was mostly assumed as a gray. The red rugs were dark in some areas and lighter in worn spots. The booths were comfy enough, although the red cushions were cracking and nearly every booth had stuffing leaking out of them.

Bruce smiled, nodding his affirmation. "Best hot chocolate this side of the docks."

Selina snorted delicately, "And the other side?"

"They don't have a good enough hot chocolate place," Bruce said with a small smile, looking down and stirring his cup by slightly moving it around in tiny circles.

"You said you had questions. But I'd like to first ask one of my own." Selina said, her eyes flicking up to Bruce's icy orbs.

Bruce half shrugged and lifted his cup to his mouth. Selina often asked questions, usually pertaining to something she wanted to steal. He would shoot her down and they'd talk about something else.

"Where is he?"

Bruce blinked in surprise by her dark tone, her passion clearly stated by the paradoxical fire in her cold hard glare.

Selina? Miss-beat-around-the-bush going straight to the point? That was unusual. Call it gut instinct or his detective abilities, he knew she was talking about Renegade. Her question brought up plenty of his own,  but now that he could bypass formalities and make a beeline to his answers.

...Hopefully

"Safe, if that's what you're worried about," Bruce answered, setting his cup down. Bruce let a bit of the bat slip into his face as he matched Selina's cold glare, grunting out his own question. "How did you know I had him?"

To his surprise, Selina perked up, shimmying in her seat happily. She reached down and dug into her purse, talking as she did so. "I was originally trying to find him to give this to him." From her purse she pulled a small box, she set it on the table triumphantly while Bruce rose a suspicious eyebrow. "But I found a tiger instead, he had the audacity to sulk. Sulk! As if he can feel sad for losing a cub that wasn't even his." Selina scoffed, folding her arms angrily and pouting.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, mind swimming with the new development. Deathstroke was in mourning for the loss of Renegade? That seemed a little far fetched, Deathstroke wasn't one to show emotion like that. Then again this kid has been with him for who knows how long, which both intrigued and worried the Bat. Bruce knew not to underestimate the power of companionship, as much as he didn't want to admit it Deathstroke probably would feel loss from this sudden arrangement, especially if the amount of time spent together was long.

But then begged the question. How did Selina fit into the picture?

"What are your ties to the boy?" Bruce asked, again lifting his warm cup to his face. To the side he realized the yellow-baseball capped man had shifted positions, laying his head on his hand lazily, Bruce pushed this observation to the side as he refocused on the woman in distress.

Selina grew soft, her gaze falling to her hands in her lap. "Slade has had him for a while, I didn't meet him till three years ago, but I recognized quickly what Slade was doing to the poor child." Selina's hands clenched into fists, her fire returning but with a mournful aura. "Renegade plays it off as all in good fun, but he was trained to obey, and obey he does. He has no idea how much Slade has ruined him. The child goes out with him, killing and drug deals, he's barely a teenager!"

Bruce eyed the man across the room, checking just to see if he was bothered by (or more importantly hearing) Selina's ranting. "Is he close to you?" Bruce asked softly, soaking in the information. Selina was convinced then, she had no doubt it was Stockholm. The detective decided he needed more information from the boy himself for him to decide anything though. There was an astounding amount of evidence backing each side, with every new look at the issue he only gained more and more uncertainty.

Bruce snapped back to attention as Selina continued. "He's barely allowed out, pale as a ghost you've probably seen. He trusts me at least. He tells me he chooses to be with Slade, to follow his orders, but I can see the fear in his eyes, it's covered and deep. But it's there."

"I've seen it." Bruce nodded, "but it doesn't seem to be directly from Slade."

Selina's lips drew a fine line on her face. Clearly, she didn't believe him. To her, everything was the mercenary's fault.

"How is he?" She asked gently, changing the subject as her eyes flitted upward.

"Three panic attacks minimum in the last 10 hours since I acquired him."

"That son of a-" Selina silenced herself as she squeezed her fists, glancing over to the only other occupant in the restaurant as her voice was much higher than the TV. She drew a deep breath and relaxed as she let it out. The woman's hard gaze shifted to Bruce, but she held no malice for him, but for the sad situation that was harming her little bird. A situation she could do nothing about but watch. "I'm glad he's with you at least. If I could I'd take him myself, but we both know how much taking care of children is difficult."

Bruce nodded, thinking of the times Selina had 'adopted' (*cough cough*stolen and tried to convert to her evil ways *cough cough*) (multiple times) (*cough cough*) his sons and how she didn't like them after a few hours of harassing. "Think he can get better?"

"If treated right. He's delicate, he needs someone who isn't Slade, but Slade might have ruined that part of him. He believes only Slade can help him, it isn't healthy, it isn't right. He's just a boy caught in the devil's snare, but thinking everything is as right as rain." She had ranted for a moment before her tone got truly desperate. "Please Bruce, help him. He is a kind boy, he just doesn't know he's allowed to show it."

Selina grew quiet before she pushed the small box closer to the billionaire. "Give this to him, would you? It's his present from his birthday a few days ago, I promise it's nothing lethal or dangerous. You can trust me this time because I don't want Renegade to get hurt any more than you do. There's only a paper inside, he will know what it means."

Bruce nodded and grabbed at the box, silently agreeing to put it through a metal detector at the very least.

Bruce decided to test a theory, he might not get another chance like this, and perhaps the woman might know. "If Slade is so upset with the loss of Renegade, why did he do it?"

Selina sighed, the first indication to Bruce that she knew. "I don't know, he is a mercenary after all, it could be for a number of reasons." The second indication was her terrible dodge of the question. She knew something, but why wasn't she telling him? Didn't she realize this was important? For Renegades improvement? His internal frustration with the complicated woman was cut short by her next words. "I have to leave now, but you take care of that boy."

As swift as the cats she worshiped, Selina slipped from the booth and left the dingy restaurant with barely a glance back.

Bruce watched her go, mind reeling with the new information. His gaze lowered and settled on the small colorful box in front of him.

The yellow capped man's eyes lifted from his cup as Bruce Wayne left the restaurant, taking the small wrapped box on the table with him. The man's head rested in his hand as he leaned lazily on the table, his fingers close to his ear.

He grunted, taking another sip of his dark drink, his worn hand warmed by the cream-colored mug. His glassy eyes followed the billionaire out and onto the street. He slowly lifted into a more comfortable position, hand leaving his head to rest with the one cradling the mug. The edge of his mouth twitched upwards as his stormy ocean eyes lit with a sudden and incomprehensible emotion.

He turned in his seat, his brown jacket opening to reveal a dark muscle shirt and a strap going across his side and shoulders. The hilt of a gun brushed against the seat cushions as he continued to turn to stare after the billionaire.

Jason Todd chuckled to himself.

"Bats has Deathstroke's apprentice eh? Time to see what all the fuss is about."

Chapter Text

Dick was bored. Oh so very bored.

He had nothing to do, and all these superheroes were being super annoying. He wouldn't be surprised if 'annoying' was one of their superpowers. If he had that power he'd be able to give the heroes a piece of his mind.

Dick groaned and threw his head back on the couch he was lazily sitting in.

He was fantasizing about having superpowers. That's how bored he was.

The 'team' of young heroes were sprawled around him, lounging while watching this movie he'd already seen a bunch of times. Don't get him wrong though, The Arrival was a fantastic movie, he just wished he was doing something productive. The Arrival was one of those complex thinker movies, like Interstellar. He enjoyed figuring out the plot and mystery of it all the first few times he watched the movie. But now he knew all the answers and everyone around him were dumb as bricks. Usually he would celebrate for such an achievement, but movie watching was not on his 'to do' list and it felt like a waste of his time.

He was antsy. He needed to do something, something worth doing. Ants were in his pants and he knew only one way to get them out. Of course, he thought bitterly, the heroes would never allow him to actually do anything HE wanted to do. Stupid heroes with their stupid annoying powers.

Kid Flash sat closest to him. The red-head was watching the movie earnestly as if he stared any harder the answers would spring out of the screen. Kid Flash? More like Kid Idiot.

Renegade huffed to himself and launched himself over the back of the couch. He needed to do something, anything, other than waste his time like this.

"Where you going?" Kid Flash asked, taking his eyes off the screen for once in the past hour. He hadn't even touched his popcorn that sat in his lap- which Dick didn't even think was possible. 

"Bathroom," Renegade responded curtly, stalking off to his room with his fists clenched. His destination was certainly not the place he told the speedster.

While passing through the halls a certain door caught the young mercenary's eyes. He smirked. Glancing over his shoulder to see if the heroes were following him (and they weren't), Renegade entered the room.

A storage room, perfect place to gather the right materials.

Renegade got to work going through the many boxes piled in the room, shelves were littered with random tools and dust. Clearly the heroes haven't been in here a while, but after much searching, his labor finally bore fruit.

The young acrobat couldn't keep the grin off his face. This, this was productive.

He carried his box of goodies with two hands, it was surprisingly heavy but nothing he couldn't handle. He got to his room without much hassle, but he was running low on time, if he was gone for much longer the heroes would get suspicious.

He hated this mission. He had absolutely no desire to open up to the heroes. The last time he tried his world practically fell apart. He did not want to repeat that ever again, especially not willingly. Kid Flash, in particular, he had somehow weaseled into trusting him and it made Renegade even more wary of him. Did he actually trust the speedster? He didn't have an answer, and that alone made his stomach crawl. He was afraid he did. He was just too genuine, it reminded him of the last person who got hurt because of him. He gravitated towards the speedster anyway, knowing it was going to end in disaster. Heavy on the dis.

He couldn't just ignore the speedster though, he was easier to be around than anyone else. Heaven forbid The Dark Knight come and demand his presence for some hero bonding bullarky that was supposed to take away Slade's 'brainwashing'. Psh, Stockholm, Dick laughed at the thought, even if it made him uneasy. No, he didn't want to be near Batman right now, it was just... too soon. He had literally broken down and cried on the hero. He had thought he was Slade. It was an insult to Slade more than anything, Slade was much better than Batman ever could be. Batman was not Slade, nor would he ever come close.

But he did, and that confused him so much. He did not want Batman becoming any more like Slade, that would just dig more into the hole this situation had thrown him into.

But darn it, Batman was getting to him. He wasn't scared of Batman, no, not anymore. He was scared of Batman becoming the equivalent of what Slade was to him. One might think he was a bit early to distinguish his feelings that way, but the more he thought about it the more he didn't like it simply because he recognized it. What happened in that library... Batman had been Slade for him. 

Slade was the anchor to his capsizing ship in the churning ocean, but now that anchor is gone. He was throwing out buoys now, but that did nothing but bob in the waves. Then comes Batman and he completely sinks. Now he was a shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean, but, admittedly, he was anchored.

Renegade had played right into Batman's hands. That's what scared him. He was already becoming attached and it felt like he himself was betraying Slade. It was just one time, just one break down, and he was already cozying up to the enemy. Dang it. Why did he have to be so weak?

That dependency they thought was Stockholm? That is the same dependency he had on Batman a few hours ago. The truth was anyone could be Slade, anyone could have helped him with his issues, taken him in, and given him new purpose. But Slade was the only one who could survive it. That thought was settled deep into his bones. People died around Dick, it was no joke or question. Too many people he cared about died around him, most times because of him. Slade couldn't be killed, not unless the other person tried really really hard. It was like what he kept telling them, Dick chose Slade much more than Slade chose him. They just refused to see it.

Well, not really, they had inaccurate conclusions because their data was limited. They had no idea who he was or his problems, the things he had gone through that made him this way, or the things Slade did to help him. 

He could fix that, he supposed, that technically was the mission.

He just didn't want to.

It meant an end to what he had with Slade, he didn't want that to end. Because even with that dependency that anyone could help him with, Slade was family. No one could replace Slade.

...

Right?

Dick got to his room, realizing his eyes were burning while he thought. He set the box down on his bed and squeezed his eyes shut. Dang it. This is why he stayed away from thinking about Slade. Because then his worst fears will come out and he had no one to help him. That was the dumbest part about all of this. It was a stupid fear. So stupid, how could he possibly ask anyone for help?

Slade would help him.

Dick knew he would.

But that was the problem; Slade was the problem.

"Gah. I need to stop thinking." Dick said aloud, giving one last pinch to the bridge of his nose and initiating a calming deep breath.

He still had a mission to carry out. Slade or no Slade.

The mission was to open up to the heroes, be himself and not hold anything back. Well, he smirked, if he was to be himself and not hold anything back, the team of young heroes was about to be subject to Renegade's newest coping mechanism.

Time for a prank war.

Or in this case, since the team didn't really know of the 'war' it'd be more of a prank slaughter.

He dived into the box of goodies and immediately started setting up his traps. His room would be his base of operations, at least until he found a more secretive one. He wanted to ward away everyone else, especially away from the bathroom. Because of the no cameras in the bathroom he was a lot more free to do things he could not do freely in front of the heroes. Like what he was doing right now.

He was hacking into the mountains mainframe again, to keep the illusion no one was hacking them he had to cover his tracks each time, it was sort of a hassle, but it kept him busy, which was much better than wasting his time watching a movie. He could pretend he was with Slade, infiltrating and gathering data. Unfortunately he had to chase away those thoughts because those types of thought did him no good and would only make him lose his marbles rather than help in any sort of way. That alone made him sad, he didn't want to chase Slade away, but for the sake of his sanity he must.

He tapped away on the hologlove, his box of materials on the counter next to him as he sat crisscross on the closed toilet lid. He found the blueprints of the mountain, including every secret passageway and their hidden tripwires. There was one in the library that interested him, it was a perfect spot because the heroes now knew of his fear of large rooms and he had already professed his dislike for the library for that reason. The heroes would never think he would voluntarily go in there again, the perfect place for his new base of operations.

The vent system inside the mountain was a dream come true. It went everywhere and the tunnels were mostly large. His heart did little flips just thinking about being able to use this vent system.

His eyes wandered down to the clock and he cursed. He's been gone for too long, the stupid heroes would probably be looking for him right now.

The young mercenary scowled as he shut off his hologlove. First things first, he had to secure his room.

He set up a particular trap he set up a million times before, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards at the memories this trap brought. He slid the paint can onto the top of the door. A classic prank, one he was quite good at. He could slip in and out the door with relative ease without disturbing the paint above him, anyone else however would barge in and end up with the ensuing paint bath.

It was the trap he set on all of his outposts with Deathstroke, one time the older mercenary made the mistake of coming into his room after he had just set up the trap. Dick had tried to warn him but he had been cut off by the paint splattering all over his mentor, the can itself landing on the mercenary's head like some knight's helmet. Dick had been quickly caught by a laughing fit but soon regretted it as his mentor promised him death by chores with his one-eyed glare of ultimate fury.

The young mercenary was taken from his thoughts by the pounding of feet and a recognizable voice echoing his name in question.

Renegade blanched but couldn't help the adrenaline rush as he bolted to his shower, he jumped in the tub and hid behind the curtains, waiting with a pounding heart and silently hoping his trap wouldn't be tripped. But that was the most hopeless hope he'd ever hoped, in other words, it was inevitable.

The door was swung wide open, the paint can on top hit the wall and toppled over onto the awaiting head below.

"Reneg-"

'THUNK'

"-AH!"

Renegade peaked from his hiding place with the biggest grin, Kid Flash was on the floor, the dripping paint can next to him. The speedster was already half a red-orange color, but now he was all fluorescent orange, it completely covered him, but it also got on the floor and walls, even reaching the toilet.

The young mercenary couldn't hold back his laughter.

"Hey! What gives?!" Kid Flash exclaimed, reaching up to wipe the paint out of his eyes.

Renegade stepped from his hiding place, laughing his head off, clutching his gut as he bent over.

Laughing felt so good.

Kid Flash got to his feet, surveying his now paint-sodden state. He groaned in distaste at the cleaning he would now have to do. "Dang it, how am I supposed to get all of this off?" The speedster was talking to himself, then zeroed his glare onto the young mercenary hiding in the shower. "What was that for?!"

Renegade couldn't contain his grin, although now that he thought about it, he really shouldn't have paint-trapped his OWN bathroom. "Part of the mission is to open up to you guys-"

"And that means smothering us with paint?" Kid Flash griped while trying to shake off the excess paint on his hands, only to land more paint spots on the mirror and wall.

Renegade continued without missing a beat. "-That means being myself. I always boobytrap my room for safety, you tripped it."

"You boobytrap your own bathroom?" Kid Flash said with the weirdest face, he was clearly confused but also slightly scared and maybe just a tad impressed. Then it twisted into more confusion with his head tilted and eyebrow went way up. "Is this another Deathstroke habit?"

This caused a chuckle to escape the young mercenary, somehow the thought warmed him, but then a wave of bitterness followed and the warm feeling was chased away quicker than a speedster on taco Tuesday. Renegade blinked, actually he had no idea if speedsters were quicker when they were hungry or slower, because didn't they need food to be fast? But then to get the food they'd need to be fast? And- ugh he was thinking too much.

"Sorta, this one I picked up myself. Slade never really said anything about it." Dick shrugged, his smile was already falling and so were his eyes. He was at war with himself still. Hate Slade, love Slade, it was all so complicated yet both feelings of hatred and fatherly love he couldn't deny.

He was definitely bitter though, during the movie he had come to that conclusion with definitive facts.

He had always been scared of Slade being taken from him like his parents, his family ripped away again. But this was worse, so much worse, because Slade had given him up. He had been tossed aside like an overused toy. That was NOT ok. What made it even worse was that Slade KNEW. He KNEW how much he meant to him and his fears of abandonment. If he ever saw Slade again he'd probably hug him, then stab him.

"So if Deathstroke did have a problem with it you'd change yourself for him?" Kid Flash looked too innocent while asking this.

Dick paused.

Then grew angry.

"Yes. Yes, I would. But not because I'm some mindless slave, because I actually value his advice." He snapped.

Kid Flash rose his hands in surrender, "Hey, it was just a question, we're cool."

Renegade stomped forward. "Not cool to question one's every tiny decision."

"... Um.. well isn't that the uh... point?" Kid Flash floundered as the angry mercenary came closer.

Renegade only glared at him, the mere aura of the look was almost as bad as the Bad-glare. The speedster felt a shudder run through him and he gulped. He felt as if he was about to be attacked. The younger, but much more dangerous, boy was stalking forward very ominously, his eyes hooded by his shaggy ebony hair. His eyes were tiny white slits, bringing a whole new gut feeling of danger to the hero. Wally swore the room darkened and the temperature went down a few degrees, and so did his stomach. The redhead took an involuntary step back as the mercenary headed straight for him, one gloved hand reaching up for the blade sheathed in his arm.

Then Renegade slipped.

All malice left the room as the boy slid backward and fell on his back with a yelp, orange paint splattering everywhere.

Kid Flash blinked and waited for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"I am not cleaning this up," Renegade growled from the ground.

"It's your bathroom, I'm pretty sure you're going to have to clean it anyway." Kid Flash said with a chuckle, wondering if he should question the uh... attempt at murder?

"I get enough of that from Slade." Renegade pushed himself up to his arms, a smirk on his face that didn't reach his eyes.

The speedster rose an eyebrow and uncertainly pointed at the fallen mercenary. "And uh, whatever just happened was what?"

"I was trying to scare you out, I was not trying to murder you if that's what you were thinking."

"What else was I supposed to be thinking?!" Wally exclaimed.

"Touché." Renegade lifted himself to his feet, observing his now completely paint-covered bathroom. "Well that didn't go according to plan." He was talking to himself at this point but he was fully aware of the speedster next to him. "I'm still not cleaning the toilet."

"You clean toilets a lot?" Kid Flash asked, his voice quipping with amusement.

"Deathstroke called it motivation." Renegade supplied, huffing while he put his hands on his hips.

Kid Flash's face twisted, "Motivation for what?"

"To not miss," Renegade said with a grin and a suggestive nod to the toilet.

Kid Flash sighed and resisted the urge to facepalm, "I did not need to know that." Renegade snickered.

It was quiet for a moment then the younger boy sighed.

"Now maybe you can actually tell me where you put your cleaning supplies."

Kid Flash gave him a sideways glance. "Did you seriously do all of this just to know that?"

"Pfft, no, I fully intend to clean this up. I'll give you a hint to how I work, what I say and what I do are different, but what I don't say and what I do are going to be the same."

Kid Flash blinked. "That made... no sense."

Renegade sighed again. "It just means read between the lines of what I say, because I'm the type of sarcastic that says one thing but does another."

"Right." The redhead said, totally uncertain.

The young mercenary looked over himself with another sigh, "A change in wardrobe is probably in order."

Kid Flash chuckled. "Yep," then he paused, "where did you get all this stuff anyway?"

"I looked around, I was a bit bored." Renegade shrugged, "I had also planned on pranking everyone else's rooms too, that's what this box was for." He laid a hand on the lip of the box, sighing sadly knowing his chance to prank the heroes was basically gone now that Kid Flash had discovered him.

"Alright, note to self, don't let Renegade get bored." Kid Flash said with an almost fearful look in his eyes by the sight of the giant box.

"I would advise that yeah." Renegade nodded with a closed-lipped smile.

A few hours, a wardrobe change, clean up, and an awkward explanation to the resident leaguer later Dick was bored again on the couch. Like last time, the team was with him, all chatting about something absent-mindedly and paying little to no attention to the youngest present.

He was in civies now, a green shirt with his navy blue jacket and jeans. He kept his mask on, he brought his contact lenses but really didn't want to bother with them at the moment. The glasses he also brought would be too easy to accidentally slip off and there goes his secret identity.

For this reason, he kept his mask. Out of all the things he was forced to share, his identity was one he was not willing to sacrifice. Dick Grayson was weak, they'd only pity him. Actually, if he was being honest, they were already pitying him, but as Renegade he was dangerous.

Dick sighed through his nose and buried himself deeper into the couch cushions. At this point being alone with his thoughts was dangerous, he was scared of all the uncertainty hanging about. A good spar would help his overactive mind, get him to use those familiar drills to calm his aching mind and heart.

Wally was the only one who noticed the forlorn look on the young mercenary's face. He sped over to Aqualad, kneeling down next to the sitting Atlantean so his conversation wouldn't be so... open.

"Hey Aqualad, can Renegade train with us? It looks like he needs something to do other than sit around." Wally asked, eyes darting over his shoulder to the young sulking mercenary.

Aqualad looked as well, finding the boy deflated on the couch with clearly too much on his mind. "I agree, he does need to get out of his head for a bit. I will ask Black Canary, I'm sure she'd be willing to teach him a few non-lethal moves."

Wally beamed. "Thanks Kal!"

He zipped away and stood over the moping mercenary.

"Hey Rob, wanna do something other than lay around and think?" Wally asked with his hands on his hips.

Renegade opened his eyes lazily, looking up to find Kid Flash standing above him in the most iconic superhero pose. A smile tugged at his lips but he thought about the proposition more before answering.

"Sounds asterous. What are we doing?" He sat up, blinking away spots as blood rushed away from his head.

"Just come on." Wally grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Renegade didn't like this, but he was too tired and depressed to complain. Wally started walking fast down a random hallway and Renegade was having trouble keeping up, especially with his arm still in the speedster's grip. 

"KF hold on a second." He tried to protest but the red-head cut him off.

"Trust me you'll like this." Wally grinned as they got closer to their destination.

Renegade huffed in annoyance, heroes were so weird.

The duo made it to the room, the mission room that doubled as a training room because of the floor.

Wally let the mercenary go and presented the room with a grin. "Alright, we're here."

Renegade rubbed his arm where the speedster had gripped it. Looking around with a rather unimpressed stare he asked, "Uh-huh, and what are we doing here?"

"Training." A female voice said from the right.

Renegade swiveled, his stance lowering just a touch with the unannounced female walking closer.

Black Canary walked in with a hand on her hip. "The team says you need some activity to clear your head. I'm here to deliver."

Renegade scrunched his eyebrows. The team thought this? Pfft, yeah right. Artemis was avoiding him and anytime he got close to Superboy he would growl. He made it a personal mission to keep away from Miss Martian since the library, and Aqualad so far has done nothing but read a book in the living room. Kid Flash was the only one actually noticing and acknowledging him.

Renegade folded his arms. "Right, and I'm guessing I'm not allowed to spar with the team?"

Canary wasn't phased by his accurate assumption. "Correct, you'll be sparring with me."

Renegade sighed dejectedly, "Yup."

Then, to his surprise, the other team members came into the room. Artemis was talking to Miss Martian and Superboy simply stood next to them. Wally grinned and zoomed over to them, which, Renegade noticed, was outside the white floor.

"Alright, so how do we do this your way?" He kept his stance slack, hopping via body language that the leaguer would understand they weren't fighting yet. But he was still on guard, enough surprise training sessions with Slade kept him on his toes. No one expects to be attacked, so why should training not prepare you for something that happens a lot?

Black Canary moved closer on the white floor. Renegade didn't want to call it a mat because it definitely wasn't a mat, in fact the ground was rather smooth. Interesting grounds for training, one would suspect a bit nicer conditions for junior heroes to train on. Just by looking he could tell it would hurt if he landed harshly on this ground. He shrugged that thought away, in the real world there is no mat to safely land on.

"We fight, but no killing blows or maneuvers, think you can handle that?" Canary asked, raising an eyebrow. Renegade rolled his eyes, clearly she trying to goad him with her attack on his pride. Silly Leaguer, tricks are for kids, and he was not a kid.

"Of course I can do that." Renegade huffed and bit his lip to hide a smirk, he would not make this easy for her.

Black Canary slipped easily into stance, a solid one too. Renegade did nothing but stand there, arms still folded and lazy half-lidded eyes watching the woman.

They stayed like that for a few awkward seconds, Renegade was drinking it all in.

He finally let his smirk show, a crooked smile splitting his face. "Oh, are we starting?"

Canary's gaze hardened, his attempts to get under her skin was working. "Yes we are starting, do you want to start from that stance?"

Renegade looked down in fake surprise, surveying his own position. "This? Oh, no, this isn't how I start a spar. I was just thinking how weird it is there was no preliminary activities before this."

He heard Canary sigh and she stood back up.

Renegade grinned. Success.

"Maybe you would like to show us how you train," Canary suggested, then as an afterthought made her one condition. "Without putting anyone's life in danger please."

Renegade smiled. "Sure. Honestly, you guys are so paranoid, I'm not going to kill anyone by stretching." He then promptly fell backward before sitting up on his butt.

He proceeded to do multiple stretch routines, including bending over backward like a gymnast and throwing his arms around himself like swimmers do. As he went along his stretches became increasingly more like a contortionist, at one point he had his head between his legs while he stood, bending backward.

Canary and the others were watching with confused fascination.

Wally was the first to speak though. "How do you get your body to do that?" Wally considered himself a flexible person, but Renegade was just... human pretzel.

Renegade smirked where he was, which was a literal ball of limbs. "How did you get so fast?"

"Uh, science experiment?" Kid Flash said blankly.

Renegade blinked. "Oh, bad example then." Another smirk crawled onto his face. "Artemis! how did you get so good at shooting arrows?"

She jumped when he called out her name, she quickly composed herself and floundered with her answer. "...Practice..?"

"Then it stands to reason..." He paused while he untangled his limbs. "That that would be the same way I do this." Once he was fully upright he springboarded into a series of flips, cartwheels, handsprings, and other twisty stuff. He landed on his two feet and raised both hands in the air like the end of a performance.

He knew he had shown off, but what could he say? It was in his blood.

"Alright." Renegade grinned and walked over to Canary, who was still a little awestruck by his display. "Now I'm all limbered up, we can spar now."

Canary got her game face on, settling in her stance. She sighed when once again Renegade just stood there with his arms folded.

"Now what?" She asked, "Are you waiting for an invitation?"

"Yes actually," Renegade answered with a pleased smile. "I thought heroes had more honor than this."

"Are you stalling? Are you afraid to hit me? I work with the League, I've been hit plenty of times before." Canary rose an eyebrow. This had been a problem in the past, but it seemed odd to her a mercenary would pause before hitting a woman.

"No, I respect your prowess, I just don't think you respect mine," Renegade said smoothly. "I would have thought we'd do some sort of passage of respect or honor code before we start."

"What are you talking about? What do you and Deathstroke do?" Canary asked, utterly bewildered.

"I mean," He stepped forward, then when Canary raised her fists he paused. "I'm showing you, I'm not starting the fight." When she relaxed he moved forward again. "Like this."

He held out his hand like in a handshake, but when she held out hers as well he slapped it and then extended a fist. She paused, confused. He nodded in encouragement and she made a fist as well. He bumped her fist with his own then backed away and proceed to bow.

"Like that." He said with a genuine smile.

The teenagers watching were all very confused by the interaction.

"Well that was... odd," Wally commented to himself.

Artemis was the only one who actually understood what that was about. It was exactly what Renegade had said it was, it was a sign of respect between the fighters. It meant they respected each other's abilities and wouldn't harm them beyond repair. She was honestly surprised to see this, it was more of a tradition tied to a style of fighting than a villain thing. Who knew, Deathstroke actually cared about respect. At least, he taught his apprentice to.

"Alright well now that that's done, what's the game?" Renegade bounced on the balls of his feet with a grin, lifting his fists to a protective place around his face.

"First one who hits the floor loses." Canary didn't even finish her sentence before Renegade dashed forward with incredible speed. She raised an arm to defend herself but he suddenly went low, he twisted around her legs, coming up behind her. She barely had time to register he was behind her when she suddenly felt a weight on her back and something hit the back of her knees, making them buckle. His legs were around her neck, she realized, how and when did that happen? She was being pulled back and down, falling in a fluid motion until the pressure left and her back hit the floor with a jolt.

It was only a few seconds but Black Canary was stunned. She blinked, surprised that her eyes saw the cave ceiling.

"Canary: Fail." The computerized voice rang out.

"Huh, cool." Renegade's voice added to the air.

Black Canary sat up, impressed with the skinny child standing a few feet away from her.

He came forward, giving his hand out to help her up. She took it without hesitation, only realizing it was Renegade who helped her up when she stood next to him.

Renegade just stood there, looking at her as his eyebrows slowly raised. "Well...?"

Canary was confused as to what he was asking, but proceeded to answer. "Good job."

"That's it?" Renegade questioned, sounding annoyed.

"What do you mean?" Canary asked, placing a hand on her hip.

"I mean... that's it? That's all you do? Throw each other around until someone hits the floor?" Renegade sounded a little incredulous, but his body langue said nothing.

"Well usually they last a little longer," Canary lead with.

"Well maybe I could fight someone else?" Renegade asked with a rather flippant wave of his hand.

"Well clearly you have much more advanced training than the other kids," Canary said with a narrow of her eyes, he must really want to spar with someone else. But why? And was that even a good idea?

"Oh come on please? I'll go easy on them! I could teach them a few things!" Renegade clasped his hands together and bounced on his feet, giving her as big as doe eyes as he could muster with a mask.

"Superboy." Canary decided after a few more seconds of the boy bouncing around her. He could be so childish sometimes, enough to temporarily forget what damage he could do. That was something that made her nervous.

But Renegade scowled, "And get this beautiful face bashed in? No thanks." Renegade crossed his arms. Good, at least they were negotiating, although even with his experience with Slade that that could change with a blink of that cool grey eye.

He might as well be the messenger of the bad news. Time to slap those heroes with some truth, if they could handle it.

If they even believed it...

"You're not sure you can trust me to spar with anyone else. That's my issue with you guys." His eyes grew dangerous, not noticing his hands were clenching uncomfortably over his arms. "I could open up, sell my soul to the heroes cause, spill all my secrets, but I'm still just a murderer, can't be trusted in the same room as a bunch of teenagers older than him. Because I could simply be lying, who knows? Maybe I'm telling the truth when I say I won't kill you, but you won't take that chance."

Dick felt all that pent up anger rise from within his gut, spilling into his throat. He swallowed it, instead using his eyes to convey his wrath. His voice wouldn't be heard, that was obvious enough.

Canary just stared, contemplating. Her stance shifted ever so slightly.

He noticed this and his anger intensified.

Dick turned heel and started walking away before his anger could get the better of him. Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, he planned to relieve some of this anger via punching bag, but considering he wasn't trusted he might have to set up his mattress on the wall and just have at it. "Pfft. Trust heroes. Good idea Batman." Renegade scoffed, kicking at nothing on the floor as he walked, still well within the room, knowing his snide mumblings would be heard, exactly as he planned them to. "'I trust you with the knife, you trust we're not out to get you.' Yeah right. Totally feeling the aster right now. What a joke."

Dick was at the doorway when he heard his name be called behind him.

"Robin wait."

It was Kid Flash. Of course.

He paused, standing still for a moment. He didn't turn around, they didn't deserve that.

So he continued walking.

After all, he only followed orders from people he trusted.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Artemis didn't know why she was here, standing in front of the door to a murderer's room.

He had every right to be angry with them, they weren't being very good heroes. She knew, that was the worst part, she knew what that felt like. To not be trusted because of what you were. That's why she kept her heritage a secret, because then she'd be in the same boat as him; distrusted and watched over as if her mere presence would kill everyone in the room. And seeing it play out in front of her made it all too real.

That's why she was here, knocking on his door.

Everyone had avoided him after that, even Wally who wanted nothing more than to help. Canary had called Batman and informed him of their little... argument(?) and they both agreed to give the boy some time to cool off. But it was quickly realized that anyone coming to that door would be met with nothing but his seething silence.

She knew she was asking for it, she was knocking on his door for crying out loud. How did he even do that? How does one make a simple closed door feel so menacing?

"Renegade?" Artemis asked, hoping by knowing it was her that he would at least open the door. "Renegade... do you want to spar?" She physically winced, hoping she wasn't making a mistake by doing this.

She waited a few moments more, scuffling her feet and checking the hallway to make sure no one caught her at his door. Why was she hiding this? Perhaps she felt like she was breaking some rule, like he was part of her secret linage, which technically, he was. But this, she was reaching out to him, this was her choice. It felt right, yet so wrong. She wanted nothing to do with her old life, yet here she was, knocking on its door.

She sighed. This was stupid.

The door opened.

Artemis took a step back in surprise. Renegade, still in civies, barely looked at her, a grin on his face and brushed right past her.

"Great! Let's go."

The archer was frozen for a moment, completely surprised by the younger's actions. When she shook herself out of it he was already gone.

"Hey! Wait!" Artemis pealed after him, running down the hallway.

She found him in the training room, doing jumping jacks. She grew a quizzical look, quickly wiped away by fear. Not afraid of Renegade, no, well maybe, he was a secondary fear. She was afraid someone would notice.

Superboy was watching static with Wolf, which basically made him blind and deaf to the world around him. (That's why he liked it honestly, it helped his powers not hurt so much, but he would never tell anyone that). M'gann was watching a TV show in her room, distracting herself more than anything. Kaldur has gone to visit Atlantis and Wally had gone home. Canary was still here, but she was in the library doing her own thing.

"So? We doing this or what?" Renegade called her to attention, smirking as he stood in the white circle.

Artemis shoved her nerves down and met him on the training floor.

He held his hand out and she complied, doing his odd respect thing before their spar.

They crouched and began to slowly circle each other, Renegade hung back this time, instead of going straight in like he did with Canary. She supposed it was because he wanted to talk this time.

"They don't know do they?" Renegade asked, slipping forward and throwing a few punches.

Artemis blocked with her forearms and sidestepped out of reach, not even bothering to return fire. "No."

"That's probably a good thing," Renegade shrugged, "or else you'd end up like me. At least I have Batman's promise protecting me from jail, but you... well... you've never done it have you?"

Artemis lunged forward this time, swiping at his feet with her leg. "No, I haven't." Renegade jumped out of the way, delicately dancing away from her attempt to knock him down.

"Figured as much," Renegade said.

They circled some more, each not really into the spar itself, and more of the words each wanted to say. Artemis wanted to simply help, while Renegade had a much more two-faced scheme.

"You'd be the third Crock I've met in the past three days. The only one I've fought though." Renegade said with a pointed smirk. He dashed forward as he saw Artemis stiffen up, he landed a hit on her upper arm and ducked under the leg that came up to bash the side of his head.

"I know Cheshire is your sister, Sportsmaster is your dad. Your family has been obsessed with me for the past few days, and now I'm fighting daddy's little girl. That can't be a coincidence can it?" Renegade hissed, although the smile on his face twisted into something much more sinister.

Artemis's eyes widened. "If you're saying I have ulterior motives by being here then you're wrong. I chose this side, I'm a hero."

Again Renegade lunged forward, a fist going high, when she went to block it he dove under and between her legs. He rose up behind her and grabbed her in a chokehold.

"I know. I know everything Artemis." He whispered. His arms were iron, her balance was off, yet Artemis felt in no danger of passing out. He was oddly still as if waiting for something, letting her get her bearings to get out of the hold.

"What do you mean?" She ground out, huffing as his hold got ever so slightly tighter.

"I mean, I know everything about your little team, your friend's secrets are now my secrets." Renegade almost chuckled, this was too much fun. "And definitely yours, but I won't tell if you won't tell."

Artemis gasped and she tugged at his arm, it gave just a little, but a little was all she needed. She stepped to the side and bent over in one fluid motion, sending the assassin flying to the ground.

"Renegade: Fail." The voice said.

Artemis has her hands on her knees catching her breath while Renegade simply laid on the ground as if it was the most natural thing ever. He even mocked her by placing his hands behind his head in a relaxed way. She didn't like the look on his face, did he LET her win? What a di-

"Are you... blackmailing me?!" Artemis asked in a stage whisper, not wanting to be too loud, because if he was, he was doing a good job.

"Eh... sorta... more like an impasse, I know your secret, and now you know mine, so if neither of us tells then we're good," Renegade said with an impish smirk.

He lifted his legs and bent backward, then he did some weird move on his forearms and one of his legs was high in the air, but suddenly he was standing. "Pleasure doing business with you." He said, holding out his hand.

Artemis only stared at him warily. "How do I know you know my friend's secrets?"

Renegades hand retracted, settling into a fold, his face growing a sly look. "You know, Conner's actually surprised me, M'gann's wasn't that hard to believe, Kaldur's makes sense, and Kid Flash totally looks like a Wally." Renegade grinned, tilting his head to the side. "But you don't know their secrets do you? But you respect them, so you'll keep them, even if you don't know them. How much, I wonder, do you actually know your teammates?"

"Don't do that!" Artemis cried out, fists clenching at her sides. "I trust my friends!"

Renegade laughed, his cackle sending an echo in the large cavernous room. "If that were true Artemis, I'd have nothing to blackmail you with."

Artemis was about to get her bow and just open fire, how dare he attack her team's friendship! He didn't know anything about friendship! Renegade was just standing there with a cocky grin, lazily leaning to one side with his arms crossed and victory in those mocking masked eyes. The tension in the air was thick between the teens, Artemis was reaching for her bow behind her back but then a computerized voice shattered the silence.

"Batman -01."

That's when Renegade lost his smile, his gaze became much more placid and his head tilted in innocent curiosity. "Hey, do you know when dinner is?"

Artemis was dumbfounded by this sudden change in demeanor and couldn't answer because Batman walked in.

"Renegade," Batman called him over, Renegade huffing a little sigh as he left. When the boy got close enough Batman rose an eyebrow. "I trust you're playing nicely with the others?"

"Totally." The young assassin answered dryly. Then went off as his frustration finally bubbled over. "How am I supposed to trust you guys when you won't trust me? I'm not going to spill anything until they trust me." Renegade huffed, throwing a glare to the floor.

"I am excluded from this?" Batman asked, regarding the boy with an odd look.

"You don't count because you're not here. I'm definitely not going to say anything to you." Renegade replied with a sting in his voice.

"Well." Batman continued on, not at all bothered by the boy's declaration. "A friend of yours said this belonged to you." Batman pulled a small box from his belt and Renegade became instantly curious.

"Me?" He reached out to grab it but realized Batman wasn't handing it to him.

"Do you know who it's from?" Batman asked, lifting the small colored box for the young assassin to observe.

Renegade thought for a moment, he knew this box, now where was it from? Selina! The meeting! It seemed like ages since then, was that really only three days ago?

"Catwoman, it was a present for my birthday," Renegade said carefully, glancing up at the dark man. What was he getting at? He was sure Batman knew who it was from, how did he even get it if he didn't know?

Batman tossed him the box, which he caught easily, and said, "Then open it up."

Shaking his head to Batman's weird antics, Renegade pried open the lid.

Chapter Text

Gotham was quiet at the moment, busy with a strange sense of subdued haste, busy with the things that need no deep thought but spent all day in mind. It was that odd lull between day and night, a twilight zone of quiet work. The people out and about were hushed with the calm sense that settled low on the dusty ground. It was nearing the end of a long and exhausting day, only to be reinvigorated once the sun went down. But the sun was still up, the calm serenity still heavy in the air, almost toxic. Closer to the ground the air thinned, cold wind scuffing up dirt and trash, creating tiny whirlwinds of litter and leaves. The cold Gotham wind wove between the buildings, shooting through alleys and roads like the scaffolding of a building's air conditioning. That's why Gotham felt alive, it breathed and pulsed like a sick and mad dog. The fleas, ticks, and pests infesting her body were also under the spell of twilight. One such man was shaking off the lethargic coat of dull eventide, waiting, stalking, for the chaos of the night.

His feet shuffled with pounding steps, faster than the average traveler. He had things to do, people to see, he had no time for the sweet allure of relaxation. His target would be a lot harder to find by then, or maybe easier. Either way, he needed information before making a decision.

Fisted hands were stuffed in his warm pockets, a yellow hat low over his eyes. His brown jacket collar was high on his neck, protecting the sensitive skin from Gotham's relentless gasping gusts.

Other people were walking on the sidewalk, a couple here and there, a lone woman or man this way and that. People returning home to sleep, or to plan for the lawless night. The crowds faded away as he got closer to his destination, his hand fingering the red mask in his pocket.

You see, Jason Todd has a plan. It wasn't a very well thought out plan, frankly, he didn't even know what he was trying to accomplish. All he knew was that there was a kid out there, probably suffering, and two grown-arse men were playing tug of war with him. Of course it had to be him to pull the boy out, who else was going to do anything about it? He knew Batman, he knew Bruce, he knew what he was trying to do. He also knew Deathstroke, more in a professional way though, but even then he wasn't sure what his motives were. All he knew was that the man was merciless and had his own level of downright evil and had canny abilities of master manipulation. Clearly neither man was going to back down, and Jason didn't want the poor kid in between to get ripped in half.

But why? Why was he doing this? Maybe it was to get back at Batman, he was angry with Bruce, he didn't want him to mess up another kids life. But also having Deathstroke as a mentor sounded like a living nightmare- and being convinced it was a dream. He could save the kid from both evils, although he wasn't much of a saint himself. Yeah, he didn't have much of an after plan, he didn't exactly want a little pint-sized accomplice. He didn't even know the kid, he could be helping a brat just as terrible as Deathstroke.

While Jason had fought the kid, the spirited boy seemed bright and oddly capable, even if he was as thin as a twig. He was so gosh darn young though, and while Jason had tried to kill him, he wasn't trying very hard, but even then he could see the kid had some serious skills. The way the kid's acrobatics melded with his fighting technique was nothing short of incredible, a true asset to any side. That was the problem, if Jason was being honest, both sides wanted him so badly, this would never end well for the kid.

Which is why he was here, entering a bar frequented by Gotham villains. Someone here must know the kid more personally, he was in desperate need of some more information.

As Jason trudged up the dirty steps he slipped the mask up to his face, taking the hat off and raking a hand through his black hair, a white tuft spouting on his widow's peak. He stuffed the hat in his pocket, don't want any villain recognizing the dead Robin now would we? That would be quite awkward.

He opened the door forcefully, knowing that inside were going to be guards. It was a villain pub after all, not just anyone goes in.

It was a nice place, Jason had to admit. Ornate decorations, some pretty wall lights, and a giant desk in the center of a semi-small lobby room. He spied a chandelier above him and a few security cameras above that. Two guards stood on either side of the desk, where an old man didn't even look up from his computer. A set of doors rested behind the desk, that would lead to the actual pub part of 'villain pub'.

"Oi, you get lost, mate?" A heavily built guard with a clear Australian accent stepped forward, flashing his military-grade gun. He wore a heavy bulletproof vest, like the kind police issued to their first responders, he definitely didn't look the part. He had a mop of wildly curly red hair on his head and beady black eyes, his nose was big and bent, an overall greasy feeling came with this man. In fact, his entire demeanor gave off warning flags, like the type of flags the Joker would be familiar with.

"No, I'm right where I want to be," Jason replied smoothly as he kept on walking.

The other guard, a tall dark-skinned man with a deep voice spoke. "Only fools and villains come here. What's your business?"

"That's not the concern for a couple of bellhops," Jason said with a smirk, pausing before the two men and hooking his thumbs in his jacket pockets.

"A bit of a mouth do ya? Ya know, the fools that come in don't eva' come out, and we get a little target practice in don' we Eddie?" The crazy red-head said to his partner across the desk, lifting his gun a little and a crooked smile gracing his oh so lovely features.

"Right." Red hood said mostly to himself, shifting his hands to inside his jacket.

"So," The Aussie leaned forward, that gross grin splitting his face, "What are ya? Target practice?"

Jason sighed and flipped out his guns, pointing to the two guards and promptly shooting them in the head simultaneously.

"Well, it's no fun when the targets simply stand in front of you," Jason replied curtly with an unimpressed gaze as the bodies tumbled to the ground.

Jason shrugged his guns away and advanced on towards the old desk manager. He fished in one of his pants pockets for a roll of bills and slapped a few hundred bucks on the desk.

"Sorry about the mess," Jason grunted as he passed, looking not at all apologetic. The man at the counter only watched him, a white-haired glare with an eyebrow quirk that had an unnerving resemblance of a certain British man.

Red Hood shoved that observation to the side and entered the double doors, he was immediately attacked with the smell of alcohol. His lips twitched up in a smile. Hah, if only Bruce could see him now, he'd be livid. With that wonderful thought, he made his way to the bar.

It was rather dim in here, good for sneaky villains to do their business, whatever that might be. Of course there was the truce, the villains wouldn't attack each other in here, and whoever did would get thrown out by everyone else inside. And no, thrown out does not mean tossed to the curb where Batman could interrogate for the location. No, 'thrown out' meant a body bag and a dumpster in the back alley five streets over. 

His scanning eyes found a few familiar villains, most he disapproved of or cast aside because of their incapability to provide him with what he wanted. No Harley Quinn or Joker, which was good, because he wouldn't be able to resist punching him in the face if he was here. His two runners up were Penguin and Poison Ivy. Penguin was in a corner talking to some hatted men, probably getting more goons. Poison Ivy was all by her lonesome in a booth, unless you counted her plants that practically occupied the rest of her booth.

He took a certain interest in her, of the two of them, Penguin would be the least helpful. The female villains in this city were a lot more talkative than the males, but out of them Ivy was the least information-giving. He didn't even know if she knew anything about Renegade, but if Selina knew the kid well then for sure the other girls have at least met him.

Jason sauntered up to the bar, glancing over the selections of completely illegal substances and smirking. The bartender moseyed his way over, setting his hands on the bar and tilting his head in silent question.

Jason placed another hundred dollar bill on the counter and nodded his head to one of the drinks behind the man. "I'll take one of those, and a glass of water for the green lady."

The man rose an eyebrow but slid the bill from view and went to collect the drinks.  

With an appreciative nod, Jason set off once his drinks were given to him. He approached the booth strongly, he remembered fighting Ivy as Robin, her ways of villainy has always leaned towards the... seductive side.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked, stopping by her seat.

Poison Ivy looked up with acid green eyes, scrutinizing and judging. Eventually, she waved an elegant hand to the seat across from her, her plants receding to make a bit more room.

He set the drinks down first, sliding one towards the dangerous woman before sitting down himself.

Ivy frowned at the glass cup, her noxious gaze flicking up to the undead Robin. "I don't drink," she admitted with a delicate sigh, "it's bad for the babies." She twisted a hand, her plants gently rising and resting in it like a dog's muzzle would to its master's waiting palm.

"That's why yours is water," Jason said, relaxing in his seat and taking a swig of his own drink.

"Hm," Ivy's lips curled upward, clearly pleased with his consideration. "What's your name stranger?"

"Red Hood," Jason said stiffly, lifting his arms to the back of his head and leaning back.

"I don't see any hood," Ivy said, raising an eyebrow.

"Thought it would be a bit of a red flag to walk in here with a giant mask." Jason smiled with a dismissive shrug.

"How do you think I get here?" The woman asked, gesturing vaguely to herself, most likely pointing out her obviously toxic green skin.

Jason again shrugged. "I know of the secret, or I guess, not so secret, exits and entries to this building. It wouldn't be hard to get here undetected, but if you're having trouble, I'm sure I can provide a more secure escort from the building."

"Such a gentleman." Her silky voice said lightly, then tilted slightly forward as her demeanor dampened. "Now why are you here talking to me?"

Jason leaned forward, glad to be done with the whole villain 'I judge whether your worth my time or not by asking needless questions' charade. "I need some information." He stated.

"I'm sure I can provide if it's anything about plant husbandry. If it's anything else, then I'm afraid you've run out of luck." Her plants came up around her, a dangerous undertone shifting around in the air between them.

"Renegade," Jason said, watching the plant recede in what he guessed to be surprise. "Possibly better known as Deathstroke's Apprentice."

"And why," she paused, taking a sudden interest in her glass, grabbing it delicately and rising it to her lips, "would I know anything about him?" Her voice quirked at the end of her question, her eyes flicking down to her drink as she tilted the end of her cup upwards.

"I don't know your reason, but you do know about him," Jason said, his eyes narrowing on the woman. "I have some very recent information you might not be aware of, concerning Renegade."

"I'm listening," Ivy said sweetly as she set her drink down.

"But if I do, you have to tell me what you know about him," Jason grunted, keeping his eyes on the woman to read her if she thought of deceiving him.

Her lips twitched up, her head tilting and her red hair cascading to the side. "Is this your first time negotiating? If it is, there's a chance you might be in the wrong business." Again she sipped her drink. Jason tried his best not to be concerned with the plants that were starting to crawl along his boots, weaving gently around his feet in a show of dominance.

"I will admit, my negations include a lot more bullets and dead bodies. If you wanted that then I am more than willing to comply." Jason grunted, sitting back and laying a lazy hand on his hip right next to his holstered gun.

Poison Ivy chuckled, not at all worried, "No, I think we'll sit right here and listen to my new friend."

Jason waited for her plants to settle around his feet, his heartless glare asking ever so nicely for her to release his legs. Once the pressure shifted away and Ivy's lips twitched in a smile, he dove into his explanation.

"I recently had a run-in with Renegade, bright kid by the way, then later I was spying on the Bat and found out that Deathstroke gave him away." At his obvious pause, Ivy leaned just a tad forward, sending signals to Jason that she was quite interested in this information.

"To whom?" She asked indifferently, but reading her body language she asked almost eagerly.

"Batman," Jason said with little love. "He gave Renegade to Batman, and Renegade is dealing with the change awfully. Dealing with 'three panic attacks minimum in the last 10 hours' -that's a direct quote from Batman by the way. I don't, however, know if he's jailed. I assume so, but knowing Batsy, he's probably attempting to rehabilitate him."

Ivy didn't say anything for a while, simply sitting there and letting the information sink in. Her face twisted this way and that, Jason watched the kaleidoscope of emotions pass across her face, only able to pick up a few. Animosity, dread, satisfaction, all profoundly paradoxical emotions to be having. Then she looked up, her blank mask back in place, but something new was alight in her eyes.

"So Batman has Renegade?"

"Yes." He said in confirmation, a little confused as to why the woman wanted that clarification.

"Well," she huffed, shifting in her seat, "this does change things now doesn't it?"

Jason nodded to her, "It's your turn."

"Alright." She said easily, surprising the young man, he would have thought she'd try harder to withhold her information. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about him, personality, his relationship with Deathstroke, quirks, anything about him," Jason said, motioning with his hand before grabbing at his mug.

"He shouldn't be in the mercenary business, for one," Ivy said with a scoff, but then grew sincere. "He is childish, young, quite spritely. He has this special air about him, a form of dangerous quietness. He knows what he can do, he doesn't flaunt it unless he has to. Quite the responsible young man, but still a child. He follows Deathstroke around like a dog on a leash, obeying anything and everything that comes from that man's mouth. I don't know about him in the field or in any home-like situation, but he is unnaturally kind for someone in his position. He does like to mess with words, and enjoys time outside when Deathstroke allows it."

Jason filed this information away, she was basically repeating what Selina said, which meant this 'interrogation' was useless. Great. Well... at least he got a second witness, he could say positively now that he knew the boy's personality beyond his own interactions.

"How about his identity? Do you know that? Or know someone who does?"

Ivy only looked at him, something like disappointment in her eyes, and then amusement. "And what makes you think that I would know? We both know Deathstroke will take that boy's name to his grave."

Jason was expecting a negative response, he was surprised by the sudden and hidden truth in her words.

Deathstroke was going to take that boy to his grave. And Jason believed it.

"Better safe than sorry," Jason said, though it was more like a grumble. He could tell she was suspicious now, their conversation coming to a different head.

Ivy side-eyed the black-haired man, arching an eyebrow as she asked, "What do you plan to do with this information anyway?"

Jason let the silence drag a little before answering. "I'm deciding something, and before I do I needed to know if it was worth it. I believe I found my answer." He stood up, taking his drink with him and giving a slow nod to the woman. "Thank you, for your cooperation."

Poison Ivy said nothing, only observing him carefully as he began to walk away.

"Hood." She called.

When he turned around she lowered her voice as her eyes grew dangerous. "I don't plan on making a contract with you, but if you plan to free Renegade... I hope you give Deathstroke Hell."

Jason smirked, gave her a two-fingered salute, and left the bar. He wasn't sure if he could call this a success, it wasn't exactly the most lucrative interrogation in the history of interrogations, but he did get something, even if it was almost nothing.

He just exited the building (after swiping his mask from his face), clearly too lost in thought to be paying much attention to his surroundings, when something heavy knocked into his shoulder.

Jason whirled around, ready to attack, but seeing as how it was an elderly civilian man he settled for a glare. "Watch it, old man." He growled, watching the seasoned man with an evaluating eye. The old coot was actually quite a bit taller than him, and his hatted head hid an eyepatch and grizzled white hair.

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out in the future." The old man said smoothly and moved on, not at all bothered by the younger man's harsh tone.

Jason's eyes followed the man for a few more seconds, a bad feeling twisting in his gut as he saw the old man enter the pub he had just exited.

Jason shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking, his mind running a million miles per hour.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Poison Ivy's narrowed eyes looked up as another, heavier, body sunk into the seat across from her.

"What did you tell him?" He asked roughly, single grey eye watching her with an emotion Ivy couldn't place.

"Enough." Poison Ivy said decisively, tilting her cup with a single finger. Her eyes flicked up dangerously, her voice growing sickly sweet. "Careful Deathstroke. If it is really all an act, and you do care for the boy, I suggest dropping it. Because there's a lot of people lining up to save him from you, and I'm starting to cheer them on."

"I can't do that," Slade grunted, the frown that had been etched onto his face since Dick left grew deeper.

"Oh yes," Ivy laughed in contempt, "The precious reputation." She scoffed. "Well, some people are worth more than a reputation." Ivy promptly got up, her plants moving with her and dangerously winding around the mercenary's feet before slipping away down a dim hallway.

Slade's grey eye burned after her, defiant and stubborn. He knew what he was doing, other people's opinions didn't matter. It was his job to save Dick, and if that meant tearing up anyone and everyone who got in his way, then he'd do just that.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o-

"What is it?" Batman asked, staring curiously at the little box Renegade held.

Renegade reached in the container and grabbed the item in question, revealing that the only thing inside was a credit-card-sized paper. The young mercenary lifted the curious object to eye level so he could study it. Batman didn't get an answer right away, seeing as the boy was figuring that out himself. Batman waited patiently as Renegade flipped the small paper over, examining his prize, and his face suddenly stretched in surprise.

"Gotham. I need to get to Gotham." Renegade said, his head snapping up to the vigilante with an impish grin rising shortly after.

Batman nodded, unfazed by the sudden demand and the (concerning) grin on the boy's face. "Alright, let's go." Batman turned heel and went to the Zeta Tubes, leaving a shocked Renegade behind him.

Batman was selecting the right coordinates when he heard Renegade scamper after him, shouting his confusion.

"Wait you're not even going to question why I want to go to Gotham?" Renegade asked, finally catching up to the dark man who was done with the buttons. "What if it's for something, I don't know, bad?" The boy suggested, rolling his eyes.

Batman replied without turning around. "Selina assured me it's safe, I assume there is a location on the card?"

"Gotham is a location." Renegade huffed, clearly annoyed.

Batman turned and waited for the young assassin, sighing silently to himself and trusting his instincts. This could go either really well or really badly. He was fully aware he was allowing a cunning opponent to lead him away to who-knows-where for whatever purposes. But he was also aware of the agitated teenager writhing under that mask he wore, Batman was determined to get it out, and that would hopefully clear the way for anything that would come next. Or, worst-case scenario, completely block the boy's mind from any possibility of improvement.

A truly risky move indeed.

Renegade easily slipped into the area next to him, he could almost see the anxiety building inside, leaking through the paper-thin cracks. Batman felt a sudden urge to console him, to place a solid hand on his shoulder, to give him some type of heads up or support. But what, exactly, would he be supporting? His own demise? If it had not been for Red Robin's (borderline unhealthy) obsession, he would have thought only in that way. But no, he believed Renegade had no malicious intent with his rising anxiety, just anxiety with his situation, goodness knows what Batman would do in a similar circumstance.

Batman had barely noticed the young assassin had held his breath before the light came and they dissolved, only to reappear somewhere else.

Wrenching open the rusty phone booth door, Batman lifted an arm to keep the door in place. Renegade ducked under his arm, entering the grimy alleyway, into the slums of Gotham.

Renegade waited for Batman to leave the booth before he started walking, sidling next to the vigilante in a comfortable manner. Batman figured it was a customary action for him and Deathstroke, except now it was Batman in Deathstroke's position. The first parallel for the night, a number he knew would grow as the evening wore on. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of it though.

They were heading for the street, but before they breached the edge of the alley Batman abruptly stopped. Renegade paused as well, turning a masked look at the vigilante.

"Alright, where to?" Batman asked, looking down at the young mercenary casually.

Renegade's forehead creased in outright confusion as his head tilted up to look at The Dark Knight. "Why are you asking me?" Clearly he expected Batman to know where to go, but the Caped Crusader had other ideas.

"You're the one with the card," He pointed out with a shrug, watching as Renegade's confused face narrowed even more. "What do you need that's in Gotham?" Batman prompted, lazily sweeping his surroundings with a practiced eye. A trap, like the boy had suggested earlier, was still possible, even if highly unlikely.

Renegade eyed him for a moment. Batman could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to decipher his emotionless face. Batman returned the stare in kind, watching a few emotions flit over his features like butterfly wings, how soft and fleeting they were. Renegade was definitely confused, trying to piece together Batman's odd decisions to trust him along with everything else on top of his weighted mind.

"A roof." Renegade eventually clipped, his face finally drilling into a passive scowl.

Batman rose an eyebrow, how incredibly vague.

The Dark Knight tilted his head upwards to the darkening Gotham skyline. It was almost the end of twilight, the sun was going out on the horizon, like the earth was swallowing up the light. "We should probably get this done before dark."

Renegade stiffened for a moment but nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it shouldn't take too long."

Batman fished his grappling gun from his belt, the boy following in tandem with his own actions. Instead of shooting off and disappearing like a true creature of the night, Batman waited, looking at Renegade to know what to do. Renegade was put off by the sudden shove of responsibility, stumbling with his words and fidgeting with his grapple gun. "Ah, wait- um- right, so you're not-? Uh, ok- I'll just-um..." Batman stayed incredibly still, he wanted Renegade to figure it out on his own, sooner or later, Renegade would realize it, if he hadn't already, and he would have to believe it.

He was not used to taking the active initiative then, Batman figured, at least not without prompt. When there was no one telling him what to do, Renegade was quite inventive, but in the presence of a higher authority, the boy was a soldier. Batman couldn't help but be reminded that this boy was incredible, even if his default was to follow orders. He would adapt, Batman was sure, Renegade was smart and intuitive.

The young assassin eventually shook his head with an exasperated sigh and aimed his grapple gun to the sky. The hook shot off with a familiar 'zzzzzt' sound and Batman followed suit right after.

Batman landed next to Renegade with a slight 'thump', the young man immediately stepping down to the actual roof. Renegade sighed again as he looked down, and Batman got the distinct feeling the boy was disappointed in something. Probably something along the lines of his confinement to the vigilante's side, an order Batman didn't even initiate but the kid had expected and followed through. Again, Batman was enamored by the boy's canny abilities to follow orders, to even GUESS those orders, especially from someone who wasn't his mentor. 

He knew how much Renegade feared him, but recently it was a different kind of fear. He wasn't afraid of him exactly, it was more like Renegade was afraid of the position. Batman figured it was the same fear he must have for Deathstroke while they were out. He wasn't convinced, he was all too aware of what was on the young man's mind, however, he did acknowledge that it could be one of the things within the accumulating weight.

"Are you sure you don't want to go further into the city?" The cowled man asked, making sure his voice conveyed some innocent curiosity. He would feel a bit bad later, but right now it was in his and Renegade's best interest to manipulate him this way. He had a feeling Renegade would forgive him, he was acutely aware of Renegade's little bribe-trust plan.

That computer glove had been confiscated as soon as the boy's suit had been thrown into the wash. And once Tim hacked into it, found out how the boy had been getting information AND the source of the mysterious hacking that had gone on during the assassin's first night. It made sense, but it annoyed Batman that he hadn't checked the boy thoroughly enough, but he couldn't be angry about what had already happened. He had a very current issue at the moment that needed his full attention,

Batman was given a side glance from the young mercenary. "No, here's good," Renegade replied simply. He opened the box once more and Batman watched curiously as the boy deliberately placed the little paper on the ground.

"So what do we do?" Batman asked lightly as Renegade returned to the lip the vigilante was perched on.

"We wait, shouldn't be too long," Renegade replied, leaning back on the cement structure with his arms crossed.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Batman asked with a grunt, his voice quipping at the end dryly.

"You'll find out soon enough," Renegade said stiffly. Man, this kid did not want to let him have anything, Batman almost smirked, that's how he knew he was close to spilling. The boy was too full of pent up energy, anger, resentment, and emotions. It just kept piling up and he had no way to let it out, but now that he was away from all the prying eyes of the team and out in a more (dare he call Gotham comfortable?) comfortable environment, the boy could finally release. It was just a waiting game now, in multiple aspects.

They waited in silence for a few minutes, staring at the roof like he was on standby for an airplane ticket, longing for something to happen.

"What's up with you?" Renegade asked, breaking the silence and rounding on the man. The white lenses of the child's mask washed over his own, searching for something, but Batman couldn't find out if he found whatever he was looking for when he responded.

"What do you mean?" Batman asked innocently, receiving an incredulous look from the kid.

Renegade was losing it, evident by his slipping facade. "You're acting weird."

"Maybe you just don't know me yet." Batman shrugged, eyes flicking to the edges of the roof as he saw a flicker of unidentifiable movement.

"No that's not it," Renegade shook his head, then paused as he shrugged. "Well that could be part of it, but I highly doubt that's the reason your acting so... nice."

"I can't be nice?" Batman asked with a raised eyebrow, amusement shining in his eye, and perhaps a sense of victory.

Renegade shifted uncomfortably, this was really starting to freak him out. "It's just... confusing."

"How so?" Batman prompted gently.

Renegade sighed and started out hesitantly, but gradually grew more... angry. "It's just different from what I expected, I guess... It's different from what I have been experiencing. I don't understand why you're different from the others, and it scares me because it's... its..." He paused, either by not knowing what to say, or knowing exactly what to say. Batman inferred the latter considering the boy quickly moved on. "My only interactions with you have been on that roof and in the library, in which two totally different things happened and you were so different for each. On one hand, you were this terrifying doom and gloom figure representing the end of everything I know. Then in the second you were freaking... coddling me! And now it's like... like... like I'm not even a mercenary to you!"

The acrobat was pacing, his fists rising up to grasp at his unruly hair, looking anywhere but at Batman. Batman kept quiet, hoping his silence would invite the boy to speak more, and was pleased to find more words spilling out of the distressed assassins' mouth. "It's just so confusing and it makes me uneasy and mad! I shouldn't be mad! Slade taught me how to not let my anger get the best of me! But I'm just so alone and you're so similar to Slade yet so different, and I keep thinking one is the other and -Ugh- Why are you so easy to talk to? Why am I telling you anything?! That's not how this is supposed to work! You're SUPPOSED to be this figure of doom and destruction to me and my kind, I'm the bad guy! You're the good guy! Batman isn't friends with his enemies! That's why they're called 'enemies'! I'm a mercenary, I've killed people. You of all people shouldn't be nice to me!" Renegade was almost screaming, the rush of emotion and anger exploding its way out of his carefully trained mask.

The roof was silent. Mortification was rolling off the child in waves, a shaky hand rose and covered his mouth in horror. Batman could only watch as the young assassin turned away from him, sunk to the ground, and huddled his head around his arms, his shoulders hinting at a shake.

The Dark Knight was contemplating, filing away certain information to use later, mentally shoving away incorrect theories and adding to growing ones. It would be rather distressing, finding out the man you lived with had a metaphorical doppelgänger on the other side of the law. And then being suddenly cut off from everything familiar with the only source of normalcy being that one doppelgänger- but true familiarity would evade him, a shadow of the reality in which he thought safety resided. It was a lot on a young person's mind, and Batman didn't blame Renegade for any of it.

Batman took a deep breath, letting the silence drag so the kid had time to collect himself. "...Just because of who you are, how you've been raised, doesn't mean I can't treat you like a human being," Batman said gently into the air.

To the Bat's surprise, the young man stood up abruptly but didn't turn around to face him. Batman waited for a response, clearly the boy had something else to say. "...So it is what happened at training..." the child whispered.

Batman did nothing, his mind whirling with intrigue. The boy was trying to find a reason for his 'sudden' change in demeanor, and yes, if Batman was being honest, this change was prompted by the team's lack of trust in the training room. It was Tim's idea really, but Batman was doing his own thing as well. Renegade was also trying to cover it up, change the subject, act like he hadn't just broken down (again) in front of The Batman. The Caped Crusader was planning his next words when the young assassin began to speak again.

"You heroes sure have a messed up way of trying to get someone's trust. Not even Black Canary attempted to trust me... Not to mention the other kids hate me." The young man's head hung, and his voice shook with sad emotion, a dagger hinting at the edges of his words.

"Trust is a two-way street, it has to go both ways," Batman replied steadily, sparing a second to glance around at their surroundings. A ratty street cat had made its way up there, paying them no attention, and neither did the younger of the duo.

Renegade scoffed, holding his arms close. "They don't care."

"What have you done to trust them?" Batman asked smoothly, pointing out that Renegade really hasn't tried to trust them with anything.

Renegade finally turned around, spinning on his heel with a roar in his throat. "Oh no, you CANNOT pin this on me. I've TRIED ok? ...Maybe not a whole ton, but I've tried doing it the hero way. I've sat and watched the movies, I've had lunch and 'hung out' with the team. Do you want to know what I've gotten from them? Nothing. Canary told you what I said during training right?"

"You're stubborn." Batman said flatly, "Almost like a toddler."

Renegade bristled and his face grew hot with fury. Batman's mouth opened to explain himself but Renegade exploded forwards before he could even inhale.

"THEN WHY AM I HERE?! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME? I'M NO BETTER THAN ANY COMMON CRIMINAL! LOCK ME UP, BATMAN. PUT ME IN JAIL, WHERE I BELONG." Renegade advanced on the vigilante, his face red and full of rage, but his eyes held great sadness and longing.

Batman remained fixed in place as the teenager came at him, his gloveless fists rising up and falling against his armored chest, demanding to be put in prison as hot tears traveled down his face. "JUST SEND ME AWAY, LIKE SLADE DID, THEN YOU'LL BE EXACTLY LIKE HIM." Renegade was thumping his fists against The Dark Knight's insignia, a word coming out with each weakening thump. "Why-" thump "-won't-" thump "-anything-" thump "-make-" thump "-SENSE?!"

On the last word the fist stayed on his chest, the boy's bowed head leaning forward to rest against the torso he'd been (pitifully) attacking. Heavy, gasping breaths exhaled from Renegade, Batman could almost feel the anger, fear, and confusion emanating from the simple contact of his head and fist. Batman stayed still, soaking it all in, wishing he wasn't the cause of this turmoil. Something pulled at his gut, or maybe it was his heart, but he wanted to help. The physical contact seemed to be the only outlet other than words, the emotions rolling off of him in waves being combated by the Bats own calming demeanor, but Batman didn't want to cross that line again. Renegade hadn't said anything, at least not till now, but that hug had supremely bothered the boy. Batman did not want a repeat of that situation.

Batman compromised by simply being there, waiting for the little assassin to exude all his confusion and anger.

"...Please... just put me in jail." The boy warbled, his voice shaking and quiet, barely above a whisper. "That would be so much easier than... whatever this is..."

Batman again resisted the urge to physically comfort the boy, Renegade wouldn't take it lightly and it was already a delicate situation. "Putting you in jail won't help you, it would only hurt you. Deathstroke knows that, and so do I. You don't have to be a villain." Batman rumbled softly.

"I shouldn't be a hero," Renegade said quietly under him, Batman almost didn't hear him.

That caught Batman's interest, momentarily pushing aside his comforting instincts to analyze the new information. Shouldn't? As if he had the capability, but chose not to? Or was there something preventing him from choosing? He would definitely explore this avenue later, but Renegade was too strung out at the moment.

Batman placed a hand on the boy's shoulder anyway, the pull to comfort, console, and strengthen outweighing the years of training his steadfast mind. "You have an incredibly strong will Robin, possibly stronger than mine. You adapt and compromise where you can, and when you can't, you don't. Cunning may be something you've been taught, but you have this sensitivity and kindness not found in the normal qualities one equates with villains."

The body almost flinched under his hand, it swayed, the boy moving from foot to foot without shifting away. He waited once more, hoping his simple presence could convey enough comfort.

"...strong?" Said the weak voice below him, sounding almost offended. "All I've ever done is break." The boy drew a deep breath, Batman feeling the boy's shoulders shake with new silent sobs. His voice wandered up again, groggy and thick with emotion. "Don't sugar coat it, Slade doesn't sugar coat things."

Batman rose an eyebrow, he shouldn't be surprised at the request, he had just compared the two men again and ASKED for something to be similar. "I'm not sugar-coating," He assured simply, "I'm telling you what I know to be true. You have a great capacity for kindness-"

"W-where are you getting your information?" Renegade interrupted, a sense of self returning to his quivering voice. "Sorry boss," he drawled airily through his groggy throat, "but I think all this time fighting the Joker has finally gotten to you."

Batman almost smiled but instead rubbed the boy's shoulder in smooth motions, the kid's head still buried in his chest like a cat's head bump. "I'm going to ask you a question, and please, answer as honestly as you possibly can."

Batman waited a good ten seconds before he felt a delayed nod move against his chest.

"Do you enjoy killing? The power? The overwhelming feeling of domination over another human, to control another life. Do you like seeing the light die in their eyes, caused by your hand? It feels good, doesn't it? Do you enjoy it? Do you enjoy ending life?" Batman asked steadily, making sure each question sunk into the child's mind, to mull over each question in its every aspect.

There was a shuddering sigh, and Batman got the distinct impression of hopelessness now emanating from that broken voice.

"My killing days started long before I met Deathstroke..."

"But do you enjoy it?" Batman asked with a long comforting stroke down his back, his mind tucking away the information.

"...No..." the small answer rose like a flower hesitant to bloom, when in fact great beauty was to be found once it began.

A wave of relief washed over the vigilante, not that he showed any, but a tightness in his mind wore away. Renegade could be saved, if only he would let himself feel the sun and grow.

"Then let yourself change," Batman said slowly with heart, "you don't have to kill."

Renegade shifted under him, and Batman hoped he wasn't going to move away, if anything, he wanted him to move closer, so he could fully initiate a non-freak-out-must-be-contained-by-force hug.

Instead the head shifted to the side, the boy's flushed cheek now resting against his chest. Another sigh escaped him, another bout of hopelessness crashing through whatever Batman had tried (quite one-sidedly) to build up.

"I would, but it means nothing to those who do not want me to change," Renegade said with a twinge of remorse.

"The team is not perfect," Batman grunted, in fact, he was quite displeased with the team's performance over the past few days. "They have their shortcomings, just as you do. Do not change for them, change for you. I already told you that you have a strong will, stronger than I anticipated and stronger than I could ever hope to achieve. Which is why I trust you to do whatever you need to do to get the team to trust you. Even if it's blackmail."

Renegade scoffed lightly, sad and not at all surprised the man knew of his plans. "I won't change what I'm doing just because you know Batman... I've already started anyway." His voice sunk down again as another hopeless sigh passed his parted lips.

"Good. I don't want it to." Batman said holty and removed the boy from his chest. Renegade was surprised to find himself suddenly upright without the big steady weight of Batman to lean on, blinking for a moment before coming to his senses and finding the Bat a few feet away, walking slowly, but not unpurposefully, away.

Batman was curious, about two things really, but first was the boy's response to contact. He had almost melted into him, he could feel how close the boy was to just surrendering to the contact, but he kept himself away. That was probably Batman's fault, you know, 'replacing Slade' and all of that. He wondered how much Slade hugged the boy, he didn't seem affection starved, but he definitely responded better to it.

Batman would keep this in mind.

Then came his second curiosity, the singular cat that had appeared minutes before had now multiplied. There were five cats on the roof now.

Batman stopped a few feet away from the group of cats (a clowder- he could almost hear Tim's voice giving him the definition- or more accurately, a glaring), his attention seemingly all on the furry beasts, but his ears were out for Renegade.

He could sense the utter befuddlement that was twisting Renegade's face as the child trailed after him slowly. His cape was swept by a chilling breeze, the Dark Knight's thoughts immediately going to the under-dressed teenager behind him. 

 "What? You're not going to stop me?" Renegade questioned, thoroughly confused. "I'm literally planning on blackmailing a bunch of teenagers into trusting me, just like how you had no choice to trust me to bring you here even though it could be some trap." The spike in his voice was all too obvious, and it saddened Batman to realize it was because Renegade didn't trust him.

"I thought you were paying attention. I trust you." Batman threw over his shoulder, his broad form blocking his destination from the small mercenary's view.

Renegade's footsteps paused for a second before returning to full stride. "You shouldn't." He hissed, then was caught by surprise when the Bat swiftly turned around.

"But I do anyway because no matter what you think you are, a murderer, a mercenary, a villain. You are good inside." Batman said sternly.

The boy was frozen to the spot, and even with the mask Batman could tell with that glassy look that Renegade was not seeing anything at the moment. Concern arose in the pit of his stomach, was he even breathing? Batman took a hesitant step forward, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to come up with a possible reason Renegade would react so badly to the statement.

Was he afraid of being good? That couldn't possibly be it, why on earth would he be scared to be good? Unless there was a pressure trapping him... definitely not out of the question, and the one-eyed mercenary who had hidden him away -specifically from heroes- was prime suspect.

A thud brought Batman out of his thoughts, and his concern flared uncomfortably in his gut as he saw the boy was now on his knees, obviously fallen.

"...please... I can't-" his small voice gasped, tears brimming the edges of his eyes.

Batman wanted to kick himself, he knew he was pressing too hard, he just wanted to help, he was already on edge and he might have just pushed him off.

The teen curled forwards, his head bowing and his arms coming up around his shoulders, a few shuddering sobs wracking his small frame.

Batman was there in an instant, so incredibly close to the child, but refraining from touching. 

Would he think he was Slade again? Maybe his presence was enough, enough to remind the boy where he was and who he was with. Even with the minimal contact between the two, Batman knew the boy was easily made unaware of his surroundings during one of these... he didn't want to call it a panic attack, but it was the best label he could think of. His contact, like last time, could worsen its effects, whatever it is... Especially if the child thought he was Slade again.

Renegade was trying to contain his sobs, a few tears splattering onto the pavement.

It just hurt so much to watch.

"Would you like a hug? Renegade?" He asked cautiously, hoping by the use of his mercenary name the boy would know or remember who he was with.

The child didn't respond immediately but eventually shook his head, his shoulders tensing as his head bowed even lower. "N-no." Renegade ground out, his vocal cords tense and catching brokenly on the simple word.

The boy was lying.

Batman wrapped his arms around the teen, taking the weight off his knees and giving him something to lean on. A fearful squeak emanated from Renegade, his tense body once again finding itself being hugged by Batman.

Batman simply held him, holding him tight and giving as much comfort as he could in his clunky bat suit. Renegade found his voice, grunting to clear it of his obvious emotion. "H-hey, I said no..." he muffled into the vigilante's chest. Batman simply squeezed him closer, the ebony-haired child's small frame being swallowed by his large dark form. Batman shrugged his cape around him, covering the child like a protective blanket, it was also waterproof and insulated. It would help keep the boy warm, like a shield, separating the cold mean outside from the warm and soothing inside.

Batman felt Renegade huff lightly, his small chest expanding only to find more pressure around him, but gave no signal he was uncomfortable. The silence seemed to goad the small mercenary into speaking again, Batman suspecting the child felt a need to fill the silence that would otherwise suck the boy into that world he went to every time he broke down. "This is harassment," he started, his voice growing with strength and ridiculousness, but not without deep relaxing breaths between sentences. "I'm calling the cops."

Batman felt a smile tug at his lips as the boy childishly spoke to a pseudo officer. "9-1-1? Yes, I'd like to file an assault on a minor, yeah uh, Batman is hugging me." He ended breathlessly, a deep shudder running along his body that Batman responded to by rubbing his back gently. "No I'm serious he's right here, big ol' Batman- Mmph, I wish I had a camera, no one is going to believe me. Batman, hugging a mercenary, who woulda thought."

They stayed like that for who knows how long, Renegade relaxing unintentionally in his arms.

"I'm sorry," Batman said, a gloved hand raising to run through Renegade's wild raven hair. "I won't push, but I think I've found your problem. I want to help you Renegade, but you've said lots tonight, so let's just calm down a bit ok? Do you want me to do something about the team?"

Renegade flinched at the mention of his 'problem', mumbling something along the lines of, "Of course you had to go and figure it out within two days of meeting me." Batman remained quiet, keeping his comments to himself as the boy let out one last defeated sigh. "No... I've got that part covered."

Batman nodded stiffly, then his eyes drifted over to the glaring of cats. "I'm going to let go now, it seems we may have gotten distracted from the objective of our escapade." Contrary to his words, he didn't let go until Renegade was ready, letting the boy instigate when he wanted to leave.

Renegade shifted with another deep breath, releasing his arms that had snaked around the vigilante without either of them noticing. Once they were untangled they both observed the gathering of cats, both completely floored.

There were so many.

Batman had trouble counting them, their pelts all meshed together and many were meowing and hissing at each other. Was this all because of the card Selina had given Renegade? What was the point of gathering a crap ton of cats? Cat army? If he was being honest, if that many cats were to attack a single person, the corpse wouldn't be identifiable. As ridiculous as it sounded, it was a scary thought.

"It worked!" Renegade bustled forward with a giant grin, for the first time since they got on the roof, sounding like himself.

"And what is the point of this?" Batman asked, warily watching the cats yowl at each other to get to the card of interest.

Renegade was wading through the sea of cats, not responding because of his intense focus on searching each of the cats. Batman felt a stab of fear spike through him, the 'unidentifiable corpse' turning into a semi-familiar form of Renegade. But apparently he had nothing to fear, as the teen was largely ignored while he walked through the moving mass of felines. The raven-haired mercenary gasped in child-like excitement as he pulled at one of the black cats. The cat yowled in his arms, writhing his grasp and flailing to claw at the sudden attacker.

"Uh, you have a lighter I could borrow?" Renegade asked over his shoulder, grunting and shifting to keep the cat from clawing him too badly and from dropping to the ground. Batman almost hesitated, but got one out from his belt and tossed it to the boy. Despite not facing the man and struggling to hold the restless cat, Renegade snatched the lighter out of the air. He clicked the lighter on and tossed it on the ground. The card instantaneously went up in flames and the cats immediately lost interest. "Thanks," he said, promptly holding the cat tighter to his chest and stuffing his face into its dusty black fur.

Batman approached, curious. Did Selina get Renegade a cat? No, he had been looking for a specific cat, this black cat in particular. "What's so special about this cat?"

"He's my cat, I found him years ago and helped him. He ran away awhile ago and Selina has been trying to figure out a way to find him ever since." Renegade said, turning around with his fluffy prize. He wore a pleasant grin, a genuinely content and happy one, a smile Batman had never seen on the boy's face.

"Did you name him?" Batman asked.

Renegade caressed the animal, the cat growling low with its tail flicking dangerously, but seemed content to stay in the boy's arms. Batman felt the cat's gaze fall on him, cool grey-blue eyes staring at him with a permanent scowl on his dusty white muzzle. "His name is Matthew."

Chapter Text

A small, almost-ten-year-old Dick Grayson grunted as he wobbled shakily down the alleyway, the big heavy cat in his arms wasn't exactly helping his progress or his wounds. His blood-soaked pant leg dragged on the ground behind him, the exposed leg still oozing precious red liquid. His pants were completely torn and frayed around his left shin, slash marks and puncture wounds littering his small calf. He had a few drops of dried blood on his face, his jacket speckled with it as well. His chest puffed with the effort of carrying the wounded cat, but his crystal blue eyes held nothing but stubborn determination. His right arm hurt too, but the big heavy jacket he got from Slade protected his arm from the brunt of the dog attack.

The cat gave an unhappy rumble, its tail flicking its discomfort and distress. The black cat had a mangled leg, chewed on by the vicious dog Dick ever so heroically attacked to save the poor thing. Afterward, Dick realized this cat was not a 'poor thing', this cat would probably do the same damage as the dog did if it wasn't so incapacitated.

When he first picked up the cat it had hissed at him so much he almost dropped it like it was hot, but he relented and decided that helping the cat was more important than any scratches the cat would give him. Besides, the dog had tried to bite his leg off too, they should be friends.

Dick fumbled as the cat shifted in his arms, it was like the creature became liquid and fell through his arms. The cat landed with a heavy thud, not at all with the grace a feline should have, and limped away quickly and quietly through a hole in a building.

"W-wait..." Dick trudged after the cat, sorrow and pain crossing his face from the loss of his furry little friend. He paused by the hole the cat disappeared into, placing a hand on the eroding wall to help himself catch his breath. The little acrobat looked down to fully survey his wounded leg, he should probably have Slade look at it, it hurt a lot. Slade would be angry, he had gotten himself hurt really bad... Slade usually got upset when he got injured, it took a while to realize it wasn't anger towards him, but sadness that it happened and that he wasn't there to prevent it.

Slade was funny that way, he really had to pay attention and think things through or else he'll miss what Slade was really trying to say.

Dick was just assessing where he was in relation to Slade's apartment when another thud smacked against the concrete, this one coming from behind him and sounding much more... agile and poised. Dangerous.

Dick whirled around, heart suddenly pounding. His wide, scared blue eyes scanned the dark alley and found a shadow. Two big round red dots floated ominously in the dead space, his stomach filled with dread.

He took a step back, only to have his back hit the wall. He tried to keep his face void of all fear, Slade had been teaching him how to, but through all his wounds and logical fear of strangers, his face definitely told of his terror.

He started sliding to the side, deciding if the person wasn't going to attack him immediately, he should slip away while he could. He was all too aware of people who would use his fear to further hurt him. Living on the streets those few weeks before Slade made him a quick study, and now with Slade's help, a lot better at judging when to flee and when to fight. Dick supposed attacking people smaller or less fortunate than them made them feel better about themselves, although the little acrobat himself never felt good when he was in the other position, towering over someone who was cowering in fear because of him. The thought alone sent shivers down his spine.

"Aw, you poor thing!"

Dick froze in confusion as the figure moved quickly out of the shadows and rushed to help him. Clearly female, she was dressed in all black, she wore some sort of pointy-eared mask over the top of her head and the red orbs were actually goggles. The mask reminded him of Slades alter ego, Deathstroke. He was... he was much safer than any of the other men he encountered, that's for sure.

Dick tensed as the woman dropped to his level. He shifted back, a scared squeak emitting from his throat.

"Oh, it's alright, you poor baby. You're bleeding so heavily! We have to patch this up right now!" The woman said, somewhat sternly. She gave off motherly vibes, a sense of safety and assurance following her words.

Then absolute terror.

"W-wait! N-no! Please!" He scrambled back, hitting the wall as his leg gave out, thus falling to his hindquarters as his hands flew up to ward the woman away. Where was Slade?! Slade would save him! He knew this trick, this happened before and he had fallen for it! They would pretend to be nice to him, lure him in, and then... and then...

And then he was lifted off the ground without his permission. Dick grunted as fear left him breathless and pain made his mind foggy. Darkness edged his vision and his limbs burned with a fierce cold, his throbbing leg a contradictory broiling hot.

"It's going to be alright child, I'll take care of you." The nice woman said, her voice soft and reassuring.

He writhed, trying to escape her arms and get some type of scream out of his mouth, so far he'd only been able to gasp in pain and choke on his cries. No! Not again! He couldn't be tricked by nice people again! He would never be someone else's toy! He shoved against her as hard as he could. Never again!

"Careful!" The woman cried but he was already falling back to the alley floor.

His head hit the cement first with a resounding 'thunk' and his eyes hadn't even closed when the darkness claimed him.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick woke up sometime later, wrapped in blankets, with a numb tingly feeling throughout his body. His mind was sluggish and his eyes felt glued shut, everything... everything hurt...

Slade..?

He shifted slightly, testing his muscles and mobility. He frowned as he didn't recognize the surface on which he slept, Slade had pretty limited bed-worthy places in their house. A tiny pained groan left his lips, something heavy was resting on his stomach.

His eyes flew open, panic spiking his tired nerves with adrenaline. Dick sat up straight against his body's wishes, his mind demanding confirmation for his fears.

Two grey-blue eyes blinked slowly, slitted pupils barely moving up to his sudden shift.

Dick heaved a heavy relaxing sigh. It was just the black cat he saved. His eyes got wider as his chest constricted tightly.

Waitwatiwaitwait... the cat... the woman... Where was he?!

"It's alright, you're safe here."

He jumped at her sudden voice, the cat on his lap giving a disapproving garble in its throat. His mind rejected any thought that he was anywhere close to safe right now, he didn't even want to check his surroundings, afraid his horrors would come true.

The woman leaned on the couch cushions, her arms folded as she watched him like some fallen fledgling. It took him a moment to get past his sudden fear to realize she was now unmasked, short black hair crested her head and red lips settled in a small smile. Her green eyes made him feel small, like prey to her predator. He felt the part completely.

"N-no... I won't, I-I won't do it!" The ebony-haired boy shouted, his hands fisting as tears gathered in his cerulean blue eyes. Slade! Where was Slade!?

Her lips turned downwards as her eyebrows narrowed. "Won't do what?" She sounded confused but suspicious.

Dick trembled, his breathing hampered with unchecked terror, he could only look at her with pure fear and hope she didn't force him to do anything. He- he was trapped... just like last time... with a woman...

Her eyebrows tilted upwards, her gaze softening as she reached down with a delicate hand to rub his back.

"Shhh... it's ok... I'm not going to hurt you." She tried to reason with a gentle voice.

He flinched at the touch, his eyes squeezing shut as his entire body convulsed.

"P-pl-please l-l-le-leav-ave m-me al-a-alone." His head bowed and his spindly arms curled around his tiny chest.

It was quiet for a moment, nothing moved, not even the cat on his lap blinked. The hand on his back had left, causing a mixture of fear and relief to spread through his body. When the woman moved, she moved away.

"My name is Selina." The small acrobat winced at her voice, expecting something else but reacting all the same. "I won't get any closer if you don't want me to, but you could have died from blood loss if I didn't take care of that leg of yours." There was a pause, then she gently asked, "How did it happen?"

Dick took a few deep breaths, something Slade told him to do when he was scared. She wasn't... she wasn't... she wasn't going to- He shook his head to get rid of his train of thought. How did it happen. How did it happen. How did he get so foolish to believe some lady on the street would be nice to hi- No. NO. Dog. Dog bite. Cat. Save cat. He saved a cat. He saved it from a dog, the dog attacked him too.

He blew a solid breath out through his mouth, his body tired with how tense he was and his leg burned with pain. "I-I was, was... w-walking..." He breathed in again, his hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically over his biceps. "I h-heard c-cat i-in pain. A d-do-dog w-was h-hurting him..."

The ebony-haired boy focused on the story, his eyes opening to his lap to find dark wet splotches on the red blanket. "I f-found d-dog, p-pulled his t-tail... dog... dog t-turned around an-and b-bit my l-leg."

His face twisted in pain at the memory, but he found himself more relaxed. His gaze flicked upward warily, observing the woman sitting on the ground near his feet. She was listening intently, but made sure she was in his full view and didn't move. Something black darted across his vision and he surprised himself by not jumping. The cat whipped its tail again, slowly blinking again as it shifted to lay more comfortably on the boy's lap. A long arm came out, its paw flexing and sharp claws became visible before sinking back into their sheaths. Dick lifted a hand hesitantly, he reached out shakily and pet the cat's arm, his mind distracted by the soft fur under his fingers.

He saw a white wrap around the cat's back leg and he returned to his story.

"I-I kicked th-the dog an-and ran... it chased me and scratched my arm w-when it t-tried to ta-take me down. I k-kicked it again and picked up the cat, then I jumped a fence an-and started walking." Dick finished, staring at the cat's lazy eyes as they sluggishly began to close. Its furry tummy rose and fell with deep rhythmic breaths, solidly and quietly.

His shoulders relaxed and a soft (but thorough) sigh left his parted lips. He looked to the woman again, Selina, and she was smiling.

"That was very brave of you," She reached up to the blankets, but paused just before her fingers brushed the fabric. "Can I show you your leg?"

Dick nodded and slid his hand into the other and gripped it so tight his knuckles went white.

"I washed the blood away, and I had to do a few stitches for the bigger tears." She drew back the blanket without disturbing the cat, gently stuffing the warm fabric to the side. She looked to him with a little smirk, a hint of humor to her eyes as she said something else. "I'm sorry to say but I think you might need some new pants."

Dick nodded solemnly, squeezing his hand nervously. His leg was wrapped tightly, and he just then noticed his jacket was gone and his arm was also bandaged. He frowned and rubbed his arm, wincing at the touch. He missed Slade, he would give him what he needed, like Peanut. Wintergreen would make him some cookies, or bring him some store bought ones considering the house the three of them lived in had a microwave as their most advanced cooking equipment. Wintergreen was probably freaking out right now...

His eyes glided over to the cat on his lap and he reached out to pet it again. His thoughts drifted, still on guard but relaxed enough to let himself think of something else. "I wonder if he'll let me keep... M...M-Matthew." He mumbled to himself softly.

"Who's Matthew?" Selina asked, pulling the blanket back over his wounded leg. She sat down again on the floor, this time a bit closer to his midsection where the cat slept peacefully.

Dick pointed to the cat, his nerves acting up at her closeness. "I-is it a-a he?"

Selina laughed lightly, a delicate sound, but not quite a giggle. "Yes, he is a he." Then her head tilted in question. "Who is the other 'he'? Is 'he' your dad? I'm sure I can convince him you need each other. Where are your parents anyway?"

Dick winced, recoiling from the woman for a moment. "T-th-they-ey a-are d-d-dead." Fresh tears pricked at his eyes. He had cried over them before, he still cries over them a lot. Slade could calm him down, even with a simple hand on his shoulder, then Dick would hug him and he'd be ok. Even if their deaths had been two years ago, he hadn't been able to fully confront that problem until he met Slade.

Selina grew a sorrowful look, but not a surprised one. "Who is 'he' then?"

Dick hesitated, Slade wasn't big on social interaction, and neither was he for that matter. But in that moment he failed to remember if Slade said he should or shouldn't tell the truth when it came to telling others about Slade. Generally, he just avoided telling people about Slade all together, and if he had to, he would lie and tell them he was a family friend. But for some reason, here, he was compelled to tell the truth.

"...Slade." He eventually said, glancing up to see if the woman recognized the name.

"Slade?" Her face stretched in surprise, "as in... Slade Wilson?" She sounded scared the second time, and Dick couldn't figure out why.

He nodded, wondering why the woman didn't like him, well, it was more like she was scared of him actually. That was another cool thing Slade was teaching him, how to read faces, it was cool to tell how one REALLY felt when they tried to lie with their faces instead of their words.

"Kid, do you know who Slade Wilson is?" Before he could even answer she continued. "Deathstroke the Terminator. He kills people for money sweetie, you don't want to be around him." Her tone was serious, the most serious he'd heard her in.

It was scaring him, Slade wasn't a bad guy, he helped him! "I-I know... He helps me..." He felt almost ashamed now, why was he with Slade?

You know where you'd be if you weren't with Slade.

Dick tensed at the thought alone and his shame turned into a grueling fire. Slade was HIS, and NOTHING was going to make him stop loving Slade. Not again. He refused to let his family be taken from him again. Especially not by some random lady who told him Slade was dangerous, he knew he was dangerous, Dick was dangerous too.

"What's your name sweetie, and where can I find Slade?" Selina asked, her softer tone returning but her smile looked strained.

"I'm Dick." He said with his chin up, for the first time holding his own without fear. Well... that was false, considering he was very afraid at that moment. He could be wrong, maybe Slade didn't like him and it was all Dick and he was being annoying. Selina might be right, all adults were right- wait wait wait... Slade told him that wasn't true, adults lie too. Slade never lies though, at least not to him. Slade was safe. That would never change. "I'm coming too." He started shifting under the blankets, barely pausing at the pain erupting in his leg.

Selina leaned down, settling his moving feet, her face creased in concern. "You should stay here where it's safe Dick. You are just a child, he's a mercenary, he shouldn't be around children."

Dick felt the fire under his skin burn. This woman was trying to keep him away from Slade! "How do you know?! You've never seen him with me before, he loves me!"

Selina was surprised at his new tone, having heard nothing above a whisper from him since she found him. She then grew sad, her eyes having this odd look Dick couldn't decipher. "Dick... are you scared without Slade?"

Dick was confused by the question, took an internal poll, and nodded, deciding it was best to tell her he was afraid, because she seemed to want to make him not afraid, and that would mean she would HAVE to let him go to Slade. "I want Slade." He said solidly.

Selina let out a defeated sigh and placed her hands on her hip. "Alright, but will Matthew let you go?"

Dick visibly relaxed, his plan worked! He looked down to the cat in question, making the boy paused as a laugh bubbled up from his throat. the cat was awake now and had a weird look on his whiskered face, like he was disappointed and angry that he couldn't nap anymore. "He's coming with of course." Dick chirped happily and grabbed the cat, shoving his face into his fur as he snuggled.

The cat was utterly outraged.

-0o0o0o0o A little warning, adult themes coming up, only discussed though 0o0o0o0o0-

Deathstroke was crouched silently on the edge of a roof, hunkering down in the shadow of a gargoyle. It was a clear night, one of the few that grace the skies of Gotham, the stars weren't exactly visible, light pollution from the grand city made even the brightest stars almost impossible to see. This night the moon shone down in cool blue colors, creating a few shadows with its might. His eye caught his target, two figures being illuminated by the bright moon. Deathstroke swiftly leaped down to an adjacent roof and rolled to a stand in one fluid motion.

His burning gray gaze locked onto a small figure, his arms folding as he stopped and stood solidly.

Selina Kyle, the Catwoman herself, was walking across the rooftops with his charge, who was struggling to hold a big fluffy black cat.

His eye narrowed.

"Slade!" Dick caught sight of him, obvious by the shout of jubilation, but also informing the mercenary he had told Selina of his identity. The little acrobat wore a giant grin but didn't race forward to him like the boy he knew would. Something was wrong. He was limping.

It took everything within Deathstroke not to lunge forward and pin the woman down, demanding what happened. Instead, he let his seething anger grow inside, planning on letting it out when Dick wasn't in the near vicinity and in harm's way.

The boy still limped towards him, a half grunt leaving his panting lips as his diamond blue eyes locked with his grey one. Relief, anxiety, fear, hope, were the most prominent emotions being translated through the air by mere eye contact alone, that simple look was enough to raise even more anger and suspicion in the mercenary. He gave no outward clues however, only sending his own relief and sense of safety back to the boy.

Selina was slinking along, eyes darting between the two, her gaze showing concern and anger. Slade was unable to keep the scowl off his face, she wasn't even helping the obviously ailing child, although it did occur to him that Dick might have insisted he hold the cat. Dick got very stubborn with things he was passionate about. Which created a whole new train of thought for the mercenary, why was Dick so adamant he hold the cat? He couldn't possibly want a pet, the apartment was crowded enough. Although recently Wintergreen had been complaining to him about leaving the boy by himself in the house while the two of them were gone. But a cat was a highly ineffective playmate, and definitely no use if the house were to be attacked, except maybe as a portable bullet vest.

In no time, Dick was right in front of Deathstroke, grinning ear to ear as he lifted up the black cat who looked less than enthusiastic about being held. "Slade! I saved a cat!" He beamed and held the cat close to his chest, not being able to hold the heavy cat up for long.

"I see." Deathstroke said, "and I assume your rescue went a little awry?" He pointed with a nod to the boy's obviously wrapped leg, finding the boy was standing heavily on his single good leg.

Dick's face fell a little, almost repentant. "It was a big dog..." 

Slade frowned in disapproval, glad it was hidden by the mask. He and Dick had been working on that, Dick shouldn't be afraid to tell him when things go wrong or think of himself little when they do. He didn't want Dick to misinterpret his disapproval, that would prove difficult to solve, especially with Catwoman being the thorn in both of their sides.

"And when does Miss Kyle enter this story?" Deathstroke grunted, shifting the conversation away from his, turning his gaze on the woman who had been silent so far.

"I saw him bleeding out in an alley, I took him home and patched him up," Selina said indignantly, her own acid gaze boiling into the mercenary.

Slade was unfazed, but his concern grew. Dick liked going out on the streets, for whatever reason, and Slade was beginning to think he should rein him in a bit, the number of close calls were starting to pile up. Not to mention the... terrible incident barely a month ago. It blew his mind that he had even asked to leave the house, usually he had to boot him out (as gently as he could of course).

"Can we keep M-Matthew?" Dick's small voice rose between the glaring contest.

Slade started at the name, but quickly disguised it into a sigh. Will was going to have his head by the end of the day, which, technically, it was the end of the day. "Matthew can have a home whenever he needs it," Slade said eventually, a soft look going down to the pleading child.

Dick's face lit up in excitement, a celebratory 'whoop' coming from him and he jumped in place. This was a terrible idea, Slade almost winced for the boy, but figured Dick realized it within the milliseconds of jumping up. Evident in the pained look overriding his features and his 'whoop' ending in a hissed grunt, his small body bending over slightly to try to alleviate the pain in his leg. 

"Go sit down, Dick. I believe Miss Kyle would like a private discussion." Slade said, eyeing the woman who was still trying to burn holes through him as if she were Superman.

Dick nodded and hobbled off obediently, a grimace still etched into his face. The boy found a little wall to lean back against, with the cat still settled firmly in his arms and lap. Slade gave a small nod of approval, the child was close enough to keep an eye on without hearing their conversation, and certainly within earshot if either cried out.

Slade found Selina was watching him too, an odd fury added to her gaze that was not directed at the boy, but to him. Deathstroke turned to her, masking his anger as she looked ready to burst a vein.

"You have NO reason to be in charge of that child!" She exploded, not unexpectedly. "He is innocent! He does not need you corrupting his childhood! He almost died tonight and you were nowhere to be found! You are the least capable person in the world to care for a child!" Selina basically shouted, eyes lit in a dangerous rage.

Slade took a deep breath, both to calm himself down and to irritate Selina further with his delayed response. "He came to me." He grunted slowly. "His childhood already corrupted long before I met him. If you want to find out, don't ask me, that's his story is his to tell, not mine."

Selina was acutely aware he avoided the questions regarding his ability to care for the boy. "Are you even trying to help him?! Or are you using him for your own sick gain?!"

Anger flared inside him, having to bite his cheek to make sure he didn't just swipe at her for even thinking that was a possibility. When he finally spoke his voice was clipped, trying so very hard not to take offense at the woman's jab. "It isn't exactly easy, trauma doesn't disappear in the blink of an eye. What use would I have with a child anyway? He comes to me, I just don't turn him away. There are a lot more people out there who would use him for much worse things, at least when he's with me, he's not with them."

Selina was quiet for a moment, looking back through her interactions with the child and the child's obvious dependency on Slade. Her gaze was solid, looking at him through accusing eyes.

"He was afraid of me, afraid that I was going to rape him." She said lowly, but not without power.

Slade almost froze, a disgruntled breath leaving his lips.

It was a month ago.

Slade had been deep in a mission, contact to the outside world was severed for the time. When he finally returned he came home to a worry stricken William Wintergreen, noticeably alone and jabbering on about how long Dick had been missing. Will had gone looking himself, but couldn't find the child anywhere, and feared the worst.  Slade had immediately set out to find him, but it wasn't until a few days later when the poor boy was found.

He was alone, in a run-down house, bruised, and naked.

Slade hadn't felt so much anger in his entire life as he had in that moment, but for Dick, he was able to stuff it down enough to take him home. It was a miracle the child recognized him and allowed him to take him away from that horrid place. He wasn't even ten years old yet and had to go through the vilest of atrocities. Dick was absolutely terrified of anyone but Slade and Wintergreen, except for on bad days, those days Slade had the sharpest memory of. He had revisited the place of Dick's torture sometime later and slaughtered the people responsible- both male and female. It took Slade a week just to get the boy to leave the bedroom, two to get him out the door of the house. The nightmares were still bad, not surprising even a month later. The memories were still fresh, one doesn't get over such a terrible thing in any small amount of time.

"An unfortunate event, lasting a week, only just a month ago," Slade said, seeing Selina's anger boil up just as his did when he found him. "He is progressing as much as can be expected," Slade said with a pointed nod towards the calmly waiting child. "It's a wonder that he trusts anyone at this point, he only trusted me because I saved him before.

Slade settled a stern glare on the woman, his voice coming out even and heavy. "I have no desire to see the boy hurt, I certainly won't use him for any type of gain, he's much too fragile for that."

Silena huffed, but backed down ever so slightly. "Just don't force him into anything he doesn't want to do. He is a child and should remain that way, and DON'T get him killed."

"Contrary to popular belief, my name does not mean I control death. I will try Miss Kyle, and I am not one to half-a** a job. Now if you'll excuse me I need to take Dick home before he catches a cold."

Deathstroke stomped off, leaving the woman behind and finding Dick dozing off with the cat still on his lap. Slade bent down in front of him, making sure the kid's eyes flashed in recognition before speaking and moving. "Wintergreen has been worried sick." He murmured to the sleepy boy, only receiving a tired hum in response. "I think Peanut might become jealous," Slade said as he observed the cat nestled in the little acrobat's lap. Dick's mouth twitched upwards, a small attempt of laughter coming out more like a huff. The child reached for the mercenary, leaning up slightly as Slade swooped down at the invitation. Slade heaved him up, shifting him into bridal style to keep the cat on board and the leg safe.

Selina stayed behind, watching the duo move off, her eyes scrutinizing the large mercenaries receding back.

Travel was uneventful and Deathstroke took that moment to really observe the boy. His coat was missing and his arm was wrapped in the same way his leg had, but the leg had darker splotches of blood on the wraps. His face was pale and gaunt, having fallen asleep in his arms and fitfully dreaming. Oh, how he wished he could have found him sooner, of course it had to be the one week he was out of town for something like that to happen to such a precious child as this.

Deathstroke stopped at the window, tapping on the glass with a knuckle only two times before William's form appeared. The old man lifted the window in record time, his worried strength opening the window past the place it usually got stuck. He was wearing a black turtleneck with its long sleeves scrunched up near his elbows and his long jeans he usually wore in cold weather. He'd been planning on going out again to search for Dick, even though Dick had only been missing for six hours William was adamant that he'd never wait so long to find him again. 

"Is he alright?!" William asked, rushing forward as his dark eyes darted along the boy's sleeping form, not aware that in his feverous worrying he was blocking the entrance to the house. "Where was he?! What happened to his leg?! Why is there a cat on his lap?!"

"All very good questions my old friend," Slade said but huffed in annoyance. "But maybe you would like to let us inside?"

William paused and nodded swiftly shuffling to the side barely leaving enough room for the mercenary to get in without spilling the contents of his arms. "Of course, of course." 

Once Slade stepped in Will crowded around him again, checking the boy's forehead and pulse. Slade almost rolled his eye, Will wasn't always such a worrywart, it amused him that only Dick could make the old army man turn into a mother hen.

"Well?" William asked, turning around heading for the bedroom in a furious pace.

Slade answered all the same, knowing Will would hear him just fine from the other room. "From what I've gathered Dick saved this cat from a vicious dog attack, in which he didn't come out unscathed. Cat woman found him sometime later and helped his wounds, then came searching for me with Dick."

"In that state?! The nerve of that woman!" William cried in anger, coming back out after bustling about (rather violently) with blankets and pillows on the floor, his usually neat gray hair up in wild licks like he'd been running his hand through it.

The chaos William created when stressed was not something to take lightly, but in that moment Slade was amused. "Calm down," Slade said, walking slowly over to the bedroom, but being signaled by Will to stay put he stood still. "He's fine, he just needs some rest. Dick would like to keep the cat, I said if Matthew needed a home he could have one."

William froze at the name. "Matthew? Goodness gracious child, and here I was thinking he was getting better." Will came forward again and gently took the boy from the mercenary arms, giving a sharp nod to the furry creature regarding them with a cold glare. "Take the cat, I'll explain to Dick later but I will not have any hairballs in the bedroom."

Slade rose an eyebrow, a cat isn't a cat unless it ignores all human commands, but he found himself gently lifting the cat off the sleeping boy. The creature hissed at him but made no violent acts. Slade agreed with the cat, William was being unfair, he couldn't be mean to the cat just because he didn't like what Dick had named him. Slade was sure that was the reason for the old man's sudden sharp attitude, along with the wounded child.

"He is getting better," Slade countered, watching the older man move the boy into the bedroom floor. They found out quickly that the boy didn't take kindly to waking up in a bed, a fact that convinced Slade to go after the people responsible. Dick, surprisingly, was the one who held him back, telling him that even if the mean people did hurt him, he didn't want them to die. A very mature decision on the child's part, but seeing the boy wake up in utter terror simply because he was in a bed made his vision go red. Slade was taken again by surprise when Dick didn't seem upset when he came back after his vengeance spree, almost relieved. 

"Think about it Will," Slade said, testing out his own ideas as he spoke them aloud. "If Dick feels like he can save this Matthew, then his guilt over the real one might subside over enough time."

"It's unhealthy!" Will nearly shouted, then quieted as he returned to the living room without the boy. The man placed his hands on his hips, Slade once again reminded of a mother hen. "It is going to crush him, because even if he saves a million Matthews, the Matthew that mattered is still dead at his hand."

Slade was silenced by the jumble of words so carelessly thrown about. Usually, this was a matter of great reverence. Dicks first -and only- kill was extremely traumatizing for the boy, and it had happened long before Slade even met the little acrobat.

"This Matthew matters to him," Slade said quietly, still in some shock by the bluntness of William's exclamation. Then he realized what he said and glanced at the cat, suddenly wondering why he was arguing in favor of the creature. He ignored the cat, finding it better to think of arguing for Dick's mental stability rather than a living, breathing, annoying cat.

William's words twisted his insides, it sounded as if the old man blamed Dick, but he knew that was just his old friend's anger talking. Will was quite sympathetic to Dick's situation, and Slade wasn't above reminding him about it. "At 8 years old he didn't have the luxury of choice, you know that."

"Exactly," Will said as he moved off towards the kitchen in a hurried manner, wrenching open the medicinal cabinet and grabbing a few liquid painkillers. "We can understand how it's not his fault, but he is only nine, and even younger when it happened. He isn't capable of thinking it's not his fault, and no amount of saving cats and sticking that poor boy's name on them is going to rid him of that guilt. He won't understand until he's much older, we just have to make sure he gets there."

"I think you underestimate his capacity for kindness," Slade said, almost glaring at his friend who was busting himself looking for something in the kitchen. "He needs a companion, you said it yourself a few days ago. And even if Dick has attached that boy's conscious to this cat, wouldn't it help him eventually accept what happened? At least now he's saying his name, he could be a therapy cat." As soon as the words left his mouth Wintergreen scoffed, and honestly, Slade felt the same. But he argued anyway, for Dick. "What good would it do now to get rid of it? I'm not sure Dick can handle losing another Matthew, especially after certain recent events."

"Fine." Said William's angry grunt, finally finding his prize, Peanut, and pausing at the door to the bedroom. "He can keep the cat. But you get to take care of him while I take care of Dick."

Slade frowned, "Now hold on a moment." He protested, lifting the cat away from his person in annoyance.

"Dick will be fine, you needn't worry. 'Matthew' can stay out there with you until Dick is feeling better." William said, ignoring his friend's misgivings.

Slade was full-on glaring now. "If he wakes up-"

"You will be busy, I'll be just fine." Will cut him off, opening the door to go inside.

"William." Slade's voice lowered. Will stalled in the doorway and Slade could barely see Dick's limp form in the mound of blankets on the floor.

"I understand Slade," He said with a small glare, "if it's anything severe I'll get you, now if you'll excuse me I need to make sure Dick is comfortable and his needs are met." Will shut the door, leaving Deathstroke The Terminator holding a cat at arm's length in the middle of his apartment. 

Slade glared at the door, he hated when William got like that, Dick was his responsibility before he was Will's, that darn old man just couldn't help himself when Dick was hurt. "Shouldn't that be my job?" Slade asked the cat, in which the cat flicked its tail and meowed indignantly to the position it was being held in.

Slade sighed and moved over to the kitchen. The cat growled and hissed a few times but Slade eventually made it to the counter in which he set the cat down on. He got out a cup of water for himself and a bowl for the cat, after setting down the cup he fished some leftover chicken from the fridge and tore it up. He placed it in the microwave for 30 seconds, his mind mulling over the events of the past few hours.

His headspace was shattered when he heard his cup splatter onto the floor, he twisted around so fast he thought he might slip. Matthew sat on the counter, paws set delicately in front of him, slate grey eyes watching expectantly. The space the cup had been moments before was deserted, the cat flicked his tail and Slade observed the fallen cup of water.

He sighed.

This cat was already getting on his nerves.

The microwave beeped and Matthew started to meow impatiently.

That cat was darn lucky Slade wanted to see Dick happy.

Chapter Text

Renegade was grinning ear to ear as he stepped out of the Zeta tube. Matthew growled in his arms, his tail flicking indignantly at the weird sensation of being teleported. Batman followed them out, finding the young mercenary waiting for him before they moved off together.

"Most of the team has left by now, Aqualad has also returned to Atlantis for the night," Batman informed as they walked into the kitchen. Renegade nodded, adjusting the cat in his arms lightly and letting his slightly nervous gaze scan the room.

Superboy was simply standing with his arms folded looking quite cross, but Dick liked to think that was his resting face. Miss Martian was floating around, making some type of food that required eggs, tomatoes, and a few other random ingredients.

She almost paused at the duo's entrance, her confusion quickly replaced by a kind greeting...? Was slapping herself in the head considered a greeting? Or was that just a Martian thing?

"Hello, Megan!" She lightly smacked her forehead, causing a bizarre jolt to run through the acrobat, and exclaimed, "Artemis told me you two left for something important, but she didn't say when you'd be back. Is that a cat?!"

Ignoring the weird greeting, Renegade promptly replied. "Yup!" He said just as joyously, his giant grin growing wider. "His name is Matthew."

"Why do you have a cat?" Superboy grunted, eyeing the young mercenary with barely concealed hostility.

"An old friend," Batman said in the raven-haired boy's stead, lifting and resting a heavy hand on his small shoulder. "And seeing as how I've permitted you to keep Wolf within the mountain, I'm alright with Renegade keeping his own companion."

Superboy and Renegade caught his undertone, the message between the lines. The Bat was making them equal, no certain mercenary precautions and rules. Renegade liked that, and may or may not have sent a snarky smile to the Kryptonian who looked less than happy at the unspoken chastisement. Miss Martian, however, was oblivious, being enamored by the fluffy little creature in Renegades's arms.

"Aww, he's so cute!" Miss Martian fawned, floating over and crowding the cat held by the mercenary. Renegade was spooked by her closeness, nearly backing away before she could start to pet the cat. He remained still though, the heavy hand on his shoulder feeling like both a blessing and a curse. It wasn't that he had anything against the martian, he was just shocked she so willingly entered his personal space. He could almost feel her breathing as she bent down a little to give her full attention to the creature in his arms.

Her amber eyes crinkled as she ran her fingers through the cat's long black fur, then switched to his head and scratched behind his ears. Matthew was silent, even his tail stayed still through the alien's ministrations. Renegade was instantly jealous. Matthew was never that nice to random strangers, even him! The acrobat chalked it up to Martian Jedi mind tricks, Miss Martian was cheating.

"Renegade has already had dinner, and I'm sending him off to bed early," Batman said to the two teens, his hand still on the boy's shoulder.

Forgetting for a second that someone was in his personal bubble, Renegade quickly grew a grin again as he remembered back to a good hour or so ago. He relished the shocked look of the drive-through lady at a Chick-fil-A when the Batmobile rode up and ordered a burger. Renegade had been sitting in the passenger seat, making a paper airplane with some trash as he tried to get Batman to order a milkshake for him too. Batman was being as stoic as ever while ordering, even while Matthew was meowing incessantly behind them because of his distaste for vehicles, and seemingly ignoring the 13-year-old's cry for a milkshake. As the woman left her window, the little glass door slid closed, but not before Renegade's paper airplane flew right in and rested gently on the adjoining counter. Renegade had fist pumped in victory, only to be reprimanded by Batman's disapproving look. This did not deter the young mercenary, in fact he gasped obnoxiously in amusement when he found the paper airplane in his food bag once they peeled out of the drive-through.

It was a good burger, and Batman HAD actually gotten a milkshake, but only for himself- not Renegade. He argued that he was a kid who didn't need sugar right before bed. Renegade had pouted, but was quickly appeased by Matthew jumping into the vigilante's lap while he drove, still meowing like the world was on fire. The cat's sudden need to be on the vigilante's lap (with claws out so he could stay in one place)(Bruce thanked himself for making the armor thick) caused the car to swerve and a chilling laugh to rise up from Renegades's throat.

Presently, Miss Martian backed off the cat with a sad 'aww', giving Renegade an odd look the boy couldn't decipher in the two seconds he was able to see it before it disappeared in a wash of distracted concentration. The kitchen was strangely quiet after that, and Renegade got the impression the two teens were communicating with the Martians telepathy. It annoyed him, but he was glad to be spared the conversations. He was still a bit tense after his second breakdown, but so far, with Matthew and the food and Batman being so nice, he was sure he could at least sleep that night. Tomorrow night though... that would definitely be a different story.

Once the Martian was out of the way, Batman steered him away and down the hall. The vigilante's hand dropped after a while and Renegade glanced over at him, a bit surprised to find himself missing the heavy presence. The silence was comfortable, but Renegade was bubbling up again, something was coming to a head and Batman noticed by the odd flashes of emotion flitting across the young man's face. The Dark Knight paused just outside the door as Dick turned around to face him from inside.

"Get some rest," Batman grunted, his arms folding under the cape and shrouding his form with the black fabric. "Are you sure you don't need me to help with the team?"

Renegade's lips tugged into a smile, faint a pang of sorrow and fear striking through him. "I'll be fine," he said. His gaze dropped to the floor and quickly bounced back up. "I-if something does go wrong though, you would be the first one to know. Besides, you know, whoever I'm with. But that won't happen, they're not risking their lives, I'm just risking my sanity." Renegade said with a pained grin that looked more like a grimace, the sarcasm painting over the truth of the statement.

Batman didn't look convinced but relented all the same with an accompanying sigh. "Alright... good luck." Batman made to leave but Renegade called out for him.

"Wait, Batman?"

The vigilante simply turned, a light "Mm?" from his throat acknowledging the question.

Renegade looked a bit sheepish now, a light blush coating his cheeks and the cat dropped from his arms. He reached a hand up and itched one side of his head, ducking it a bit while he averted his gaze. "Umm, thanks... f-for-" he cut himself off, not really sure what exactly he was saying thanks for, and realize there were too many things he needed to say thank you for. For the food? For not locking him up? For actually listening to him and letting him break down for a second time on him? The things he was thankful for were piling up, making the boy well aware how much he was starting to depend on the cowled man.

Then a thought struck Renegade. He didn't even know his name.

Well, it made sense, since Batman didn't know his name either. But by the time this was all over Batman would know his. He just hoped the man would trust him enough by that time to tell him, but considering this was Batman of all people, his hopes weren't too high.

Batman understood the sudden silence and nodded, something more emotional than a grunt passing along with his simple reply. "Anytime."

And with that, the vigilante disappeared down the hallway.

Dick shut his door with his foot and let out a deep breath.

He turned and simply stood for a moment, letting everything sink in. "Well," he commented, turning to his cat, "that wasn't too bad now was it Matthew?"

He got no reply, he didn't bother waiting for one either, he just let himself be happy for once and went about his nightly routine.

Matthew explored this new room while Dick put on his pajamas, actually using them this time rather than sleeping in his clothes. He grabbed his knife from the bathroom too, having to get up to the small vent because he didn't quite trust the others to take his weapon while he was gone. He tossed the knife around while he did his stuff, brushing his teeth with one hand as he flipped the knife over and over, walking around to grab Peanut at the same time. He tossed Peanut onto the bed before heading back to the bathroom to spit. When he came back out he found Matthew on his pillow, in which Dick smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Well Matthew, just me and you again. Wonder who's going to survive longer this time." He said airily, but the atmosphere in the room changed drastically.

With a new foreboding silence overshadowing his mood, he tucked the knife close to his forearm as he climbed into bed. He settled to the side, giving the cat ample room to stretch out in, even if Dick didn't get any space on the pillow. He sighed as he stared at the ceiling, his other hand grabbing Peanut close.

He could imagine he was 10 again. Slade would be just outside the door, looking over blueprints or something while Wintergreen ranted on about some stupid thing that happened while he was out that day. He remembered the safety he felt during those moments, knowing two people were looking out for him, guiding him, protecting him.

But now both of them were gone.

Matthew got up without a sound and moved down to the lower part of the bed, curling up into a tiny circle of furry death. Dick shifted so his head was on the now vacant pillow, masked eyes half-lidded as his darkening thoughts drifted.

A lot has changed since then. Now he was with the people he feared, who didn't want him, who didn't care. Except for one, maybe two.

The others were idiots. Making him go this far just to get their trust. Stupid heads.

"I'll get their trust, even if it's through pity." He said to himself, or maybe to Matthew, he didn't really care.

Tomorrow he would implement his plan, he was to entrust each member of the team with a piece of his life, which was only 13 years short and filled with terror. This was going to be sooooo muuuuch fuuunnnn.

That felt like enough sarcasm to explain his feelings. Sarcasm was a great outlet, like telling the truth with a sting instead of just words. The truth always hurts, sarcasm simply deflected the brunt but left the tingly feeling of a backhand. Humor was so weird, pain was apparently funny, but only when it happens to someone other than yourself. And suddenly it was a whole lot easier to understand how the Joker came to be.

He slightly shook his head with closed eyes, trying to get back on his train of thought. "This will work, right?" He asked Matthew, shifting his position once again. He turned to the side and grabbed at the blanket, carelessly tossing it over his legs and curling his knife arm under the pillow where he laid his head. He tucked Peanut close to his neck and chin, liking the reminder it gave him of protection.

The knife was like Slade, a bit cold and dangerous, but grew warm under his grip. Protecting with action and a plan, a physical deterrent of harm. Peanut was like Wintergreen, soft and protecting with his simple presence, comforting and filling the gaps.

Without these two, he would be long dead, but not after suffering the worst torture. Or even worse.

"Victory often demands sacrifice," Dick whispered, Slade's voice echoing in his head. He tugged the two items closer, he didn't want to let go. Not yet please, couldn't he have more time?

His eyes began to water and a shiver ran down his spine, sending a numb feeling to his limbs. "Please?" He whispered into the air, not really sure who he was asking. "I don't want to lose him too."

A sharp pain on his feet interrupted his thoughts, his tears drying up in surprise. "OW!" He jerked back and looked down, knife at the ready, but already knowing the cause of his discomfort.

Matthew still had a claw stuck in his sock, the cat licking its chops quietly as it looked like he was about to attack his foot again. Dick growled and yanked his feet away, "not cool Matthew... not cool."

The cat was still as stone, his slate grey eyes still dilated wide and his head following the moving feet. Dick have him a warning look, "No, don't even think about it."

Matthew's right ear flicked, the only indication that the creature even acknowledged his words.

When the cat rolled over and pounced on his feet again Dick only sighed. He wouldn't dare pet the cat, not while he was in 'attack mode', but he was grateful for the little furry animal's distraction.

Pain was pain. Never ending and evolving, like a physical manifestation of a boggart. He was glad his pain for Matthew was physical instead of mental, it was a lot easier to deal with. One could simply say 'Riddikulus', and this cat was quite ridiculous. Matthew was both his boggart and his Riddikulus, building him up and tearing him down over and over again.

It may not be the healthiest thing in the world, but if the cat Matthew wanted to hurt him he was fine with it.

After all, the dead one must get back at him somehow.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

The morning was a drag, there was no Wally or Artemis, even Kaldur wasn't there yet. Dick was so bored, so bored he started getting cold feet for his mission. It was simple really, he just had to do it. But the details and what could happen came crashing down on him whilst he was alone with his thoughts. He was going to share so much in one day, he was practically cutting himself open and shoving his innards into their faces. Ok, that was a gross analogy, but that's exactly how Dick felt.

He was so nervous, and Matthew was no help, somehow finding a way to trip the young mercenary in the kitchen. He had yelped, alerting the present Martian, and then the awkward conversation after left the boy even shakier.

That was a few hours ago, both the Martian and the clone were in their rooms, and hopefully they stayed that way.

Dick was again wearing civvies, but couldn't tell if it comforted him or added to the growing pile of anxiety. The raven-haired assassin was sneaking around, checking around corners and darting across entryways.

Why was he doing this? Because if he was going to tell the team about himself it sure as heck won't be all at once, he needed to isolate the members and tell them individually, divide and conquer. And they, if he played his cards right, wouldn't ever know the others were given information as well until the time was right. When was the time right? He actually didn't know. Well, once the team got rid of their secrets he guessed. It was the only reason he felt comfortable telling them his past, but even then this was a stretch for him because he hated talking about his past, and that's why he was going to start with the most painless one.

Dick tucked Peanut close to his leg as he lay flat against the wall, peaking an eye around the corner before ghosting forwards. He wouldn't be caught dead with Peanut in his hands, not here at least, not by any of the older males. Sure by the end of the day they would be pretty sympathetic and open-minded to his needs, but he really didn't want to give them more reasons to pity him than he was already giving. And 'giving' was such a generous word in his mind, he'd more likely call it a form of torture.

He really hated what he was doing. He tried to reason with it, make it a bit more likable, but with the lengths he had to go... he wasn't sure it was worth it. He wouldn't be surprised if he had a panic attack during one of these self-appointed 'sessions'. The acrobat was currently doing everything in his power to calm himself and make himself comfortable, which included his sneaking around. It felt like second nature, like home, like he was sneaking up on Slade, only to be disappointed to find Slade knew he was coming.

Slade... his anchor and only good thing in his life. It pained him that his thoughts of Slade only brought him sorrow and not the comfort he needed at the moment. But then his thoughts drifted to Batman, and a calm fell over his mind. He was actually glad Batman knew his plan, even if he didn't know the details. It made it easier for himself, like how Slade always knew what he needed. It gave him someplace to turn to if this all went south. He really needed some type of emergency button, like, 'hey I'm kinda dying, come at your earliest convenience plz'. Yeah, that would be nice, to have the Dark Knight at his beck and call.

He could have a little button, like life alert. 'Help, I've fallen and I can't get up.'

It had almost made him smile, but the truth of the statement was far too apparent. He had fallen, he was down for the count, he wasn't getting up. He was stuck at the bottom, cold, alone, in the dark.

He shook his head to clear it, taking a deep breath through his nose and gently squeezing Peanut, reminding himself he wasn't there.

He sidled up to Miss Martian's door, deciding to just throw himself in before he broke down. He took another deep breath to compose himself before knocking gently.

After a few seconds he heard a light "Come in!" and he eased open the door and ever so slightly leaned in, not wanting to intrude too much even though she literally said 'come in.'

"Hey... Miss Martian... do you have a minute?" He asked sort of quietly, his masked eyes darting around a little through the room. It was quaint, not too much decor, but definitely lived in.

"Sure!" She said, floating up from her relaxed position of laying on her bed and turning off the TV that was in front of her with a thought. She was curious, he could tell, she wore a smile but it wasn't quite right.

Dick edged in, keeping his stuffed animal out of sight for the moment. His head ducked and his eyes found the floor as he felt his ears burn with embarrassment. "Could you um- I need a- do you know how to sew?" He finally looked up, his eyes slightly pleading.

M'gann was shocked, and shrugged, but also felt nervous. "Sure, I wouldn't say I'm good at it but I do know how, why do you ask?" To her credit, Miss Martian did sound worried, but Dick also knew she was the most gullible of the group, despite her Martian mind tricks.

Dick took a deep breath and brought Peanut from behind him, showing off a scratch in the fabric causing by, yours truly, Matthew. He was able to push the stuffing back in, the gash wasn't that large, but he was desperate to keep the small stuffed animal together. It was the only thing he had left.

"Matthew kinda sliced him, do you think you could fix him?" He asked, letting a bit of desperation into his voice.

He was fully capable of fixing the tear himself, he was actually great at sowing, it was exactly like stitches on a wound, only for a stuffed animal. But with his placement here, the materials weren't available to him, and probably wouldn't be if he asked. So he asked Miss Martian, who would ask questions. Questions he was going to answer, however uncomfortable they may be.

"You have a stuffed animal?" She asked, confusion written across her face.

Dick nodded, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "I've had him since I was 4. We've been through a lot together."

He forced himself not to wince at the look he received, already the girl was pitying him. Good thing he was sharing this piece of him, she might not be able to handle the other stuff.

"Of course!" Miss Martian came forward and gently took the stuffed animal from his hands, Dick being unable to stop the feeling of loss as his friend was taken to be operated on.

She turned and went to her desk, rummaging around a little while Dick hung back, waiting for her to ask her inevitable questions and not wanting to further invade her room. He didn't know why he felt that way, maybe it was because she was a girl? Maybe after growing up with so many men and this being his first time in a LONG time that he just felt like he shouldn't be in her room.

"So... you've had him since before Deathstroke? What's his name?" M'gann asked, setting the stuffed animal on the table as she went through the drawers.

Dick let out a sigh, both glad and terrified the questions were starting. Now he didn't have that excruciating wait, but now he had to relive certain events.

"His name is Peanut. And yes, I got him from my parents when I was 4. When they died... I was left alone, except for him, he was the only thing I was able to take."

"How did they die?" She asked gently, but unknowing of his trauma, and still turned away from the young mercenary, missed the boy's flinch.

"They uh... they performed," he got out, finding it harder than necessary to speak of his parent's death. As time went on he got better about his parent's death, partly, only because he had bigger demons so his parents were always a bit easier to talk about. But that doesn't make it any less traumatizing, especially when saying it to someone he didn't fully trust. If he were with Slade, he would have been completely fine. "They were acrobats, and one day... my 8th birthday, someone sabotaged the wires, and they... f-fell to their deaths."

He took another deep relaxing breath, silently celebrating on telling her without much of a breakdown, but he was definitely sweating.

Miss Martian had paused in her searching, turning around to face him with such an expression of worry and sadness. "I'm so sorry..." her eyes were watering, it almost made Dick smile.

"It was a long time ago, it's ok." He consoled, "do... do you mind if I come back later?" He asked, inching back towards the door, he did his part, he wanted out now. He had bigger fish to fry and he wanted to get it over with.

"That's fine," she said, making a few awkward movements around her dresser. "I should have Peanut fixed by lunch."

"Great," Dick said, but paused in his backing out of the doorway. "Now um.. you wouldn't mind keeping it to yourself would you? I-I don't want-"

"It's ok, your secret is safe with me," M'gann said softly.

Dick actually smiled this time, before it turned slightly impish. "Well... I want you to know that I know yours as well. As a mercenary it's my job to know things, I know what you really are."

M'gann's face paled, or at least, became less green. Her eyes widened and she stuttered an explanation. "Well- I- Renegade I-"

"It's ok, your secret is safe with me," He parroted back, "It's not my secret to tell. Besides, you might want to try opening up yourself, you're a team of heroes, they can't be THAT racist." He paused, bringing a hand to his chin as he looked down thoughtfully. "Then again you guys have been treating me like dirt, but hey, I'm just a mercenary, what do I know?" He shrugged with a grin and backed out of the room, feeling only a twinge of regret at his harsh words.

Yeah, he was salty, but he didn't mean to take it out on the Martian. She was kind to him at least, he was the one who was staying away from her. With good reason though, he really hoped she stayed out of his mind, now and forever.

Dick turned a corner and stopped in his tracks. He lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his masked eyes.

When did he start crying?

He took a deep breath and steeled his resolve. He was fine, he just told Miss Martian about his parents, that's all.

He huffed and glared down, finding Matthew sleeping, stretched across the floor.

"I got this." He said to the animal.

Matthew didn't even flick an ear.

Dick looked back up, eyes settling on the hallway that lead to the kitchen.

One down, three to go.

"I got this." He said to himself.

What he got was a one way ticket to his worst memories.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

The young mercenary peeked into the living room/kitchen area, (Mmph there really should be a name for that) finding a singular superhero in the room. 

He had barely taken any time to compose himself this time. He had to get this one done as soon as possible to limit the risk of Miss Martian accidentally entering while he was sharing, that would definitely set him off. 

Superboy was sitting on the green couch facing the tv, the screen danced with static, it was almost spooky with how still and intense he was staring at it.

Renegade tip-toed in, coming closer and closer while his mind worked trying to figure out how he should do this.

Don't worry, He had a plan, but this memory and person was much touchier. He had to be sure he didn't let himself slip too much, nor let the Kryptonian get angry. He knew Superboy was rather hot-headed and that he already hated him, but hopefully this conversation could turn that around.

He just had to be careful- for his own sanity as well.

"What are you doing?" Superboy's annoyed voice cut through his thoughts.

Renegade froze, finding himself in the most iconic 'sneaky' pose ever. One foot was extended out, only his toes touching the ground, his shoulders were hunched and his arms raised to his sides like he was wading through water. He was half crouched, stopped on his way to the couch the clone sat in.

Renegade grunted and dropped the pose, standing up straight and folding his arms casually. "I wanted to talk to you." He said, disregarding the pose he just pulled, and the odd grogginess that accented his voice.

Superboy turned around, raising an eyebrow as his cold eyes conveyed his distaste for the young mercenary. "Me? Then why are you sneaking around? I can hear you."

Renegade somewhat forced a smile onto his face and casually trudged over to the couch. "I know, it's just a little bit of fun. Wanted to see how far I could get before you noticed me. Me and Deathstroke used to do that all the time."

He could tell Connor was confused and a bit surprised by the sudden name drop, but he could see a more prevalent emotion in the clone's blue eyes, overriding any sympathy he might have.

"What? Practicing your sneaking around on me so you can kill my friends?" His voice was laced with venom, his eyes hard as the unspoken accusation hung in the air. Superboy still felt like he would kill someone. That just because he was a mercenary raised by Deathstroke, everyone was at risk of getting killed. How annoying. But technically, he was right, they were all at risk of getting killed, just not by Renegade. The sun could spontaneously combust and he was sure Superboy would find a way to blame him.

Well actually the sun was in a constant state of combustion, it's made of gasses that collide and explode and- he was getting off topic.

The young mercenary's smile was overtaken by a frown, a huff of contempt exiting his nose as he walked around the couch to stand diagonally from the clone. "Not like I know how to do anything else."

Renegade let his burning gaze slip, going down to the ground as he repeated his mental preparation for this conversation. 

You got this. You got this. You got this.

Why did it have to be Superboy anyway? But it was the only secret he had that he could think of that would 'bond' them. He was only going to tell what he had to, he had absolutely zero desire to share this secret with anyone. Even Slade had to wait a few months before he told him, and even then it was more of a... uncontrollable-slap-to-the-face-reminder. 

Or more accurately, a stab-to-the-gut wake up call that couldn't really be ignored. And that's downplaying it. A lot.

He could just lie, like he did before. 

"It must be nice, having Kryptonian skin. It's impenetrable right?" Renegade mused, eyes still averted as he slightly changed the subject. He wouldn't call his tone haughty or demeaning, more like contemplative and actually curious. At least he hoped it was, if it was anything else he was sure this conversation would end a lot sooner and with a lot more broken bones. This, of course, was disregarding the fact he was talking about his impenetrable skin after being accused of trying to kill everyone with the knife everyone knew he had.

This was fine. A shiver ran down his back. 

Superboy, by some miracle, didn't take offense and only nodded. The clone was probably thinking of his own predicament. How Superman didn't so much as look at him, and how he had to deal with everything inside all by himself. The clone was stiff, seemingly unaffected by the light touch to his problems, but his fists clenched at his sides.

Renegade inched over and sat down on the other side of the couch, sitting on the edge just in case he had to make a quick escape. "Can you even get scars? I imagine with the kryptonite rock you would, but like can anything else penetrate your skin if it's pushed hard enough? Or would it just crumple like paper?" Renegade asked curiously, trying to lighten his tone into more innocence. He, of course, knew Superboy wasn't fully Kryptonian, half of him was Lex Luthor. But Superboy didn't know that, and it wasn't his secret to tell so he was going to stay quiet. And hopefully, because of the nature of this memory, Superboy would be inclined not to tell anyone his secret either.

Sweat began to bead on his forehead. 

Superboy's intense stare was on him again and Renegade bit back the urge to flinch. He really was a terrible conversationalist, this entire talk was a wreck from start to finish. With one awkward mercenary and one silent and distrusting clone, it was no wonder.

"Why do you ask?" Superboy demanded, his voice slightly raised in anger and fists raising ever so slightly in preparation for a fight.

Renegade replied quickly, silently cursing himself up and down for doing so poorly. Of course he would get defensive if he rattled on about what could and couldn't hurt a Kryptonian.

"Just wondering." He shrugged, looking at the ground again, too focused on his next words to see how the Kryptonian took his excuse. It was a terrible excuse, he knew, he was just trying to get to the actual subject he 'wanted' to talk about, Superboy clearly didn't get the script.

His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. 

Dick closed his eyes for a moment, then pried them open in a flash of fear. He really couldn't let himself be taken by memories right now. He grabbed his arm, rubbing his forearm like he remembered Wintergreen would do. "I sneak around a lot because that's what I learned to do..." He took a deep breath, time to make this train wreck turn into an atomic bomb. His open mouth froze as his throat closed up. This was insane. He shouldn't be talking about this. What kind of lead up was that conversation anyway? This was a horrible idea. Superboy would probably just punch him and be done with it rather than listen to him blabber about the most painful part of Dick's life. Dick would actually prefer that.

Superboy raised an eyebrow, looking expectant when nothing came from the mercenary's open mouth. Dick couldn't shake it though, he remained frozen until Superboy made a move towards him. His body jolted in place like how he imagined a robot would be booting up. Superboy thankfully didn't move any closer and just stared at him. Dick blinked and took a few steadying breaths, staring down at his lap as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"S-sorry... this is kinda difficult to talk about" he apologized, then threw himself into the deep end just to get the ball rolling. "If... if I did anything other than what they wanted me to do, I-I'd get a scar." He said quietly, his head ducking ever so slightly at the memories that threatened to resurface and take over.

Blood roared through his ears.

Superboy's eyebrows twitched in confusion. "He would hurt you if you didn't sneak around?"

Renegade took another deep relaxing breath, but unable to keep the tremor out of his voice as he corrected him. "No, no no, not him, th-them."

He could lie. 

It was right there, on the tip of his tongue.

He never EVER talked about them. 

He had lied the first time, that was the plan. The only plan. 

That year between his parents fall and meeting Deathstroke? He was in the detention center, being physically and brutally bullied by the other boys and even the guards. 

That's what he told Slade.

That's the lie that had been spun. 

But now... 

Now he was talking about them. A-and he couldn't stop. Why couldn't he stop?!

"Th-there was someone else who took me in b-before I met Deathstroke, a y-year before. A-a group of... people-a-assassins... I-I can't really say th-their name... I-I can't make that mistake again." His hand squeezed his arm while his wide panicked eyes looked anywhere but at the clone.

H-he was talking about them. Oh no, he was TALKING about them!

Dick was on edge, the VERY edge, as if at any moment they would pop out of the shadows and drag him back to that perpetual Hell-hole. He could barely remember Superboy was there, that he himself wasn't back at that horrid place. 

Cold. Big open spaces. Chains. The potent and perpetual tang of iron, of blood. Those... footsteps... the only indication of incoming doom because his head was always hanging, like his wrists that were connected to the wall. The crack of the whip, doubled with the crack of his parent's bodies, jerking his body, tearing a cry out of his hoarse and marred throat. 

A flash of brown hair. A small terrified boy. Looking up at him, blue eyes so pale they were grey, looking up at him with so much hope. Only to have his vision run red.

Matthew.

Dick was panting, eyes glassy and quickly growing wet.

Not here, not there, he wasn't in any danger. Matthew died years ago, h-he put him out of his misery.

Calm down. 

Dick's lips kept forming words, even if his mind and heart begged him to stop. Better out than in -at least- that's what Wintergreen used to say. He got this far, he could go a little farther without falling in. 

That was an edge he should have stayed far away from.

"Th-they... made me into a killer, a-and if I-I tried to... to resist..." Dick felt a hot uncomfortable lump in his throat, closing tightly around it, just like the leather belt. 

His lips finally stopped moving, his vocal cords stopped vibrating.

His chest was heaving, his hands were shaking.

 He tried to gulp it down to no avail, mind swirling with uncertainty as he got closer and closer to the memories that forged his broken childhood. Closer to losing himself, closer to believing he was there, he was back in that place. 

He was in danger.

As if to continue his sentence, Dick numbly turned around and let go of his arm. He reached back in a slow methodical action, one he grew used to when they granted him the privilege of a shirt. His fingers caught on his shirt and he gathered the fabric. He pulled up. His masked eyes were frozen, unblinking as he felt his back hit the cool air, trying everything to not slip off the edge. 

Superboy, Connor, a hero was behind him, not- not his great uncle, not... not them.

Connor was confused and alarmed by the boy's actions, knowing something was clearly wrong by the way the young mercenary shook and didn't blink. He was trying to process it all, figure out what was the issue, what was causing it, and what would stop it. He could only stare as the boy lost himself, his words cutting themselves off and inhuman sounds of pure pain emanating from his chest. 

Then his shirt lifted up.

His eyes widened and a little part of him shriveled at the sight.

Scars, so many scars. Long white stripes going up and down his back, marred light skin crisscrossing all over, creating valleys and mountains along his boney spine, stretching the expanse of his back. But not entirely, he noticed, the scars never breached a certain perimeter, except his neck, but that area was obstructed by the shirt bunched up there.

Connor shifted uncomfortably, his mind blanking of all ill will and going right to the who and the why. Renegade was a small kid, younger than the entire team, and those scars were NOT something anyone should see on a 13-year-old. Who would do this to him? Where could he find them so he could punch them?

"Why are they... small?" He found his voice asking instead, deciding not to let the murder know how much these scars affected him.

Connor's own skin was smooth, untouched, and, like the kid said, would remain so unless kryptonite was involved. He may have had his share of traumas, but nothing stayed longer than a few bruises or a lingering emotion to remind him of it. Renegade had permanent marks on his skin, reminding him every second of his misfortune. He didn't have any doubt his chest looked similar, maybe with different types of scars, but still scarred horribly.

At the sound of his voice, Renegade changed. Nothing drastic happened, but he shifted in his seat, he took a deep breath, his shaking stopped abruptly. 

That wasn't normal either was it?

"I got them when I was young," the mercenary spoke hollowly, his voice somehow small like he had de-aged along to fit with the scars. "Normally scars grow and stretch with you, these ones don't. They're frozen where they are, they'll never fade or change. Everything they did to me was permanent."

"Oh," Connor said, feeling the need to fix this somehow. Something was terribly wrong with Renegade, something was REALLY wrong with him. But Connor knew he was incapable and probably the wrong person to help. He felt so useless, not a foreign feeling, but in this sense, it shook him to his core. He could do nothing. This kid had suffered more than anyone he knew. The clone found himself unable to look away, finding smaller scars and weirdly shaped scars along with the lashes. Some looked like bullet wounds, others stab wounds, one scar sprouting from his neck looked like lightning, snaking down his back in jerky arcs, ending like roots of a plant.

"How...?" Superboy hesitated with the question, seeing the boy flinch at it. And what did he mean by his scars were frozen that way? How was that even possible?

"I... I-I was eight. My parents... had- they had just died right in front of me. Then th-they, they took me. It was so easy... I was alone and scared and they took me." His voice was the only shaking thing, croaking and strained like a strung-out rubber band, waiting to break at any moment. It was unnatural, especially with how close the young mercenary looked earlier to passing out. Connor could tell he was losing his grip on reality, his shoulders hunching and his head dipping like a scolded dog.

Again, Dick's lips kept moving, faster and faster, more and more words tumbling out before he had a chance to think on them. 

Please... stop... he couldn't- why was he- Where was Slade?

"I-I didn't want to- I never wanted to... t-to kill. B-but when they have you... you don't get a choice. When it comes to them, you do what you do to survive, to break free. Because they wo-won't kill you, no, they consider death as mercy, a-and they don't believe in mercy. There is no escape in death. Only living, as a husk, bound to serve for eternity." There was a break, the young mercenary's voice cracking and twisting with emotion.

"I... I was weak," he said softly, another flinch causing his numb body to curl more, stretching the scars even more over his back. "And they broke me. I may have escaped for now... but..." He trailed off with some hollow laughter, barely a chuckle with no heart in it. "When you have all of eternity... letting me go only makes it more fun for them."

The sudden silence was filled by the small boy's raspy breathing, everything else unearthly still. The air was so heavy and dark, it felt like the entire sky was weighing down on the kid, and Connor could only watch.

His warbled voice broke the air, but only added to its morbidity. "I-I'm still broken... I think... I am better now than-than I was... but I knew. I knew a long time ago that I would never be fi-fixed. And I know, deep deep down inside all this out here is going to end eventually. A part of me wants to give up, but... there are things in this world that are worth living for, and that's enough... t-to keep going." The boy ended in a sharp exhale, like pulling a thorn out of his foot.

Connor was rooted to the spot, a whirlwind of too-strong emotions passing through him at incredible speeds. Hate, disgust, pity, compassion, too many for him to settle on one.

"Deathstroke," Connor said, thinking he was starting to figure it out, thinking he might be able to get Renegade back to his usual self with the mention of his surrogate father. "He's one of the things making this world worth it to you right?"

Renegade's hand released his shirt, the fabric falling down again but catching halfway down, his curled back stopping the shirt from covering him entirely. His arms wrapped around himself, his body twisting so he was sitting fully on the couch, but never once his did eyes blink or look in Superboy's direction.

"Y-yes... he was... is. He still is... even if he's gone now... I just... don't know what to do anymore. D-Deathstroke was my anchor, he was just so nice all the time. He didn't always know... about this part of me, but when he found out... He was the first person to look at what they turned me into and decide he still wanted me around. With him around I could finally be me instead of what they turned me into. Slade is safe.  He- he was simply there for me in all the right ways when I had no one else." Renegades's hands clenched over his arms, his breath hitching and for the first time, Connor saw the tears slipping down his face. "B-but something like that... wh-what they did to me... doesn't just go away. Scars last forever. So it must be nice... to not... not be able to get scars..."

Connor felt a shiver of... something he couldn't identify, run down his back. His chest hurt, but he knew he wasn't in pain, he hadn't been hit nor was he poisoned. The clone deduced it was from the young mercenary, but it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault. No way was it Renegade's fault that he was like this. This was their fault, whoever 'they' were.

Connor leaned forward a bit, all his anger and hatred at these unnamed people bottling up for a moment so he could at least attempt to console the poor kid, even if he had absolutely no idea how. "Are you going to be ok? Do you... do you need anything? Should I get Batman?"

Renegade straightened, his shirt finally falling over the rest of his back. He sniffed in, taking a deep breath along with it, he whipped his face with his hands for a moment, a sigh leaving his parted lips as he realized his hands were shaking. "No, n-no, I-I'll be fine. I just... I never talk about it."

"I'm sorry," Connor said quietly, finding himself meaning the apology in multiple senses. 

He was sorry for the way he treated him, the way he assumed he was pure evil, thinking only in black and white. He was sorry for what happened to the kid, sorry he had been subject to whatever torture produced those scars. Superboy might have been a clone force grown in a pod but he never went through any physical and mental torture like Renegade was subject to for a year. The Kryptonian had a sudden respect for Deathstroke, he may not have been able to fix Renegade, but he had kept him from that awful place that hurt him, which was more heroic than Deathstroke probably liked to admit. 

"No, I'm sorry," Renegade said, standing up abruptly, still not looking at the clone. "It's not your problem... I-I don't know why I told you." Then Renegade left, disappearing down the hallway with quick but shaky steps.

Connor wanted to call him back, to actually fix something, but he was at a loss. He had no idea what he could do, he wasn't good with feelings, he was just good at punching stuff. 

There, that's what he'd do. 

If anyone, anything, tried to hurt Renegade. Superboy would punch them. 

Connor felt the distinct urge to contact Batman, but Renegade had just told him something he never talks about, and it showed. It showed that he didn't trust him, but told him anyway. That kid was strong, stronger than him to be able to do that. But now he had this weight, and he was glad for it, now it wasn't only Renegade playing Atlas, he was too. It made Connor feel responsible, he was strong, he could help just by keeping quiet. Renegade might not trust him, but Connor wasn't going to go behind his back with something as serious as this.

With the mercenary gone Connor turned back to the static TV, his mind numb and whirling. He stood up, turned the TV off, and stomped over to the training room, deciding to let off some newfound steam with Wolf. 

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

"Sorry I haven't been totally upfront with you guys," Dick said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly as he swung his legs under him. He was talking to Kaldur who was back from Atlantis and had been reading in his room. His room was weird, it felt fishy and salty, yet at the same time an odd refreshing cold that felt comfortable. Or maybe he was just hot from dumb emotions.

He refused to acknowledge what happened in the living room with Superboy. He was still dangerously close to that edge, and talking about his next memory with Kaldur would definitely distract him. Well... halfly, this memory wasn't exactly sunshine and roses. 

After he had told Connor the truth he had let himself break down a bit, getting himself calm enough for when Aqualad arrived he'd be ready. 

It took a bit longer than he thought, but that might of just been him. Time gets all sorts of messed up when rocking back and forth in the corner of a room, hugging onto his newly mended stuffed animal and his knife.

"That is alright Renegade," Kaldur'ahm said without looking over, but then rose from his seat and placed the book he had been reading back on its shelf. A shelf in which Renegade had perched himself on when he came to visit, an odd action Kaldur decided not to comment on. "I would not be keen to open myself up to my enemies either."

Dick almost busted out laughing, he needed a good laugh, especially after Superboy, but refrained. "Heh, well, don't knock it till you try it, you might find some friends." Dick, of course, was alluding to Kaldur's father, Black Manta, who was currently the Atlantean's enemy. Wouldn't that be awkward, then again Artemis and Sportsmaster aren't exactly ignorant of each other.

Kaldur was unaware of the jibe, thinking it to be simple mercenary humor. "Then the same would be applicable to you."

Dick winced, his feet pausing in their swaying for a moment before he returned to the motion. Swinging always calmed him, man, he would kill for a trapeze set right about now. He took a deep breath, trying to get away from all the memories and continue with his plan. "Yeah, I guess... I just... I actually try to stay away from getting friends. They only end up getting killed because of me."

Aqualad was silent, a calculating look passed from the Atlantean and the mercenary, and Dick felt the need to clarify, and therefore, expound on his unsettling statement. Which was great, everything was going according to plan.

"I don't kill them if that's what your thinking, they just get killed because of me, because of who I am." Dick's gaze lowered, he really didn't mean to be this dramatic. It was stupid, he was just trying to tell them what happened to him, but every conversation felt so fake and set up. He didn't trust any of them, even if he knew their secrets, he didn't want the burden of caring about them knowing. He didn't want them to pity him, treat him like glass, or worse, a monster who needed to be locked up.

Dick sighed, plunging into his story, one only slightly easier to tell than the one he told Superboy.

"Slade had this friend... his name was Wintergreen, William Wintergreen, but I just called him Wintergreen." His eyes grew glassy with happier memories before it all went to crap. "I had been with Slade for a year, then one day he shows up. They didn't always get along, actually, it was really funny to watch, Wintergreen was the only person Slade couldn't beat. Wintergreen was in the army, that's actually how he and Slade met, but yeah, in no way was he helpless. But he- he died because of me. He died because he was my friend."

He took a deep shuddering breath, his face going slack and his legs stopped moving. His voice held the emotion his mask concealed, something Kaldur definitely picked up on.

"One night, Slade was out doing mercenary stuff and I was home with Wintergreen. It was a quiet night, I remember that much at least, but we were attacked. T-they were assassins, sent for me. Wintergreen got in their way, literally. He had jumped in front of me, protected me with his body, but the assassins didn't care. They stabbed me through him, I was short though and the blade didn't do as much damage to me as it did to Wintergreen. That's when Slade returned and the assassins retreated, thinking their job was done."

The silence in the room was suffocating and cold, Kaldur had half a mind to get a blanket, but his mind was much too occupied with the history of the small mercenary. The Atlantean's eyes were wide, in shock of the brutality of the assassins, and stunning care and emotion the younger male felt at the loss. He did not pit Renegade as one to feel regret or responsibility, but here he was blaming himself for something he could not control.

Dick's voice wavered, sounding waterlogged and heavy. "Wintergreen is dead, because of me. That's why I don't have any friends, that's why I don't want any. I don't want people I care about getting killed because of me."

Kaldur wanted to give a consoling pat or something, he must do something to help, he couldn't just leave him like this. It may have been partially Renegade's fault, but that didn't mean he had to cut himself off from everyone, that would not fix the problem.

"That's..." Renegade started up again, his voice catching in his throat. "That's why I'm hesitant to trust you guys. I don't want you to be a liability, I don't want to care, because then you'll be gone and I'll be left alone to suffer."

"Robin..." Kaldur finally spoke, trying to use the young mercenary's more civilian name in an effort to be sincere.

"Shoot... sorry," The boy took a deep breath, like his first one after nearly suffocating. He ducked his head and rubbed his face, wiping away salty tears Kaldur knew was there. "I didn't mean to- to rant about... that. Ugh. I'll um... I'll just go now." He hopped down from the top shelf, brushing past the Atlantean who followed at a respectful distance.

"Renegade." He called, and the boy paused turning around with a blank face, a second mask to hide how much he was hurting. "Thank you for telling me. Loss is a fear we must all face, no one said you had to face it alone."

Kadlur wanted to help, even if Renegade did not want it, but was undercut by the boy's next words.

"I didn't have that luxury."

Three down, one to go.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick huddled on his forearms, his legs curled under his chest and his chin resting on the edge of the surface he was... crouched(?) on.

What was he doing? Being a dork.

He was copying Matthew, who was copying a loaf.

They were also on top of the cabinets in the kitchen, waiting, stalking, maybe taking a quick nap. 

At least, Matthew was napping while Renegade was stalking, he was waiting for Wally to come by. It was finally after school hours and the speedster was due any second, but of course the kid with superspeed had to be super late. Superboy had even come in earlier and gotten a plate for dinner (Mac n' cheese). The Kryptonian didn't acknowledge his presence on top of the cabinets, but he had a feeling his super hearing would have heard his and Matthew's heartbeats in a place where they didn't exactly belong.

He wasn't hiding from the team, no, not at all. He wasn't scared that now that his mouth had opened to tell his tale. His chest was so tight and heavy, usually it felt lightened after a little session with Slade, but clearly it didn't work here because he didn't trust the team. Except for maybe one. He still had one more on his hit list, and he was going to make it genuine this time. Nothing but the whole truth.

Yeah, he had lied a few times to the others. Every time he said he was sorry or 'I don't know why I told you that,' he was lying. Even a few of the details of his memories were a tad twisted, but the memories didn't give him much choice but to be truthful. 

He actually didn't remember the night Wintergreen died, there had been a lot more complications and details that he didn't want to get into, Slade had to tell him what happened after he woke up. That memory was just as terrifying and numbing as the one he told Superboy.

He was adamant this time, no lies, the whole, unadulterated truth.

"Recognized: Kid Flash B03"

Dick wiggled in his spot, shifting his legs so they weren't so cramped, and waited.

A blur zipped past below him and he sighed. Wally was checking his room first, and when that didn't work he would speed around the mountain until he couldn't find him. Hopefully, Supey wouldn't give him away, he wanted to surprise him.

Soon enough Wally was back in the kitchen, a worried look on his face as his feet tapped the ground nervously. His green eyes washed over the kitchen but failed to see the lithe figure shrouded in shadow.

A Cheshire grin spread across the little mercenary's face, shifting to the edge so he could pounce on his prey. Wally was nervously walking about, passing under him once before swiftly turning and moving quickly to the side. Dick waited, hearing the teen mumble to himself about where he was and what he should do, even a 'Batman is going to kill me.'

Finally, Wally entered the drop zone.

Dick plummeted down with a roaring battle cry, startling the speedster into staying frozen as his mind couldn't comprehend the sudden attack. Dick landed on his shoulders then swung his weight around until Wally was pulled downwards.

Wally only saw the teen descend upon him, then it was all a big blank as something hit his body. He blinked rapidly, finding himself on the floor. Renegade was above him, his body pressing an impressive amount of pressure on his chest and a hand hovering over his throat, a grin plastered across his face.

"Do you yield?" Renegade asked, an eyebrow quirking playfully.

Wally was slow to understand. "Yield? Ohhhh yield, uh, yes I yield."

"Great!" Renegade swiftly and smoothly lifted off the speedster, then thrust a hand down to help the red-head up. "Connor made Mac 'n Cheese if you want any, I already ate."

Wally took the hand and laughed a little as he got up. "He made Mac 'n Cheese? What about M'gann?"

Dick smirked, Wally had totally bypassed the fact he said Superboy's real name, how amusing.

"Busy, said something about a bio-ship?" His face twisted in confusion but the smile remained, folding his arms as he leaned against the counter. Huh, would ya look at that, he was alright with his back facing the open living room.

His heart thudded in his chest, the smile slipping off his face as he suddenly got very hot.

Ah shoot, dang it, now that he acknowledged it, it was back. Stupid stupid stupid stupid.

He quickly switched positions, his back to the fridge as he calmed his breathing. Dang it, he really didn't need this on top of all the chaos bubbling under his skin. He didn't realize Wally had been talking while he did this, probably explaining the 'bioship' thing and giving himself a bowl of Mac.

Dick suddenly had a fierce desire to get this over with, the Agoraphobia was the straw that broke the camel's back. He'd been shoving his emotions down for hours now, using every trick in the book to keep himself from blowing up. High places, like Kaldur's bookcase, swinging his legs like on a trapeze, even Matthew helped him feel safe just by being there.

Now, it was just too much.

"WALLY!"

He didn't realize he had shouted, he didn't realize he was hyperventilating either.

The speedster was jolted by the sudden yell, he turned and immediately found something wrong with the situation and air around the boy.

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, his eyes getting wider as he saw the trembling mercenary gasp for breath. The small teen's masked eyes were wide and hands were flailing for something solid, his chest palpitating rapidly and raggedly.

"H-he-help-elp..." His body jerked, almost writhing where he stood.

Wally's gut dropped into his feet, abandoning his food without hesitation. "What? What can I do? Robin, please, what can I do? Should I call Batman?" Wally asked rapid-fire, almost lunging forward to help but remembering the first time he tried that ended with a knife to his throat.

"H-ho-hold..." Renegade's eyes were closed now and his teeth grit together, his arms shaking as they lashed out to hold onto anything he could get his hands on.

Then his knees buckled and Wally rushed to catch him.

The speedster hooked an arm under the smaller teen's shoulders and made sure the kid didn't pitch forward with a hand to his chest. He gently lowered him to the floor, finding the boy had grabbed onto the hand he placed on his chest, the second hand came up too, grabbing onto him with a vice-like grip.

Even through his suit, Wally could tell his hands were ghastly cold.

Wally set him down but was unable to pull away, so instead he settled the boy on his lap with his back to his chest and his head falling limply to one of his shoulders. His legs crumpled and curled up, his entire body tensing and shriveling. Renegade was shaking uncontrollably, twitching like he was being shocked, grunting and gasping for air rather quietly.

Wally simply held him, his mind blazing with reasons for this sudden panic attack. It wasn't him right? Renegade was the one who jumped him, and even helped him up. He was just getting his food when he- wait a second... did Renegade shout his actual name? The speedster's lips pressed into a thin line, but his worry about his real name being used was insignificant compared to the shaking mess Renegade was.

"Am... am I doing ok? Do you need me to do anything else?" Wally asked, unable to keep his own panic from his voice, his emerald gaze scanning what he could see of the suffering boy for any indication of improvement or an answer.

"I-i-it-its n-no-not..." a gasp broke his sentence and Wally waited patiently, feeling his chest gasping against his own. "-y-you-your f-f-f-fault. J-j-just h-hold m-me... pl-please..."

It was taking everything Dick had not to topple into the dark abyss. He was already set off, the stress that had gathered throughout the day had crumbled under the weight of his Agoraphobia, and now he was in extreme danger of falling into the pit of a panic attack of a completely different nature. He couldn't let that happen. Not here. Not when he was alone. Not when the only possible source of alleviation had tossed him aside for the heroes to pick apart bone by bone.

He needed to stay away from that ledge, he needed someone to hold onto, that's all he really needed for his Agoraphobia to be snuffed.

"Is this good?" Wally asked, feeling a bit odd because he could feel the tremors passing through the boy's body. He was so cold, yet so warm, the contact was so weird and somehow pleasant. The hands were tight around his arm, they felt so solid, so unlike the shaking and thudding the rest of the young mercenary's body was doing.

The boy nodded again, a gulp closing his throat and giving pause to the never-ending torrent of fast paced breaths. "T-t-this i-is great. I-i-its o-ov-overstimulation... t-the room... too b-big. I-i-it's called A-Ago-goraph-phobia."

Wally gave his own thoughtful nod, glad he wasn't the cause of this episode, because this was scary.

"H-holding s-someone al-always helps, t-the p-physical c-con-contact is l-li-like an a-a-anchor." Dick was reciting what Slade had told him about his panic attacks. When one dealt with them for a while but with no real knowledge as to what it was, it had been a great relief to put a name and a solution to the episodes.

Currently, he was using this information to keep his mind occupied, if he was talking to Wally about his panic attack, he wasn't thinking about anything else. 

"That's interesting," Wally said, thinking maybe talking about it helped him come back from it. He could already tell the boy was stuttering less and his body was only shaking in waves now.

"J-John."

Wally blinked, "What?"

"M-my middle name... i-is John." the small voice said below him.

The speedster was shocked into silence, he just told him his middle name! Granted, middle names weren't a lot to go off of, but hey, it was one real name more than they had before. Maybe that meant he was warming up to telling him his full real name.

"Do you want me to call you John?"

There was a little huff from the boy, something he deduced as laughter.

"No, i-its just a m-middle name. I-I trust you m-more than..." a new shudder ran through the boy, cutting him off for a few seconds, "...t-than the others."

"You knew my name," Wally commented, wondering how, but not expecting a full explanation. Not in this state.

The ebony head nodded again, "I's 'kay tho', B-Ba'man kn-knows."

Wally grew instantly concerned at the slurred words. "Robin? Robin are you ok?"

"Mmhm." came the reply below him, the hum rattling against his chest.

The speedster did not calm down, worried the boy would fall asleep, was it ok to let him fall asleep? "Robin I'm going to call Batman alright?"

"'eanut..." the voice whispered, Wally hoped he wasn't delirious, maybe he was drugged or something.

Wally huffed a little and shifted. "Alright, well, I don't know what that means but I'm going to call Batman now."

The boy's grip on him intensified, his curled form curling even more on his lap, like he didn't want to leave. "W-Wally... w-wait."

"What?" He replied quickly, freezing so he could attend to the suffering boy's needs. 

"I-I wan't y-you to know... I t-told e-everyone so-something about m-me. O-only b-because I k-knew something a-about them, th-things they d-don't want to tell the others. It w-was a trade... I-I got your name... y-you got mine... s-sorta."

Wally filed the information away, then recalled what the boy said earlier. "And Batman knows?"

The boy nodded with another deep gulp.

"Th-thank you, Wally..."

The red-head shrugged, finding himself stuttering as well. "A-anytime."

The child rested on him, his weight both heavy and light, his chest fluttering with half panicked breaths, but definitely seemed to be calming. Wally wondered if he was asleep, his back was rising and falling deeply now, the hands holding his arm were starting to relax. 

Wally was starting to get antcy, most of his body was numb from staying in one place for so long, especially with the weight of the inhibiting his blood flow. 

Just when Wally internally decided to get up and get the poor kid to bed, he shifted.

"I-I'm good now... I'm good." Renegade said, taking deep breaths and started pushing off of the speedster. He let his tense grip go but didn't stand up, opting to sit on the floor next to the red-head. Wally felt cold without his presence, but he was glad the stress of having a sleeping mercenary on him was gone now. 

"I-I'm going to go to bed now... if that's alright." Renegade asked quietly, his head tilted back against the cupboards while his eyes looked down, seemingly closed but not quite. 

Wally nodded quickly, "Of course, of course. Glad I could help. You have your knife?"

Dick nodded. It was still under his pillow, he didn't want to risk using it if something happened when he got a panic attack. With these memories... a panic attack almost always lead to an actual attack.

Wally helped him stand up, but Dick shooed him away as he got to his room. He knew it was going to happen, he knew it as solidly as he knew the sky was blue. He was going to have a nightmare that night, and he knew exactly what it was going to be about.

He knew the name of the assassins that killed Wintergreen, he knew the name of the group that held him for a year. A name he promised he'd never say out loud again. 

The Court of Owls.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Tim's eyes were burning with how much he was staring at the screen, but he just couldn't look away. When Bruce said Renegade had a plan to trust the team, Tim was not expecting a semi-therapy session with each member, one that always ended in tears.

But now he had loads of back story, but lots of vague points with various details. What he knew to be solid was Renegade watched his parents die in front of him at age 8, not unlike their very own Batman. The different part was the third party that took him and tortured him into a killing machine for one year, making him nine when he meets Deathstroke. This third party was clearly very dangerous and Tim did not like the fact he kept saying they were 'eternal', more curiously, he even implied it about himself when talking about it. It did give him a lead though, if he could figure out who this third party was then they'd have a lot more answers on their hands rather than questions. What didn't make sense was how he got from killing machine torture group to Deathstroke of all people. And if he was that traumatized by the group, how could he continue to kill? They clearly didn't have the full story, and this 'Wintergreen' character seemed fun while he lasted and definitely worth looking into.

It was currently 4 p.m.

He was watching Renegade sleep.

He was watching a traumatized boy shake and sob in his sheets, crying out and whimpering. He quieted every now and then, but Tim finally drew the line when a gut-wrenching scream filled the audio.

His hand flew to his comms so fast he was surprised he didn't accidentally punch himself, his wide unmasked eyes trained on the writhing boy on the screen. "Batman, Batman come in, there's a situation that really needs your attention at the mountain."

He only had to wait a few seconds before his mentor's voice entered his ears, he was slightly panting, probably from someone he was fighting. "Renegade? How bad?"

Tim felt his own anxiety rise while he continued to watch the boy in pain. "I want to say Night Terror, but whatever it is is bad Batman. He's screaming and he's got his knife in his hand."

"I'm on my way."

Chapter Text

Wally woke to a face full of cat butt.

"Mmph- 'et offmmph-" The speedster groaned and tiredly shoved the cat away.

Matthew danced delicately off the red-head, his paws barely making any sound on the blankets. The creature sat, staring at the groggy speedster. He meowed.

Wally frowned as he shifted up, blinking tired eyes and rubbing his tired face. "How'd you even get in here?" He asked the cat. His door was closed, and he was almost certain his room had been cat-free when he went to bed.

Matthew meowed at him again, this time his poofy tail flicking urgently.

Technically speaking, the speedster and the cat hadn't formally met yet. After Renegade went to his room, Connor had come in wondering what happened and Wally told him the truth: Renegade had a panic attack because of his fear of large rooms. For a moment, he swore he saw sorrow on the clone's face, but it was quickly overcome by his angry resting face. That's when another dark figure leaped down from the sky and scared the living crap out of Wally.

The creature had bolted, leaving the speedster with a heart attack and the clone amused.

Connor explained the cat to Wally, apparently he was Renegades 'pet', and he used quotation marks because Matthew didn't exactly listen to anyone.

Wally sighed and shifted his feet under the covers. "Alright Matthew, I'm up, but I'm not getting you food."

The speedster looked over, finding the clock blearing three red numbers.

4:00

He groaned again, giving the cat a glare, planning on definitely giving the cat a stern talking to that would never get past that thick skull- or ears for that matter.

Then a scream ripped through the air.

All sense of sleep left the speedster, fear driving himself to attention only to pause, just to be sure he heard right. Even though he had only known the mercenary for a few days he knew that scream was his.

He bolted out of bed, not caring about his pajamas and not caring he wasn't wearing a mask. Renegade knew his ID anyway, no sense in wasting precious time. Renegade could be hurt or dead or dying! (Well clearly he was still alive, or else the screams would have stopped but that was details). Matthew was flung to the side in his haste, the cat yowled in rage but Wally was already out the door.

He raced down the hallway towards the mercenary's bedroom but slowed at the door. It was broken, almost obliterated. He studied the door for a moment, the doorknob was still in its place, locked, but the rest of the door cracked off and laid limply and broken on the floor inside the room. Inside the room. Whatever had broken the door came IN not OUT.

Someone had broken in.

Wally leaped over the mess, ready to annihilate whoever had broken in and hurt his friend.

He was stopped cold by the sight.

Superboy (NOT an enemy) was there instead, holding down Renegade's arm, the one that held the knife. The rest of the young mercenary was flailing and thrashing, more screams and anguished cries tearing out of his throat. His limbs were beating against the clone but it had no effect on the Kryptonian's skin of steel.

"Pin him down!" Superboy grunted intensely, his blue eyes focused on the limb that held the most danger. The boy was practically writhing under him and it was hard to keep his grip. Connor held him hard to the bed, having to cover his wrist as well before it tried moving to stab him.

Wally jolted out of his surprise and sped forward to grab the boy's legs, then leaning over to get more weight on them when he was nearly kicked off. "What's going on?! Is he still asleep?!" Wally asked in a panic, eyes wide and having to shout over the boy's screaming.

"Yes," Superboy grunted, moving one hand to grab the other arm that started scratching at his shoulder in an attempt to pry him off. "I don't know why! He just started screaming!"

Wally's mind was a flurry of worry and panic, but as he retreated into his mind to think his grip went lax. Wally received a foot to the face, he cried out in pain but quickly jumped on him to pin him better. He felt a hot liquid run down his nose but didn't pay any mind to it, Renegade was the issue here, Renegade was in pain.

"What is going on?" Aqualad's usually calm voice was raised and carried through the air, but even he held a spike of worry in his inquiry.

"We don't know!" Wally shouted back, grunting as the legs he was on tried to curl up and out. "He's still asleep! Where is M'gann? We could really use some martian mind hacking right about now!"

Renegade surged upwards, an extra loud scream accompanying his arched form. Superboy and Wally both held on tighter, feeling their respective captive limbs give a little.

"Help would you?!" Conner said, having to let go of one arm to further secure the hand that held the knife. "I can't get it out of his hand." He grunted, the now free arm pelting him and making him wince.

Aqualad came forward, trying not to freeze at this new problem, how on earth were they supposed to fix this? What even WAS this? His body was writhing like the devil himself had taken it over.

Kaldur dismissed these thoughts as he focused on doing rather than thinking. He climbed to the other side of the bed, avoiding the boy for the most part, and grabbed the arm that was attacking his teammate. He used both hands to grab both parts of the young mercenary's arm, trying to ignore how the free hand twitched and jerked under him.

He also tried to ignore the screaming that was in his ear. Renegade's mouth was gaping, his face scrunched in pain and fear, but his eyes, his eyes were closed, shut tightly.

"What do we do?!" Wally said, desperation clear in his voice as his own worried green gaze washed over the writhing mercenary.

'Miss Martian, we need your help right now.' Kaldur said sternly in the dormant mind link, hoping M'gann was cognizant enough to at least sense a problem. How could she not?

It was seconds later when Miss Martian floated into the room, her cape fluttering behind her as she lowered herself to the ground.

"I-I'm sorry Aqualad, his emotions were so strong I froze up." She said quietly and apologetically, her eyes trained on the scene of her teammates having to use their entire bodies to pin down a boy writhing in pain.

"Understandable, but we need you to-" His calm order was cut off by a yell from Superboy.

"SHUT HIM DOWN!"

M'gann was galvanized into action, floating closer and extending a hand over the boy's jerky head. She took a shaky breath and her eyes turned green.

The three boys waited silently, the body under them relaxing ever so slightly. The small chest still pumped with air, mouth still agape as groans and whimpers left, his limbs twitched but overall the movement was subdued. Thinking their martian friend had done it, the three teens backed off a little, not wanting to further hurt the boy.

M'gann jerked back with a pained yell, clutching her head as her eyes snapped shut.

"M'gann!" Connor went to help her, his grip barely releasing the arm.

It was all Renegade needed.

The boy lurched up, yanking his arm from the distracted Kryptonian and launched his fist into Aqualad's face, granting the release of his other arm. Wally felt all blood drain from his face as Renegade curled up and kicked him off.

Connor went to grab him again, being the only one of his teammates who could do so without serious injury, but Renegade was too fast. The mercenary dodged, evading his swinging arms and using his back as a launchpad to flip away. Superboy spun around, only to have his arms sweep heavily through open air. Wally got to a crouch with a frown and bolted to the door. Renegade was not leaving.

He didn't take into account Renegade had a knife.

Pain erupted in his gut, the closed-eyed glare from the mercenary the last thing he saw before he crumpled forward with a grunt.

Superboy leaped forward, following the young mercenary who jumped through the door. Aqualad went straight to Wally, seeing a streak of red appear on the speedster's midsection through his torn shirt.

"I'll b' f-fine, go get 'em." Wally grunted, holding his stomach area with a grimace. "Speed h-healing."

Aqualad didn't like it but nodded and ran through the doorway.

He followed the sounds of grunts before he came to the Zeta Tubes, Superboy was swinging punches, trying to knock the boy out, but his opponent was too fast and agile. Renegade was twisting and flipping around, never in one spot long enough to get hit. Or to land a hit, Kaldur noticed.

He drew his water bearers, his dark skin cooling and the familiar glow coating his arms. The water came down like a blade exiting its sheath, then he brought them together and massed a glob of liquid the size of a soccer ball. The Atlantean winded back, watching for an opening. Seeing Renegade kick off of Superboy's arm, stilling in the air for a moment, he hurled the water.

But Renegade ducked before the ball was even halfway to its destination, leaving just enough time for Renegade to roll between the clone's legs and kick up with the leverage of his back against the ground. Superboy grunted as he was suddenly thrust upwards, and then discombobulated as a ball of water smashed into his head.

Aqualad ran forward full pelt, but Renegade was already on his feet and practically flying to the Zeta Tubes. Kaldur was almost there when the boy punched in a few numbers, his outstretched hand was about to close around his arm when the assassin dissolved soundlessly.

Aqualad panted after skidding to a stop, having half a mind to go after the mercenary, but then remembering his fallen team. He turned around and Superboy stumbled to his feet.

"Where'd he go?" He asked, a glare settling on the Zeta Tubes.

"The most probable location would be Gotham," Kaldur replied, sending his own nervous look to the teleporter. Renegade was a loose cannon, especially in this... sleep-induced... rage?

"Have we contacted Batman?" The Atlantean asked, walking forward towards his teammate.

"I did." Said Wally, a hand over his bleeding stomach and wincing as he gingerly walked in, leaning on the wall for support.

"Where is Miss Martian?" Kadlur asked, checking the speedster's wound with a calculating eye but being unable to discern if there was more blood or not. He was also quite concerned as to why their usual power hitter was absent.

"She's out cold, but not like unconscious, she's frozen to the spot," Wally said with wide green eyes, the nerves and the panic all too evident. "I couldn't get her to do anything, not a response or even blink."

"Artemis- B07." The computer rang out.

Wally's face screwed into confusion, why was Artemis coming here at four in the morning? Unless she ran into Renegade... Kaldur turned, watching as the archer stomped over, looking a bit disheveled like she had just woken up, but also disturbed. Her gray eyes held unease, but her body language was normal, save it be the thin line her lips were set in.

"What happened?" The green archer asked as the computer rang out another name.

"Batman-02."

"Renegade had a night terror." The man said gruffly as he stepped out.

"Hah," Wally laughed weakly, "I'd say that's appropriately named, he basically demolished us! And he was asleep!" Wally said overzealously before wincing and bending over slightly to alleviate the pain in his stomach.

"He's no longer here?" Batman asked, eyes narrowed. The team looked to be in disarray, Kid Flash had a bleeding wound, the state of which didn't look too bad, but probably hurt. Superboy looked disgruntled and Kaldur seemed lost in this situation. Artemis was still as disturbed as she was when he first showed up in her room, calling for her presence at the mountain for an emergency. Tim had told him the team was trying to calm the young mercenary, what he didn't say was what a terrible job they were doing of it.

"He used the Zeta Tubes to leave right before you two came," Kaldur said, disappointed in himself mostly at his incapability.

"He must be in Gotham." Artemis said, "If we hurry we'll be right behind him." She turned heel and started walking, but Batman placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

"And what do you plan to do once we find him? He has already proven he can best you in battle." Batman pointed out, seeing if he could at least give them a little shove in the right direction. There was risk of course, Renegade could be anywhere doing anything, but he felt the need to leave the boy alone for now. The team and himself would not be welcome in his state and it would be pointless to try and help. He assumed he would return to Deathstroke, as one would return to a place of safety after a traumatizing event.

And of course he had a tracker on the kid, he put it on the boy's belt the moment he got his hands on it. There was also one on his suit, but considering he wasn't using the suit at the moment he only had to worry if the kid slept with his belt, which, he had a feeling he does. "I also have a tracker on him, and yes, he is in Gotham."

Batman brought up the mountains computer, typing some things into the holographic keyboard before another larger screen popped up, showing a standard satellite map of Gotham, where a yellow dot transversed across the screen.

"He didn't fight me," Artemis muttered with a glare, but knowing it to be true in her mind.

"He is still in his night terror, whatever we say won't get to him and he is already asleep so we can't knock him out. We will have to wait for him to wake up." Batman said, again trying to lead the horse to water, but clearly he could not make the horse drink.

"Wake up!? But anything could happen while we wait! We're wasting time now!" Wally shouted, a hard look of determination crossing his face as he trudged forward. "We can't leave him by himself, he could hurt someone!" 'Including himself', the speedster mentally added with a clench of his jaw.

Batman regarded the speedster with a discreet look of respect, he had caught the undertone of his exclamations, he was worried for his friend. Speedsters were always so loyal, he might have known deep down that it would be Wally who would gain the assassin's trust first, he was just too personable. "He needs time to cool off," Batman said, deciding that while Renegade did need his alone time, it would not be wise to let him run off once he regained consciousness. "We won't be able to help him right now. Right now he is going to the one place he knows where he can find comfort, and that's with Deathstroke."

"So we have to fight him too!?" Wally said, throwing his hands in the air expressively.

Then Batman was met with the other speedster quality. Thinking so fast that they missed important details. Also known as stupidity. "No." He said, and anyone who knew him well knew his patience was wearing thin. "We wait. Until we understand why he had this night terror."

Artemis's brows furrowed, genuine confusion written across her face. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"He stopped," Superboy said, drawing the group's attention to the map and indeed, the yellow dot stilled over an apartment building that had been abandoned for about a year.

The Dark Knight pinned the location and turned to the still fuming speedster. "Kid Flash, he told you he had a plan right?"

Once being singled out, the look of anger fled the redhead's face, but it definitely stayed close by. "Yes?"

Connor unfolded his arms, eyes narrowing. "Plan? What plan?"

"A secret trade," Wally supplied, getting odd looks from his teammates. "He told each of us something about himself and that's because-"

"He knows our secrets too!" Artemis finished with a stomp. "That little imp!"

Wally frowned, "How do you know?"

The archer folded her arms with a scowl. "That was his secret he gave to me, the fact that he knows all of our secrets."

Wally was confused but carried on in stride, hoping whatever he told his other teammates were more lucrative to the situation. "Well if the point is to figure out why he had the night terror, what did he tell us? He told me his middle name is John."

Artemis's face twisted into something like disgust and confusion. "MIDDLE name? Isn't that a bit dumb? Besides what kind of middle name is John? That so generic, just as much as Robin Wilson is."

Kaldur decided to keep going, sighing before he told the secret Renegade had entrusted to him, quietly wondering what secret the boy had over him, he didn't think he had any. "He told me why he does not trust us, it is because he does not want friends because they die. A friend of his died saving him and he does not want to deal with the loss again."

Everyone looked to Connor who stood stoically next to the Atlantean. The clone was having a war in his head, the secret Renegade told him seemed too sensitive to just say out loud, Renegade himself had barely said anything about it, it was his scars that told the tale. After the silence lasted a little too long Batman knew something was up, something was different about whatever Renegade told Superboy.

Finally, Connor dipped his head slightly as he hesitantly said what he needed to. "He showed me the scars on his back."

Wally's eyebrow quirked, surprised by the lack of specifics. "Did he tell you how he got them?"

"Yes." Connor ground out with a glare, his tone clearly stating he was not going to elaborate.

Batman decided maybe it was a good thing Tim was so obsessive and saved the recordings of Renegades 'secret trade'. He hadn't had the time to sit down and watch them yet, but it seemed like was going to get a recount from the witnesses. The only problem about that was little details got lost, like how Renegade spoke or acted while telling his secrets. Those were important tells, almost on par with the actual secret itself.

Wally got the message loud and clear. "Jeez..."

Artemis felt the need to clarify herself, glancing over at Batman for a second. "He only told me that he knew our secrets, he had a computer with him that he used to hack our database."

The archer was just finishing up when Miss Martian hobbled into the room, although no one noticed but The Dark Knight. She was clearly indisposed, he could tell by the way she walked alone. Her head was bent downwards and she was panting lightly, as if the simple action was taxing. The Martian leaned against the wall to the kitchen, then warbled out her own report to the surprise of the rest of the team.

"H-he showed me his stuffed animal he sleeps with, the one thing he was able to keep after his parents died." She said quietly, but that just made the room even more reverent so they could hear her words. 

"Are you alright?" Conner asked, unfolding his arms and having half a mind to go help her stand. "Wally said you froze." 

She nodded shakily, her arms coming up to grab each other in a tight tense grip. "I-I did... his emotions wer-were too much and I was pulled in."

The Caped Crusader didn't want to push, but this was information he wouldn't be able to find anywhere else, Tim could discern nothing from a mind war. "Do you remember anything you saw?"

She was quiet first, then her head began to shake. "N-no... j-just a lot of feelings, h-he was in so much pain... i-it was everywhere."

Artemis decided to get the spotlight of her teammate. She looked around expectantly as she spoke, eventually landing on Batman. "So what are we supposed to do with all of this?"

"It's a puzzle." Batman said, "He's giving us the pieces. I was aware of his blackmail, considering barely any of you were attempting to be kind to him, he gave you a reason."

Kaldur's head dipped in shame and Connor only huffed quietly, a small flash of remorse flitting across his face. Artemis felt defensive, convincing herself she had the only good reason not to get too close to the kid. Miss Martian was still in her headspace and barely gave the jibe any thought. She would admit though, after the library she had skirted around the young mercenary, and he seemed to do the same. Wally, his poor innocent soul, was berating himself for not being good enough, but he was well aware he was the only contributor to the 'barely any of you' part.

Batman continued, seeing the looks of humility on some of the team's faces and others pure insolence. "What we do know is that there is a third party playing here, and although there is no proof, we can assume Deathstroke had nothing to do with his scars and fears. Something else has set him off, it could possibly be the part of his past we don't have. You each need to say everything that he said to you, every detail is important."

The team nodded, and Wally took a breath to speak first, but Miss Martian's quiet voice beat him to the punch.

"He came to me first I think," she said airily, but as she continued to speak she got stronger as if recounting a different memory helped her leave behind the terror she just felt. "Matthew had ripped up his stuffed animal, he asked me if I could fix it. When I asked how he got it he told me his parents gave it to him when he was four. His parents were performers and someone had sabotaged their act."

Her eyes blinked as she tried to recall his exact words, or anything about it really. "He said something about wires and falling... Oh, acrobats, that's what he called them, they died on his eighth birthday."

Batman knew he could find out who Renegade was by that information alone, but he tucked that away for later, knowing Tim probably already had the kid's ID. Right now they needed to figure his past out, or at least of the parts he gave them.

Connor then spoke up, nodding in her direction and shifting his footing uncomfortably. "He told me that too, only that they died right in front of him." The clone paused and Batman was acutely aware Connor was still at war with himself over telling them what happened. He was about to prompt the clone into action when with a final sigh, he started speaking. "Renegade was sneaking around me, so I asked him what he was doing. He told me that's what he learned to do, and if he didn't, he'd get a scar."

Wally blinked at the blatancy. "He isn't very subtle is he?"

Connor shifted again, but felt the need to justify Renegade's story. "He had never talked about it before and was really scared while telling me. He kept on getting spacey but if he wasn't stuttering it was like he had shut down just to get the words out." The pause was shorter this time, flowing easily the longer the clone talked. "I thought he meant Deathstroke, but he said it was  'Them'. Said he couldn't say their name at all. He told me 'They' had taken him after his parents died and they turned him into a killer, and if he tried to resist, they'd hurt him."

He paused here, taking a deep breath before plunging on. "The scars were all over his back, a lot of them looked like wounds from a whip, but they didn't cover his whole back. When I asked about that he told me his scars had froze at the age he got them, which was eight." The clone's downcast eyes lifted to the present adult vigilante, a mixed sense of pride and sorrow passing through his gaze. "He said he never wanted to kill, but with the assassins, he was forced to. He said they consider death as mercy, but he kept speaking as if he himself couldn't die."

Wally and the rest of the team were shocked into silence. They expected horrible things, but to link those horrible things with someone they knew, that was a different story.

"Eight?" Wally breathed, like he couldn't believe it. They were heroes, they had seen some bad stuff, experienced it, but nothing quite like what Conner was describing. The comment went unnoticed by the clone who kept on talking, more horrors coming out the longer his lips were moving.

"They broke him, and he considers himself broken and that he'll never be fixed. He said the only reason he's still around is because Deathstroke was nice to him and now that he's gone he doesn't know what to do."

The silence in the room was overwhelming. It was obvious and gaunt, like the entire atmosphere came down to put as much pressure and heat and cold into the room as possible.

"Wow..." Wally said eventually, breaking the silence, but not the atmosphere. His pale face inhaled as more words slipped softly into the air. "He really is... broken isn't he?"

"Not if we can help him," Batman said, anger stirring in his gut and heating his body with adrenaline specific to the act of justice. He needed to know who 'They' were and he needed to know by yesterday. "Aqualad, did he give you anything?"

The Atlantean nodded stiffly, seemingly filling his lungs for the first time in a while. "He came to me in my room, apologizing for not trusting us. He told me he didn't want to get attached to us because of earlier complications with friends getting killed because of him. He told me of a night where he had been alone with a friend, his name was William Wintergreen. Deathstroke had been out, and they'd been caught off guard by a sudden attack. He said they were assassins looking for Renegade, and Wintergreen had used his body to shield him, in which the assassins assumed they completed their mission by stabbing Renegade through Wintergreen. This was a year after meeting Deathstroke."

"So... what does all of this mean for Renegade right now?" Artemis said, her emotions subdued by the weight of everything that had been said.

Batman decided to cut to the chase, despite what he had said earlier, it was unequivocally clear Renegade should NOT be alone right now. Not with Them still on the loose while they had no information on them. 

"We cannot assume the assassins and the 'Them' who trained him are the same, but they may be linked. William Wintergreen was a known associate of Deathstroke's, he'd been labeled as missing for a few years. Renegade clearly has many enemies, both internal and external. Which does not help narrowing down what caused this night terror."

"He spoke about them all in one day. Including one he had never talked about before." Superboy interjected, "It could be all of them."

"True, but if he has enemies, relentless ones, alone is not something he can afford to be right now. He is vulnerable in this state and will continue to be for what could be a few hours or a few days, we don't know him well enough to know how soon he bounces back from these night terrors." Batman turned cape and punched in the coordinates for Gotham, having to do so manually because Renegade must have messed with the programming when he used it. "He cannot be alone right now."

"But you said-" Artemis tried.

"I know what I said." Batman snapped, silencing the room with an unusual display of emotion. "That was then, this is now. He's had enough time to cool off." Batman huffed and stepped into the Tubes.

"Wait are you going to bring him back? Batman, what's the plan?" Wally called out after him but The Dark Knight was already gone.

The speedster nearly growled, Batman was going after Renegade by himself and didn't bother trying to wait for his team to go. Why did he want all of them to figure it out if Batman was just going to go off my himself to get him? Wally was his friend! No way was Batman going to do this on his own.

Wally braced himself against the wall for a moment, taking in long deep breaths and taking a glance at the still open map. Artemis noticed his preparation, her eyes narrowing on his form.

"Wally-" She said in warning. 

Kid Flash bolted back to his room, slipping on his suit, (his wound since healed, though it did twinge if he twisted wrong) then zipped back into the Zeta Tubes, cutting off his teammate's rationale with a trail of yellow sparks snapping behind him. In a split second, he was gone.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Fair warning: attempted self-harm, but I don't put the tag because this is literally the only scene where this comes up and it's put to a stop fairly quickly.

"S-Slade?"

A small broken voice gently floated through the air, an ebony-haired head shifting across the pillow tiredly as another groggy groan escaped his parched throat. "S-Slade? Wher-"

His pleading stopped as his bright blue eyes opened drunkenly, his pupils dilating and focusing, blinking at the bright lights above him. His head tossed in the pillow, his gaze washing over his surroundings, finding them unfamiliar. He took another breath to ask his question when a tug on his wrist made him pause.

He didn't have to look down to know what it was, and tugging on his other wrist only confirmed it.

He was restrained.

Dick grunted and twisted his wrists, tugging and yanking to no avail. His legs were tied too, he couldn't move, he couldn't do anything, and his head... hurt... so... much. Tears started gathering in his cerulean blue eyes, his heart rate rising rapidly as his throat emitted a whine.

"S-Slade?! Please!" He called out for his guardian, swallowing the lump in his throat and breathing heavily. He was alone in a new place and restrained to a bed. Slade would find him, Slade would save him like he always does.

His eyes closed again as he swallowed back tears, his face twisted in fear and pain. Where was he? Why was he tied down? Where was Slade?!

He heard a heavy 'thunk' and his head tilted up, the angle making it hard to keep his head up and still able to breathe. His heart weakly fluttered in relief, it was Slade! He tried to voice his relief, but it died in his throat as the man had his back facing him. His head was bent downwards, clearly focused on whatever was in his hands, but he was standing on the other side of the room, at the foot of his bed.

Dick's head thumped back onto the pillow, weak and confused. Slade wasn't moving to help him, Slade didn't seem alarmed at all, in fact he was ignoring him!

"S-Slade... p-please, what's g-g-going on? Wh-where are we? W-why am I-I... stuck?" He stuttered out, lifting his head again to see if his friend had moved.

Slade didn't even acknowledge his presence.

"S-Slade..?" He whispered desperately, his tears returning to wet his pleading eyes.

"We are at our new house."

Dick relaxed slightly, his voice alone comforting the child. His voice was deep and grumbly, it was definitely Slade's, but there was something in it that didn't belong, something that he had never heard before. He knew what emotion it was, he'd just never heard it in Slade's voice.

"W-why a-am I-?" He tried, slightly tugging on his restraints for emphasis, but Slade started talking over him.

"You didn't tell me the whole truth, Richard." His head lifted up, maskless, scruffy white hair finally visible. A familiar streak of black that was the strap of the eyepatch dividing the short hair. 

Dick's erratic heart plummeted as he pieced it together. Dread filled his entire being and he struggled to shift in his bonds. "I-I-" His mouth floundered, his thoughts were chaotic, and his head burned with fear of rejection.

"You told me you were at a juvenile detention center for a year. But you weren't, were you?"

His voice, he was so angry! So disappointed! Dick's skin prickled with unease, his heart hammering in his chest. This must be why he was restrained, he had lied to Slade and Slade didn't want him to run away to avoid punishment. He deserved it, he deserved every lash that was on his back, even if Slade wasn't the one who gave him those, he felt like he needed them. He needed to be reminded how awful he is, such a disappointment. He had lied to the only people he cared about and now that the truth was out he was on his own again. Stupid... selfish... he just wanted peace and love, but he had betrayed them.

Dick thought it best to answer, for he was asked a question, and anything that could help alleviate his punishment was welcome, even if he did deserve it. Complying until he had an out was always easier than fighting and losing all hope of escape in an instant.

"N-no-no s-sir..." his voice cracked, half whispering and whining his answer.

Why why why?! Why couldn't he just be happy with Slade and Wintergreen? He thought he had found family again! He didn't mean any harm! Really! He had promised he'd protect people from now on!

Which brought him to a new observation, Wintergreen was missing from the room, and with a reveal and betrayal such as this, he should be here. Wintergreen might understand, he usually did when Slade was stubborn, but maybe he was so outraged he didn't even want to be in the same room as him! That thought alone made his eyes brim with tears, he was such a terrible gypsy rat.

"S-si-sir...? W-wh-where i-is W-Wintergreen...?" He asked softly, hoping he wasn't digging himself further into his own grave by speaking without being spoken to.

The head dipped and Dick felt the urge to recoil, to curl up in a ball and at least attempt to brace for emotional impact.

"Wintergreen is dead."

Dick was frozen to the spot.

...dead...?

The first thing he felt was the weight. His heart, his chest, it was so heavy. Suffocating, like the whole world just collapsed on top of him, rubble he would never be able to lift.

Then his brain caught up.

Dick was restrained... Wintergreen was dead... Slade found out his secret the hard way... oh no... no no no nononononono!

It was his fault! IT WAS ALL HIS FAULT!

Dick already knew it, somehow, he knew it. Wintergreen was dead, all evidence was pointing to it, but that didn't stop him from sobbing. The tears rolled down the sides of his face, his mouth gaping and gasping for air as he wailed and writhed. Warbled and barely cohesive sounds were coming out of him, most of which weren't even English.

He wanted to hide, to get away, far away from everyone and everything. But he was stuck, the straps around his ankles and wrists biting into his skin and reminding him he was forced to face the horrible truth. Death followed him wherever he went, and anyone he cared about always paid the price.

"I-I-I'm -gh- -I'm sorry! I-I'm s-sorry!" He was cut off by another choking sob, "I-I didn't mean to! Please! I'm sorry!" His words died down as his body was wracked with sobs, but still, his trembling lips continued his lament. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

A hand landed on his foot and Dick flinched violently, a whine rising up through his blubbering apologies. He lifted his head, averting his gaze, his eyes shut tight so he wouldn't have to face his terrible fate at the hands of someone he thought as a father. Only in the very far back of his mind did he remember that Slade would tap his feet for his attention if he was too sound or touch sensitive. It was a safe touch, but with his mind going a million miles an hour with fear, he forgot.

"It... It's not your fault Dick." Slade breathed, his single gray eye cast downward as his giant hand rested like a stone on the small child's foot. "You didn't ask for any of this, you are too compassionate for their purposes, their mistake was thinking they could take that quality away from you." The hand shifted, his large fingers brushing the industrial-strength velcro that strapped the boy's leg to the bed.

"But..." he paused and Dick felt his breath catch in his throat. Every word out of his guardian so far as sent ripples of relief crashing through him, but now, it wavered. Would all those compliments and assurances be undercut by the simple fact of who he was? Slade was probably regretting every second he spent with him, because that only sealed his fate just as it had Wintergreen's.

Dick didn't have any friends, he was scared to have friends, anyone nice to him was automatically put on a hit list. Wintergreen was now crossed out. Slade was still there. Slade would get rid of him in the hopes it would save himself.

Dick screwed his eyes shut, fully prepared to take the verdict. Slade would get rid of him. Slade would get rid of him. Slade would get rid of him.

That was best-case scenario.

Worst case...?

He kept repeating the best-case, if only to keep himself from being jinxed into making the worst-case come true.

Slade would get rid of him, Dick could go to a different city, or maybe live in the woods. He could eat berries and live in a treehouse, no one could get hurt by him if he was alone.

"But," Slade continued, his fingers caught on the small lip between the velcro, and a subsequent 'RRRRIIIPP' filled the air. Dick's leg was now free. "I would have preferred to know beforehand I was harboring a rogue Talon in training."

If Dick flinched before, then this time his body absolutely rejected the word.

He cried out, as if the name itself had attacked him. He gasped for breath, his dark hair slick with sweat and darkness edged his vision. He barely registered the other restraint being undone, his mind was a whirlwind of dark memories and terrible consequences.

"...please..." He wheezed, barely a whisper, "d-d-do-don't c-ca-call m-me T-T-Ta-Tal-" his throat swallowed loudly and his head tossed, eyes still shut tightly. "T-t-that..."

Slade said nothing, but his heavy mass moved closer to his head, a long arm reaching around and unlatching his wrists. He was free now, but he still trembled and gulped. As much as he wanted to he couldn't open his eyes, Slade wouldn't want to see his undeserving gaze, he was filth, vile and wretched. He was a monster. He didn't deserve Slade's compassion, not even his pity. He should hate him, he should be yelling and shouting, he should be hitting him for all he was worth.

Instead, he was scooped up in big warm arms, Slade's giant body coddling his tiny frame. He felt Slade sit down, finding his legs bunched up and resting on the mercenary's lap, his side curled into the man's chest. Dick shook with silent sobs, tears still rolling down his face, flinching at every slight movement.

"Dick. Look at me." Slade said, his voice was still hard as usual, but a certain softness was added that Dick couldn't help but listen to.

His eyes flickered open but remained lowered, his body recoiling ever so slightly, but was stopped by the strong arm cradling his neck and shoulder. He looked up, finding Slade's eye. He had never seen Slade cry before, and he wasn't now, but the whites were red. The emotion was there, just not quite out.

"It's not your fault." He said slowly, as if speaking slower would make the words mean more. He hated that it kind of worked. He said it so sternly, confidently, like it had no choice but to be true. But it wasn't.

Dick let a half sob out and pushed his face into the man's chest. He was lying. It was his fault. Everyone got hurt because of him.

"Dick. Have I ever lied to you?" Slade asked and the child shook his head, knowing exactly where this was going but not wanting to believe it. "Then believe me when I say it isn't your fault. I do not blame you for Wintergreen's death."

Slade's arms tightened around him, his body so big and blocking out everything else. Dick was numb but used every ounce of his remaining strength to get as close as possible to this man. It was selfish of him, so selfish of him to want to keep him, to want to stay by Slade. Eventually, that would get him killed, and Dick would be another cause of his family's (however odd and makeshift they were) deaths.

But Slade was here, holding him, keeping him close. The strong arms wrapped around him held him like he would be ripped away, tight as iron with no sign of letting up. Slade's big body cradled him like a physical (and warm) shield to everything outside, nothing but him and Slade. The mercenary wasn't saying anything, but his strong presence and physical grip seemed to say 'I'm here, and I'm never letting go.'

This time Dick cried in relief, but of course it was only added to the tears of grief and utter remorse already rolling down his cheeks.

Slade started a rocking motion, going from side to side in tiny increments, the child didn't even realize he was swaying until he opened his eyes a little and the world was tilting. It was quiet, save it be the child's softening sobs, and the little creaks of the bed and cushions as the large mercenary moved on them.

It was sometime later when Slade spoke again, the rocking continued, but the big chest he was up against rumbled pleasantly. But the message was anything but pleasant.

"Dick... I know this isn't a good time to bring this up, and there probably won't be ever, but after I found you... your eyes were yellow."

Dick felt his heart stop.

It was one thing to have Them kill Wintergreen because of him, but it was a whole other thing if HE killed Wintergreen.

But-But- It didn't make any sense... he always remembered when they gave him the serum that turned him into... that. That was always the worst part of being with them. Sure it wasn't very clear, it was like watching a dream, and like waking up from a dream, only the random terrible moments littered with out-of-context details remained. In other words, Dick would have remembered if he actually killed Wintergreen.

"You didn't kill Wintergreen." Slade said, as if reading his mind, "I saw it happen, it wasn't you. But after, you were in a rage Dick, you killed a few people. I was able to knock you out, but you woke up in the same way later, that's why you were tied to the bed."

Dick choked on a sob, of both relief and horror. He didn't kill Wintergreen, but he had killed others, probably innocent people! Like Matthew!

"I-I-In-Inoce-?"

"Yes, some of them were innocent, ignorant people," Slade revealed, taking one hand away from his backside and gently ruffling his head and hair. "Not all of them though, don't feel bad about killing people who deserve it. He would have killed more people if he was left alive."

"W-wh-who-?" Dick tried asking, his question squeaking out through his tight throat.

He was instantly shushed, Slade tightening his hold for a second before letting up. "Hey, none of that, I know how you are with guilt, you were just barely improving coping with Matthew and now you've got Wintergreen to blame yourself about. Those people you killed are gone Dick, no amount of self-loathing is going to bring them back, nor stop you from doing it if you go crazy again. The only thing you can do is live the way you want to, not in fear, but as the child you naturally are. Happy."

Dick was not consoled, he sobbed harder, holding his gut and wishing he was somebody else, anyone else other than Dick Grayson, heir to the Court of Owls. The Talon (in training).

"I-I d-don't want t-to h-hurt you..." he cried, his eyebrows drawing up in fear and painful remorse. It hurt so much, it was an ache he couldn't fill, a gnawing gut wrenching hunger he couldn't satisfy. He needed release, he needed the pressure to be lifted, he couldn't handle it anymore.

One of his hands crept to his arm where he grabbed it and dug his nails into his flesh. Slade noticed and, before blood could be drawn, ripped his arm away from himself and trapped it with his own in a forced hug.

Dick couldn't see Slade's face, he was scared he had upset him, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes. He couldn't do anything right, he had just tried to dull the pain, misdirect it, even if just for a little bit. If the pain was somewhere else he wouldn't have to focus on the one that was tearing at his chest. Slade obviously didn't want that.

"No, Dick, no..." He heard the man whisper, a big hand gently rubbing the place his nails had attacked, "that is never the answer. Please, never do that."

Dick just laid there numbly, not really listening because of the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts in his mind. He shut them down, deciding not to think, to just get away from it all and exist in the moment.

He felt Slade sigh, or at least take a big breath, and it raised his little body, his trembling returning as his body rippled with waves of extreme tense and extreme limp.

"Dick, remember when I got shot in the stomach awhile ago? And when you asked how I was ok I told you I'd tell you later?" Slade asked, his voice ever so slightly lighter. Dick was confused at the subject change, but nodded all the same, a subject change was completely fine by him.

"You know I was in the army, and I volunteered for an experiment, well the rest of the story is that it worked." Dick blinked, realizing he was out of tears but still feeling stuffy and hot. He lifted a hand to rub at his itchy eyes and runny nose. His numb mind was utterly confused about how that story related to anything. He'd been told this story before, maybe not ALL of it, but most of it. The one about the experiment was new, he knew that was why Slade was old but didn't act old like Wintergreen does... did. But what did he mean by 'it worked'?

"I'm immortal Dick, I can get hurt, but I can't die. You can't get rid of me that easily." Slade said, the end of his voice quipping faintly.

A million questions wanted to come out. What if his head blew up? Would he just grow another one? What if there was an explosion that burned him all at once? Or some type of disintegration ray?

Instead, he held onto Slade, letting himself be taken into his full embrace, letting himself trust this man with the murder of crows that flocked around him like he was the reaper himself. His demons... and his dreams... Slade would be there for it all.

An immortal and a harbinger of death.

Slade was the only person who could survive being his friend.

He was so happy he found him.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick woke up cold.

He woke up soundlessly, his tired eyes opening slowly, lazily flitting around to scan his surroundings. His heart was heavy, a weight in his gut he knew would stay there for at least a day. He was in a ball, his knees up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. He was numb, from both the cold and his emotions. One hand still held onto the knife, his grip was so tight it hurt his fingers, but he was too tired to care.

He was exposed to the elements here, only in his t-shirt and shorts in the cold Gotham wind. It was night, which didn't surprise him, but he couldn't judge exactly when during the night because of the low hanging clouds that obstructed the sky and gave the city a cramped feeling. Gotham always seemed to reflect a bad mood, it felt appropriate. It's dirty city smell permeated through the air, Dick wouldn't be able to identify whatever the concoction of smells it was, but it smelled like home.

His eyes fell to the ground, half-lidded and utterly blank.

It came to him slowly, realizing that he was, in fact, in Gotham. He wasn't at the mountain of heroes, he wasn't sure how he got here either.

His head hurt, and so did every bone in his body.

He had a night terror, and if he didn't know himself so well he might have been surprised. He never remembered anything from his night terrors, but that didn't include the feelings left behind like a bad taste in his mouth. If he had to guess, he had a night terror about the night Wintergreen died.

The silence was nice, it soothed his buzzing head, too much input and output in such a short period of time really got to him. He could just sit and exist for once. Nothing was expected of him here, no one was pressuring him. No one was comforting him. There was no one. Just him.

The cold was numbing, the chill wind biting at his exposed skin. He was grateful for it. He was overworked, frazzled, and stretched thin. He needed a break, from stress, from emotions, from life. He needed Slade.

The apartment he grew up in was below him, abandoned, broken, like him.

His location alone held too much significance, of course his unconscious mind would bring him here. He didn't want to admit it, but his subconscious had made the decision for him.

He was home.

Dick was leaning up against the lip of the roof, the same thing he'd done when he was upset with Slade or anything else he wanted to hide from the man, only to be ultimately found and reasoned with.

That's why he was here. He didn't expect Slade to show up but Dick was here nonetheless, offering himself up in a desperate plea for help.

He would never, ever disregard an order unless it was of the utmost importance. Slade knew this, the man who raised him would know exactly what his presence here meant.

It meant he couldn't handle it.

He couldn't handle the pressure. The betrayal. The blind trust he had to give away. The fear he had for these heroes. It was all too much all at once.

He wanted Slade to come and sweep him up from the ground, to tell him everything was going to be alright as he laid there in his protective arms. Instead he was kicked out of the nest, his floundering wings out of sync and the ground coming up fast.

He was weak. He couldn't do it. He had tried, but his hands slipped from the bar. Now he was falling, watching the platform get smaller and smaller, eyes closed to embrace the safety net that was there.

But Slade wasn't here, the net was gone.

Slade pushed him out, he wasn't going to come swooping in and save him.

He was ready to crack on the cold ground.

He was ready to join his parents.

Maybe... maybe they'd be proud of him for something, even if it was nothing. He must have done something right in his short messed-up life worth their love.

His eyes closed and he breathed in the cold air, numbing his nose and expanding his tight chest. For now though, he would sit. He would rest his frazzled brain, maybe things would make sense later.

He realized Batman and the other heroes had yet to cross his mind, but he was glad of it, they just complicated things. Batman and Wally in particular. Why did he feel so safe around them, like it was natural to be in their presence? Heroes had morals, he didn't, or at least not many. Why were they so good at getting past his defenses, giving him the companionship he needed even when he didn't want it. Ugh, humans were so complicated.

Dick sighed, eyes flicking open for a moment, but then catching sight of some moving paper near his foot. Curiosity is what drove his hand to reach for it, and upon contact with the object, he realized it was a photograph, judging by its texture alone.

He brought it closer to himself and flipped the image over.

Dick's mouth was in a thin line, his half-lidded gaze washing over the image blankly.

It was a picture of him and Slade.

Wintergreen must have taken this picture, for no one else could have, nor would have. Slade was in his chair, the rolly one that younger Dick liked to spin on. His white fluffy head was leaning forward, eye closed and scruffy chin resting on his chest. He was asleep. A smaller version of Dick was in his lap, curled up loosely with both a foot and an arm dangling from the chair. Slade had a hand on his back to keep him from falling, Dick's ebony hair was sticking up in wild cowlicks against the mercenary's chest. Their faces were both peaceful in their sleep, a simpler time filled with fond memories.

Dick knew what this photo meant, its implications were all too obvious. Dick had freaked out, came here, and here was a photo only Slade could have access to. 

Slade was watching him.

Slade knew where he was, and had probably been close sometime in the past few minutes. He wouldn't dare leave this photo on the ground in Gotham for long, it still looked clean too.

If Slade had been watching him, he knew why he had this night terror, he must know how much he was hurting.

But still refused to help him.

Slade had always been there for him, helping him when he hurt and there for the emotions. This photo reminded him of that, and whether Slade meant it or not, it mocked him. He was sure Slade had good intentions with sharing this photo with him, but Dick couldn't help but feel like it rubbed salt in his wounds, showing him what had been and how starkly different it was from right now.

Slade had abandoned him in his hour of need, sending some stupid picture as if that would restore all faith he had in the mercenary. He might have been consoled by the picture, and he was sure he would be later, but at the moment he was too emotionally taxed.

Dick folded the picture and tucked it away in his belt.

Dick decided he didn't care.

He didn't care that he just accidentally ran away from the heroes.

He didn't care that he knew exactly where he was and why he was all alone.

He didn't care if Slade was watching.

He didn't care that Slade wasn't physically with him.

Slade didn't care.

Dick closed his eyes, pushing the thoughts of the photo to the back of his mind, deciding to think on it later when he wasn't so angry and sad. The last time he wasn't this aggravated was before Slade gave him up to the heroes, a time Dick wished with his entire being that he could go back to.

The wind tousled his hair, brushing across his numb skin, reminding him how utterly alone he was.

He didn't want to be alone.

"How amusing." A low male voice shattered his peace.

Dick stiffened. Okay, maybe he should retract that thought. He didn't recognize that voice, but whoever it was was not friendly.

"Little assassin out for a stroll?" The voice was getting louder, closer, he could hear footsteps now, grating against the rooftops.

Dick had his eyes open now, scanning his surroundings for any fast movement while he huddled himself smaller.

"How pathetic," The voice taunted and now it seemed to echo, that's how Dick knew he was getting uncomfortably close, this roof in particular was rather echo-y. "Deathstroke didn't train you very well did he?"

Dick gave no answer, only trying to identify his opponent. He would not be taunted by this man, he refused to be. He was trying to get under his skin but it wasn't going to work, Dick was too mentally exhausted to get worked up over such things.

Dick yelped when a rough hand grabbed his neck from his left, hoisting him into the air before tossing him aside.

Dick stumbled into a roll, his hands and knees sliding across the gravel, scraping them in the process. He hissed at the pain that prickled his numb limbs and looked up, only to find the roof empty. He hesitated to stand, he liked his crouched position, it was easier to curl up and hide. To take whatever this being wanted to dish and just wait it out, or even just let them finish the job.

"Lost your spunk have you?" The voice started again, still echoing and loud.

Dick's masked eyes narrowed, his sudden internal decision to not let himself get pummeled was totally unrelated to the mysterious man's words. Besides, a good spar will help clear his mind, even if he was fighting for his immediate survival. (He was reminded how thankful he was Slade trained him that way)

"How delightful. The broken ones are always easier to control." The voice narrowed to a spot and Dick shifted his position. The figure stepped forward, finally into the light.

Sportsmaster.

Dick felt his chest tighten, remembering their last encounter together. His feet shuffled back without his permission, but his thudding heart couldn't help but agree. He needed to leave. He was in no condition to be fighting other mercenaries right now.

"How sad, Deathstroke's boy wonder not so wonderful anymore." Sportsmaster stalked forward powerfully, letting his feet thump loudly to intimidate the much smaller mercenary. That faceless hockey mask was unnerving, two soulless eyes glittering with malice, narrowed straight on him.

Dick took another stumbling step backward, raising his fists in preparation, almost forgetting about the knife in his hand. He twisted the knife around, flipping it between his fingers to make sure he had full use of his hand and could defend himself properly.

His fearful actions did not go unnoticed by the larger mercenary, his barrel of a chest huffing with laughter before a dark tone spoke starkly in the cramped night. 

"Scared are you?"

Dick swallowed his fear, letting it fester in his gut so he could at least defend himself at the moment. Sportsmaster brought out a crowbar that was sheathed on his back and Dick felt his stomach crawl into his throat and his heart into his gut.

"Good."

Sportsmaster was approaching slowly, achingly slow, a cat merely playing with its food.

"Then this will be fun." The mercenary lifted his weapon like a baseball bat and lunged.

Dick may be ready to meet his parents, but he wasn't sure he wanted to die just yet. That, of course, was just wishful thinking though. Death was not on the docket today, he didn't need any more of Their crap today thank you.

The young mercenary quickly rolled out of the way, sending a smashing kick to the back of the man's knees. He heard a grunt of surprise as he swiveled on his knees and stood. His knife was against his forearm, he raised it in a warding manor, his other hand balling into a fist as he started circling his opponent.

Why did he pause? Why did he wait for Sportsmaster to get up? He should have stabbed him to incapacitate him so he could run. He really should be leaving, but he was curious. Why was Sportsmaster here? Why did Sportsmaster want to hurt him? This... this wasn't revenge, Sportsmaster had nothing against him, he was the one who threw the first punch with the gas. Unless... unless he wanted to make Slade hurt.

Dick felt a cold hard lump form in his gut as his mind steeled over. He refused to be used as a pawn to hurt Slade. He would indulge the enemy, if only to prove him wrong. Slade didn't care. Not anymore.

"One last spark?" Sportsmaster said, turning around arrogantly with his weapon loose in his grip. "Don't like being used?" He taunted, again coming forward like some unstoppable force. Dick could hear the smirk below the hockey mask, and he suddenly got the impression he WAS being a pawn. Slade had warned him about Sportsmaster, in all his emotional hubbub he had forgotten there actually was a real threat here and now he was paying for it. Dick couldn't get himself to care.

Sportsmaster lunged and Dick sidestepped, he twisted around and kept to the larger man's back, shifting his feet and dodging every swing of those powerful arms. He wasn't, however, prepared for the backward kick that landed on his hip. He cried out as he staggered backward, doubling over but quickly looking up only to find the crowbar careening towards his face.

He was sent to the ground with the force of the blow, his head getting hit hard from both the crowbar and the ground.

The young mercenary groaned into the gravel, airily wondering whatever happened to fighting back. His limbs wouldn't move. He blamed his mental state. It's not like he would actually die if he was killed. After he 'died' would be the real problem, but Dick was dangerously close to giving up and just seeing where it took him. At this point, he didn't even care if The Court took him back. Playing mind games over years and years knowing it would all eventually end terribly for him was exhausting. 

He finally dragged his hands under him and pushed up to his knees, where a smashing kick was sent to his ribs. Dick yelped as he fell to the side, eyes shut in an effort to ignore the pain shooting through his body.

Then a rough hand grabbed him, lifting him up and pinning him to the wall, his head snapping back and hitting the surface with a sick 'thwack'.

Dick would have used his knife, plunge it into the gaps of the older mercenary's armor, but a big hand wrapped around his throat and held him against the wall, his feet dangling in the air.

He was pulled back, only to be slammed back against the wall. Dick gasped as air was taken from him, the hand around his esophagus tightening and the repeated slam of his back against the wall drew all breath from him. Dick's hands grabbed at the wrist, his knife clattering to the ground, grimacing in pain and his head pounding from the collision.

His chest burned with lack of air, his eyes wide and mouth gaping as if he could inhale if his mouth was open wide enough. Sportsmaster's mask began to sway in his vision, black dots scattering across his field of view. 

He must have blacked out a little, because suddenly he was airborne and hit the ground hard. He was stunned, air flooding his starved lungs and tiny bits of gravel dug into any exposed skin.

"Weak little bird. No big bad Daddy Deathstroke to save you is there?" He heard from above as he gasped and coughed. Dick hadn't paid any mind to whatever taunt came from the man, but his heart apparently didn't get the memo. At least, not with this taunt, because it was true.

Slade wasn't coming.

It was hammered into him as hard as Sportsmaster was kicking him.

Another boot was driven into his stomach, making him grunt and curl instinctively. Dick tucked tightly into a ball, shielding his head with his arms and knees to his chest. He was being hit everywhere, his back, his shins, his arms, his head. Everything hurt, everything was numb and prickly and... pain.

Dick grit his teeth and it occurred to him that none of these blows were killing blows, just severely damaging, he wasn't even sure if there was blood. Sportsmaster was drawing it out, or he didn't intend to kill him at all. He was waiting for something.

The assault paused when Dick went limp, he was really playing possum, but he couldn't deny he really wanted to pass out at that moment. A heavy boot shoved him over onto his back, but then settled on his chest.

Dick gasped as pressure was applied, his hands started scrabbling at the boot, trying to shove it off fruitlessly. The weight then multiplied as Sportsmaster leaned down, settling an arm on his knee that was propped by the small mercenary's body.

"I never liked you." He sneered, letting the boy gasp and writhe under his boot. "But I like your name. Renegade." He said it in an awed voice, savoring the word on his tongue. "It means betrayal, it means deserter. It's a wild card kid, and so are you."

Dick was seeing spots and was almost positive his ribs were going to break any second. He barely registered what the large mercenary had said, too busy trying to deal with the pain on his chest.

"I wonder why you picked that name," The pressure was released and Dick gasped for air, before he could do anything his shirt was grabbed and he was lifted into the air again. "It's almost too fitting, like you were made to be a puppet."

Dick started swinging his legs pitifully, trying his hardest to get unlodged. "I-I'm n-nobody's puppet." He gasped, hanging on to the hand that held his shirt. He could just slip out of it, but for some reason he really didn't want to go shirtless even for the sake of getting the upper hand. He also might be a little too self-conscious about his scars, especially in front of an enemy.

Sportsmaster chuckled. "Oh ignorant child, you already are."

In a burst of energy that came purely from rage, Dick swung a foot up and kicked the man in the head, causing himself to be dropped and that stupid laugh to stop. He half-landed in a crouch and limped/scurried to the right, placing a few jabs in exposed spots and hitting tiny nerves that would freeze certain parts of the body. He was driven by anger, hate, resentment and fury.

He was no one's puppet.

His body burned and ached and his head spun every time he moved, but he had to keep moving, stay awake at the very least.

Dick didn't really know how it had happened or what led up to it, all he knew was that it hurt.

The crowbar was slammed into his side, the hook at the end catching on his flesh and clothes. It didn't go in, but it scratched his side deep and long.

Dick staggered back, barely on his feet, wrapping both arms around his wounded side. Blood was running from his nose (when did that start?) and his left foot hurt sharply, but his side and his head hurt the worst.

He didn't even see the next blow come, he wasn't sure he felt it either, he just remembered hitting the ground.

He panted, coughing up blood on his side, his body morbidly still. Yep, something was definitely broken. He grunted as something shoved his shoulder, but it wasn't exactly a hit, but it hurt his aching body.

"Get AWAY FROM HIM!"

Was that...? That was Wally.

Dick was focused on staying awake, he was 100% sure he had a concussion, and he really didn't want to go into a coma. He heard a few grunts and clangs through cotton, then everything was silent.

Wait, no it wasn't, footsteps, much lighter, quicker. Surely that must belong to the speedster.

"Robin! Robin are you ok?"

He felt the presence next to him, probably kneeling, slightly hovering over his injured body.

"Mmhm, j-just... 'eachy." Dick drawled, wincing at the pain it caused his throat and lungs.

"You're awake?" Wally said, sounding surprised.

"uh-huh," Dick said in a loud breathy way, then his tongue grew thick and heavy. "'oke u' 'ere, th'n S-"

"Alright alright don't strain yourself," Wally said, thin fingers gently rolling him onto his back.

Dick grunted in pain before replying, half offended by the mothering. "I'm-n 'ot an 'ld m'n."

"Can you move?" Wally asked, then Dick heard a second pair of feet, much heavier and closer.

"uugh..." he wanted to shout a warning, thinking Sportsmaster was sneaking up on his friend, but it was mistaken as a tired pitiful groan. Which it actually kinda was, just not intentionally

"-ed Robin, I need his name."

Dick's tired brain was surprised, Batman was there instead, and talking to someone else? Was he that Robin or was... oh wait, one of Batman's sidekicks was Red Robin, figures.

"Robin come on buddy stay awake." His shoulder was shaken lightly by the worried speedster, Dick could only groan as his sign wakefulness. Then his heart leaped into his throat as a name he had only heard from Slade's mouth come from none other than Batman.

"Richard. Stay awake Richard." His tone was forceful, but not unkind, knowing as well what could happen if he fell asleep.

Dick wasn't sure if he had control over that anymore, but he latched onto the idea that Batman now knew his real name. Well... almost.

"ugh y-a Dick." He grunted, making sure his actual name came out clearly.

It amused him when he heard Wally's confused "What?"

Batman's larger mass was on his other side now, and it started ripping open his shirt, probably to address the bleeding wound on his side. "Who attacked you, Dick?" He asked as he worked, earning a hiss of pain from the acrobat as he dug under his body to wrap the gauze all the way around.

Dick grimaced as his body was agitated, gasping a little at sudden flares of pain erupting in random points of his body. But, he was able to gasp out an answer. "Sp'rtsmest'r"

His head lolled to the side as a numb tingly feeling ran across his body, starting at his toes and fingers before enveloping his limbs. He was going to pass out now.

"Dick I'm going to take you to the Batcave, hang in there."

He barely heard it, barely feeling the hands dig under his body to lift him up.

A smirk quirked on his lips.

Batman sounded like a stupid cat poster.

And then the darkness claimed him. 

Chapter Text

William Wintergreen rubbed his face, dragging his hand over his eyes and down his chin and up again, trying to rid himself of all evidence of tiredness. He really should have slept in when he had the chance, now he was running on less than three hours of sleep that he got two days ago.

But he finally made it, Slade's hideout. He had been messaged (coded of course) the address and burned the paper afterward. He and Slade had known how to deal with sensitive information for years now, they had learned together after all. When one's friendship starts in the army it's bound to linger afterward, especially if the two save each other. Well... Slade had saved him more than he saved Slade. William felt indebted, but of course Slade was his friend too. They were friends before Slade barged in guns blazing (quite literally) to save his hide from the enemy base. He was there when Deathstroke the Terminator was born, and he was going to stay there for however long he could. Slade may be immortal now, but William wasn't going to let that stop him, if anything he felt even more pressed to help his war buddy.

The harried old man shifted over to the door and raised his hand to the rusty bronze doorknob. He stilled for a moment, letting the hidden scanner identify his fingerprints before a satisfying 'shink' sounded and the handle became loose.

He swung the door open, his dark forest green coat draped over one arm and he shimmied in tiredly with a sigh. He hoped Slade was here, it wasn't always easy to catch each other when one was a mercenary and the other a retired soldier. Retired might be stretching it, he refused to be idle, but his aching bones demanded respite, and the period of rest only seemed to get longer and longer. Okay so he might be a little old, but his white hair had nothing to do with his capability to bust some heads when needed.

As William continued farther into the apartment he softened his steps and paid more attention to his surroundings. Something felt off.

Everything seemed to be in order, the counter was clear of clutter, the small table tucked next to the closed window was clean. It may have been a while since he'd visited this hideout but he knew how Slade liked to keep his place clean, clutter was a hindrance and being in the army definitely refined that aspect of his friend. Only one thing set off the warnings in his head, his eyes narrowing as he continued to observe. The lights were on.

If Slade was here he would have come to greet him by now, unless Slade was injured, which he would be alerted to by Slade if it was serious, even if it was just a small noise. Or Slade could be away and there was someone rifling through his stuff, but everything was fine, nothing was thrown to the side in a rage or ripped or ravaged. That came to his other option, if it was not a pillager then it must be someone trained to pillage without looking like anything had been moved, but what trained professional would leave the lights on? That's not something a professional would let slip, even amateur crooks know to leave the lights off.

William grew a frown and slipped his hand behind his back to the small gun in its hidden holster. He inched forwards, taking to creep along the wall and step quietly. He heard shuffling, cloth moving and a thud as bare(?) feet hit the carpeted ground. Then he heard rapid footsteps, small and lethal.

Whoever it was wasn't too big, which could either make this confrontation easier or harder. William backed up and slid his gun around to fire. In a last-minute decision, he jumped out from behind the wall and pointed the barrel of his gun at the infiltrator.

He was met with a mop of raven black hair and giant startled blue eyes. It was a small boy, frozen in place and staring wide-eyed at the gun pointed right at him.

William lowered his gun a little, it was just a child, then his brows furrowed. What was a kid doing in here?

"Y-your not-" The child was clearly frightened, taking a step back as the tiny shoulders curled in.

"How'd you get in here kid?" William asked as he eased his glare up and lowered the gun more. It wouldn't help to threaten the boy, not yet at least, he needed to know more.

It didn't seem to matter that he was trying to be less-than-threatening-but-still-threatening, the child was shaking and taking a few steps more backward. The kid bumped into a chair and promptly sidestepped behind it, wide scared eyes peeking out from his hiding place.

"You get in here by yourself kid?" William asked, then he snapped his head up, the boy could be a distraction. "Anyone else in here?!" He raised his voice as he continued to look around, all the crevices and corners.

Once satisfied with his own safety he zeroed in on the boy again. "Kid, answer me."

The child flinched back slightly, disappearing completely from view for a moment before edging around the corner with his mouth opened, but half choked sobs came out instead of words. The boy's bright blue eyes were rimmed red and tears streamed down his face, the rest of his frail body trembling in place. William had no clue what to do, children weren't exactly his place of expertise.

"Look, kid, I'm not sure how you got in here but-" He took a step forward but stopped when the child cried out.

The ebony-haired boy jumped backward deeper into the corner behind the chair, the only indication of his presence a soft sobbing and muttering about... punishment?

This time it was worry that wrinkled William's brow (if it wasn't already wrinkled enough from old age). He might not know much about kids, but he knew how to identify abused ones.

Slade better not have-

He didn't even want to finish that thought.

William internally sighed.

"Hey, kid, it's ok," He said softly, slowly lowering himself to the floor in a crouch a few feet away from the cowering child. "I'm putting the gun away, please don't scream." The old soldier slid his gun behind him, holstering it in his waist pocket. He would have placed it on the ground for the kid to see but he wasn't quite convinced he wouldn't need his gun, the kid was still a mystery. Those blue eyes were watching him warily from behind black hair and he had a white grip on the side of the chair, his small frame shaking with near silent sobbing.

Now crouched on the balls of his feet, William sidled forward a bit, trying not to come off as mean or threatening. His hand came out with his palm facing up, trying to lure the boy from the corner, or maybe more like an offering. "It's okay, I won't hurt you. Hows about you tell me how you got in here, eh?"

No way Slade knew about this kid, and as far as he knew (and he knew a LOT) Slade was definitely not a family guy. Street kid perhaps? But the kid looked pretty cared for, even if just a bit scruffy and thin, his clothes weren't in too bad of a condition either.

The older man moved as slow as molasses, trying to get closer to the kid without sending him into hysterics, or even more hysterics in this case. But the child was having none of it, he scrambled away again and Wintergreen dropped his hands in defeat.

"Alright, kid, I'm sorry I scared you but you really shouldn't be here." William definitely did not have the patience to deal with a scared child at the moment, he even felt a headache coming from the back of his eyes.

Said headache spiked as the child's reply was to cry harder.

Wintergreen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes to attempt to ignore the pain blistering his mind. Then his eyes opened as a thought came to him, maybe the kid was a met- the sound of the door opening caught his attention and his thought died off.

The old soldier bristled, that had to be Slade, if he saw a crying child in his house who knows how he'll react. Hopefully not violently.

William stood up, eyes going between the entryway and the corner where the kid huddled, debating on meeting whoever was there or keeping the kid in check, if he left the kid might bolt.

To Williams's relief, Slade rounded the corner, probably drawn by the cries, and stopped to survey the scene. The single eye widened, his eyebrow raising just a titch upwards, but the older man knew it wasn't from surprise. In the mercenary's hands were Walmart sacks, a curious phenomenon in William's opinion, Slade didn't usually 'shop'.

"Now Slade," Wintergreen raised a hand in a calming gesture. He might know his friend well but he still had to accept the fact that Slade might be the reason the kid was afraid of getting hit. "You know anything about this? He was here when I got here and he's been afraid that I am going to hit him."

William eyed the man, trying to figure out by body language if Slade was the culprit, abusers usually feel some sort of pride when their victims show their fear in their presence. And while Wintergreen wasn't his abuser, it was obvious someone had done so to the point that anyone was an abuser to the kid. It was a whole new level of messed up, one he didn't think Slade participated in, but he couldn't rule it out considering Slade wasn't far from the line. But child abuse seemed too random for him, there was no lead up, no reason, unless it was for a contract, but he honestly couldn't think of someone who would pay a mercenary to traumatize a child, there would be no satisfaction for the buyer.

William trepidatiously watched the grizzled man set down his sacks and stomp forward, his face seemingly made of stone. His boots thudded against the carpet and the child whimpered against the wall, the boy huddling his limbs to make himself smaller.

"Slade..." William said in warning, hoping his words at least had given the man pause to his abrupt mannerisms, but clearly Slade was intent on making contact. Children and Deathstroke the Terminator don't usually mix. Slade normally ignored kids, but now one of them had invaded his house and had his undivided attention, Will wasn't even sure the mercenary saw him standing there.

The old soldier was surprised to find Slade crouching down in front of the kid and murmuring soft words Wintergreen couldn't hear. He couldn't see the child either, as he was now hidden from view by the bulky form of Slade. Curious, he teetered to the side to see if he could find out what was going on, his mouth opening to voice his confusion. "Sla-"

A fist came up, solid and stiff.

"SLADE!" William's heart leaped into his throat at the movement, his shout of alarm tearing through the air louder than the child's screams, but then he silenced himself as he fully recognized the signal.

Wintergreen had thought the man was revving up to strike the kid, then felt a wave of shame as he recognized the silent order. Slade wasn't going to hit the kid, who was he kidding? Slade had only lifted his hand to make HIM silent, so obviously Slade knew what he was doing and apparently quite the delicate matter. 

William stood back, folding his arms as both relief and anxiety flooded his mind. Slade wasn't going to beat the kid, and now he was beet red for thinking he ever would.

Wintergreen frowned and wrinkled his nose, his white mustache coming up with his lip in a type of sneer. He wasn't angry at the kid, no, he wasn't angry at all actually. He knew Slade would never let him live this down now. Slade would be cross with him for thinking he could have been the abuser. It made no sense, why did he ever let himself think it was true? He was glad he had recognized Slade's order in time. Truth be told he could silence Slade too, they had such a mutual trust that whenever the other would order something the order would be carried out. With their type of business, hesitancy was the true enemy and their trust had to be rock solid.

Which made his assumption of Slade being the kid's abuser look immature and rather stupid.

The signaling fist lowered and Wintergreen rolled his eyes and folded his arms, waiting until Slade decided to do something. The old man was honestly worried for the kid, Slade might not hit him, but clearly someone had and that's not good. There were too many unknowns as well, it was really bad if a mere child was able to break into Deathstroke's hideout. While Wintergreen was speculating, Slade was busy calming the terrified child, eventually speaking loud enough for all people present to hear.

"Alright, let's try this again," Slade said softly. Wintergreen rose an eyebrow, he'd never heard Slade speak so kindly before, at least not to some random kid.

The old man watched as Slade swiveled around, cradling the child in one arm as he did so. The poor boy was still trembling, but he was no longer crying, although he seemed on the verge. Slade looked up to William and the elder of the two rose an eyebrow in question, Slade simply turned his attention back to the child.

"Dick, this is William Wintergreen," The mercenary rose a hand to gesture to the elder, who smiled and tried to look more friendly. "He's my friend and he won't hurt you."

The child- Dick- took one look at Wintergreen with those diamond blue eyes and promptly buried his face into the mercenary's shirt. His small delicate hands were reaching up to grab the fabric too, as if he'd be ripped away at any moment. Wintergreen felt a little disappointed the child didn't like him, no one liked seeing a child cry because of you. (Except for the really crazy people but that was irrelevant)

Slade sighed, raising a hand to rub the boy's shuddering back. "Don't take it personally, he's not a big fan of people."

Wintergreen blinked in surprise, still trying to comprehend, he needed an explanation and he needed it now before he had an aneurysm. "But he seems to be just fine with you. How on Earth did this happen anyway? Please don't tell me you adopted him." He pinched his nose again. Darn headache, darn sleep deprivation, darn child that somehow is inexplicably attached to his mercenary friend. Did he not realize that if he adopted the child he'd have to take care of him? Like... forever? Not to mention there would be a child on Slade Wilson's record, and that's not something you can fix with a new identity.

"Don't worry, he's not adopted. As far as the public and the authorities are concerned he's dead."

Wintergreen slapped his hand over his face. That was almost worse.

"You didn't steal him did you." Wintergreen practically growled with the hand still over his face. It wasn't a question, it was a warning.

Slade huffed, "Of course not, he came to me."

"He came to you." William's tone said he didn't believe him, but the proof was in the pudding, the kid was here. William sighed and he took his hand off his face and onto his hip, looking sadly down at the boy in Slade's arms. "Alright. Spill it. Who hurt him and where -if they're still alive- can I find them so I can fix that?"

Slade seemed affronted, but not surprised, and William had the sneaking suspicion he was only offended because he implied the boy's tormentors were still alive. The thought almost made him grin.

"I'll tell you my side of the story, but you're going to have to ask him for any specifics." Slade moved to a stand, holding the boy with one arm as he grabbed the chair the boy had previously hid behind and sat in it. Dick was still clinging onto the mercenary, his legs even curled up on the man's lap, still afraid of the newcomer.  

"Fine." William huffed as he stood a good few feet away, he figured the boy would still be sensitive to his presence even with the bigger man there comforting him. The idea made him smirk. "Tell me how Deathstroke the Terminator became a child protective service."

Then it occurred to him that someone might have hired Slade to protect the boy, but that didn't usually entail physical comfort, and usually the buyers were pretty wealthy and the kid wasn't so sketchy looking.

The child jerked at his words and Slade gave him a glare. William sighed and just rolled his hand to get his old friend talking, he really shouldn't try to be sincere while heavily sleep-deprived. He pulled at another chair and sat it in across from the mercenary, feeling his tired bones sink into the final position and he knew he wasn't getting up again until his body had rested.

Perfect for storytime.

"I had found him alone and sleeping on the streets on a rainy night, I'll be honest Will I don't know why I took him home but I did. He got some rest and when he woke up I introduced myself, he reacted as badly as he did to you. Eventually, he calmed down enough for me to explain things, he had a hot shower while I went to get him some clothes and he left soon after."

"He just left? You let him leave?" William asked, actually bewildered by this, Slade doesn't just let people know his hideouts.

Slade only nodded as Dick shifted in his lap, continuing his story as he helped the child get into a more comfortable position. "A few days later he comes to me while I'm on a job, asked me to kill his parents murderer."

William almost physically gasped, instead only his head jerked back in surprise, only to lean forward even more as he couldn't imagine the small child asking for someone to be killed, no matter who that person was. "Who?"

"When Dick feels ready he can tell you that," Slade said and Wintergreen noticed the boy had tensed again. "I told him I could help him, but I wouldn't kill for him."

"You don't mean..." William trailed off, implying that the kid himself had killed his parent's murderer.

"No, of course not. Dick just needed a solid place to live to get some stability in his life, so I offered him my house. He didn't accept at first, but eventually he dropped by more and more often that he basically moved in."

"And he knows what you do for a living?" Wintergreen asked with an arched eyebrow, must be some kid to make Deathstroke of all people trust him.

The mercenary nodded, "I don't think even I can refute being caught wearing the mask, but I am always honest with him when he asks about my work."

Wintergreen folded his arms and set them on the table, having to lean forward a little to do so. "And I assume he doesn't have any family. How old is he?"

Slade gave a sharp nod, but his eye flashed a warning as the child in his arms cuddled a little closer. "Nine."

William sat back and let out a bark of laughter, causing a slight whimper from the boy. The old soldier apologized but his smile never left his face. "Sorry, but I leave you alone for what? A few months? And this is what happens? Must be Christmas, because the Grinch just grew a heart!"

Another laugh exited the older man and was cut off from a kick under the table from Slade. Wintergreen's laughter was stifled but he couldn't help the mirth in his eyes.

"As far as first impressions go you did pretty poorly."

"Do you really think I came here expecting to meet an abused child you decided to take in?"
Wintergreen retorted, "For as smart as you are Slade I think you might have skipped the logic on this one."

Slade threw his old friend a glare. "And you thought I was going to beat him."

Wintergreen's gut sank but he knew it had been coming, and he totally deserved it. "In my defense," He said anyway, "You had ample time to explain enough so I at least knew you weren't at fault. Also, I'm on three hours of sleep that I got two days ago, you'll have to forgive my jumping to conclusions."

Something in Slade's eye softened, but had it been anyone else they wouldn't have been able to tell. "Use the bed and get some rest, Will."

The old soldier scoffed and fidgeted in his seat. "No, I'm the guest, Dick looks tired-"

"Go get some rest Wintergreen." Slade interrupted, glaring a bit harder. "This wouldn't be the first time I've slept in a chair, nor would it be Dick's."

William stayed for a few moments, actually sinking deeper into the chair in retaliation. Slade kept his stare, and when it was obvious the mercenary wasn't going to move Wintergreen ruefully got up.

"Fine. But I'm sleeping in." He huffed and went to the bedroom doorway.

"Good, I'll be leaving again tomorrow for a mission." Slade threw over his shoulder.

William paused and turned, reading between the lines and knowing exactly what his old friend was doing. "Do you really think it's a good idea for me and Dick to be alone together?"

"You'll figure it out," Slade said. "Now go to sleep before I bash your head in to make you sleep."

With one last 'humph' Wintergreen was gone.

Slade took a deep breath, making the child on his chest rise a little. The mercenary bent his head down and tried to move Dick who was limply asleep in his lap, or at least seemed to be. "Dick I know you're awake, and I know you're trying to avoid talking to me."

The corner of his mouth twitched up when the child tensed, caught red-handed. Dick sad up but still hunched over, eyes averted and head lowered sheepishly.

"Dick we've talked about what to do when intruders come in." Slade dug in his pocket and pulled out a small black box. "You push your half of this alert signal and I will drop whatever I'm doing and come. Why didn't you use it?"

Dick was playing with his hands now, extending each finger and probing at his joints before moving on to the next finger.

"Dick?" Slade added some warning to his voice, "You know I don't ask twice."

The child flinched a little and Slade placed a hand on one of the boy's small thighs. "I'm honest with you Dick, and you are honest with me, that was the deal. Now, why didn't you use the alert?"

Dick squeezed his hands together and finally, his tiny chest expanded to answer. "I-I thought... I thought he was someone else." The ebony head lowered even more in shame and Slade rose his hand to rub the boy's upper arm. "...S-someone really bad... I-I nu think..."

"Does he still remind you of that person?" Slade knew he wasn't going to get any more specifics, Dick was very adamant his abusers at the Detention Center remained unnamed and pressuring for it would get him nowhere but a sobbing mess.

Dick shook his head, sending his raven locks dancing, giving Slade a chance to see those bright blue eyes that were still locked to the ground.

"William is definitely not someone you need to be afraid of, he is kinder than I am." Slade sighed. 

Dick felt the weight come off his chest when Slade didn't press. Even if Slade felt like he wasn't kind, Dick thought Slade was the nicest man in the world. The little acrobat hugged the mercenary, again curling on his lap and swallowing down his gathered tears.

Dick really was sorry for not pressing the button, he had seen the man point the gun at him and all logic had been thrown out the window. He thought Mr. Wintergreen was someone else entirely. Even if he didn't look like one of them, he had thought the old soldier was a Talon, coming to collect him for the Court. They probably realized his death had been faked by now, they would be looking for him, and Dick never wanted to see the day Slade was hurt because of the blood that ran through his veins.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

"Blast it, Slade!" Wintergreen grumbled and gripped as he yanked and tugged on an endless mound of wires and cameras. "All this security and not a single cable for the TV?"

William would have been using a lot more profanities but Dick was watching from the bed he was nestled into.

The morning, well more like early afternoon, had been slow and rather uneventful. Dick was quiet most of the time and Wintergreen felt like he was walking around a land mine. Actually, a land mine would have been preferable, he knew how to handle a bomb, he did not know how to handle a kid. He didn't exactly know what to do with the boy so he suggested a few things to do, most of Dick's answers definitely surprised him.

William suggested they go outside after observing the extremely pale, yet somehow exotic looking, skin of the younger boy. The overhanging clouds weren't too low, a positively stunning day for Gotham. Dick had promptly shaken his head and ran to the bedroom. Wintergreen thought he had scared him off when the boy came back carrying a few children's books.

"Reading is safer." He had said simply, jumping up on the counter and opening one of the books. He had found the little boy liked high places, or at least places he could feel taller or come to eye level. He held one of Dr. Seuss's children's books among others, it confused him because those types of books were for very beginning readers, Dick was eight reading books for four-year-olds.

Dick had taken to reading those books out loud and that's when Will realized Dick did not originate from America. He had an accent and the words he used were small, occasionally he would say something oddly. As he read he would sound out words he stumbled on slowly, staring at the book with such intensity that William almost joked the boy would figure it out through osmosis. But he refrained in an effort to let the boy do what he pleased without being teased, learning a language was no easy feat. He absentmindedly wondered what language Dick originally knew, he couldn't quite place that accent.

"O-over...well, mm..?" Dick stared at the word and twisted the book to a different angle to see if that made any difference in his contemplation. He recognized the smaller words inside, but altogether it was really weird, he re-read the word a few times just to make sure if he saw a space between the words or not. "Mr. Wintergreen? What is 'over, well, mm'?"

Will had been on his phone, and when he heard the boy speak in confusion he looked up. "It's pronounced 'overwhelm' Dick, and you can just call me Will. It basically means too much."

"Over is a.. a.. pre-fik?" Dick asked again and William smiled.

"Prefix, and in this case yes." He corrected, idly wondering where Dick was going with this.

"Does that mean ...wellmm means just right?" The boy asked, head quirked to the side.

The old soldier laughed lightly and shook his head. "No, it's one of those tricky words that just mean exactly what they mean."

"But what about pre-fix dis-? Like dis-aster. Dis- makes aster bad, so without dis-, aster means good."

Wintergreen set down his phone and turned to look at the child with both fascination and caution. "Where on Earth did you come from?"

Dick shrunk a little and his book raised a bit to cover his face. "R-Romania..."

William blinked for a second, he didn't actually think the boy would answer him, much less answer with a LOCATION. And now Dick was scared of him again, this time for an entirely different reason.

"Oh, so that's what that accent is." Is what he said aloud. Dick hummed sheepishly and his feet drew up to disappear behind the book as well. Dang, that kid was small, did he seriously just hide himself behind a children's book? Granted most children's books are large, but usually not large enough to hide an eight-year-old behind them.

"If I may Dick, how long have you been in the States?"

The ebony head appeared as the book was lowered, a look of thoughtfulness came over the child's face as a hand came up with random fingers flinging out while he counted in his head. "One... year and... ate moonths." His face twisted as he spoke, knowing something was wrong with what he had said but not knowing what.

"Months?" William offered with raised eyebrows.

Dick huddled behind his book again, "English is hard..." he said defensively.

"Oh I don't doubt it, English is by far the weirdest language out there. Trust me, Dick, you're doing great, you speak very good English for one so young." William consoled, this child knew English better than some of his war buddies, but he had also known their language in return, William knew absolutely nothing about the Romanian language.

"Mami and Tati taught a little, later I l-learned throo voce, But I never learned reading entil now." He said bashfully, a light dusting of pink on his ivory cheeks.

William just nodded along, his mind elsewhere. Was Slade actually teaching the boy? "Do you just sit around and read all day?"

Dick shook his head, relaxing a bit more and almost closing the book altogether. "Slade nu-nut-... Mmph... not gone all times. We math and stii-scyins."

"Science?" William frowned, teaching him was great and all, but what does Dick actually enjoy? "Well, what do you do for fun?"

"Fly!" Dick spouted, so fast and so energetically that William was convinced the boy would actually rise up into the air at that very moment.

Then Dick shrunk up again and his big doe blue eyes looked at him apologetically. "Sorry..."

Wintergreen waved him off and quickly reassured the child. "No no, I want to hear about this flying. Never be sorry about something you're passionate about."

Dick was revamped, a big smile spreading across his face as he spoke quickly (his English being almost completely abandoned) "Mami and Tati fly! familia noastră zboară prin aer, Mami ma numit Robin, suntem acrobats!"

And just like that William was utterly and completely lost.

"You're an acrobat? Where'd you learn?" He hoped that was a safe question, he was currently pretending he understood everything the boy had just said.

"Mami and Tati!" Dick said happily, "Circus!"

"Ah, you enjoy the theatrics then," William said nodding, now he knew how Dick and Slade got along so well. "You and Slade both. W-" he was about to ask another question when he cut himself off, clearly something was wrong and not the time for his next question.

Dick was staring at the floor with wide eyes, completely frozen.

"Dick?" William asked cautiously, leaning forward in his seat a bit, planning to get up should he need to make any fast decisions.

The little acrobat drew a shuddering breath and his entire body trembled before those blue eyes were squeezed shut. His knuckles were white with the intensity of his grip, his lips parted but his teeth clenched together tightly. He was huffing and shaking, his head and body slowly curling inward.

William stood sharply, "Dick?" He walked over quickly, then rethought and paused just outside of personal space. "Dick, what's wrong?"

"s-au dus..." his little chest jerked and William saw bright shiny tears fall down the little boy's cheeks.

"Dick how can I help? What's wrong?" William tried again, reaching forward this time to lay a gentle hand on a bicep.

To his surprise Dick leaned into it, he would have thought Dick would flinch because of his past abuse.

"Th-th-the-they a-ar-are g-gon-gone..." He stuttered out through his hyperventilating. "Mami... Tati..." This time he tried to hold it in, his chest expanding and tightening until he burst into violent sobs.

William mentally screamed 'to heck with it' and hugged the boy. He might not know a lot about kids, but he knew about loss, his parents must have died somewhat recently.

The small body latched onto his own and William held him tightly, rubbing his back and his hair while he whispered kind comforts and false promises. He said it would be alright, but it would never be alright. He said he was going to be ok, but Dick would never be the same.

Parents are huge parts of life, to have them up and vanish one day is going to affect the child for years if not their entire life.

William eventually dragged the kid off the counter and started walking around aimlessly while he gently shushed the poor boy's cries. Dick did grow quieter after something like 30 minutes, now he would just sniff in and hiccup on the old soldier's shoulder.

"How about we watch a movie hmm? We'll watch something nice and simple, one of those... those incessantly singing Disney movies." William said with a slight playful hiss to his voice, heading to the bedroom where the TV was housed.

William had been shocked when the eight-year-old meekly professed he had never seen any movies with a small, "Mooviz?"

They soon found out that the TV in the apartment didn't work because of all of Slade's security technology.

This led to the current predicament of Will trying to make sense of all these wires and gadgets. Don't get him wrong, he was great with technology. Give him an active bomb and he could disable it in two seconds flat, but this... thing... was impossible.

Dick was helpful with his skinny arms being able to reach in places William couldn't, and it amused and slightly worried him that the boy would never address him below 'Mister Wintergreen'.

By the time William figured it all out Dick was still in his funk but it was much less depressed. He simply kept more quiet than usual and waited in bed as Wintergreen finished up with the TV.

The old soldier took a step back and slapped his hands together like dusting off his hands. "Finally," He drawled, looking back and giving the kid a wink. "Now let's just remember to put back all of Slade's security when we're done."

Dick wore a small smile and nodded, picking at the blanket with one hand while his legs were buried under them. Wintergreen held a remote and sank into the bed as well, sitting against the headboard and tiredly clicking away as the screen flicked to life.

Dick was instantly enamored.

True to his word William found some Disney movies on Netflix, he picked on the one that looked the least musical damaging and prayed Disney would go easy on the parental death.

Just his luck would make him pick Frozen.

Dick seemed to like it, he huddled closer to William when the parents died in a storm but other than that William thought it was a success.

Until Slade walked in.

"William?" His voice was raised to get to the room and both Dick and Wintergreen looked at each other with pale faces. The security system, they forgot to put it back.

Slade practically busted down the door and his unmasked face was a sheen of cold stone anger. He took one look around the room and paused on the TV, he stepped in and to the side, giving the two movie-watchers clear view of the 'living room' where the pile of wires still laid.

"Did you uproot all of my security? To watch... Frozen?" The mercenary asked softly, which only made the delivery scarier.

Dick shrank and his wide eyes flicked between the two adults, someone was going to get in trouble and he really didn't want it to be him. William could tell Slade wanted to be angry, and he probably was, and had every right to be so, but the mercenary held a soft look when he saw Dick so scared.

"Why yes, yes we did." William said strongly, "We were having trouble passing the time."

Slade's eye narrowed. "So I'm guessing you were so busy making yourselves vulnerable that neither of you realize it's almost midnight?"

Wintergreen blinked in surprise as he stood up, "Goodness gracious it really is that late isn't it?"

Slade turned and left, his hand raising and his fingers motioning for the duo to follow. "Come on, me and Dick can have dinner while you replace everything."

Dick grinned and shoved off the bed, racing up to the mercenary and grabbing at his swaying hand. William cried out in anguish but followed them out, he knew he was going to do it and he was going to do it anyway, but now he could complain about it.

While Wintergreen was busy complaining as he went about his task, Dick was busy shoving chicken nuggets into his mouth. Slade only watched, concluding Dick had skipped on a meal again. Darn that boy, he was trying to get him eating regularly again.

The mercenary huffed where he sat, continuing to watch Dick and deciding to ask about his day. "Did you like Frozen?"

Dick nodded, pushing a fry in his mouth along with a nugget.

"Did you tell William anything about yourself?" Slade asked, raising his eyebrow in a competitive manner. Before Slade left he made sure Dick promised to tell the old soldier SOMETHING about himself.

"Surkuz." Dick said through his food, in which somehow Slade managed to translate into 'circus.'

Slade nodded, "Good, did you read at all today?"

The boy nodded, this time taking the time to swallow before speaking. "Overwhelm is like disaster, aster and whelm are good, overwhelm and disaster are bad."

Slade couldn't help the smile twitching at the end of his lips, William must have loved Dick's wordplay. "Did you know there's also an underwhelm? That's when things you expect to be great are actually mediocre or worse."

Dick was intrigued by this new version of 'whlem' but Slade tended to define words he didn't understand with other big words he didn't understand.

"Oh goodness Slade, don't encourage him, and I thought you would know by now to use small words to describe words he doesn't know," William said from the living room.

Indeed, Dick pleaded with his eyes for clarification as his mouth was still full of chicken.

Slade huffed a chuckle and shook his head. "You know Goldilocks and the Three Bears right?" Dick nodded and Slade continued. "If overwhelm is too much, whelm is just right, then underwhelm is too little."

Understanding dawned on the child's face and he continued to contently eat his food. After taking a big drink from his kid's meal chocolate milk Slade grew a merciless grin. "Did William sing?"

Dick adopted the smile and loudly proclaimed of Wintergreens 'beautiful' voice singing 'Let It Go.' "He did! He did! He sang all of them but the first one!"

"Ridiculous, that is utterly preposterous Dick," William said, brushing into the kitchen to defend himself, but he couldn't help but smile. Dick was giggling, soon laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair. Slade was also having a hard time keeping it in, almost wheezing with the effort of stifling his own laughter. Even Wintergreen started chuckling, Dick's laugh was so contagious.

No wonder Slade kept him around, the kid was a walking cute generator, even if he was sad most of the time (and had valid reasons to be) his laugh could brighten anyone's day.

The Grinch really did find his Cindy Lu.

Wait. Did that make him the Grinch's dog?

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick was grinning widely as his mouth twisted and bent to create the hard English sounds, but he was doing it! He was reading without tripping up! He was making all the correct sounds and at the right times, he wasn't skipping hard words and he was going pretty fast too!

Dick could barely contain his excitement as he scanned and spoke the last page. He slammed the book closed and jumped up from the floor that he had been sitting on. "Slade! Slade! Slade!" He bolted around the bed to the kitchen, lifting the book above his head like a trophy with the biggest grin on his face.

He wanted to show Slade how good he was reading! He read the WHOLE book with no help and no trip-ups!

When Dick entered the kitchen he bounded up to his big mercenary friend, still shouting his name and positively glowing in accomplishment.

"Sla-!" He stopped himself mid-shout, he quietly tiptoed closer, crouching down a little to be more stealthy. (He had seen Slade do it plenty of times) He observed that Slade was limp in the chair, his chin down on his chest and legs slightly sprawled.

Light snores exited the sleeping mercenary's nose, his gray eye closed.

Dick didn't notice his excitement leave him as wonder took over. Slade was asleep! Usually Slade was terrible at sleeping, he woke up when Dick sneezed once! In the bathroom!

The little acrobat walked quietly around his friend, coming up to one side and bending over to get a better look at the man's face.

His mouth was twisted in a frown, his eyebrow kept twitching, every now and then the head would jerk a little and a hand would tense before relaxing again.

Dick's eyes went wide as he realized what was happening, Slade was having a nightmare! Dick rocked back on his heels and bit his lip as his mind whirled with what to do. Slade always helped him with his nightmares, he could help Slade!

Slade always hugged him when he was sad, maybe Slade needed a hug.

Dick took one last look at the fitful sleeping of his friend and determination screwed over his face. Dick grabbed the side of the chair and heaved himself up, he balanced on the small arm of the spiny chair before he gently lowered himself onto Slade's lap.

Slade would definitely be awake by this time, but he was still twitching and snoring, it must be a bad nightmare. The small acrobat then realized he still held the book, he placed it on the table and curled up on the mercenary's lap. His head rested against the man's chest, he could feel his body warmth through his shirt and the thudding of his heart. Dick's face twisted oddly, it was a really weird sound, like he could hear the blood pumping. He almost laughed when he heard a squirty noise, that must be Slade's stomach.

Dick sighed and settled into the rhythm, his head rose each time the mercenary breathed in, then lowered as his chest deflated. Dick found his eyes slowly closing, keeping them open was getting harder. His body was all numb with sleepiness, and try as he might, he couldn't fight back the wave of sleep that washed over him.

Slade's eye peeked open, finding a familiar weight on his chest and lap. He took a deeper breath than normal and sling and arm over the boy's back to keep him from falling. One of Dick's arms and legs were dangling from the chair, his head of raven hair sticking up amusingly.

Slade didn't have the energy to wake him, so his eye just closed again and a deeper calmer sleep overtook him.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

William opened the apartment door and sidled in, one hand carried a Walmart sack and the other a half-eaten sandwich from  Subway. He looked up when no pitter-patter of small feet greeted his ears, Dick liked to meet at the door where he would bombard him or Slade with whatever he did or was doing that day.

His eyes quickly caught the sleeping form of his war buddy, and a smirk replaced his smile when he found Dick on top of him. William took special care to set his things down lightly, blasted Walmart sacks are not good for stealth. He fished in his pocket for his phone, grinning as he found it and brought it out.

He quickly took a picture of the scene, almost laughing at how cute it was. It was definitely going to be printed out and definitely going in his wallet. For both blackmail and adorableness. Dick probably wouldn't understand the blackmail part, but it was still a great picture of the two, Dick had very little amount of belongings, William just wanted to give Dick a little something physical to keep them close should they ever have to part. Slade was a mercenary after all, and immortal or not, Slade might have to leave him one day and that day would be a very sad one.

But for now, they were sleeping, so William let them sleep.

Chapter Text

Deathstroke was crouching, stock-still and dead silent as he observed the roof.

Dick was on that roof, THE roof, the roof Dick always ran off to when he was upset.

Deathstroke wasn't visible to an untrained eye, he was deep within the shadows of the roof adjacent to their old apartment, watching and waiting. The perch wasn't too close to the edge, he could barely see his apprentice, but he wasn't sure he wanted to keep this detailed image of his abandoned boy in his mind anyway. It was a quiet night, yet something in the air felt abnormally alive, something that prickled at his skin but he refused to let it faze him.

He was focused on his son.

Slade would have loved to just jump down, pull Dick close, and run. Never look back. Unfortunately, with their current situation, there was nowhere to run to, no place to hide from the people he so foolishly thought he could work with. If he took Renegade and ran, for one he'd look like a complete coward, but also they'd both be dead (or the immortal's equivalent) within a week at best. It was in Dick's best interest to stay with the heroes, that was his only chance of getting out of this chess game alive. Even if at the cost of Slade himself. Which meant it was in Slade's best interest to stay away, but with Dick coming here of all places after having a night terror... he just couldn't help himself.

He was there, watching, waiting for Dick to wake up.

It was too cold outside, Dick would get a cold if he stayed out for much longer. He couldn't feel the wind through his suit, not even the chilling air, but the picture pinched between his fingers fidgeted with the gusts along with the boy's midnight hair.

Slade's mood was mirrored by the atmosphere, the clouds grazing the tops of the buildings, giving the scene a dreary and dream-like feel. The past few days had been a haze, anytime his mind wasn't occupied Slade often found himself paused in a room, feeling like he was missing something, then realizing Dick wasn't there. Then he would get angry, hitting the training room for a good relaxing spar with a punching bag, one that always ended with sandy guts spilled on the floor. One that held no taunting laughter of his apprentice, no swift-moving shadow playfully lurking in his blind spot, no challenge to his practiced fists.

Slade has tried to protect Dick from all of this mercenary business, he never wanted this for Dick, he never wanted Dick to become involved in this deadly game of chance. He had tried keeping him away, giving him missions that weren't too big or noticeable, something he wouldn't have to worry about other bigger players jumping in and running amuck.

Dick had technically only been out in the field for a year before it came to this apparently inescapable fate. Slade, at the time before Wintergreen's death, figured he should give the boy at least some self-defense training, but Dick wouldn't have it. He would seize up and ignore him, simply standing there like an emotionless log and trying not to flinch anytime Slade got physical with him. Slade would usually back off after a few probes, deciding maybe the boy hadn't grown out of his fear of violent adults yet. The truth was Dick already knew how to defend himself, he was only hiding any part of him that resembled anything the Court put in him.

After Wintergreen's death though, it was like a dam had been opened and Dick was truly himself. 

Slade has been surprised, very surprised, at the notion the poor little boy he picked up off the streets had any link to the merciless Talons. He had felt a bit betrayed by the secret, but he hardly held it against the child, he was still just that, a child, he couldn't have known better. Of course he was angry about Wintergreen's death, he had been his only actual friend through his entire carrier of lies and betrayal. Slade tried his best to keep his anger away from the boy, it really wasn't his fault, Dick had reacted just as badly as Slade had to his death, just a lot more openly.

Ten-year-old Dick had asked to be trained, he wanted to do something other than sit around all day and cry. Slade had been wary, for good reason too, but he relented and started training Dick. 

Training Dick, in the beginning, was hard. The young acrobat would become so worried that he would mess up that the only thing he could do WAS mess up. Then he would become so in tune with the training he would start slipping into Talon moves, ultimately giving Slade a few close calls.

Dick was afraid to continue, many times he tried to back out for the sake of Slade's safety. But Slade, however much he had misgivings about training Dick at first, was adamant that he could train him out of his former drills, teaching him new things until he forgot all about what he learned in that h-e-double-hockey-sticks hole.

Slade saw what he really wanted when he trained Dick, he was focused and precise, always listening to orders with speed that was uncanny to even unannounced orders. Slade has to admit Dick was talented in the field of violence, his techniques were sound and his acrobatics melded into his fighting without a second thought. It impressed him how ready he was for new material to learn, he was always curious, but also meek and humble with his skills.

But the most important thing Slade has noticed throughout training the boy was that Dick was happy.

He had never seen Dick so happy as he was flipping around the training room, thriving off the success of a difficult move, proving not only to himself but to Slade that he could control himself. When Slade praised him Dick would drink it up like a sponge, instantly igniting like a flame finally exposed to oxygen and billowing into a giant plume of brilliant fire. It was endearing, watching someone he saw more often than not, in tears, light up like a Christmas tree in the clearest snowiest night, radiating contagiously.

Slade wouldn't say he praised often, but not never. H++e praised when he felt it was necessary, when Dick needed that little extra support to complete whatever seemingly impossible task was in front of him.

Slade felt the need to praise the boy for every little hardship in this mission. He had watched Dick spill his hardest memories to a group of kids who had nothing but shun him for the past few days. He had dropped him in blind, raw, no instructions. Slade knew his apprentice's reasons for being upset(they were good reasons), he knew his misgivings, he knew how much it was hurting him that Slade couldn't help him. Slade was beyond proud, and might not have taken into account how much it hurt HIM to not be able to help.

Dick had such a hard life, constant ugly truths beating down on him, memories that no child should ever have repeating a nightmare in his brain. Slade was enough to pull him out of it most times but to truly heal... Slade's single gray eye flicked down, looking at the photo between his fingers.

Slade was just as broken as Dick was, and even from where he was, he could not lift him any higher out of the pit they were in.

The photo he cherished held slipped from his fingers and floated down gently onto the ground near the child's bare foot.

What he would give just to spend five minutes with Dick to explain everything, but he couldn't, so he let the photo drop. If Dick was smart -and he definitely was- then maybe Dick wouldn't hate him so much when all of this was over.

Slade didn't move as he silenced his thoughts. He didn't move when the child woke. He didn't move when the boy grabbed at the picture, trying to be indifferent when every fiber of his being wanted to see his son's reaction.

He did move when Sportsmaster arrived.

He knew what was going to happen, he knew he could do nothing to compromise their mission or else Dick would be the one who pays the price, so he left before his heart overruled his mind.

Deathstroke abandoned the roof, backing out and leaping a few rooftops away before sliding down to the ground, finding his motorcycle right where he parked it.

Slades' mind was a whirlwind of dark thoughts as he mounted and peeled out of the alley.

Sportsmaster was going to beat Dick, and Slade could do nothing to stop it. It was cruel, in the child's current state he was in no mental position to fight for his life, but it was what was agreed on. He didn't agree of course, but he wasn't allowed a vote.

The Light decided that should the pawn ever attempt to flee, action would be taken so that the pawn would remain with the heroes in the position they wanted. In this case, they wanted the heroes to keep him up and around, free from any type of shackles so that when the time came he could do their dirty work. But how does one make an enemy a friend? Give them a common enemy. Make the pawn a victim. The heroes would be blindsided by their fulfilling need for justice and safety that they wouldn't realize they were tending to a wolf in sheep's clothing.

And honestly, Slade needed Dick with the heroes too, he just wished it was by some other way other than brute force. The heroes were their only chance, Dick's only chance. But first Slade must figure out how the Light planned to use his apprentice. Once he either sabotaged it, destroyed it, or altered it in some way that Dick might be left alive, he would get the hero's attention and Dick could be pulled from the Lights grasp as the Justice League yanked him away. Hopefully to protect rather than to imprison.

He might lose Dick forever, but that was a price he was willing to pay if only Dick was left alive and well.

The only good thing about tonight was the fact that Sportsmaster was busy, leaving his base (in which Slade had tagged by following Sportsmaster from the pub) unprotected, giving Slade the perfect opportunity to slink in and snoop around for this thing that would make Dick their pawn. 

It occurred to Slade that Dick might be an actual bomb, that his blood was coated in tiny explosives, and once activated, might become nuclear. Whatever their method, there must be a trigger or command device that initiates the 'betrayal'. Slade was to find it and hack it so that he was in control, or flat out destroy it so they couldn't use it. All the while making sure he himself wouldn't be caught as the saboteur.

It's going to get tricky. He was playing by ear at this point, it could be a number of things and he wouldn't know what he could do about it until he knew what it was.

That would happen tonight.

He ignored the fact he was leaving Dick to fend for himself, abandoning him for his own sake. Dick was a creature of companionship, he would not take to Slade's abandonment well, evident that night Dick and Batman went out to find Matthew. (Of course, Deathstroke was watching, but so was Sportsmaster, so he couldn't really do anything.)

Deathstroke rolled up to the street, slowing and hiding his vehicle in a small alcove between some buildings that wasn't quite an alley. He lifted his gun over his shoulder and held it firmly with one hand, his other hand gripping a smaller gun almost anxiously. He pointed to his target building, shooting a small round device onto the wall, a small electric zap sounding. It was a device Dick designed, used for more covert operations, truly the boy was far too talented for this field of work. It was a temporary EMP, shutting down all security within the building for seven minutes without compromising any valuable information that might be held in any connected computers. It was enough time to get in and out with anything they needed... er... he needed.

Getting to the roofs was easy, slipping in through one of the windows was child's play, finding the computer and plugging in his flash drive was a breeze.

The flash drive was copying everything from the computer, absolutely everything, that way any security could be bypassed without sending up an emergency flare to its owner.

Now all he had to do was wait the three minutes and he'd be gone.

Deathstroke stood with his arms crossed, silently waiting, his eye wandering acutely. Sportsmaster's base was not unlike his own hideouts, small, defendable, and rigged. This wasn't a place Sportsmaster was comfortable though, the bed was untouched and the 'kitchen' was crumbless. Slade mildly began to wonder why the man would leave such an important device just lying around in his unprotected low-level hideout.

A small flash of green caught his eye and Deathstroke swiftly swiped the flash drive away, pocketing it and exiting through the window he had come out of, disturbing nothing.

Deathstroke walked purposefully across the roof, his mind's eye set on one goal and not paying attention to the silver barrel pointed at his back.

A shot rang through the air, Slade dodged on instinct, his left shoulder twisting as the bullet grazed his metal plating. Deathstroke had already drawn his sword, rolling to evade anymore spray but the assault had ceased. The mercenary stood solidly, scanning his surroundings, his eye narrowed with rage. Sportsmaster couldn't be done by now, and if the game really was up he couldn't wait to get his hands on The Light's stupid attack dog.

"So..." A male voice asked, somewhere above Slade's right, in which the mercenary quickly turned to defend. "I hope I didn't get Ivy in trouble."

Red Hood stepped forward from the adjacent building, putting a foot on the lip and leaning down with his arm propped against it, his favorite weapon held leisurely in his hand.

Deathstroke almost scoffed aloud. It was nothing to worry about, just a boy playing dress up. "I'd be more concerned about yourself." He said, twisting his blade in his hand but ending it with the point stuck in the gravel roof, settling his hands on the hilt blandly.

Red Hood stepped up onto the lip and jumped down, his gun still extremely accessible and dangerous. "I'm actually a lot more concerned about this kid I keep hearing about." He said tauntingly, his blood-red helmet tilting to the side mockingly as he slowly walked forward. "But I hear he's not with you anymore, something about Batman taking him? That must have been disappointing."

Slade fought the urge to laugh, this boy thought he was in the same league as him, trying to taunt him when he had all the wrong information. Which... had been the tactic of the Bat before... a way to sniff out the information he wanted. Time to remind this boy he wasn't playing any games.

Slade tutted, "Disappointment is the last thing on my mind, although I am quite underwhelmed by your attempts to get me talking Red Hood." He said solidly, keeping a glare but otherwise let himself relax, showing how little of a threat Red Hood was to such a mercenary as he.

"Are you planning on taking him back? Or are you just waiting to mess with Batman?" Red Hood asked, clearly skipping the villainous banter and going straight for the questions.

Deathstroke sheathed his blade, crossing his arms and giving the younger man a blank look. "I heard Black Mask helped free the Joker, both of whom I know you're not fond of."

To his credit, Red Hood wasn't fazed, but he clearly wasn't expecting a change in topic. "They'll get what's coming to them, and so will you."

Slade rose an unimpressed eyebrow, "I really hope that wasn't a threat because I'm sure a kitten would be more terrifying."

"Listen Deathstroke." The younger man snapped, his firearm rising. "I don't really care what you think, I only want to keep you away from that kid. I'm not particularly fond of Batman right now but if you take one step into a twenty-mile radius of the Bat I'm going to-."

Deathstroke saw red, this boy didn't anger him, his words were useless, it was the notion that Slade could be kept from his son that made him lose it. He was just a blur of black and orange dashing forward, and within the second Red Hood was weaponless and slammed against the brick wall, an arm restrained and the mercenary's gauntlet pressed against the younger man's throat. "My-" Slade's throat tightened before 'son' could escape, but he still couldn't fathom why Dick suddenly had all these friends. Didn't Red Hood and Renegade try to kill each other when they first met a few nights ago?

"Pet? Slave?" Red Hood spat in the empty air his pause created, a mirthful glare narrowed onto the mercenary, not bothered or hindered by the arm across his throat. "What is he really to you? A puppet for your own amusement?"

"And why do you think that?" Deathstroke asked calmly, craning his neck as he twisted the restrained arm further. 

"You're Deathstroke." He responded curtly, huffing a little at the pain delt to his arm. "'Nuff said."

Deathstroke chuckled deeply, letting the man go and taking a few dismissing steps back. "Ah, I see." He said between huffs of laughter, "Have fun playing catch up Hood, you're a bit behind in the game. I would suggest getting a source, but the only people who know what happened between me and Renegade is me and Renegade. You don't even know where he is, and he's not at the Batcave." Deathstroke turned his back and started walking away, throwing another taunt over his shoulder. "Come talk to me when you actually know what you're doing."

"I've been busy." Red Hood glared, following, picking up his fallen weapon and pointing it again. "W-

"Taking over the criminal underworld does seem like quite the undertaking," Deathstroke interrupted, pausing to glance back in amusement. "I would have hoped you learned your lesson you always seemed to fail, but I guess it's too much to hope that Batman's fallen Robin could get any higher than the pit."

The anger rolling off Red Hood was almost palpable, the silence that followed told Slade he chose his words well. He had always loved riling his enemies up, getting under their skin and into their head. But Jason made it almost too easy, he was so hot-headed, ready to jump into a fight not caring about the consequences. Arrogance like that got him killed once, Slade wouldn't be surprised if it did again.

Jason's gun was still as it was trained on the mercenary, almost an honorable feat considering the anger radiating from him. Then he finally spoke "I-"

Deathstroke spun around but made no violent move. "Jason. I am not stupid. And neither is Batman, he'll find out who you are if he hasn't already. I suggest you do either your revenge on the Joker and Batman or 'save' Renegade. You can't do both, but if you really want to help Renegade you'll stay away from him."

Deathstroke flipped out a grappling gun and shot away, not looking back and trying his hardest to bottle the anger boiling in his gut. 

He made it back to base soundly, the empty underground hideout feeling void of life or emotion, too big for the simple mercenary. Dick made this place home.

Deathstroke plugged in his flash drive, waving his hand in the air in front of him for the holographic keyboard to appear. His screen flickered to life and got to work. He scanned, going through thousands of files and hundreds of different documented missions, or information for future missions. He was sure he was at it for hours but he barely paid any attention to the time, he was too focused, too close to saving his son. 

He found interesting things, things he already knew and things he didn't mind now knowing. But all that fled from his mind when he zeroed in on a file labeled 'PawnR'.

It was a small file, easier for reading, but a lot more concerning. His eye scanned the screen and realization dawned on him. Sportsmaster had injected Renegade with something long before this chess game, the gas... the temporary sickness... It was Dick's body reacting to the microchips being implanted throughout his system. Slade noticed the microbes were specially manufactured to sink into the muscles of the body, leaving the nerves and brain untouched. 

He got to the bottom of the page, steeling off any emotions for later, finding a download button.

He clicked it. 

A warning came up.

VR Headset Required

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick woke up slowly.

His heavy eyelids lifted and he winced at the bright blurry ceiling above him. His eyes were forced closed by the intense light, a numb and fuzzy feeling extending to the rest of his body. It felt weird, like his body wasn't completely there.

The acrobat's head shifted to the side and he found a pillow beneath him. Pillows are nice. Fluffy. This one was a lot more plushy than he remembered, not to be outdone by Slade's pillow though. He didn't know how the man slept with his head on that thing, it basically swallowed any head that laid on it! Could he even breathe with his head on that pillow? Dick's pillow wasn't that fluffy, he'd rather have his head on the mattress than Slade's pillow. But this pillow's consistency was too squishy to be his own and too non-squishy to be Slades.

Squishy is a fun word.

Sssquieeshhhieieeee....

He liked words that end with -ie or -y, they were fun to say. But don't get him started on prefixes and suffixes, those were just so weird. He didn't dislike them, it was actually rather amusing to make words with totally different meanings with just a few added letters. Well, he supposed that's what all words are, but that's besides the point.

Sand is squishy. Dory liked sand. Or should he say that in a present tense? Dory isn't dead, but Dory isn't exactly alive either. Dory likes sand. Dory liked sand. Anakin hates sand. Roses are red, BB-8 is round, it's over Akain, I have the high ground.

High. High places are good. Good boy high ground! Who's a good boy! Who's a good boy!

I'm a good boy.

I am a lost boy.

From Neverland, always hanging out with Peter Pan.

Why is Peter Pan always flying?

Cuz he Neverlands.

Dick was flying pretty high wasn't he?

If kinetic energy is converted into thermal energy, how hard does one have to slap a chicken to cook it?

As your friendly neighborhood spi- I mean- physics major, I decided to calculate this with a few assumptions.

The formula for converting between kinetic energy and thermal energy is 1/2mv^2=mcT

The average human hand weights about 0.4kg, the average slap has a velocity of 11m/s (25 mph), an average rotisserie chicken weights 1kg (2lbs), has a specific heat capacity of 2720 J/kg*c, and let's assume the chicken has to reach a temperature of 205C (400F) for us to consider it cooked. The chicken will start off frozen, so 0C (32F)

1 average slap would generate a temperature increase of 0.00089 degrees Celsius. It would take 23,034 average slaps to cook a chicken.

To cook the chicken in one slap, one would have to slap it with a velocity of 1665.65 meters per second, or 3725.95 miles per hour.

Whoa, yeah that's pretty high.

Who drugged him?

Were his eyes open yet?

What was that awful moaning sound?

Oh wait, that's him.

Was it him? It sounded dis-embodied, like something straight out of a horror movie. You know what else is right out of a horror movie? Talons. So maybe it was him. It was kinda embarrassing to say he hated horror movies because he identified too much with the killer.

Killer.

He was a killer.

Killed his parents.

That was an accident, you had no control over that.

Killed Matthew.

That was for self-preservation!

Killed all those innocent people for no reason.

You were being controlled!

Who was he talking to?

It sounded like Slade, and him, their voices were mixing together. Actually, maybe it was Wintergreen, but he couldn't possibly know about stuff that happened after he died. WHAT IF HE'S A GHOST?! WHAT IF HE HAUNTS HIM FOREVER?!

Ugh, this is so weird.

What was he thinking of before?

Squishy pillows?

The pillow was foreign, like him when he was orphaned in Gotham.

GAH, FOCUS.

Ugh, why didn't Slade ever train him to resist drugs?!

Pillow. Pillow is good. Enemies wouldn't bother giving him a pillow. But The Court has pillows. How could they not if they had to molt every now and then? Wait wait they're not actually owls.

He felt like he was dragging a hyperactive three-year-old to the store.

He was a hyperactive three-year-old.

He wished he could be a hyperactive three-year-old. Hyperactive three-year-old him had his parents.

PILLOWS. THE PILLOW IS IMPORTANT.

Who was he with? Why was he drugged? How soon can he be de-drugged... uh... un-drugged... drugless?

"Why isn't he awake yet?"

WHOA WHOS THAT. WHO. IS. THAT. THAT'S NOT SLADE.

"I believe the Nitrous oxide is still in his system, Master Nightwing."

WHO WAS THAT? AN OLD GUY?

MASTER NIGHTWING?

WAS HE IN SOME KIND OF CULT??

Well, The Court is technically a cult...

NOT HELPING.

Nightwing, that was familiar though wasn't it?  Niiiiighhhttt wiiiiinngngggg.........

Night, dark things? Shadows? Wait wait there was something bad in the shadows!

nananananananananananananana

BRATMAN.

He felt like snickering.

"Well, I'm glad he's enjoying himself." This 'Nightwing' guy said sarcastically.

Was he smiling then? Was he actually snickering? He couldn't tell. Everything felt floaty. Floaty boat Floaty boat oooh floaty floaty, floaty boat!

"I think Master Richard deserves something to smile about. He should come too soon enough, and I can't expect he'll have the desire to smile when he does." The older man sounded like he was chastising the younger, and even a bit sad.

Why was the old man sad? He should have some cookies or a hug. Matthew should curl up on his lap and do that vibrate thingie, uh, purring. Could he purr? Vibrating sounded fun.

"What is he doing?" The voice sounded a little repulsed now, a bit disturbed almost.

"Oh my gosh he's so cute, I have no idea what he's trying to do but he sounds like a baby." This was a new voice, who was he?! He was young too, and definitely not as mean sounding as... Buttwing. Hehe.

"Good job, you shut him up." The darker voice said dryly.

"Hey Dick, Dickie, wait can I call him Dickie? Eh, I don't care about your opinion, I'm gonna call him Dickie." His voice was going everywhere, who was he talking to?

Dickie? Was he a Dickie? He was Dick, and Richard, and Renegade, and Talon, and the Gray Son of Gotham. Why did he have so many names? Names are so weird, dedicating certain sounds to a person, and sometimes people have the same sounds! And he had so many!

"Hey Dickie, Batman said I have to ask permission first so I'm asking. Would it be ok if I took a picture of you and put it in my wallet?"

What? No. Wallet? That's where money goes. And those card thingies that go 'verrrt' in the machines. He wasn't money! He didn't wanna be in a wallet, wallets were tiny! They fit in pockets! He's not pocket-sized! He'd be so cramped!

"I think that's a no bird brain, at least you could have the decency of asking when he's awake and not on drugs."

Oh, cool his tongue was working. Could he taste anything yet? It's all warm and cold and fuzzy feeling. He was also sure his foot was over his head, but maybe not.

"Oh my gosh, he is like a baby." The younger voice said in awe, more fascinated than anything else.

The meaner voice scoffed, "-Tt- That's disgusting, is there any way to get him conscious faster?"

Nightwing's question was directed elsewhere, but maybe if his tongue was working meant his vocal cords could work!

"T-t... totul... aaaaAARE gust gal-galben!"

There was silence for a few seconds, did he break a rule or something?

"Oh, great, everything tastes yellow." The voice was dry again, did he need a drink? "How much Nitrous oxide did Father give him?"

There was a light sigh and the old guy replied. "Master Batman was adamant Master Richard get a good night's sleep without disruption."

Oh oh! Dick knew exactly what to say!

"Fartman are perne rele."

There was lots of silence after that, did they all leave? Did he say it wrong? Oh, what's this? Hello darkness, good ol' buddy ol' pal.

"I'll go get the oxygen." The youngest voice said blandly, finally breaking the silence.

"That would be wise Master Red Robin." Agreed the old man.

Still, there was this darkness above him, he didn't even register the light until it was taken away.

WhOA, what's happening to his face? That was his face, right? his jaw felt all tingly, it kinda hurt, it reminded him of paperclips.

Paperclips?

Sure, why not.

Paperclips.

"Next time Alfred, you dose the drugs, he's really out of it." Nightwig said, his voice was really close, was he yelling? But it was bouncing around in his head, he didn't like that. Sounded echo-ey, big, large wide spaces... l-like that one place... oh no.

The burn in his jaw hurt a lot, it was getting so hot! Like a branding iron! Get away! Get away! Get away!

"Hey, calm down," Nightwang said, sounding a bit confused. "Isn't the Nitrus supposed to be a calming agent?"

Wait was it even his jaw? Maybe it was his leg.

Was he away yet?

Nah, the pressure was still there.

GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY.

"He is in distress, but not in danger I don't think. You might be crowding him, Sir."

Ah, light, there you are.

Ah hah! He was away! Victory! How incredibly whelming. Hehe, now he sounded like the British guy.

I beg your pardon?

Tea and crumpets?

You read those in a British accent, didn't you?

Wightning is a butt.

Well, he was a butt too, everyone has a butt. Butt of jokes, butt of guns, jeez, everything does have a butt, doesn't it?

"Here we are, I've got the oxygen."

REEEEEED ROBIN YUMMMMMMMMMM

Do restaurants have butts?

"Just in time," Fightwing said with a sigh.

Bye bye light, it was fun while it lasted.

"Don't worry Dickie, you'll be back in no time." someone whispered.

Dick knew he was smiling that time.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

The first thing Dick did was jerk upwards, it didn't last long and he quickly returned to the pillow. 

He only caught a glance at the room but he couldn't seem to remember any details. His eyes opened again and this time his surroundings actually registered.

His first observation? Nightwing was standing a few feet away, not exactly next to him but more like at the foot of his bed.

He was in a bed, an infirmary bed.

Wait a second, what did he last remember? Everything felt foggy and his brain was recalling things at the speed of a limping snail.

Uhh... uhh... he went to bed? Wait wait no, he remembered something cold... and hard, the ground. The roof. Sportsmaster. Well now where was he? He remembered voices... Wally... Sl- no, Batman, it was Batman who saved him.

"You alright." Nightwing spoke, big arms crossed and his permanent frown on full display. Even his tone was more like a statement than a question, like showing concern was beneath him, but the way his eyebrow raised ever so slightly was so much like Slade that he couldn't NOT notice the concern.

Dick released a heavy breath and took stock of himself. All his limbs were accounted for, that was good. His side was in a slight buzz, his head too, but the rest of his body just felt like pins and needles like he'd been asleep for a long time. Dick decided to sit up again, this time going a lot slower and nodding to the vigilante's question.

The acrobat went to ask his own question but was stopped by the great lump of lead in his mouth that was his tongue. Ugh, his mouth tasted nasty, it's like he licked the floor or something, was there any water?

He cleared his throat and smacked his lips together, trying to bring some life into his tongue so he could speak. "H-how long was I out? And-" he was interrupted by his own cough, "-c-could I have some water?" Dick strained, shifting under the thin white blanket. He slid his legs over the edge, deciding to not get up but definitely wanted a more user-friendly position.

Nightwing grunted softly and turned around to a counter nearby.

The acrobat would have paid more attention to the vigilante but his mind was elsewhere, busy trying to wet his dry throat and frowning.

Obviously he was on medication, or else he really wouldn't be feeling this good. Though it was also rather disconcerting when the only clue that led him to believe he was in charge of his own body after waking up was pain. Pain he really couldn't feel at the moment. Not to mention Nightwing kinda set him on edge, he didn't have any good memories with this guy. This guy hated Slade, and as far as he knew, still thought he was under Stockholm Syndrome. Bleh, the very thought of that made him want to puke, and with that taste in his mouth he might have already.

"It's September 26th, you've been out for a solid day," Nightwing said as he came back, holding out a boring plastic cup of water to the acrobat. "You had some fun with Nitrous oxide, though not quite on purpose."

Oh, cool, it's almost October.

Dick took the cup and raised it to his lips. Wait, Nitrous oxide... laughing gas? After a few large gulps, he felt a bit more refreshed but set the cup down prematurely to voice his concern. He looked up at the vigilante with a spark of worry flashing in his eyes. "Why did I have laughing gas? I didn't have to go through surgery right?" Dick started checking himself yet again for any casts or incision marks but he found nothing.

"No, just a few scrapes and bruises..." Nightwing took a few steps to the side and Dick stared at him, noticing the odd hesitation. Dick narrowed his eyes. "You had a concussion and we were afraid you'd go into a coma, but it was only a few hours later when you started screaming in your sleep again."

Dick's stomach sunk and averted his gaze, grabbing his cup and draining it to distract himself as he mumbled an apology. Dang, he was all over the place, wasn't he? Stupid night terrors. Stupid memories. Stupid evil people wanting to ruin his life.

"So, Richard John Grayson." Nightwing turned to him, arms still crossed and speaking louder and clearer. "You're supposed to be dead."

The wounded acrobat sighed, looking down at his empty cup and messing with his thumbs. "Well, I'm supposed to be a lot of things, and yeah, dead does come up quite a few times."

"Do you remember anything that happened?" The older asked. Dick could have sworn his voice got a touch lighter but he was too busy tracing back through his memories.

He shifted uncomfortably and looked to the side. Did it really have to be Nightwing here? He would have preferred Batman or even Wally.

He took a deep breath through his nose. Well, when did he ever get what he wanted?

"I don't usually remember night terrors, and when I do it's usually just a feeling, a feeling I'd rather not dwell on." His head ducked a little and he kept going, deciding to move away from that topic and onto the considerably easier topic of his utterly humiliating 'fight' with Sportsmaster.

"I remember waking up on a roof though," He decided not to specify the roof, he really did not want a spiel about Stockholm, not now, not ever. "I was sitting there alone when Sportsmaster attacked me. I was distracted by my thoughts, I was still trying to calm down from the night terror so I didn't see him coming. He hit my head first, probably to make it easier on himself to hit me. It was really hard to fight back, he kept choking me." Dick drew his legs up as he talked, setting the cup to the side and scooting back to make room for his feet. He set his elbows on his knees and linked his fingers together, letting them dangle in the chasm between his legs. He was slightly distracted by the dull pain everywhere, mostly in his head, but it was a rather comforting feeling, the pain after a beatdown... if he was feeling nothing at all he would be acting extremely different.

He wondered if he should bring it up, to tell Nightwing that if he ever saw his eyes go yellow to just strap him down and leave him until the episode passes. Nightwing would believe him, somehow he knew he would. But then he would ask questions.

Dick would (he probably should) tell him, but he didn't even know how to start. Explaining that was the last thing he wanted to do right now. The heroes probably deserved to know who they were harboring, beyond him being a Grayson. Like what he did to Slade. He couldn't make that mistake again, no one else needed to die just because he was too afraid to open his mouth. (Although, if he was being completely honest, he wouldn't mind if Nightwing was killed.)

But his lips remained sealed. The weight of his secret, his ancestry, the serum that laid dormant under his skin -waiting to go off, kept his mouth from moving.

These people weren't like Slade. They wouldn't take to it as kindly as Slade had. They'd get killed knowing.

These people were his enemy.

"He just attacked you?" Nightwing asked, pulling Dick from his thoughts and reminding him he still had this conversation to hold. "Did you have any previous incursions with him in which he would want to seek revenge?" He asked, his face twisted in stout curiosity.

The acrobat almost smiled, recognizing the same thought process in which he deduced the same thing, also glad to change the subject in his head. "No, he has attacked me before, but as far as I know I've never touched him." When he finished his sentence another came bubbling up, but he squashed it down like swallowing a burp. He almost said Sportsmaster could have been motivated by mercenary rivalry, they did have the same employer and Sportsmaster might have wanted Slade distracted. Nightwing would love that, blame Slade like he always does. Which... considering... yeah it kinda was his fault this time. But it came with the job, Renegade knew what he was getting into and Slade warned him plenty of times. It was actually one of the reasons this hasn't happened until now, Slade had been keeping him in the shadows to protect him. And now Slade was gone.

"So he was unprovoked." Nightwing summed up.

Dick nodded, sighing with disappointment in himself and looking to the side. If Sportsmaster really had attacked him to get at Slade that meant he was just beaten up for nothing. Slade didn't care. Slade wasn't coming to save him.

But then that picture burned in his mind and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was wrong.

Slade might not come to save him from the heroes, or Sportsmaster, but... he couldn't say Slade didn't love him. There were too many times he should have been disgusted with him and threw him away because of what he was, but Slade stuck through with him. Whether Dick liked it or not, he owed the man, Slade loved him when no one else would or could. He was family.

He failed to remember if Slade had ever said it out loud.

The acrobat sighed deeply and hung his head, the silence again filling the room. He started tapping his fingers together, rather randomly, but really it was a message. Morse code had always been a fallback to them, him and Slade, it was the same code in their knocks. It was dumb and a decision he made as a little kid, Slade had begrudgingly indulged it but never got around to actually making a good code. Simple dots and dashes really shouldn't be so meaningful but his fingers tapped away, the action itself causing a bit more heartache inside his burning chest.

tap tap.

dash dash, tap tap, tap tap tap, tap tap tap.

dash tap dash dash, dash dash dash, tap tap dash.

I miss you

Slade was watching him, as Dick now knew, his mentor would notice and his message would get across. His mind rested again on the picture, how it was held in his belt that was still snug against his waist. He wanted so badly to jump back in time, to when things weren't so complicated, when he was happy.

Growing up sucks.

Being thrust into a world you didn't want sucks.

He would know, he did it twice. Well, three if he was counting The Court. He definitely hadn't wanted that.

And every time some part of him had been obliterated.

It had only been a few days without Slade and everything was falling apart. Slade fixed things, maybe not perfectly, but even his mere presence was uplifting and encouraging. When Slade was around, Dick held no fear, he could do anything. His trust was absolute, nothing could change that. Not these heroes, not Sportsmaster's scheming, not even his own demons could come up against his and Slade's trust.

Then why did he feel so broken?

His parents fall had orphaned him in a foreign country, alone and vulnerable to the racial injustices his origin brought with him. The apathy of others and pure grief over his situation had broken his spirit.

The Court taking him had seemed like a blessing at first, it lasted all of two seconds before he realized it was more like Tartarus. The destruction of his morals (the last thing he had of his parents) and unrelenting physical abuse had broken his soul.

Slade had fixed those things, he had helped his wounds heal and scar over. They weren't gone, they would never be gone, but at least he wasn't getting any more.

At least, before he was abandoned yet again.

His spirit was hanging on by a thread, his soul was getting ripped apart achingly slow. These heroes were carving into him, dragging a knife over every marred part of his skin, reopening, exposing, and probing.

Yet he still wanted to believe. He yearned with all his heart to know for sure if Slade was on his side. He hated it. He was such a burden, too weak to stand on his own two feet. Useless without an emotional support system, however stoic and rough-edged they were.

First, it was Slade, his crutch, his safety net, and now Batman was trying to be that net as well. All the while he was getting pushed off the ledge by various demons within his reality and his nightmares.

Slade never had anybody to help him, he was sure Batman was just fine on his own, everyone was fine except him. He was the runt, the bad apple, ruining everything with his incessant need for... someone.

"I'm so... pathetic," Dick whispered aloud, looking down blankly and completely forgetting Nightwing was still with him.

"Yes," Nightwing said curtly.

Dick was surprised for a moment, startled by the sudden reality check and total agreement Nightwing had with his self-deprecating statement.

Quickly enough his heart caught up and he scrunched his shoulders to further hide his face. It was oddly satisfying to know he was right for once. He was a burden, a cold-blooded killer, and stupid enough to think anyone would ever help him.

The heroes were right. They were always right. They had that justice thing that makes them right, truth and morals or whatever. Dick didn't care. His world was crumbling, his life slipping between his fingers like water. He was a fish strung dry without ever a hope of reaching the sea again.

And no one would help him.

He was alone.

Truly alone.

Dick held back the tears as long as he could, but each truth was smashing into him like a freight train. His arms and legs squeezed around his hanging head, hiding his burning face and the tears that were freely falling.

"Yet you are still here in spite of it. It's hardly your fault the universe has dealt you such a terrible hand." Nightwing continued. "It is not your fault you are in this situation between two warring sides."

It was Slade's.

He heard the unspoken undertone, and it hurt even more.

Dick blinked slowly, trying to take a deep breath to keep from openly sobbing. It didn't work. His lungs pulsed sharply once and like a dam, the flood gates opened. His shoulders started shaking, gaining speed the longer he held his breath to hold in the cries. He managed to stave it off, but his lungs burned for air and eventually forced himself to inhale without his vocal cords betraying him.

Nightwing inched closer, resting his hip on the edge of the infirmary bed, arms still folded and masked eyes looking up at the ceiling.

"We are pretty similar Grayson, I must admit." He said softly, cautiously, testing the silence that followed. "I'd say the only major difference between us is that I still have my parents... partly."

Dick let that silence drag on, his head was abuzz and his face was hot. His eyes were itchy and any attempt to clean up his tears ended with just smearing them around his face. But the anger coiling in his belly was just as potent as the soggy air around his head.

Through all the raging emotions in his head, there was only one thought permitting through it all.

Did he seriously just say that?

Did he seriously just say that?

The acrobat shuddered as he took in a breath, using his anger to anchor himself. "You don't know me." He vehemently hissed, the words coming out of his parted lips like venom.

Why? What was the point of this? Why did Nightwing drag out his insecurities, only to pounce on them? Didn't he know he was going to fight back?

How dare he.

How dare he even think he could possibly understand.

He knew nothing.

"Don't I?" Nightwing seemed to taunt, but his tone was all off, instead of mocking it was more... informative, almost gentle. "I know you trusted Slade to be the parents you lost. I know you trusted him to teach you every aspect of life. I know you trusted him to take care of you. I know you feel betrayed and confused, that when he dropped you into Batman's arms it only sunk in later that you would never have that life again. That your entire life took a whole new direction in an instant, that with only a few words your fate was altered."

Dick unraveled his numb hands so he could put one over his mouth, afraid to let the sounds out, afraid to make it real. He couldn't see anything anymore, it was all a blur of tears and closed eyes. His face burned, almost humming with heat and tears, the pressure was uncomfortable and made his head buzz even more. It hurt so much.

Because that's exactly how he felt.

"I know you're awkward around people your own age because you're different, you don't know how to act. I know you make rash comments when you don't mean them because that was the way you communicated before. I know you're afraid of making friends because they could be taken away from you, or more accurately, you could hurt them. I know that you're scared to speak of what happened to you, that once you start the horrors might never stop. That they might become real again and replay for the entire world to see how broken you are."

"I know you." Nightwing said, even softer, "Because you're me."

Dick openly sobbed, huffing between cries and keeping his shaky hand over his mouth just to try to keep relative quietness. His head hurt so much, everything hurt so much.

It ached in his chest and his other hand rubbed against it, but the pain was inside. It was burning hot and ice cold, the feeling of being ripped apart and compressed, the utter weight on his soul like the whole world sat upon him.

There was no release. There was no 'getting used to it'. There was nothing but pain.

Blacking was talking softly again, "If Slade really loved you... you would be fixed by now. H-"

"NO," Dick shouted, drowning out whatever the vigilante planned to say next and nearly jumping to his feet, resulting in a sort of kneel on the bed. "He DOES love me! If you did know me at all you would know that!" He pointed a finger at the man and his other hand tensed over his leg, squeezing it to work out all the pent up nerves. All this flip-flopping between intense anger and intense distress and sadness was really working on his nerves. What did this man WANT?!

Nightwing was silent for a little bit, looking a bit annoyed but staring at the ground. When he spoke he spoke slowly, something Dick recognized as someone trying to contain their anger. "If you allowed me to explain Grayson, I mean that Slade isn't good enough to fix you." Dick didn't like where this was headed and he absent-mindedly recognized the fear blossoming in his chest and running down his spine, a temporary quell in his burning fury. He fell back onto his haunches, ducking his head slightly and hooking his hands around his ankles, cautiously observing.

"Let's look at all the facts," The man said hotly, only furthering the pit of anxiety Dick was falling into. "The only thing Deathstroke has taught you is to run away from your problems and let him handle everything else. Your solution to your Agoraphobia is to simply not be in large rooms. That is hardly a sufficient remedy. And whatever that third party group of assassins did to you is clearly still at large. You have not made peace with what they did to you or what they made you do. They made you special and it caught the eye of a mercenary in need of a successor. If Deathstroke didn't see it someone else would have and instead of Slade we might be talking about Poison Ivy." Nightwing continued a bit more forcefully and Dick felt his fear grow cold and harden into hate. "And just like any villain, Deathstroke taught you to be dependent on him. Your entire mental stability hinges on one man's presence. Regardless if he didn't kidnap or force you to stay with him, he trapped you to him mentally. That is why you are having such difficulties, and to trap a child in such a way... that it is an unforgivable offense."

Dick's initial fear was gone, his eyes saw red and the pit of despair in his gut turned into a raging fire. It was billowing, only stoked by each attack on his mentor. "Why do you hate Slade so much!?" He demanded, uncurling and barely noticing the fresh cold air that hit his burning skin.

Nightwing surprisingly kept calm, looking down at the boy through slitted eyes. "I've been at the receiving end of someone who claimed to have loved me when all they wanted was a pawn. Forgive me if I do not want to see it happen again."

This did not help the anger writhing within the assassin, he felt the sudden urge to throw a punch, to defend Slade's honor, because he was NOT what Nightwing was saying he was. He understood what the hero was saying though, it was not lost on him that 'The Assassins' made him a useable weapon, or that Slade might have been simply the lucky winner at the apprentice lottery. But discrediting Slade like that was just wrong, no one else could have done what Slade had done for him. No one.

Dick closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, if he lost control he wasn't sure what the heroes would do. He'd rather not find out, so he had to keep something akin to control over his emotions. As if that wasn't hard enough with recent events.

"I never said Slade was perfect," He spoke evenly, if not a little snarky. Dick's blue eyes refused to look up at the vigilante, staring at the floor or the bed. His voice grew soft as his hold over his emotions grew precarious, "In fact, he's far from it... but he's all I have left."

Nightwing was silent again, and something in the air changed. "My... my Mother was all I had until I was 10 years old. But when your mother is Talia Al Ghul it leaves something to be desired."

Dick blinked, his body going stiff as his mind slowed to process the new information. Talia Al Ghul was Nightwing's mother?! Well... that actually explains a few things... But, it did give the man some ground, he did say they were similar, now Dick could see why. If only a little bit though, so far they only had one thing in common.

His light cerulean eyes flicked up experimentally, wondering if the vigilante would expound or just drop that name and move on.

Nightwing sighed and looked straight ahead, a solid but unnerving look on his face.

"Yes, I was raised in the League of Assassins, son of Talia Al Ghul and Batman."

Dick jerked in surprise, nearly falling over and using his arms to catch himself and sit back upright. He didn't know who he was expecting as the father -he wasn't even expecting to be told who the father was- but it was not Batman.

"My Mother was infatuated with Batman, driving her against my grandfather's wishes and making me." The son of Batman's head dipped ever so slightly, the pause in his voice giving Dick a sense of shame from the man. "Father didn't know I existed until ten years later, when mother dropped me at his feet."

Dick tried to keep the surprise off his face, studying Nightwing's instead. The man was completely stoic, probably because he was an adult for one, he had time to accept who he was. But Dick couldn't help but notice that Nightwing implied he was something of a clandestine child and the implications of what that meant. Dick wanted to pity him, but he couldn't quite get himself to it, he didn't think it mattered anyway. And if Nightwing really was like him then he wouldn't want pity. 

"I was taught discipline and respect, no mercy and no hesitation. I could read and write in multiple languages when I was three, I was driving at five, and I killed before I turned seven. I was the heir to the Head of the Demon, remorseless and perfect in Grandfather's eyes. Mother wanted more for me though, she wanted me to meet my father, to learn from him, so someday I could overtake him."

Dick averted his gaze, feeling that fearful respect return. He recognized a few of those things, even if he didn't 'grow up' with it exactly, he knew the premise. They were carved into his skin.

Nightwing kept talking, "My emotional needs were practically nonexistent, I was independent from the start, but that didn't stop me from needing it. I trusted Mother, and that was my first mistake. I thought she could take care of me when I couldn't, but she didn't, turns out I was just another puppet on strings."

Dick shifted uncomfortably, sitting criss-cross on the bed and putting his hands in his lap. His hands squeezed each other, distractedly linking the fingers and messing with his thumbs, ducking his head a bit because yes, he knew exactly how that felt. He knew what that felt like all too well.

"Then I was taken from everything I knew to be Batman's son, Batman's apprentice, a hero." He paused and Dick looked up, finding the vigilante looking out blankly. "It was terrifying."

The silence dragged for a little and Dick was too scared to voice his relations. because for one, he would be admitting Nightwing was right. Two, because he didn't want to interrupt the story. Or maybe the story was over?

Finally though, the man continued. "The first few months with Father were strenuous at best, I was brash and irritable and he was still processing he had a son he never knew about. I was a killer and he was a hostage to his moral code. Many fights broke out between us because of each other's stubbornness. I don't know what made the change, but one day he got me a pet to teach me compassion. It was an entirely different curriculum than I had grown up with, and my need for someone to lean on became prevalent. I didn't want to use Father, for both emotional needs and Mother's scheming, and it showed. Having someone who could, or even would help me was was new and foreign to me, so I reacted as one does to a threat, I tried to destroy it. After a few months of fruitless toiling against Father I didn't know what to do, but fighting it never seemed to work so I let go. I let go of Mother's poisonous dream and let myself change into the person I wanted to be, not what anyone else wanted, but something I truly desired."

Dick felt the story was ending, and suddenly he grew antsy for it to continue, to delay what was coming next as much as possible.

"It's time for you to let go too," Nightwing stated rather sincerely.

Dick surprised himself by being able to keep his schooled face. He took the frail front he made and ran with it, ignoring the hot mess bubbling under his skin. "That's great and all... but my 'Batman' left me, he gave me to you guys. And the only reason I'm still here is out of your hero obligation. None of you actually care about me."

Nightwing again grew silent, the younger assassin could almost see the gears turning in his head. The man's mouth twitched into a frown, his eyes narrowing just a titch, observations Dick found almost alarmingly loud. "It is unfortunate you think that way."

Dick felt his own brows furrow and he almost sneered. "Yeah, I don't think 'letting go' going to work, you're telling me to let go of the only person who ever decided to stick around."

"If I remember correctly," Nightwing retorted, his head turning and giving the boy a piercing glare. "He abandoned you."

Whatever Dick had to say next dried up in his throat.

Dick's breathing shuttered and his eyes burned, but he kept that stare. He didn't care if his face was getting red again, he didn't care this was the second time crying (or was it third?) in front of this man. He didn't care. Slade didn't care.

"Which I think was the hardest decision he ever made," Nightwing said, his hard tone became softer, but still held some punch. Dick was barely able to swallow the hot lump in his throat and opened his mouth to speak, trying to comprehend, but the vigilante continued. "Whatever my position earlier on Stockholm Syndrome was I do think he cares about you, and that is why he sent you away. In all probability, however abnormal it is for mercenaries to have feelings, he knows he can't help you how you really need. Isolation hasn't nor will it ever help your fears, and continuing in this path of a mercenary your growth into a functioning adult in society will be shot. Did you ever plan to become a civilian? Or were you so committed to the mercenary cause? My speculation is that Wilson sent you away to give you a chance that you could never have with him. He can't help you anymore."

Dick shifted slightly, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. It was like they were stripping away his skin, then his muscles and organs, going down to the bare bones of his being and crushing them like the ground did to his parents. He felt so broken, lost, and afraid with no one around to help him. He was in danger here, vulnerable before his aggressor. He kept saying he had to let go, but he would fall, Nightwing wouldn't catch him, no one in their right mind would. But Slade had pushed him off, he was falling, and no... no one was catching him, no one would, no one cared. Nightwing was asking him to jump off the high dive into the deep end of an empty pool.

His bones would crunch, his muscles would try to stay together, but the force of the impact would tear him apart. His body would be mutilated, unrecognizable, with the blood seeping out of seemingly impossible places.

Just like his parents.

The first time Nightwing said he had to let go of Slade, the first time the thought even entered Dick's head, he rejected it like a bad dream. It's not like it didn't hold any weight the first time, it did, it totally did, but he had ignored it in favor of lashing back out -a defense mechanism the vigilante had already told him he had.

Now it was coming down tenfold and Dick could hardly put two cohesive thoughts together.

So he fell back to square one. The list... the list... what's on the list...

1. Check surroundings...

The young teen looked around, everywhere but at the vigilante. His cup was still next to him. He was curled on the infirmary bed, he wasn't sure when that happened but it did. his grip around his legs was too tight, it was hurting his hands. His chest was tight too, air... air... he needed air.

Breathe...

In.

Out.

Door. There was a door behind Nightwing. Nightwing is an enemy.

2. If in present danger, assess options.

Nightwing is an enemy, Dick was weaponless.

Options... options... what options did he have?

Attack.

Wait.

He was injured. Nightwing wouldn't hold back. Nightwing was an even better assassin than him. Probably an even better assassin than Deathstroke. What chance did he have?

None.

...He could... he could... he could keep quiet.

But that would make Nightwing talk again.

Was there no escape?! No end to this torment?!

He could... change the subject... but how?

Something... somewhat connected, he couldn't just start spouting out facts about pineapples. There had to be some logical part of all of this, something that didn't have any emotions attached to it.

Nightwing was telling him to let go of Slade, and then what? Conform to the heroes? They wouldn't just let him go, not with as much as he knows and his skills. Ah hah! They wanted to change him, rehabilitate him, they were treating him like some criminal!

He ignored the fact that he definitely was a criminal.

The acrobat swallowed the emotion stuck in his throat, feeling the man's gaze boring into him like Superman's heat vision. If Slade couldn't help him... "Th-then who can?" He asked, internally cursing at the stutter. He swallowed again and grunted, changing his tone as he spat, "Batman?" 

He would not be taken down, he refused, he was a fighter! He would fight! That's all he ever did, and he wouldn't be here now if he just rolled over at every opposition.

He understood now. This was all just hero manipulation to get him on the 'good' side, alienate the 'bad' guy and offer the 'good' as a replacement. How amusing that they thought he wouldn't recognize this propaganda trick. He hated them. He hated these heroes.

"If you allow him to," Nightwing said with a nod, ignoring the poison lodged in the boy's voice.

Dick kept moving, keep moving, don't stop to actually think. A light huff of laughter was pushed out of his chest by his diaphragm, keeping his eyes attached firmly to the bed under him. "I always thought it was the villains with the pride issues."

Divert the conversation. If words were the weapon of choice he would hit them where it hurts! Putting a hero on the same level as a villain might do the trick! Heroes hate comparing themselves to villains!

Right?!

"I do not think it is pride Grayson," the vigilante said curtly. "Wilson would have to swallow all of his to admit that a hero can do a better job than him at helping his son. Mercenaries, as you may already know, have terrible issues with letting their pride down."

Dick said nothing. It didn't work. He was done for.

He failed.

So he hugged his knees to his chest and let his head dip to the side, a small broken "I know," leaving his lips.

Nightwing was still silent, and Dick felt the tension shift. He knew where it was going, and he could do nothing but feel his anxiety rise. He could do nothing. Just a broken ship sinking in the rolling storming waves, each crash of thunder illuminating and striking the only stable parts of him left.

The man sighed and the acrobat was filled with dread. Here it comes.

"You aren't meant to be a villain Grayson, and Wilson knows it."

Dick could help it.

He threw his head back... and laughed.

Screw lists, screw Slade, screw the heroes, screw everything.

With that simple phrase said, the phrase he'd been terrified of his entire life (well... time with Slade), the walls came crashing down and the raw, uncontrollable, unpredictable fear and anger came out like a demon.

"If you knew me at all, you would know that's not true."

Nightwing was a stone wall, regarding the small mercenary with something like understanding and annoyance. "But I do. Change is hardly effortless, it wasn't for me, and it rarely comes willingly. It's not going to be as simple as shooting down a target, I know first hand. Getting dropped into a new world is frightening and disconcerting. But you will manage, I believe you can achieve anything you put your mind to Grayson, you even have friends to back you up now."

Dick felt shredded, with parts of him drifting through the air, bits and pieces of himself lost in the atmosphere. He looked up, locking eyes with the vigilante and jerking his legs off the bed. His hands curled into fists against the sheets. No more. "What if I don't want friends? What if I don't want to be a hero?"

Nightwing narrowed his eyes. "Then that's a different thing altogether, and you can find yourself a one-way ticket to Arkham."

"So you're blackmailing me into being a hero?" Dick's head listed to the side, the simple movement causing a ripple of emotional agony through his chest.

"No, I'm blackmailing you into not being a villain." Nightwing retorted, leaning forward with his folded arms, towering over the teen.

Dick was getting frustrated, he shrugged expressively, knowing he was losing it and didn't care at all. "Can I not just... live with Slade? I did it before, without all the mercenary stuff, I can do it again." Dick was grasping at straws, hopelessly desperate to find a way he could still be with Slade and accommodate the stupid hero's stupid rules. It was fruitless, he knew, but he tried anyway, because who would he be if he didn't try?

Blacking was already shaking his head. "For that to work Wilson would have to give up being a mercenary, and I don't think that's an option for him. Dick, your time with him is over, he can't help you anymore and he isn't coming back."

Dick threw his hands in the air, raising his voice. "You're asking me to trust complete strangers over the man I shared everything with!"

"You don't have a choice," Nightwing said mercilessly.

"HE'S ALL I HAVE!" Dick yelled, his face heating up again. His throat bobbed as he swallowed a sob that almost escaped, causing an obvious break in his speech. "H-he's all I have, I can't just let go of him!"

Nightwing was persistent, scowling as his words put bullet holes in Dick's chest. "You're acting like if you let go you're going to fall, but you have people that care about you who will catch you."

"I don't want them though!" Dick cried, rejecting the thought that anyone could love him enough to actually care, not really registering the tears rolling down his cheeks. Blood gushed from the holes, pulsing with his rapid heartbeat. "They shouldn't care about me! They don't know me! I was perfectly happy with Slade!"

"Grayson," Nightwing growled, clearly annoyed. Dick didn't care anymore. "Have you not established a bond with each team member by sharing some piece of yourself with them?" 

A knife dragging down his back, another stuck in his calf.

"You forgot!" Dick shouted back, violently pointing an accusatory finger at the man, his face contorted in pure rage. "You made Talia your Slade and Batman your savior, and you want me to think the same thing! But it's the opposite! I was somewhere else before Slade, he took me in and taught me how to be human again. He is my Batman!"

A surge of electricity frying his bones.

"Then who are they?" Nightwing probed mercilessly. His blank, emotionless, yellow stare. "This group of assassins has severely impacted your life and you aren't letting anyone in."

The screams- HIS screams.

Dick felt his body shudder, his breath getting caught in his throat and making his response not only late, but severely dampened compared to the fire inside. "Slade knows, that's why I trust him."

"And that's why you're afraid to let go," Nightwing argued, "You can tell us Dick, you can trust us. Who did this to you?"

The fire.

The knife.

The pleadings of Matthew.

The iron grip on his shoulder.

The faceless mask of the owl.

The blood.

Dick let out a guttural roar as he stood up, grabbing the nearest object, his empty plastic cup, and chucking it at the hero with all his might. He poured every ounce of hatred and despair he had into his voice as he screamed. "LIKE H*LL I WOULD TRUST YOU! I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME!"

Then it was silent.

Cold, dark, fear traveled down the 13-year old's spine, taking every ounce of confidence and self-worth with it.

Nightwing was furious.

Nightwing had raised a hand to ward off the projectile, and those heartless masked eyes locked on him. He was a target. He was going to be attacked.

Nightwing was going to hit him.

Dick backed onto the bed, raising a trembling hand to cover his mouth as absolute horror stretched his eyes. It was all white noise in his head, not one logical thought came to mind, not even an illogical one. There was no sign, no hide nor hair of any rational thinking.

He barely registered his back hitting the wall, but when he did he felt very real and very much in danger. Everything was shaking, his hands, his chest, it all felt prickled, every atom in his being was agitated with anxiety. His eyes never blinked, locked on the man who was going to retaliate tenfold.

Nightwing promptly turned on his heel and paced.

The powerful assassin-turned-hero was glowering at the ground, his hands going up to run through his midnight hair, mumbling (or growling) under his breath.

The man rubbed his face, then his fingers edged across the mask implanted there. His arm jerked the mask was ripped off, he spun around and took a few pounding steps forward, looking at the terrified young acrobat through jade green eyes.

"Damian Wayne."

Dick burst into tears.

He didn't even know what made him start to cry, it wasn't Nightwing's sudden desire to tell him his secret identity. It was just everything, it was too much, too many probes in the wrong places, too many attacks on his broken ground. He just couldn't contain it anymore. 

He hid his face and cried.

An arm snaked around his shaking shoulders and Dick initially jerked away from the sudden touch, but when it persisted he leaned into it. 

Nightwing...Damian... was hugging him, Dick knew it and he honestly didn't want anything to do with these stupid heroes, but he couldn't do anything but cry. So he hugged back, clutching onto the man and hiding his face in his dark suit. Damian was silent, gently rubbing his back and engaging a small swaying motion. 

Dick hated it, he hated all of it. He hated the way he had to depend on someone, he hated the way he broke all the time, he hated what had happened to him that made him this way. He hated Slade for abandoning him. He hated the heroes. He hated having his family ripped apart because of him. He hated himself most of all. 

"I-I hate you..." Dick stuttered into the man's chest, his back bouncing with his sobbing. 

Damian nodded along, not that the boy could see it, but rubbed more fervently. "I would counter that accusation, but evidently all heroes are terrible people." There was a slight pause and Dick just shook his head deeper into his chest, this guy made no sense at all. "It's why we do what we do."

Dick released a shuddering breath, wanting to laugh but not quite done with the tears. "I-I've always b-been afraid of h-heroes..." He said softly, not quite sure why he was saying it, saying something he'd told himself a million times but never out loud. "A-and yeah... Slade k-knows I'm not a-a villain... I'm a-afraid he's right."

"And why is that a bad thing?" Damian asked, shifting his grip to pull the teen closer. 

Dick took a deeper breath, taking one of his own arms to his chest to wipe at the tears all over his face. "I-I've got... the tragic backstory... t-the drive... b-but he found me first..." Dick paused to sniff in, blinking tiredly at a small window between the vigilante's chest and arm. Everything felt numb, but he felt a rush of even more tears as he tried to speak the next part of his inner mantra. "I-I'm a-afraid... a-afraid that if I ack-gn-" His throat suddenly swallowed and he fought to continue, "-acknowledge it... t-that I will be a hero... a-and I'll have to l-leave Slade." The hot tears came up full force and he squeezed his eyes shut, tensing and crying onto the man. "I-I d-don't want... I don't want m-my fam-family t-to be r-ri-ripped apart again!" 

Damian shifted one of his hands, sending his fingers through the boy's raven hair, lightly hushing his renewed cries and gently squeezing him closer. "I know first hand this means nothing, but I'm sorry." He simply held the poor kid, honestly not sure what else to do, but knowing at that exact moment Dick just needed someone to cry on. "Families are complicated and not all of them work out, some of them aren't even blood related, but it has been my experience that those are the strongest kind. I'm sorry you're scared, it is scary, but you're going to be okay."

"Will-will I... will I ever s-see Slade again?" Dick asked weakly from below, curling up slightly on the vigilante's lap. 

Damian let out a soft sigh, "I don't know. You've got a lot of life left to live, and Deathstroke doesn't seem to be keeling over anytime soon. But... I do think your time with him is over, he is not going to come back."

Dick jerked as his sobbing grew more intense, his cracked and warbled voice growing louder and more desperate. "No- please- no- I-I don't want it! -I -I I don't want it! Please!" He shook his head, taking the small mercy of the diverted pain from his aching chest that was put into his head when he did so. His hand clenched uncomfortably, his nails digging into his palms harshly where he knew they would leave marks. He forced his hand to relax, the thought of intentionally hurting himself instantly filling him with regret at Slade's soft words.

"Don't do that Dick, please, never do that."

The young acrobat felt the chest he was crushed against rise and fall in another sigh, he kept his eyes closed tightly, trying to keep hold of whatever he had left. Soon the chest began to rumble and words made it to his ears. "The way I see it Grayson, Wilson had you in a rut just like Mother had with me. She sent me to Batman with the impression I was to turn on him later, at least Wilson is giving you up for your own good instead of some puppet game." Damian paused, then slightly pushed the boy back with scrutinizing eyes, "Unless... it is."

Dick quickly shook his head, a few extra tears traveling down his cheeks, internally wincing at the lie. Well, it wasn't completely a lie, Slade wasn't using him as a puppet, the strings were dormant right now but they were still attached, controlled by the faceless masked Owls. But even that simple accusation sent white-hot goosebumps across his arms and he curled up on his own, trying to edge away from the man. 

Damian pulled him back onto his lap, a small concerned smirk on his face. "I was trying to make a joke Grayson." He muttered, "...mostly." But he quickly followed up with, "You're going to be alright, I'm not blaming you for anything, except for maybe stabbing Kid Flash."

"I STABBED WALLY?!" Dick shouted, jerking out of his grip as his cerulean blue eyes grew with horror. 

The vigilante was surprised at the reaction and moved a hand in a 'slow down' motion. "Calm down, he's fine, speedsters have accelerated healing, nor was it a fatal wound."

"When did I stab him?!" Dick insisted, shifting so he was sitting on his hands like they'd come to life on their own and do some other unspeakable evil. 

"While under the influence of your Night Terror," Damian responded, "in fact, you gave half the team a run for their money."

Dick winced and hunkered in shame. "I didn't hurt anyone else did I?" He asked quietly.

Damian rose an eyebrow at the obvious shift in attitude, "Only the team's pride." When he saw Dick's face sour he rolled his eyes and really reassured him. "He's fine I promise, in fact he's been worried about you, the entire team has. You know I didn't think anyone could get more annoying than Flash or Green Arrow but Wally has seriously taken the cake. He asks about you approximately 23 times per second when anyone goes to the mountain."

Dick seemed to brighten up a little, a very little, he got off his hands at least. He rubbed his arm, not looking at the vigilante and clearly thinking about something else, then he froze.

"W-wait, I'm not at the mountain? Where are we then?" He asked, perking up with a worried look scrawled across his face. 

"The Batcave, Batman thought you could use some privacy," Damian replied, fixing his position more comfortably, if Dick didn't want more snuggles that was fine by him. Snuggles always confused him anyway.

"Oh... when can I- or am I allowed to- um-" Dick floundered with his questions, cutting himself off before just silencing himself and muttering, "-nevermind..."

"You can see the team whenever you're ready, although I would advise you to wait until a more reasonable time, it is almost 2 in the morning," Damian said, suddenly getting a strange urge to lay a hand on the boy's shoulder, when did that become a thing?

Dick seemed to relax as he kept his eyes lowered, a small smirk appearing as he huffed a single laugh. "Of course it's 2 in the morning."

Damian shifted off the bed, standing and turning as the boy looked after him but made no move to follow. "I have some things to do, you can stay here if you like, although Red Robin is grounded from seeing you."

Dick blinked in utter confusion, "What? Why?"

"You have a secret admirer," Damian said with a smirk, totally not enjoying talking bad about his adopted brother before the teen meets him. "And Batman gave something like a restraining order on him for now."

Dick was even more confused, his hands coming up to gesture his befuddlement. "Wh- What even-? Why does he even like me?"

"I don't even know," Damian groaned, rubbing his forehead but sending the acrobat a small smile. "But apparently you're a cute kid."

Dick grew pale, his eyes suddenly going to the door and back to the vigilante. "Will he... like-" the kid swallowed and his gesturing hand came down where he gripped his ankles nervously, the turmoil clearly written in his eyes.

"No, no no, of course not," Damian assured quickly, reading the silence and the boy's actions for what they were. "The restraining order is more of a punishment for him than an actual need to keep him away from you. Red can control himself, and I can guarantee he does not like you in... that way."

Well that's not awkward.

"I-I'll just stay here." Dick decided, feeling his face grow red. Jeez, was he really that easy to read? He knew he was asking a serious question, but it felt like Damian had answered like he knew what had happened to him, that was not okay. He was glad the vigilante exited quickly with nothing but a nod, that was when Dick finally relaxed. 

He deflated onto the bed, exhausted physically and emotionally. His face twinged in pain when he realized he was not fully healed, also reminding him of the fact he was on medications. Dick should have asked when the next dosage was, that way he could avoid it. He would rather feel the pain and know he was in charge than risk having no tells. 

It wasn't really a... self-harm thing... at least that was what he told himself, it was important for him to know if he was going under or not. Well... he couldn't really do anything about it if he did know, but it wasn't exactly something he was ready to change about himself yet. As long as the Court was around he had to be vigilant. 

He needed to be focused, check every detail of everything, make sure noth-

Wait a second...

If Nightwing is Damian Wayne... and Batman is Damian's father... BRUCE WAYNE IS BATMAN?!

Chapter Text

"Recognized: Batman 02, Renegade B-01."

Wally got up out of his chair so fast he barely comprehended Artemis's outraged cry as his movements made his popcorn explode everywhere. He came up to the Zeta Tubes in record time, finding an unmasked Dick Grayson calmly walking next to the broody Bat. Wally paid no attention to the Dark Knight as he tackled the younger boy in a hug.

"YOU'RE BACK!" The red-head shouted, squeezing the life out of the boy.

Dick was completely unprepared, his arms went flailing for a moment as the speedster seemed to just APPEAR attached to him. His confusion led him to return the hug for a moment, lightly putting his arms around the taller boy while giving Batman a side glance. "Yeah, I-" his face twisted as he started patting the speedster like he was tapping out. "-hey hey! Watch the ribs KF!"

Wally retreated, unable to wipe the big grin on his face as his emerald eyes went to the wounded spot. "Sorry, I didn't open the wound did I?"

Dick took a moment to gently probe his bandaged side, deciding to just put an arm around it to ward off anymore surprise squeezes. Was squeezing people a hero thing? He shook his head to answer Wally's question, "Nah, it's been closed for a while it's just tender."

"Sorry." Wally apologized again with a broken smile.

The acrobat scoffed, his head ducking a little as he avoided eye contact. "Dude I should be the one saying sorry, I freaking stabbed you."

The speedster waved him off with a shrug, "pshh I'm fine, it's gone now, speed healing and all." When Dick's eyes flicked up anxiously Wally grabbed his shirt and pulled up, pointing where there should have been a bloody wound or at least a scar. "See? Not even a mark!"

Wally has just put his shirt down when the rest of the team filed in, Artemis holding a few arrows she was clearly tampering with and M'gann and Connor walking together, Kaldur trailing not far behind.

"It is good to see you up and walking Robin," Kaldur said with a small, kind smile.

Dick slightly rocked on his heels, eyes roaming the team for any sign of the hostility he came to expect, even with Nightwi- Damian's reassurance that there would be none. The young mercenary had attacked them in his sleep while he wasn't aware of anything- and was fully capable of doing it again. They had every right to be afraid of him. As many times as Slade even told him, he was never quite convinced he wasn't a monster, and a monster to a hero is just an enemy to defeat.

He mentally shook his head, now was not the time to be in his mind with his 'woe is me' mantra Slade trained him out of, the team didn't seem to share his fears so far- even though they should. Dick could never be too cautious, and yeah he did see some trepidation in a few of them but it was mostly just caution. He could live with caution- actually, caution would be better than being too friendly.

Then Dick remembered he had to actually respond. "Oh, thanks," he piped up lamely. He was pretty sure he should have elaborated, like explained what happened or say something to keep the conversation going, but his lips remained closed and his eyes went to Batman- heckin Bruce Wayne- for direction.

"Oh! Ren- I mean Rob!" Wally spouted through the awkward silence, then cut himself off as confusion overrode his features and he fumbled, "Or is it Richard, or... or do you want us to call you Dick?"

The young mercenary gave a little huff of laughter, his face tight as it agitated his wound, "You can just call me Dick." His head angled to the side for a second and he made a low comment to himself that the rest of the team definitely heard but didn't comment on, "I have too many names for my own good."

This time it was Connor's turn to be confused, his solid blue eyes going around the group as he voiced his confusion. "Wait, Dick as in-"

"It's short for Richard," Dick explained quickly as he folded his arms nervously, remembering enough of this problem in the circus.

M'gann was next, her face twisting into confusion as well. "...How do you get Dick fr-"

She was cut off by Artemis, who quickly slapped a hand over the Martian's mouth after seeing the absolutely villainous smirk on Wally's face. Dick blinked in innocent confusion as the archer stared the speedster down, but she spoke to the Martian. "Don't. Ask that question."

Wally physically wilted, groaning in disdain as Dick just grew more confused and Batman narrowed his own batglare on the redhead. Apparently, speedsters also have accelerated rebound time because Wally didn't stay down for long.

"Come on Dick!" Wally said, clearly revamped and grabbing one of the acrobat's arms. Wally pulled his smaller friend along as he headed for some destination unknown to Dick, but it was probably obvious to the rest of the team. He was WAY too excited to show this to the young assassin.

The ebony-haired boy yelped as he was tugged along and felt a sense of déjà vu, but he didn't quite remember it with this much pain. "Hold on Wally! My side! Ow!" He called out, his free arm hugging his side as he was dragged along, catching a glance behind him to find the rest of the group trailing after them at more reasonable paces. "Can't we just walk to wherever you're going?"

"Oh, sorry," the speedster said. His pace slowed and his tugging became less urgent, but still his hand gripped at the boy's forearm as he led him to a familiar hallway. "It's a surprise and I think you'll really like it."

"Wally-" Dick huffed in agitation, but his argument died in his throat when they burst into the large training room. He was confused to see a large net strung taunt three feet above the ground, his mind already knew what it was, but it still didn't register until he found the pole and ladder, his eyes greedily looking all the way up to the two dangling ropes and bars.

A trapeze.

"Wow." Dick breathed, his pain forgotten and his cerulean blue eyes wide as he stared in awe.

Wally of course had released him by now, but he didn't even know until he found himself walking forward toward the ladder as if in a trance.

"Batman put it in -but it was my idea-, we thought we might give you a little bit of home," Wally said as he watched the mystified acrobat marvel at the equipment. The boy gently touched the ladder, as if scared it would disappear at the slightest tremor in the wind.

The speedster didn't get an answer, an eyebrow quirking as he saw the young mercenary just look completely stupefied at the trapeze. Wally noticed the rest of the team arrived, including Batman, and once they observed for a good while they realized Dick might need some encouragement.

"...Are you going to use it or just stare at it?" Artemis taunted playfully while putting her hands on her hips. She had heard of the Graysons, had seen one of their recordings in a different tour, but they always came back to Gotham to pay their respects. She would be lying if she said she wasn't excited to see a trapeze artist fly before her eyes, and a famous Grayson no less.

But this was if he wasn't horribly scarred by what happened to his parents, shoot... they didn't think of that... With as unstable as he's been lately, or -she supposed- their entire time together, who knows what could set the kid off. And his parents falling and dying in front of him on the very equipment they brought to surprise him with? Yeah, great idea, they totally thought this through.

Artemis watched trepidatiously as the acrobat didn't seem to hear her, still gazing wantonly up the ladder to the platform.

"Dick?" Batman grunted, perhaps just to get the boy out of his daze.

It seemed to work well enough, his head snapped to the vigilante, a flash of surprise going across his face that was quickly replaced by the wonder it had previously been filled with, but also... fear. "I-I haven't-" his throat constricted, cutting him off, but he didn't retry the statement. His eyes looked to the heavens again and Artemis couldn't help but feel something had changed in the kid, she just couldn't tell if it was good or bad.

"Go on, you grew up on the trapeze right?" M'gann prompted with slight confusion. She was getting quite the light show of emotions, if emotions could be turned into light waves that is. The Martian didn't press further into his mind, but for the first time he seemed rather open instead of uptight and anxious around her as he had been since they met. Something had definitely changed about him.

Dick had both hands on the ladder now, with his head still craned up and his Adam's Apple bobbing as he spoke. "Slade never had room for one of these..." It seemed more of an inner thought than a conversational statement, again giving the team a sense Dick wasn't quite with them.

"You aren't scared of heights are you?" M'gann asked, seemingly coming to at least a similar conclusion Artemis had, the Martian flying forward to try to fix the issue as soon as possible, "we didn't mean to-"

Dick waved her off quickly, not even looking in her direction, "No, no it's not heights, it's just been a long time..." M'gann touched the ground and wrung her hands nervously, still seeming to want to fix something.

"Then go." Batman's gravely voice prompted with a sharp nod.

Dick jolted into action, like a horse let loose in the pasture he scrambled up the ladder until he was at the top. He paused once he got there, letting loose a shaky breath and seeming to finally realize where he was and what he was doing.

It was bright up there, he was close to the lights even though they were a good ten feet above him in the dirt ceiling, a familiar feeling, the lights were always shining on the main event. He leaned to the side, his head peeking from the platform to look down. Down was a long way, a long long way into the brown mush he knew to be the net. He wasn't scared of falling, he wasn't scared of the trapeze, he had a very real and very human fear; he was afraid of hitting the ground. But up here he might as well have no fears, there was a net, he didn't have to worry about breaking on the unforgiving ground below.

He faintly heard Wally ask Batman a question, something along the lines of 'Wait should he be doing this with a bruised rib?' Dick wasn't sure what Batman's response was, he was already pounding his feet against the platform, pumping his arms and locking his eyes onto the prize.

The bird lifted off, his gut rising in his chest and his hair floating about him like in water. His arms reached out, his beating heart the only sound in his ears. His hands curled around the pole, familiar and welcome, when gravity started to have an effect, pulling at him and dragging him down. An acrobat's velocity was highest during the downstroke, Dick recalled, remembering have learned this not from his parents, but Slade when he was teaching him to swing with the grappling gun. He already felt like he knew what he had to do though, the boy's legs locked together and straightened, maneuvering down and up to gather momentum for another jump.

He sailed feet first into the air, his hands letting go as the world turned upside down. He twisted in a measured flip, keeping his head angled towards his feet and testing the air, testing his body, testing his memories. His arms were out to his sides, his arch was slow, his midnight hair once again tickling his forehead and his diaphragm expelling a held breath.

Again gravity took hold of him and a smile cracked on his lips. His arms reached again, latching on and swinging almost violently with his body until he went up and up and up...  now a vertical line compared to the horizontal ground. He let one hand go, twisting his straightened body like a pencil and swooshing down again. The apex of the arch was nearly upon him and he was already well prepared for the right maneuver, his legs curled and jutted out right as he let go, sending him spiraling, his form curling into a tight ball that twisted over and over again until he popped out fluidly like a diver (or a quite literal skydiver). He landed heavily this time on the next pole, his extra weight had not been accounted for and slowed his summersaults... well... little him liked to call them 'skysaults', it was the first English word he learned and he couldn't shut up about it when he did. 

Dick's cheerful, contagious laugh ripped through the air, he barely noticed though, too busy feeling the wind in his hair and the flight beneath his wings. He was on the crest of his next swing, letting one hand go again but instead of twisting vertically, he splayed his body like a starfish as gravity tugged him down again into a fast forceful yank. His breath was taken from him as he swung with one hand, letting his body be the friction that slowed his pace, his cheeks hurt he realized, his eyes were wet in the corners, and his chest felt as light as the air he breathed.

He twisted, letting his legs catch the next bar and laughing again as his arms dangled almost uselessly below him. The sky was where he belonged, up here where physics got messy and gravity only applied half the time. Back and forth, up and down, rhythmically and therapeutic, every tense nerve in his body was gone, fleeing as pure euphoria erupted in him.

He wasn't sure what moves he was doing now, all he cared is that he was in the clouds and he never wanted to come back down.

That might have been his fatal mistake, as reality crashed into him like a moon.

As he reached for the next bar, having already let go of the last one, a stitch in his side alerted him that he was in fact not on cloud 9. He winced and his arm drew back to alieve the pain that felt like it was splitting his rib cage and splashing acid inside.

His hands passed uselessly through the air and the bar swung on without him.

His face of pain slowly morphed into terror and he felt his body twist so he could look up, the bar kept getting smaller and smaller, his wide unblinking eyes suddenly able to see more of the ceiling.

The pain in his chest flared, his bright blue eyes caught sight of the platform as gravity pulled him to where all things that go up must return. He knew he had said something, it was lost in the crowd, he wasn't sure it was a word though. His hand reached up, as if that could combat against the most fundamental law of nature, just like his mother had reached for him. He could imagine his tiny self, anxiously gripping onto the edge as his red-haired mother and brown-eyed father grew smaller and smaller.

Until red.

Dick never closed his eyes, not when the rope collided with his back and his body dipped and bounced with the force. The tension in the net caused him to quickly slow, a common trait in trapeze nets, allowing him to come to a standstill within a few seconds.

Wally came up to the edge of the net, his hands gripping the rim like some lost puppy, staring at the frozen boy.

Dick didn't move for a while, staring up silently and stiffly as the net had long since stopped swaying.

"Dick?" Wally voiced, growing concerned at all of this, the young mercenary looked completely spaced out and he wasn't sure that was a good thing... maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. "You... okay?"

"Wow..." The acrobat breathed breathlessly into the quiet air.

When he failed to give any further answer Wally spoke up again. "Dick, we didn't um... blow you mind or anything did we?" He asked nervously, his emerald eyes flicking over to the team for a moment.

"I'm fine." Dick responded almost... contentedly, "this is the best I've felt in... I've forgotten how good it feels up there."

"So you like it?!" Wally asked, a giant grin wiping off any evidence of worry.

Dick smirked, almost laughing, "that's a stupid question, of course I like it." The acrobat sat up, or at least tried to. His side flared in pain, reminding him he probably shouldn't have been doing his acrobatics. He winced and clutched his side, but forced himself to stay sitting up.

"Need some help?" Wally asked, obviously noticing his friend having difficulties scooting off the net, again he berated himself for letting his enthusiasm for making Dick excited forget all about the kid's well being.

Dick shook his head, but he was clearly in pain, so Wally persisted. The speedster put his weight on the edge of the net, making Dick slide towards him and thus off the net with no hassle or further agitation to the wound. Dick's feet had just hit the ground when Miss Martian shouted and excitedly flew over.

"That was amazing!" M'gann said, clapping her hands together as her warm eyes crinkled.

The others came over soon after, all singing the acrobat's praises.

"You have a true gift, my friend." From Kaldur.

"Quite impressive short stuff," Artemis said.

"That was cool." Grunted Connor. 

Batman didn't say anything, but when the ebony-haired teen looked his way he might have caught a small smile on the man's lips. Realization dawned on him then, Bruce Wayne had been a guest that night... he had been right there... He didn't know why he was just now realizing these things, apparently whenever it came to Bruce Wayne the connection to Batman was still slow, but Dick fought off the anger that began to boil in his belly. What's done was done, being angry at the man now would do nothing to bring his parents back, and at least... at least he was trying to help him now. Dick tried to convey that through his gaze, not really forgiveness but more of an acknowledgment among other things. He must have done something right because the cowl dipped and the Dark Knight walked off silently, his presence forgotten except for the one blue-eyed gaze staring after him, trying to imagine what it would have been like if Batman had saved his parents.

"You need to rest," Wally's voice brought him back to the present and he almost jerked in surprise.

"Oh, right, yeah." Dick fumbled, "Yeah sitting down would be great right about now."

It was an hour later when Dick settled on the couch, Wally was next to him with a giant bowl of popcorn, talking to Artemis across the room about some movie Dick couldn't remember if he'd seen or not. He didn't particularly care either, he was deep in thought, finding himself getting an unprecedented idea. He was thinking it out long and hard, and finally came to the decision it was a good idea, one that Wintergreen might have been proud of.

Yeah, while Slade had been the father figure in his life, Wintergreen was the one most worried about him and wasn't afraid to show it. He would complain to Slade all the time how Dick didn't have any friends or shared anything remotely accurate about himself when he did meet people. Dick didn't particularly try very hard though, and Slade never pressed him to do so, it made Dick much more comfortable with a person who wasn't expecting anything from him besides him. Other people were just... they were just so much more put together than he was, how could he possibly share anything about himself if only about a third of his life was shareable and the rest left him in a panic attack? People who actually had control over their lives scared him, for a brief part of his life he was a puppet with other people in control of his strings, making him do many horrible things... He couldn't possibly hope to function and interact with others in a way that was 'normal' when he was anything but.

Slade didn't mind though, he never gave his lies a second thought, he knew exactly when Dick was lying yet said nothing because he understood why Dick would lie in any situation. But Slade would also treat the lies as truth, so Dick either had to dig deeper into the lie or fess up. As time went on Dick lied less and less to that man, it was embarrassing when he had to fess up and it was a lot easier to just tell the truth the first time. As he grew closer to the mercenary he learned Slade wouldn't judge, and his trust completely solidified. There was something overwhelmingly relieving when someone looks at the monster you are and accepts you all the same, it made him not hate his life so much. Slade has seen every side of Dick, every trial, every terror, everything that made him tense up and relax. His father figure knew how his brain worked almost too well sometimes.

The team on the other hand... he hadn't lied as much as he thought he would... this was the most truth he had ever said to anyone besides Slade. They had seen the monster, or at least knew OF it, they'd seen the repercussions, the scars, the mental screw up that he was. He was vulnerable to these people, but so far they hadn't tossed him away yet. It gave him a touch of confidence, something he recognized when he remembered trusting Slade. The team knew him this much and barely batted an eye, surely... surely he could show them some more?

Wintergreen always said he needed to be more honest with other people, it would get him friends, and maybe that's why Dick was so reluctant to be honest.

But now... now he wanted to tell them, to show them the truth, to share experiences that he might entertain them perhaps, give back some of the trust they showed him.

Batm- err... Bruce Wayne repeated many times that trust was a two-way street, and as much as he didn't want to prove the hero right he felt like it was time to take a stroll.

That must mean he trusts them right? With everything? The Court? The deaths he caused unwillingly... and willingly? The crazy amount of illegal activities he does in his past time? His mental stability that hinged on one man, one man's name?

Gah, no. This was stupid, he couldn't trust them. They were a bunch of heroes, they'll take one look at his real life and toss him in the madhouse where he belonged.

But... Bruce had promised, Damian had too...

But what was a hero's word worth? Probably more than a mercenary's.

Ugh, this was so complicated yet so simple.

He just had to trust them, spit it out and just see where it took him. Whatever happens after this, after his attempt at being honest and therefore friendly, he had to at least hope that either Damian or billionaire, philanthropist, and moonlighter Bruce friggin Wayne (gosh that's still weird to think about) was on his side.

He, of course, couldn't stop the not-so-irrational fear that Bruce and Damian were lying and this was all a set up to get him to reveal everything and soon he would be locked up. He just had to take the leap and find out which side he would land on, either happy fun friend time or inevitable doom and despair inside a small lonely cell.

There's only one way to find out and Dick was almost queasy at the notion. But here goes nothing...

Dick looked up when Miss Martian walked by, he leaned back, nearly using his good arm side to reach out to her. "Hey Miss M?"

The Martian paused, a bit surprised and smiling when she stepped closer. "Yes Dick?"

The young mercenary took a deep breath, wondering why asking this was so hard. "Umm, do Martians have... like... the ability to share memories?"

Miss Martian blinked, clearly unprepared for a question about her people, but she recovered and thought for a moment before answering. "Yes we do." She nodded, but her curiosity grew too much. "Why do you ask?"

The raven-haired boy became sheepish, shrugging his shoulders slightly as if that could hide the light pink dusting on his cheeks. "Well I was wondering if you could share memories... well MY memories... to everyone? Is that possible?"

The girl nearly took a step back in surprise, she had only gotten a taste of the acrobats past and decided she really didn't want anymore, and now he wanted to share ALL of his memories with EVERYONE? "A-are you sure you want to share all of your memories?" She asked carefully.

Dick sucked in quickly, "No, no I don't mean all of them." He paused and grunted in annoyance, he was unsure how to phrase this. "I mean like... can you play memories like a movie? Start and stop?"

"Oh!" She exclaimed, finally understanding, "There is something like that, there's two ways we could do it. Either I pull everyone into a shared augmented reality in your head and you play the memories, or I could pull the memory from your head and implant it into everyone else's head. Although that one is a bit trickier, it's easier to move many minds into one rather than bits of one into many others... My Uncle would be able to do it, but I'm not that advanced yet." She explained.

Dick thought for a moment, nodding silently until he spoke. "Yeah, yeah that's fine, I can work with that." Then he scowled, "Wait how is making an augmented reality easier than implanting memories?"

Miss Martian smiled, "Well minds are naturally wired to create unrealistic and fictional things, dreams for example, things that aren't typically simple or straightforward. The hard part isn't creating the augmented reality, it's creating room for other minds to temporarily enter. And if I were to take a memory to put it in everyone else's head I would have to break into five different defenses while with you it's only one."

Dick blinked. "Oh. That's really cool actually."

The girl's smile grew at the compliment, then it faded. "...Out of curiosity... what memories do you want to share?" She asked, giving a glance to everyone else in the room.

"It depends really..." Dick sighed, looking out at the rest of the team splayed throughout the living room. "What do you guys want to know?"

"Huh?" Wally asked, jumping into the conversation right as Dick asked his question. He grew a giant grin and spoke quickly and obnoxiously. "Oh!-Oh!-Oh! What's the meaning of life?"

"42," Dick answered without missing a beat, smiling when it caused a double fist pump of celebration from the speedster. His eyes lowered as his smile wavered, taking a breath before slowly speaking. "I... I want to share some of my memories... I'm wondering what you guys want to know."

Artemis' eyes widened, finally realizing what he was intending. "You... want to share your memories with us?"

Dick shrugged, eyes lowering even more as he took her words to be negative. "Well, I... I trust you guys and you don't know me too well and I wanted to fix that so I figured..." He trailed off and the ensuing silence was thick. He felt his face heat up bright red and he hunkered deeper into the couch, why did he think this was a good idea? Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Superboy broke the silence, walking over and sitting down on the other side of the young mercenary, perhaps trapping him on the couch the younger definitely looked like he wanted to escape from. "I'm fine with whatever your comfortable sharing." The clone grunted as he settled, keeping his gaze ahead to the TV as if his mere eye contact would frighten the boy off.

For some reason, this sparked a wave of relief to wash over the acrobat. That's something Slade would say, he always made sure Dick was comfortable sharing, he never forced him into anything.

"I think it is a great idea!" M'gann chimed, floating around the couch and landing near Artemis who sat in a single seat.

"If you want to Dick, I too think it is a good idea," Aqualad said from the kitchen, walking around to stand by the green couch holding the three other boys. "As long as it is not too traumatic for you."

This made Dick scowl, he wasn't a baby! Sure yeah bad things happened in his life but he could think of his parents and not burst into tears, he even talked about them and Wintergreen without too much of a hassle. He could totally do this, he wasn't going in alone anymore.

...How does one go in WITH other people though? How on earth did their presence make it any better? As a pressure to keep it all in? As a physical reminder to not break down in front of others?

Well, he already screwed that one up...

His chest tightened with anxiety. No no no, this was a bad idea, terrible, no good idea! What was he thinking!? He couldn't share anything with the team!

Wally had yet to say anything though. When the scared acrobat looked at the redhead his fear must have leaked through his gaze, because Wally's green eyes were on him, showing concern, regret, and fear... The speedster's mouth was set in a thin line while determination dominated his body language. He kept his intense eye contact as he spoke solidly, barely shifting in his seat but his facial features seemed to lean in earnestly. "You're sure Dick? Absolutely sure? We don't have to know everything about you to be your friend."

Dick drew a breath, the butterflies flitting around his stomach realizing something was changing but hesitated to either settle down or continue upsetting him. Slade had made a similar comment once, when Wintergreen was fussing over how distrustful Dick was of adults and how he avoided people when he could. Dick had been feeling ashamed for it, but Slade had stood up for him, telling Wintergreen Dick had his reasons and didn't have to share anything he didn't want to share. The team was doing the same thing, it made Dick's chest flare with familiar warmth, the butterflies have not quite gone (they never really were) but definitely settled.

"Yeah, but I want to." He said back, smiling softly and looking to the martian girl. "And I know exactly what memory to play first."

M'gann nodded, then looked to the rest of the team, clearly way too excited but managed to pull off an official tone. "You guys might want to find a relaxed position, I'm going to be taking your minds into Dick's."

The group of teens fidgeted and Kaldur found a seat on the other single couch, Wally was making side comments Dick respectfully ignored. When M'gann knew she had everyone's attention she looked to Dick.

"Ready?"

"Yup." He said, trying to focus on the warmth that was being quickly chased away by his returning anxiety. But he had already committed, no going back now, after this he would either be their friends or their prisoner. It was agony to wait to find out.

He watched the martian close her eyes and stretch her arms, then her eyes burst open into a pure green.

Then like slipping into sleep, everything went black.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick opened his eyes, finding himself standing, but the floor beneath him was odd. He quickly looked around, finding familiar faces and an even more familiar apartment.

"Whoa..." Wally said next to him, and Dick understood why.

It was like they were standing INSIDE the memory, but not quite.

It was the apartment, just as he remembered it. The carpet was stained a gross brown with age and a couple of spots black from sheer use by them and the previous owners. Some spots were made by Slade and Wintergreen, tired mercenaries can make quite the mess if they fall asleep going through the gunpowder. It was a cheap apartment, no doubt about that, and the landlord never really cared for anyone inside except for when rent was due. Slade's rough exterior was easily enough to keep him away. The young mercenary smiled, he loved this place. It was small, remarkably small, but he had grown up in a train car that was roughly the same size, it was home. It was blandly colored, browns and almost gross naturals, some of the 'art' hung as decorations were still there, at least in the memory they were. 

Dick took a few steps into the room, standing next to the spare 'comfortable' chair that was placed in the apartment, looking down to find two things.

One- He was there, a small Dick Grayson sat in the chair, intensely reading Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham. The older Dick grew a wide grin, quite understanding now what Wintergreen had meant when he said he would burn a hole through the book if he stared too long. The small Dick Grayson still had the sharp blue eyes and ragged midnight hair, but his skin was... marked. It was odd, he didn't remember being particularly wounded in this memory, but the small version of himself had red marks like blood along his skin in patches, his hands seemed the worst.

Dick grew uncomfortable with that fact, his lips forming a tight line as he felt the blood drain from his face. The butterflies rose once more, readily flitting into flight in his stomach and nearly making him nauseous. Because of course the heroes would notice the almost literal blood on his hands, and Dick would have to answer.

The second observation he had though was when he looked down, the smaller him was wearing normal clothes, civies pretty much, but the older (non-memory) acrobat was wearing his Renegade suit.

"Oh cool." His belt felt comfortably full but the weight of the mask on his face was missing. He looked over his shoulder to everyone else and found they remained in the clothing they came in, meaning their super-suits... or just clothing in Connor's case.

"So what's this place?" Artemis asked, taking a step forward towards the hallway.

"This is where I more or less grew up with Slade," Dick replied, smiling fondly at the severe lack of personalization in the apartment regardless of the anxiety in his belly.

"Wait... is that you?" Connor pointed to the small Dick Grayson in the chair.

"Yup." He popped the 'P' happily, watching as the little version of himself turned a page.

"You're so small," Wally noted, "and Dr. Seuss?" He gave the older acrobat a raised eyebrow with a hint of a smile.

Dick shrugged, "I was still learning English. And yes, I was small, in the trapeze business it's a good thing to be small."

"So what happens in this memory?" M'gann asked, clearly mystified by her surroundings like all of the heroes were, but she kept her focus on Dick, she was still holding all of this together after all. At least he thought so, he had no idea how these things work.

"This is when I met Wintergreen, we had a misunderstanding at first but after it was really funny." He said, already smiling and looking towards the front door.

"The old guy right?" Connor asked, Dick nodded, then the group quieted as they heard the door swing open.

Little Dick heard it too, he set the book down and shimmied off the chair, smiling to himself and quickly padding up to the archway.

Little Dick froze as the person turned the corner.

The older Dick Grayson's heart stopped.

That wasn't Wintergreen who turned the corner.

Deep maroon cloth, metal gold and silver accents, a sash of deadly needles crossing a broad chest. A cowl shaped oddly, like the face of an owl, two large gold circles embedded inside, that toxic yellow shining through the lenses.

It was a Talon.

And not just any Talon.

It was him.

"NO!" Dick jerked back and his hands fumbled frantically for his weapons. He flung out two daggers as he tripped backward, falling on his back as his weapons sailed right through the chest of the unphased Talon.

Dick could hardly breathe as everything around him dissolved, not registering the many shouts of alarm from the other teens. He grabbed his head with his hands, digging his fingers into his hair and putting his elbows on his knees that were splayed, curling inwards. He barely noticed the scene change, his wide eyes boring into the ground like he was petrified. His body shriveled, clenching and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

Wally noticed the world change though, he didn't realize he was using his super-speed until his eyes lifted to see a frozen scene. The speedster's body tingled with energy, his suit giving off a few stray sparks even though he was barely moving.

His eyes roamed, the new room was on fire. It wasn't the same room as the apartment they had been in, he couldn't identify the material that was set aflame but it slightly looked like metal? The figure that had terrorized Dick still stood where he was a moment ago, bathed in red hues... or was that blood...? Wally sucked in a tense breath, where Dick had crumpled there were another one of those shadowy masked guys, a clawed hand viciously gripping his small friend's shoulder. Around Dick was dark, like the shadow of the dude behind him swallowed him whole, the details thinning out. But one thing was starkly vivid.

There was a body in front of him, a body of a little boy with his eyes wide open, staring blankly, emotionlessly, dead...

And just like that, everything vanished again.

The team was in shock but judging by their expressions they hadn't seen what Wally had. And Wally had many questions, but he settled on the one everyone else would be asking.

What just happened?

This time the room faded in smaller, a box of sorts, a long brightly decorated train car. The beds were off to one side, a colorful makeshift kitchen on the other, the giant door smack dab in the middle.

But all eyes were on the fallen teenager.

"Dick?" Wally asked quietly, hesitating to go over and put a comforting hand on his back. Whatever he had just seen... it was personal... way personal. He really wanted to ask about it, but he felt like he knew what would happen if he did and he did NOT want Dick to have another panic attack.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, then the boy snapped to reality with a large intake of air through his nose, startling the speedster. Dick rubbed his face with his noticeably shaking hands, and when he spoke his voice clearly warbled though he tried to hide it. "I-I'm alright. I'm fine-I'm fine..." The raven-haired boy took a moment to look at his hand, watching it tremble with constricted pupils. "Ah, crud." He whispered with a grimace, clenching the hand and again resting his forehead on his propped fists.

"...What was that?" Artemis asked, her own wide eyes still watching the place the offending figure had stood moments before.

Dick took a few more deep breaths, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and letting the air out slowly. He was fine. Totally fine. Feeling the aster. Completely whelmed. "D-don't worry about it, i-its nothing." He shifted his legs, making to stand, but when he lost his balance he ended up just kneeling. "I'm fine."

"I apologize for being blunt my friend, but that was not nothing and you are not fine," Kaldur said, taking a step closer to the ailing teen. If they had to pin him again Kaldur would like to do it before the teen got a weapon- even if a dream weapon.

Connor's folded arms tensed, his face practically set ablaze with anger. "He said he's fine!" He snapped at the Atlantean, looking like he might punch the guy. Apparently, Connor was a firm supporter that Dick could and should do things at his own pace, even if it was admitting the obvious.

The group quieted at the clone's outburst, waiting tensely for something to happen.

Eventually, Dick let out a long drawn out breath, giving his face one last rub and started to stand. His hands were still shaking quite uncontrollably, so he folded his arms tightly around his chest, his gaze low. "N-no he's right, I'm n-not fine and that... th-that wasn't nothing." he looked up, giving everyone a short-lived weak smile. "I will be fine though."

Miss Martian had felt all his anxiety fluctuate between high to outrageously high in the past few minutes, though honestly she was surprised they weren't all kicked out when he erupted. But what had happened? Who was that?

"That wasn't Wintergreen was it?" Artemis asked, more like stated, but asked just to make sure.

Dick shook his head, his chest shuttering with a hampered breath. "N-no, no that wasn't Wintergreen." He looked to the martian, his distressed face creasing into an unreadable face of curiosity and despair. "...Why...? Why did it change? It was supposed to be Wintergreen to come around the corner..."

M'gann's hands flew to her mouth, gasping. "I'm so sorry, I should have warned you... the older the memory is the more it's solidified with false information... I'm sorry."

"So..." Dick started slowly, still trying to process the information, "in my head it's... it's... one of those who turns around the corner instead?" He asked carefully, more like testing out the idea in his head rather than asking for clarification.

She nodded and hung her head in shame. "In this case, yes. I'm sorry..."

Dick sighed again and rubbed his forehead, "It's fine M'gann, it's fine, it's not your fault. I need to not freak out so much about those guys anymore. That guy is..." he huffed, remembering he had to trust his friends. He had friends. "He's part of the people who made me... in-into a killer. I'm sorry I freaked out."

"Don't be sorry," Connor grunted, "that's stupid."

Everyone -including Dick- gave the clone a weird look.

"I mean it's not your fault either," Connor continued after the silence, "we're not upset because you're afraid of something. Everyone is afraid of something."

Dick opened his mouth to explain his situation better, it was more than being scared of something, it was being scared for everyone else because HE could be the killer anytime one of those Talons was around. But Wally beat him to it, raising a hand and speaking in complete seriousness.

"Clowns. Clowns terrify me." He stated, his face dropping like the very thought of one scared him witless. 

M'gann twisted her hands together, feeling repentant and wanting to make Dick feel better. "Martians are incredibly susceptible to heat." M'gann offered with a slight wince, it wasn't exactly what she wanted to say... "A-and even if we can shapeshift we usually have a hard time fitting in." There, that's a bit better.

Artemis was next, "My..." she bit her lip and quickly changed her sentence, perhaps a bit too quickly, but keeping the sincerity she meant. "My fear is losing my friends."

"Oh heeeeyy," Wally said cheekily towards the archer, "I'm your friend now huh? What ever happened to flaying me alive?"

"Can it Baywatch. If you so much as glance at my room with that paint can again, then all bets are off." She huffed, folding her arms and looking away to not let the speedster see the smile that was hinting on her lips. "But normally you're almost unbearable."

Aqualad shook his head at his teammate's antics, then dipped it to the troubled teen. "It may not seem like it, but everyone deals with fear. I fear I may be inadequate as a leader or a hero."

Dick just stood there, his hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically over his biceps. "Okay okay okay... jeez, you guys made your point." Dick said quickly, still not quite looking up at all of them and not sure what they were doing, or what he was saying, or anything really. He felt brain dead. "But yours seem all... beatable."

"Who ever said they had to be?" Connor rebutted rather quickly. "If I punch kryptonite, it's going to seem like it punched me. I have to have someone else help me if I ever come across it, Superman too, somethings you can't beat, and that's okay."

Dick didn't notice the tears slipping down his cheeks until he brought his hand up to itch his eyes, his hand was brought back wet and he scoffed. "T-that's nice and all..." his voice wavered and he cleared his throat a little before looking down again. "But there are w-worse things than death... and I don't want to be the cause of more... a-and s-sometimes... sometimes I don't have a choice. And when I do have a choice it's... important, and I've already made the wrong choice too many times."

"Hey," Wally said, catching everyone's attention in the thickening silence that followed. The speedster had his eyes locked onto the small acrobat, waiting until his eyes lifted too before he responded softly but strongly. "Even then, you're not going in alone."

Dick huffed, a half-sob half-laugh escaping his mouth. He rubbed his face again, not quite sure what to make of these friends, all he knew was the uncomfortably warm feeling in his chest. Then there was warmth around him, he tensed for a moment until he realized it was Connor. He was hugging him. Dick didn't even notice he came over, but now that he was there he couldn't help but lean into the hug. Then there were other arms, all around him, the entire team encircling him with their warm embrace.

So this is what Wintergreen was talking about.

When everyone broke apart Dick felt oddly energized, even though usually after something like that with Slade he felt tired and sleepy, maybe it was because he was in his head? Was it because he had friends and therefore had a different effect on his Psyche rather than a parent? Either way, he felt renewed, something he didn't even know was possible.

"Thanks, guys." He said meaningfully, looking at each team member, each friend, and finding a warm smiling face in return- even from Connor. The young mercenary slapped his gloved hands together, finding them still slightly shaking but he paid it no mind. "Now, let's find a more fun memory."

Aqualad gave him a look, "You sure you want to continue?"

Dick gave him a tired but sly smile, "Why not? I've got my friends with me."

Wally let loose a laugh and gently shoved his shoulder, "Dude what about one of your missions with Deathstroke?"

Artemis looked wary, "Well don't those involve killing?"

Dick waved her off with a knowing grin, "tsk tsk, I'm disappointed Artemis, don't you know a mercenary is a gun for hire? Me and Deathstroke have been hired for many things other than simply killing. Besides, I only kill bad guys," his smile faltered at his next phrase, "I wouldn't be me if I killed innocent people."

"So what's a mission you suggest?" Connor asked, "regardless of killing?"

Dick's smile widened, almost to sinister proportions, "Oh I've got one you guys will definitely enjoy. It's my first official mission with Deathstroke, we were hired to save Commissioner Gordon's daughter. That's right up your guys' alley!"

They seemed surprised enough, although only Artemis and Wally seemed to actually understand. "What do you mean save?" The Archer asked, "I didn't think Commissioner Gordon would stoop to hiring mercenaries, no offense, especially Deathstroke."

Dick chuckled lightly, "None taken, and no, Gordon definitely didn't hire us. It's a Gotham gang war thing, pretty complicated." He shrugged, absolutely loving how confused they were. "The point is she was in trouble and Deathstroke and I were hired to save her."

The circus boxcar started to fade away as a hazy red sky spread out above them, old Gotham buildings materializing around them. They appeared to be in an alley, one of the bigger ones with a few large dumpsters and wire fences in between buildings. It was rather dark but there was still quite enough light from the dying sun to make out some details of their new surroundings.

Dick wasn't sure anyone else noticed, but a slightly smaller version of him was sitting on one of the dumpsters, leaning against the worn brick and keeping his gaze floating around. To be honest, Dick was really surprised by the accuracy of the memory, or maybe his mind just filled in the missing spots, but he wasn't sure he remembered the blue gum that was stuck to the bottom of his shoe, or the dog that was sniffling through trash a few yards away. 

Connor and Artemis sidestepped further into the alley as a yellow car screamed past them, each watching it get farther away before turning to the group.

"That felt pretty real..." Artemis noted nervously.

"Well this is a more recent memory, so it shouldn't blow up in our faces." He grinned, then shook his head, "Actually I take that back, in my line of work almost everything likes to blow up in my face."

Dick could do this, he just had to focus on a different memory, they might have seen that Talon but they knew not to ask about it right? That's what friends do?

Kid Flash looked like he was about to ask a question, but Dick held up a silencing hand, pointing with his other and grinning maliciously.

Barbara Gordon was walking home from school, obviously because of her school uniform and backpack. Her hands held the straps near her shoulders, her sharp blue eyes up and alert and her red hair waving slightly in the wind. 

The team grew quiet, watching the girl walk closer, looking to pass the alley they were gathered in, when a familiar voice behind them made them all jump except for the grinning mercenary. 

"I would advise against taking your usual route home, Miss Gordon."

Chapter Text

"I would advise against taking your usual route home, Miss Gordon." Said the 12-year-old Dick Grayson, smugly leaning against the brick wall on top of the dumpster lid he was sitting on. Again, the older Dick Grayson noticed strange red marks on his counterpart's body, but these looked a touch faded and not so prominent. He had an idea about those, but it seemed a bit more of a private question to M'gann rather than a group.

Wait, dang it, isn't the point of this to share more with the team? Ugh, this was moving too fast, he needed to take simpler steps like just let them watch this memory play out. He could dodge questions, and if worst came to worst he could just refuse to answer.

The team split in half, Connor and Wally were with Dick on his side of the alley while Artemis, Kaldur, and M'gann shifted closer to the wall (and memory Dick's dumpster) to get out of the memory's way. They kept quiet and watched as the red-headed girl paused in her footsteps. 

Her face angled into the alley, not taking a step closer but her eyes scrutinized the younger acrobat. "And why is that?" She asked with a slight warning to her voice, clearly she was not new to Gotham's ways.

"I don't know," Dick shrugged, a small smile on his lips as he looked away to the wall across from him, uncomfortably close to where the real Dick Grayson stood. "Just a feeling. Even the most innocent of situations can go downhill in an instant."

"I'm not worried, my dad is commissioner Gordon, and he's got Batman on his side," Barbara said with a huff, trying to scare this scrawny kid away with the mention of not just her father but Batman too. Sadly she was disappointed.

"Pfft, Batman," the boy scoffed, finally looking at her with his sea-green contact lensed eyes and raised an eyebrow. "You think he's going to save you? ...At this time of day? Unlikely."

"I can take care of myself," Barbara said stiffly, tightening her grip on her backpack straps as she shuffled her feet closer together. "I'm training to get my black belt."

The smaller Grayson snickered, leaning forward to grab his ankles, cocking his head to the side mockingly. "Oooo black belt, does the color black suddenly make everyone afraid of you?"

Barbara scowled and wrinkled her nose. "It beats whatever you're wearing."

Dick sat back up, his face clearing as contemplative confusion washed over him. He picked at his red shirt, leaning down and pulling up to sniff at the fabric, his dark Renegade suit almost visible underneath. He frowned as he inhaled his own stink, a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips, "I swore I washed these last week!"

Barbara seemed to get a good look at him then, noticing his scruffy clothes that seemed pretty good for a street kid, must be a pretty good thief, but almost the same age as her. "You know there's a shelter a few streets down." She pointed as her face became more gentle, her sympathies showing in her more relaxed posture.

"Pfft, you think I'm a street kid?" Dick grinned like a shark, sliding to the edge of the dumpster and swung his legs where his green shoes banged lightly against the metal and his hands gripped the edge.

"Well, you're clearly not in school." Barbara pointed out blandly, she was being cautious, a good call in this city, one shouldn't be too friendly with strangers, especially weird kids talking about how horrible Gotham is. Nothing in Gotham can ever expect to go smoothly.

Dick's smile dropped, his head dipping to one side as he narrowed his eyes on the girl. "So just because your dad's a cop and you've got a ninja belt AND you go to school means Gotham will treat you nicely?"

"Well-"

"Renegade, don't play chicken with the clock." Deathstroke's voice suddenly blasted through the air, echoing in the small alley and startling the super teens into fighting positions.

"Was that Deathstroke?" Kid Flash blurted, wide eyes darting about like the man was right behind him.

The real Dick Grayson chuckled, "Yes that was Deathstroke," he pointed to his ear, tapping it to emphasize his point. "Comms. This is my first mission WITH Deathstroke guys, of course he's here."

Artemis gave him a raised eyebrow, "Want to translate what he just said?"

Dick's face twisted temporarily into confusion, "You mean you didn't get that? He means get moving, time is crucial in a mission like this and not something to be taken lightly."

It was Connor's turn to raise an eyebrow, "You got all of that from 'don't play chicken'?"

The young mercenary nodded, "You kinda have to read between the lines with him, he can say at least five different things with one sentence, and that's without tone as a factor."

"Impressive, my friend, that you are able to understand such confusing instructions." Kaldur said with a small respectful dip of his head, "I'm not so sure I would be as receptive to a less straightforward trainer."

"Oh there's plenty of times he's straight forward," Dick shrugged, one side of his mouth twisting up as he brought his hands up and moved his hands like he was holding a spherical object. "The entire humor category of his brain, however small it may be, is pure bluntness."

Wally blinked. "Deathstroke tells jokes?"

"Not really," the young mercenary tilted his head, hands dropping and his smile growing steadily. "But occasionally he'll drop a good pun and I'll have to hold my breath to keep from blowing my cover, but then I get to get him back later."

"You stopped breathing," Connor stated.

The team gave the clone a collective weird look, the acrobat even put a hand on his chest, frowning and mumbling 'No... I'm pretty sure I'm breathing...'

Then the Kryptonian pointed to the younger Dick Grayson, the memory was frozen. A quick observation said Barbra wasn't breathing either, the air itself even felt frozen, stifled and thick. Interesting.

"Ohhhh," Dick said, glancing at Miss Martian just to clarify if that was normal. "That's cool."

She gestured to the boy, "Well you are in charge Dick, you get to say when the memory starts and stops."

"Nice." He grinned wickedly and held up his hand as if he was holding an invisible remote. He pressed his thumb down the same moment he said "Resume."

The younger Dick Grayson lept off the trash bin and gracefully sailed through the air towards the girl, she barely had time to react when he pulled her close and deeper into the alley by her backpack. She struggled, but he had thrown her off balance, and considering she was taller than him he had to bend her backward to get a good grip- which also threw off her balance, a small win for the short mercenary. Her backpack was to his chest and he looped one arm around her throat, grabbing his other arm to hold her steady.

"One of these days a stranger is going to have their arm around your throat," He said in her ear, a look of alarm flashing across the hero's faces. "They're probably bigger than you and are dragging you towards a shady van." He began shuffling backward to emphasize his point (even if there was no shady van- at least not yet), and to get her away from the sidewalk. She writhed in his grip, gasping for air because anytime she tried to call out his grip tightened over her throat, but he made sure she still had access to air and remained cognitive.

Kaldur and Wally exchanged glances, Dick simply watched, but he did notice the look pass between them and he suddenly felt embarrassed. Dang it... why did he feel embarrassed? Well no, it wasn't exactly embarrassed, he felt fearful, ashamed. No, it was not a good idea to share his missions with heroes, he did bad things, things heroes look down on, why shouldn't they'd look down on him too. Ugh he was such an idiot... but too late, they were already watching, so he just sat and stewed in his fear, his face heating up as the memory continued.

"This is the most important moment of your entire life, if you let yourself get dragged into that car you are most likely to never see the sun again, much less your dad who is sitting uselessly at home." The 12-year-old assassin said lowly in Barbara's ear, still moving slowly backwards to keep her off balance. "Your phone is in your backpack, also useless. Ten bucks says Batman isn't coming and your black belt means nothing when fear is the only thing filling your mind, making you frantic and stupid." He spat the words out, stressing certain ones as his voice flip flopped between sincere and dangerous.

"The question is, can you keep a level head and actually figure a way out when all the cards are against you?" Dick asked, his own eyes narrowed and his tone grew darker. "Gotham isn't fair. Reality is never like practice, the real world isn't the dojo where there are mats on the ground and everyone knows the rules."

Artemis looked to the real Dick Grayson, she recognized that mantra, her father drilled a similar phrase. She had to admit, it was helpful at times. Dick himself was contemplating, he knew he hadn't said all of that, there was a different memory blending in with this one... one of him and Slade training.

"This is how I learned." He said under his breath the same time his memory self did. Slade had told him that after rushing Dick and trapping him against the ground when he complained of fairness. He didn't particularly like that memory, but he didn't dislike it either, it was just a pivotal lesson taught to him. He was well aware the heroes would probably not take that memory kindly.

Again Dick was struck with embarrassment and doubt, what good would opening up to the heroes be if they weren't okay with who he was? He felt judged, or at least he feared to be judged, but this was definitely a new feeling he'd never encountered before because Slade and Wintergreen had always taken whatever Dick was in stride.

Dick liked animal crackers? Wintergreen bought him three tubs so he could make a little animal cracker kingdom. Slade was a bit mad about the mess, but Dick rolled with it and dramatized  the calamity of Thanos' snap that crumbled half the kingdom- totally unrelated to the crumbs covering Dick head to toe, condensed on his hands and mouth, and the few on Slade's shirt.

Dick cuddled and liked to be held? Slade held no qualms with suddenly being climbed upon as long as he didn't hinder whatever he he doing beforehand. Wintergreen was less so but Dick was always able to coax the old man into at least letting him snuggle wherever he was, weather it be his lap as he read or his side as he watched the news. 

Dick had an incessant need to know where everything is? Slade let him explore and even pointed out things Dick hadn't seen. Wintergreen always made sure to know where Dick was and to make sure Dick knew where he was. Slade was less inclined in that area, but Wintergreen made up for it, and he understood Slade couldn't always break the rules for Dick. 

Dick knew how to gut a man twelve different ways and hated every one of them? Felt like a danger anytime he stepped out the apartment door? Slade taught him a new way of fighting, drilled in the more defensive moves until those were his backup moves if he ever got startled. His paranoia was quelled with the promise that Slade would keep Dick in check, he would never seek out death of an innocent person, but was assured that killing when necessary- even if it meant the guy couldn't get up again to attack his turned back- was better than the mindless slaughter the serum under his skin yearned for and would even satisfy the beast inside. He never crossed the line.

Slade just... accepted.

Heroes are all... proof this proof that, liability here liability there, make sure you do this and help out here. Hard lines between good and bad, anything with a speck of bad on it must be scrutinized and watched because who knows if they'll turn fully evil and destroy them all?

Okay yeah he was getting salty and probably unfair to his hero friends, he was just annoyed that he felt embarrassed for being himself- something he'd never been embarrassed about before. (He didn't count The Court, he was rarely truly himself there so that was a whole different ball field of guilt)

This must be how Artemis feels, he already knew her reasons for keeping her linage a secret, but now he could feel it. He did not like it one bit.

Barbara had her hands on Dick's arm, she tugged and pulled but nothing happened, she stumbled back with him while he moved, but when he stopped her foot hooked behind his. She yanked as hard as she could and felt the arm give a little, she twisted until she was almost past perpendicular to the body behind her, and threw her shoulder into the ground.

The younger Grayson was yanked forward head first, it was jarring but his hands snagged at her backpack straps. The girl, in an attempt to free herself, ditched the straps, which worked quite well for both parties. Dick held the bag close to his chest as he fell forward into a roll, landing upright on his feet while Barbara was bent over to regain her breath.

Dick waited through her coughing, grinning and holding the bag in victory when she finally looked up through her stringy red hair. "Good job, ya got me. But I got your bag!" He held the bag with one hand as he unzipped the top, filing through the stuff inside quickly.

"Ooooh! What's in heeeeere?" He grinned devilishly, pulling up a workbook, "Math homework?" He took a good look at it and his face dropped the evil look, feigning enthusiasm that might not all been feigned. "Oh what math are you on? This looks like algebra!"

Barbra huffed, standing up on her own and taking a powerful step forward, crouched in an admittedly well-formed standing base and pointing angrily at the boy holding her bag hostage. "Give it back you little twerp!"

Dick's face changed once again, a mirthful look covering his features. "Name-calling are we?" He zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulders, rocking on his feet as an absolute mad grin spread across his face. "Alright carrot top! Let's play!"

He didn't wait for her response, he turned and bolted down the alleyway, leaving an echoing cackle in his wake.

"Hey-!" Barbara called out behind him, "Where are you going?! Come back!" Her hands were in fists at her sides, she looked back to the nice and sunny sidewalk- clearly debating on abandoning her bag to the boy, but her face twisted and growled angrily in the back of her throat, running after the kid.

Kid Flash was startled by the sudden running, he turned to the young mercenary in charge of the memory. "Wait did you actually steal her backpack? I thought this was a rescue mission?"

"I was distracting her," Dick said, jabbing a thumb at the white van that pulled onto the curb of the now-empty alley. "Luring her away from the guys who wanted her." His face had finally gone down in temperature, sorta, he then pushed off the wall and started running, throwing his voice behind him, "Now come on! We have to follow!"

The team started running too, or flying in M'gann's case, falling in behind the leading mercenary. 

"Can't you just fast forward to the next spot?" Wally called, running at a normal pace because if he sped forward he'd have no guide and no idea what to do.

Dick's cackle filled the air, "What? You can't run a few blocks?" He followed Barbara who used some stacked boxes to vault over a high wire fence, "Besides! You won't feel the thrill of the chase if we just stand around watching!"

The older Dick Grayson caught up and passed Barbara, not that she would know or care, but it surprised him to find Artemis running up next to him.

She was huffing and her arms pounded at her sides, her giant bush of yellow hair swaying behind her. She looked to want a conversation though, for reasons unknown to Dick, but he obliged and didn't pull ahead as he knows he totally could.

"You know..." she started rather quietly, apparently this was not a conversation for all ears, instantly making Dick curious. "I can tell how hard it is for you to share." The duo vaulted over some trash cans, taking a look back to see Wally and Kaldur seemed to be chatting too, Miss Martian was above Barbara and Connor was in front of Wally and Kaldur.

Dick didn't know how to respond to that though, so he just scowled and kept on running, taking a high road over some trash and flipping back down into the alley. She fell behind when the younger Dick Grayson disappeared between two buildings, it was a particularly small crevice and it was surprising the younger Grayson could go through it so fast, the older Grayson following suit. She scrambled out of the claustrophobic alley- more like walkway- and quickly jogged up to him again.

"We've already accepted you this far Dick, you don't have to worry." He caught her gaze and suddenly Dick couldn't seem to look away. "I doubt there's anything you could reveal that'll make us not be your friend." She looked away and shrugged, well, shrugged as well as one can while running. "Unless you're a pedophile or something like that. You aren't a pedophile are you?"

Dick shouted indignantly, feeling a lump of coal burn in his gut. "Of course not!" He barked. No, he was the victim of pedophilia, no way would he ever want to come close to anything resembling it, not even The Court's puppet juice could make him do anything like that.

"Relax! I'm joking." Artemis said with a small smile, "You don't have to worry, didn't we just go over this with the weird assassin guy from earlier? I know my team, we're a bunch of teenagers, when we get attached to something, not even the adults can stop us. That's how this team was made anyway, and it might be a bit early to say this... but I'd probably fight against the Justice League for you." Well when she phrased it that way it sounded like it was his plan to get in the team, gain their trust, and make them fight the JL. But none of this was his idea, it made him nervous to think that's what he had to do because he really didn't want to do that. Who knew what he was supposed to be doing here, definitely not him, it made his insides writhe just thinking about it. "I mean, if you have probable cause, of course. I wouldn't BLINDLY follow you..." She was fumbling now, realizing what she said did sound funky. "I just mean to say that I trust you."

Dick just stared, barely recognizing the warm feeling rising in his chest and the weight that also lifted off of it. "Thanks...?"

If either of them were planning to say anything else it was interrupted, as the younger Dick Grayson called back to the lagging Barbara. "Come on Ginger! I know a shortcut to your house!"

They weren't too far away from each other, Dick had wanted her to follow so of course he was holding back. Barbra was winded though, gallivanting through Gotham's allies was not one of her hobbies. (Yet)

She struggled through the crevice, taking a sharp turn to finally catch up to the younger kid, panting with exertion. "You... you know where I live?"

He let loose another chilling cackle, using a fire escape to swing himself over some obstacle. "I know where everyone lives!" He yelled back, twisting down a different alley while Barbara and the heroes trailed behind.

It wasn't too long before the younger Grayson stopped, he was at the mouth of an alley, standing next to another big dumpster with the girl's backpack in hand. He didn't look when she approached, the heroes caught up quickly too and watched the proceeding confrontation.

"Alright, your house is just two blocks away." Dick said, setting the backpack down and throwing the girl a grin, "Think you and your big shot black belt can make it?"

Barbara grabbed her backpack quickly and slung it over her shoulders, warily keeping a calculating eye on the younger teen. "Why do you care?" She huffed, annoyed and curious, it was not lost on her that he had led her home through back allies and lots of running.

"Good question," Dick pointed out, leaning back into the dumpster and putting his hands on the lip. The lid was open so when he pushed himself to sit on top he sat precariously on the edge as to not fall to either side.

"One you're not going to answer," Barbara said flatly and sighed turning away and started walking to the open sidewalk. "Fine, I'll just go then, weirdo."

Dick gasped dramatically, putting a hand to his chest as if he was hurt. "Weirdo!? Excuse me but we've met! You shared your personal math book with me!"

Barbara rounded on him, "you tried to choke me!"

"I was just giving you experience," Dick responded with a shrug, still wearing that goofy grin. "You can't keep the weirdos away if you're all bark and no bite."

"Who ARE you?" She exclaimed frustratingly. The real Dick Grayson smiled, she was always on the right track and knew exactly what questions to ask. It was obvious she was smart, smarter than most 15-year-olds, but it amused him how close she was yet so far, she just needed a little shove in the right direction. But in the proceeding silence, she continued. "No random kid knows Gotham THAT well to know where EVERYONE lives! And you basically had me chase you to MY home and started choking me just so I could have experience?!"

The younger mercenary's grin grew shark-like. "Yeah, pretty much. The name's Robin." He gave her a two-fingered salute with his toothy grin.

She growled in frustration and stomped over, "Just stay away from me!" She shoved him hard in the chest and he let her do it, falling back into the trash in the dumpster with a playful yelp as he landed in the trash. She stormed away but the shove rocked the dumpster, making the lid fall over the younger mercenary.

"Is that it?" Kid Flash asked, looking between the retreating Barbara and his friend.

The real Dick Grayson only chuckled darkly. "Not even close."

As soon as those words left his mouth a black van pulled up in front of Barbara, making her jump in surprise and confusion. The back opened up and three heavily armed men poured out, all of them falling on the girl within seconds.

Dick had to give the heroes credit, they had good reaction time.

Superboy made the first move as the rest of the teens cried out, launching himself forwards to punch one of the males. Instead, he fell right through, hitting the ground hard where a crater should have been created, but there wasn't. Artemis has also fired an arrow, but again it went through the people like a hologram, the arrow itself disappeared from existence. Aqualad went forward with his water sword but paused when he saw his teammate's failed attempts, stopping to look at the resident martian.

"Dick?" Kid Flash prompted, anxiously watching as the redheaded girl was manhandled upright, an arm around her throat another around her mouth as she was being hauled into the back of the van.

"Yeah, I'm not proud of this moment." The mercenary said while shifting his feet uncomfortably.

Everyone's attention was diverted to the dumpster where the younger version of Dick laid, they heard the boy chuckle in the echo-y confines, then the lid lifted up to reveal a smiling Dick Grayson.

His face then promptly dropped, seeing the van and the missing girl.

"Rahat." (Crap) he hissed, launching himself out of the dumpster and throwing his shirt off. Underneath was his Renegade suit, he also pulled down his pants and green shoes, reaching for his belt for two disks. His other hand slipped his mask onto his face, the white lenses narrowed into a scowl, angry at the situation and himself.

"They got her, I'm in pursuit." He grumbled into his comms. He threw the disks onto the ground, running forward with socked feet until he stepped on the disks, and as he continued to run the metal boots unfolded and surrounded his feet.

"Whoa! I gotta get me some of those!" Wally exclaimed, wide-eyed at the display of technology.

"Well I'm sure I could show you but Batman took all my stuff," Dick said nonchalantly, shrugging and smirking at the salt in his voice.

Then Deathstroke's voice crackled through the air, "Adapt my apprentice. This is not the first nor the last time a plan will go awry, skill is being able to improvise and still come out on top."

"Would have been easier though if I kept her from getting caught in the first place." He grumbled, running up and using the wall to jump high onto the van who was pulling out of the alley.

Then it noticeably slowed, Renegade froze in midair with a soured look on his face. The pause made the heroes look towards their version of the little mercenary in question.

"Come on," the real Dick Grayson said, running after the van with his heroes in tow, "I think I can slow them down so we don't have to run so much."

"Here," Miss Martian said, motioning with her outstretched hands, her eyes glowing an eerie green once more.

The team started to float, the non-metas slightly yelping and wobbling as they were not accustomed to random telekinetic magic controlling gravity's effect on them. Dick especially didn't like it, but after the initial shock and mental calm down, he started to like it. His eyes were wide as he saw the ground far below, he was actually flying!

When he looked up he couldn't help a chuckle because Artemis was holding onto her bow like it would ground her, she was slightly curled into a ball in the air, eyes screwed tightly shut. Kaldur looked disoriented but looked to be over it and focused on the rest of them. Superboy was the least affected, Dick assumed he had needed airborne help before and therefore this was nothing new. Wally was flailing about, red-faced and trying not to yelp.

"Erm, Wally I'm carrying you, you don't have to do anything," M'gann said and Dick full-out laughed as Kid Flash was trying to move in the air, swimming fruitlessly. "This will be easier... If that's okay Dick."

The young mercenary was unable to wipe the grin off his face, he gave her a thumbs-up as his eyes stayed on the exasperated speedster. "No this is totally asterous."

"Artemis it's okay, I'm holding you, you won't fall." The martian said after a second, realizing Artemis was still in a slight fetal position.

The archer slowly unclenched, testing her movement and looking quite panicked. She and Wally both looked out of their element, and rightly so, but Dick couldn't help a jibe.

"Come on guys! Get traught! This is easy!" He chuckled midair, slightly floating backward before he went too far back and did a summer salt in the air. He steadied himself after his laughter was cut off, he hadn't meant to do that, but hey, they didn't need to know that.

"N-no I'm good! I'm great!" Wally shouted, arms windmilling again as he careened forwards. "Everything is fiiiiiine!"

"Miss Martian, perhaps you could-?" Aqualad started, but she was already moving, sighing and shaking her head as her arm extended to the speedster and Artemis to steady them.

"Let's get going." Superboy huffed, eyes down towards the event that had stopped below them. The aerial view was nice.

"Yeah! We're burning daylight!" Dick pipped up, grinning still as the struggling heroes continued to... yeah, struggle.

"You froze the memory." Wally countered, eyes down on the ground he wished his feet were on.

"Psh that's details, I don't want to be stuck in my head all day." He replied even though he had no idea if that's how this Martian mind magic even worked. Was time passing? We're they doing things in his head super fast? He had no clue but decided not to dwell on it, too complicated and he didn't care much to find out. He was much more focused on what was happening at the moment and much less on the logic of what was happening at the moment.

The frozen Renegade started again, flying through the air, arching high and landing on the side edge of the speeding van. The younger boy stumbled, the van was moving quite fast now and was entering traffic, he was thrown off the ledge and he slid towards the back. Quickly activating the magnets on his glove, he slapped his hand onto the roof, his feet scrambling for the bumper. He grit his teeth as he settled, lifting his legs to press perpendicular to the back door, leaning back and settling solidly there.

He shifted his weight and drew his arm back, the heroes all watched as Renegade threw a punch into the van, going clean through the metal.

"No way." Wally looked up to the real Dick, "You totally did not just punch through a van."

The mercenary grinned, "Sadly no, I'm pretty sure this was part of a dream I had."

"You dream about your missions?" Superboy asked.

Dick shrugged, "Well its the first one, I was excited." His gaze grew glassy and distant. "It was a weird dream..."

Then an odd thing happened that everyone present could only describe as 'rewinding'. The frozen scene went backward, the van mended itself as the fist drew back again, rewinding all the way until Renegade first activated his magnetic glove.

It started up again, this time Renegade crawled upwards onto the roof of the black van, laying almost flat against it. With one hand magnetically holding him into place he looked down to get a stick-like cylindrical device from his belt. The wind pelted his hair, making it hard to see and his breath left him as soon as he drew in. The van was going incredibly fast, or maybe it was Miss Martians' flying... In any case, he placed one end of the cylinder above him where out of the top a thin canopy exploded from. The wind pulled the thin film back, covering the mercenary and vanishing him from sight.

"Dude your stuff is so cool!" Wally said, eyes bugged on the shimmery surface of the cloaked assassin, "Where do you get this stuff!?"

Dick smiled warmly as he continued to watch below. "Deathstroke designed most of this stuff, I even used canopy the other day. There's a setting on it that solidifies it and makes it bulletproof."

"Why do the bad guys always get the cool stuff," Wally complained, folding his arms and watching ruefully. Then he paused, "Not that you're bad, I just mean-"

Dick chuckled, "Come to the dark side Wally, we have the cool gadgets the hero's can only dream of having."

Wally laughed too but then flattened his tone, and even then Dick could hear the fascinated desperation in the crevices. "Okay, but seriously, how?"

The young mercenary just shook his head with a little huff, "Why do you think the bad guys have it? We don't own these things, we're bad because we steal them."

"Oh," he sounded sad, but then burst forward with new questions and hope. "But who manufactures? Who sells these things? I wanna buy one!"

"Mostly the military." Dick shrugged nonchalantly. "Sometimes we do buy them actually, depending on Slade's mood."

"What? Deathstroke can get lazy?" Superboy asked, Dick might have taken offense to this but the curiosity in the clone's voice was too genuine.

The acrobat shook his head, "Strategic. He was in the military once, he knows how these things work. You don't want to make enemies with the guy you're stealing atomic bombs from because then they'll just bomb you and then you'd be dead."

The teens just looked at him.

"Well that's... literal," Artemis said in the proceeding silence.

"I like to live in the moment," Dick said offhandedly. "And right now is about the time we should pay attention."

The van pulled off the road, turning into a rougher part of Gotham where the grime was extra grimy and basically everyone was either homeless or in a gang, mostly both actually. It was interesting to see the world as a memory though, it felt pretty real, even the half-foot deep pothole the van hit sounded like it nearly broke the wheel. The black van entered a gated warehouse, part of the industrial era of Gotham that never really left, just got old and repurposed. This one was abandoned, windows were broken and the roof seemed to be caving in, the heavy bricks looked sturdy enough though.

Renegade shifted under the cloaking device, grabbing from his belt a small grapple gun. He sat up and grabbed the cylinder, the silky covering retracted quickly and quietly, condensing back into the short staff. He aimed his grapple and shot straight up, lifting off the van as it disappeared into the commercial truck entrance. Out of his boots came sharp knife-like metal and he dug his feet into the brick, creating his own foot holds while out of his wrists came palm spikes with the same purpose. Renegade climbed the brick surface, fast and methodical, undeniably he must have trained well for this to be that agile.

He crawled up until the top floor, slipping in silently as the metal spikes on his extremities retracted.

The team was placed inside as well, phasing through the wall with some martian density shifting, most of them glad to be on their feet again.

"I'm getting into position," Renegade whispered into his comms as he sleuthed through the upper levels. He was in an office-like room at the moment, he quickly drew up his hologlove, finding a map of the area and all the heat signatures that revealed a heavily armed man. He paused before exiting the room, keeping to the edges and ducking into the shadows. The team followed, feeling the need to also sneak around even if it was pointless because they were invisible and it was just a memory.

Renegade found the opening to the main part of the warehouse, a big giant room where the machines would do their work and the people would help manufacture. The machines were all there (he wasn't sure their purpose yet, but he suspected it had something to do with metal) (and, ya know, not all the details stayed with him) but were pushed to the side, creating a path from the commercial truck entrance to the more office-like area of the building. There was plenty of space for hiding though, men were posted at intervals, every other machine on both sides, and above there was only four men on the crosswalks. With such a high-ranking prisoner they wanted to be ready for anything, including the Bat himself.

It would be useless though, idiots. They wouldn't be looking for anything small, which was exactly why Deathstroke decided this be his first mission.

"Remember your objective." Deathstroke's voice growled through the air.

The younger mercenary's mouth twitched as he ducked behind a rafter to elude a passing guard, "Affirmative." He quickly dashed to the side, watching the dark van pull in and slow deep in the innards of the warehouse. Smart, she wouldn't know where she is and wouldn't be able to breach the building before she got caught if she tried to run. That was also assuming Barbara could escape her captors, which judging by the rope around her wrists and the gag on her mouth as she was pulled roughly from the back of the van he assumed would not be anytime soon. "I've got eyes on the prize," he mumbled.

Her backpack was gone he realized, and she was struggling when she should have stopped to at least save her energy. The men were escorting her, four of them marching her down the cleared way and towards the office area Renegade had just left.

The younger mercenary slithered off to the side, ducking back behind all the men and inching around at the same pace as the walking men, he couldn't hear much from this high up but he was pretty sure they weren't even talking. How ominous. Dick could almost feel the musty air, the dust as he breathed in, but it was just a memory.

Barbara was struggling still, yanking on her bonds and the hands on her shoulders and arms. Renegade watched with a hint of disappointment and worry, if she didn't stop struggling soon the goons would get annoyed and make sure she stopped, which usually included— Barbara grunted and doubled over as a fist buried itself in her gut. Renegade and Dick winced. Yeah, that.

Renegade's hand went up to his ear, tapping the comm, "How are things going on your end?"

"Are you honestly bored Renegade? Focus." Deathstroke's voice responded lowly. Renegade smirked as he heard the exasperation in his tone, Dick did as well. "On your left."

Renegade didn't react, instead shifting ever so slightly around the pillar he was behind to the side as a guard stomped past right where he'd been hiding moments before.

"I have incoming. They're expecting something big." Deathstroke continued, "Make sure they stay that way."

"Yessir-iebob." Renegade breathed, watching the back of the goon continue his patrol along the catwalk.

"Renegade." The older mercenary reprimanded.

"What? I acknowledged orders." Renegade pointed out lightheartedly, whispering in the air between smiling lips.

"William was never this talkative during a mission." He grumbled, more of a complaint. Renegade quickly covered his mouth with both hands to keep from laughing aloud, lensed eyes crinkling and shaking quietly. "You're up, apprentice." Deathstroke's voice grunted deeply.

"On it," Renegade smirked, releasing his mouth and no longer in danger of laughing out loud. He lifted himself from a crouch, but then he paused and Dick felt something odd. He had no clue as to what it was but it was deeply unsettling, like he was being watched. Then slowly, carefully in an absolute dead silence, Renegade twisted around. His masked eyes danced thoroughly over the team, his face seemed to be made of stone as he went through the line, the feeling of something being just horribly wrong settled in their stomachs. Renegade's eyes settled on Dick.

"Something isn't right." The younger Grayson said without emotion, eyes completely locked on the older boy. Somehow, someway, Dick felt like he was looking at a Talon.

Before Dick could respond or even register HOW the memory was talking and acknowledging his presence, he vanished, swiped away like a fog that dissipated into the air.

"Uh..." Wally spoke Dick's confusion and slight terror, that WASN'T supposed to happen. Dick looked first to Miss Martian, hoping for an explanation but he got distracted when he found a detail below that wasn't supposed to be there.

The men below had multiplied, even more heavily armed, and looked nothing like the kidnappers. Even the building had changed slightly, there were large boxes instead of machines, metal warehouse walls instead of the brick factory.

"We've switched memories." Dick realized quietly, leaning forward to grab the rail that was now there instead of the pillar.

That's when a few of the armored men looked up, straight at Dick, and shouted an alarm. Dick was yanked back by Conner when the rail exploded with the spray of bullets.

"What? How can they see us? This isn't supposed to be real!" Wally exclaimed, wide-eyed and fidgeting as Dick scrambled to his feet, looking equally alarmed.

"I don't know," The young mercenary huffed breathlessly, wide eyes still locked on the rail and chest heaving.

The sound of pounding feet against the metal catwalk jolted Dick out of his slight shock, a line of men coming straight at them from either side. "Move!" he shouted, pushing himself up from the ground to grab the rail again and launched himself over. As he fell his hand went to his belt where he grabbed the retractable and adhesive center, he slapped the grapple against the metal, not even grunting when he cut the line short and pulled taunt. He used his momentum to swing tightly under the metal walkway, going up and around to slam the first man off the catwalk with his straightened legs. He seemed to be on autopilot when he landed in a crouch and surged forward to push up the gun of the next man and nerve strike him in the neck, smoothly sliding into the next man's guard to swiftly take him out with a leg sweep.

On the other side Connor was making quick work of the other line while Artemis was shooting down into the fray below, only to jerk back when she got return—bullet— fire.

"This is feeling vary real!" She shouted, her voice border lining on frantic as she stared at a graze on her arm that began to seep.

"Dick, you're in charge here do something!" Wally said, crouched low and very unsure of himself, he didn't have room to move around and it was very concerning to see his smaller friend take down those men three times his size. Not to mention Artemis got grazed, and oh, I don't know, THEY WERE BEING ATTACKED IN A MEMORY???

Dick finished off the last guy on his side with a bone-breaking punch, letting the man slump as he turned to his friends. Despite his decisive fighting, his voice shook and his hands flew around in a panic. "I-I don't know what's going on! I can't stop it! I can't stop-!" His frantic exclamations was interrupted by an explosion from the roof, the team collectively flinching as metal shards and embers rained down on them.

"Miss Martian do you have any control?" Aqualad asked as he stood up first, his drawn water bearers tight in his grip. The Martian looked to be trying, her eyes screwed shut and hands on her temples, but she was on the ground hunched over, clearly in no position to respond.

"I can't- I don't-" Dick muttered breathlessly as he continued to huddle where he ducked from the explosion, hands gripping his hair as his eyes stared wide and stared at the ground. "I cant- I can't- I can't-"

"Hey!" Conner took his shoulders, slightly shaking the boy to get his attention. Dick looked up, revealing the tear streaks on his cheeks and red runny nose, his hands were no longer on his head but dangling limply as the Kryptonian held his upper arms. "It doesn't matter what you can't do, we can get out of here and everything will be fine because this is all in your head. But you need to tell us what memory this is and how it ends."

The Romanian boy just stared for a moment, a very short moment because another explosion rocked the catwalk.

"Dick." Connor reminded him, reclaiming the shaky boy's focus with his eyes.

"T-this is a failed mission..." Dick stuttered out, taking in deeper breaths as he looked around. Sensing the need, Superboy released him, standing up as Dick wobbled to his feet. "It hadn't gone to plan, we miscalculated and Deathstroke-" His eyes widened as he gripped the rail for balance, he looked to the team, "Survive, all we have to do is survive until Sl-Deathstroke gets here, but we really shouldn't stay here."

"Alright, how do we do that?" Wally asked, still wide-eyed and had his hand on Artemis's back while she shielded her arm.

"We just need to keep moving, and stay away from the boxes in the center of the room, defeat anyone in our way." Dick recited, turning around and digging in his belt. He threw out two disks, slicing the wires keeping the catwalk up and let himself grin as the metal walkway dipped and became a slide. He heard the others behind him but didn't look back, it was not in his nature. Dick landed in a run, assessing paths and damage and goons all at once to determine the path of least resistance to anywhere else.

He took a few daggers from his belt and launched them into the legs of oncoming men, yanking the gun out of one man's hand and punching him in the face when he rounded the corner behind some crates. Fire started to build and when he did look back he saw Connor helping along a barely conscious M'gann and Artemis covering their rear. Wally was zooming around, dodging bullets and de-arming the ones closest to them, but even without their guns the men ran towards them with guttural war cries.

Dick leaped up and neatly wrapped his legs around a man's head, yanking them to the ground and the impact knocked them out with a sickening 'thunk'. He went into a handstand and twisted his legs around, kicking the next oncoming goon and launching himself up and over to land a boot in their face, kicking off to body slam the goon behind him and sending both to the ground and depositing himself neatly on his feet after flipping off.

The young mercenary started to run again, sending two disks onto nearby boxes as the rest of the team ran in behind him. Dick was doing a mental headcount, but one fiery head was missing. "Wally?!" Dick shouted, concerned because he knew they were running out of time. The speedster appeared in a flash of yellow, hunched over with his hands on his knees and breathing heavily.

"Why am I... so tired?" He asked between breaths, finally standing up straight with an exhausted expression.

"I don't know," Dick said, frowning because he was really starting to hate those words in that particular order. He detonated the disks and the explosion brought down crates and pillars across the way they entered, sighing to himself as finally they were relatively safe. "We should be good here, Deathstroke should be here any second."

"He's going to kill these guys isn't he?" Artemis asked, clutching her wounded arm with no apparent anxiety, but her grip was tight and he could see right through it.

"Technically, he already has." Dick's face twisted, shrugging with one shoulder. "Also considering this is a memory I have no idea how killing even works, so uh, try not to die?"

"Great," Wally said, halfheartedly lifting a fist into the air that didn't even make it over his head. "Trying not to die, my favorite pass time."

At that exact moment, four armored men appeared on either side of the team, if they were hiding in shadows or came down form the ceiling or even just APPEARED out of mist Dick would never know, there was no time to find out because the team was immediately under heavy fire. Wally was gone in a flash as everyone else did evasive maneuvers and Superboy became a human shield for the incapacitated martian. Dick launched himself at the closest man, using a nearby box to help him up and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wally disarming most of the men.

That was when a fist landed itself in Wally's gut, a kick to his side sending him to the floor, Dick felt his heart flutter anxiously as the man lowered the muzzle of his gun at his dazed friend's head. Artemis was busy fighting hand to hand with her own opponent, Aqualad similarly in a pickle, and Superboy was now huddled over Mg'ann. Dick himself saw no way to finish his own fight and get there in time.

Turns out he didn't have to, because a familiar flash of gray and orange completely demolished the man standing over his friend. The man, now headless, was thrown onto Artemis's opponent, the girl startled and jumped back at the sight alone. The orange-clad mercenary jerked the butt of his katana on Aqualad's opponent's chin, his other katana slicing quickly and smoothly through the man's middle, leaving him spluttering on the ground.

Dick couldn't help the grin as he kicked his own opponent towards the man, two sword points sprouting from the man's chest as his face twisted in agony. Deathstroke lifted the man with his swords, throwing him off onto other men.

"Status?" Deathstroke asked clearly, standing in front of his apprentice quite solidly as blood dripped down from his blades.

Dick was thrown for a loop and he froze. Deathstroke was taking to HIM, like the Renegade memory had. The first time Deathstroke was speaking to him since the roof.

"Uhh..." Dick couldn't find anything more intelligent to say. This man had given him away to the people he feared, leaving him high and dry like the crunch of his parent's bodies on the floor.

But this wasn't HIS Deathstroke, it wasn't his Slade, this was just a memory, what was he supposed to say? He didn't remember this memory THAT well.

The rest of the team was frozen as well, staring at the master and apprentice, watching the younger quail and flounder under the mercenary's solid gaze. Dick took in a deep breath to speak, his body feeling tingly and not in a fun way.

His chance was cut off at the sound of a bazooka being fired somewhere to their right.

Dick's eyes didn't close, and in fact, widened as the warhead collided with Deathstroke. The man swept off his feet and hurtled into the broken crates Dick had destroyed to seal them against the bad guys. The resounding explosion rocked the ground, sending the teens to the floor with various grunts and yelps finally dislodging the young acrobat's gaze. Dick scrambled to his feet first, absentmindedly surprised to find his ears were actually ringing, this was definitely more real than should be allowed. Deathstroke laid limp in the splinters, smoke curling off his metal suit, and his chest seemed torn open. A direct hit in the chest from a bazooka definitely would have killed a normal man, and actually did kill the old mercenary.

Dick raced to his mentor's side, only to pause a few feet away, staring at the 'dead' form of Slade. He remembered this night, especially this part, quite well. He remembered his pounding heart as he dug through the debris to get to his fallen mentor, the silence as he came upon his morbidly still form. His shaking hands had reached out, eyes wide and uncomprehending, scared, and even angry.

Wally put a hand on his shoulder, Dick didn't exactly know when that happened but he just continued to stare, his mouth running quietly. "Deathstroke died in this mission."

He didn't see it, but he could feel the confusion rolling off the speedster next to him, "But isn't he-?"

"Slade is somewhat immortal," Dick said, probably louder than he should have, maybe to remind himself. "He can get hurt, he can die, but he comes back every time. A bazooka to the chest would stop his heart, but not permanently. You would need a lot more permanent way to actually kill Deathstroke."

Wally went silent, the rest of the team finally getting their bearings and getting up next to the young mercenary. True to his word, Deathstroke did get up, he tossed off pieces of wood and again stood in front of Dick.

"I believe Ms. Gordon still needs your help," Deathstroke said, then his head angled down and his voice lowered in a way Dick knew he did when he was trying to unnerve his enemies with a simple condescending phrase. "Just as you need mine."

It usually worked too, and with those words, it definitely worked on Dick. Deathstroke never said that in this mission, and every time a memory spoke to him outside of the actual memory Dick got the distinct vibe of a Talon. That wasn't asterous at all. 

Miss Martian yelled from her position, Connor was helping her stand but now she stood alone, a hand outstretched towards Deathstroke with her eyes completely green.

The world started to spin and Deathstroke went away, gone in a mist as vertigo clutched at the teens. Dick closed his eyes to swallow the bile and he felt Wally's hand on his shoulder tighten. When the world stopped spinning M'gann dropped to her knees, breathing heavily but clearly awake and cognitive.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, "I-I tried to get us out of there as fast as I could."

Connor had lowered with her, an arm around her shoulders and he looked up to Dick, an odd expression on his face the young mercenary was too tired to decipher.

"No," Dick said, taking another deep breath to settle his fried nerves. "This one is on me, I... I lost control or something, I'm sorry, you guys shouldn't have gone through that." The hand on his shoulder felt nice, and he mourned its loss when it went away.

"Hey, it's fine, near-death experiences are pretty commonplace in the hero business," Wally said, but even to his own ears he sounded rattled. "But uh... what exactly happened?"

Miss Martian rose once more, rubbing her forehead with a grimace. "His subconscious was fighting us, it knew we were foreign even when we had permission and it really wanted us out." She turned to the spooked mercenary, something like awe in her tired voice. "Dick, your mental walls are incredible. Your subconscious has amazing control. We wouldn't have gotten in at all if you hadn't invited us in."

"Oh..." Dick said, glad it was explained, sad his subconscious didn't like his friends, but none the less relieved it wasn't an... outside force... "Sorry about that, I should have warned you then, I don't exactly have good experiences with..." He looked down as he searched for the right word, feeling a touch cold and heavy. "Mind games."

Wally looked like he was about to say something when Artemis started shouting, turning her wild eyes to her teammates. "Is no one going to acknowledge that Deathstroke absolutely slaughtered those men?!"

Dick's face twisted, folding his arms and feeling rather defensive. Wasn't this the same girl who said there was nothing he could show them that would dissuade them from being his friend? "What were you expecting? He's a mercenary." Then again she was talking about Slade, not him, he could live with that.

Aqualad put his hand on the archer's shoulder to calm her, glancing at Dick before speaking. "It is of no consequence now, as Dick mentioned earlier, it is the past."

"Uh, guys? We're still in a memory." Wally's words pulled the team's attention to where exactly they were.

They were back in the factory, it was gray here rather than red, and Barbara was tied to a chair in the center of the room. The room itself was rather open, a stupid decision on any kidnappers part, there were many broken windows that lead to other rooms, plenty of hiding places. Dick watched as Renegade paid them no mind, scuttling lowly across under broken glass and settled to where he could see Barbara. The girl looked scared, but not hysterical like he'd seen most kidnapping victims, she was breathing heavily through her nose and gagged mouth, eyes searching for a way out as she twisted her binds to try and find a way to break free. Her ankles were tied to the chair legs though, her wrists together behind her and even her torso to the back of the chair, she was getting nowhere fast. Two men were guarding her door, one was inside and a few were patrolling the mass of conference rooms and offices.

"Engage." Deathstroke's voice crackled the air and Renegade shot off like a bullet.

He was silent though, barely making a sound as he launched himself up and tackled the single man in the room with barely a thud of his fists to his neck and carefully set the man down. Barbara was wide-eyed and her breathing picked up as Renegade slipped closer. He raised his hands in a placating manor, his voice barely a whisper when he said, "It's okay, I'm here to help."

She seemed alright with this as he slipped out a dagger and cut the gag off, tossing it to the floor and putting a finger to his lips in an obvious order of silence. She didn't need any verbal reinforcement as she nodded, eyes scrutinizing his features as he knew she surely recognized him. He made quick work of her binds and helped her up, leading her to the door where he motioned for her to stay.

Renegade simply walked out the door and Barbara flinched as two thumps signaled her captors were taken down. The younger mercenary popped his head back in from the doorway and motioned to follow, in which she did with wide eyes. The team glanced at one another before shrugging and following, M'gann saying she was fine enough to walk much to Connor's chagrin. They got pretty far before needing to hide, they were almost to their destination (a window) when he took her hand to duck behind a wall, pulling her along as a guard's feet thumped past them, going towards the sudden sound of far away gunfire and yells of angry men.

After a few seconds, he bolted, nearly yanking Barbara along, when they finally got to the window.

Renegade was busy tugging at his grapple gun, perching on the sill and motioned for Barbara to come closer.

"You're that kid, Robin, from the streets," Barbara said quietly, daring to speak even though he had said to keep silent, but considering most of the danger had passed (thanks to a Deathstroke diversion) he grinned and shrugged along.

"Not from the streets," he said sternly while his smile said he was joking, "and my name is Renegade."

Barbara looked at him warily, nearly leaning away from the boy. "Neither of those are your real name are they?"

Renegade shrugged again, "The apprentice of Deathstroke can't go around as 'John Doe' can he? That's a terrible name. Unless your name is something cool like Percy Jackson or something."

Barbara did back away this time, raising her hands to ward him off as she spoke rapidly, "Wait wait wait, Deathstroke?! Deathstroke is here? You're his... apprentice?! But you're like.. ten!"

Dick's face soured good-naturedly, putting his fists on his hips even though he was crouched and it probably looked odd. "I'm twelve! And yeah, the only reason you're alive right now is because Deathstroke was hired to protect you, so let's get out of here." He smiled again, trying to get the girl to cooperate was harder than he thought as an apprentice of Deathstroke, that's why most times he didn't introduce himself to victims they were paid to save. "I can take you home," He couldn't help a mirthful smirk, "I do know where it is after all."

"That..." Barbara took a deep breath and seemed to deflate with it, keeping her eyes on the young mercenary. "...actually makes a lot of sense."

"Yeah," he said, noting how exhausted she looked, not surprising since kidnapping is rather traumatic and tiring. "Let's just get you home."

"Right..." She still seemed to be contemplating, but Renegade motioned again for her to come forward. It was a tad awkward, but Renegade gripped Barbara tight and shot off the grapple gun, swinging them away from the dangerous factory.

Dick let out a breath that puffed out his cheeks, looking almost nervous as his head nodded slightly. "Yeah, we can just skip to the good part now." No one made any objections as the world spun again, landing them in a small bedroom in a townhouse.

Barbara was standing in her room, Renegade was in front of her right beside the open window, looking rather cheeky.

"So I'm safe? Why were they after me? Why were you hired to save me?" She asked, her hands moving around more expressively since she was in a more comfortable environment.

Renegade gave her a layered smile, he probably shouldn't answer most of those, but he ducked his head and relented. "Yeah, its just a gang war thing, kinda complicated but the point is someone wanted you dead and someone else didn't, the guy who didn't hired us to make sure you didn't die. We'll probably be watching you for another week but nothing like this should happen again."

"So... I'll see you around?" Barbara asked uncertainly, confused about how she should respond to that.

Renegade chuckled, folding his arms, "No, you won't see us, but we'll be there and we'll be watching."

"You really are a stalker." She grumbled, "and I thought Batman was creepy..."

Renegade lit up like a Christmas tree, nearly jumping on his feet. "Hey, that's right! No Batman!" He placed out his hand with a crap eating grin, "Fork it up."

Barbara looked almost offended, "What?"

Renegade's elated mannerisms didn't waver, in fact he shifted almost happily, "Earlier I said ten bucks-"

"Renegade."

Barbara took a staggering step back as Deathstroke appeared in her window, he didn't even fit, but he stood right outside on her fire escape with one hand holding what she assumed to be a grapple gun because it looked similar to Renegades. His half orange mask was directed at the red-head, his single masked eye narrowing on her. Renegade seemed to jump a bit, being cut off by his mentor's appearance and twisted around to see him, all the while smiling.

"Heya DS," he said putting his hands on his hips, "target is secure."

Barbara looked a little affronted at being called a 'target' but Deathstroke jerked his chin at the boy, "You were tailed, I took care of it. I'd rather you be aware of your surroundings than placing bets."

Renegade's smile grew repentant, "Right, it won't happen again." Barbara's eyes darted between the two, unsure if she was seeing something wrong, like... alarming, because it was unnerving. Renegade— Robin— whoever, was Deathstroke's apprentice and seemed to be getting chastised, but it seemed so casual and Renegade was too quick to apologize. She of course didn't miss his flinch when Deathstroke appeared, maybe he was scared of him... and these two people were hired to protect her?

"Renegade."

Clearly, there was some hidden order in his name because Renegade threw Barbara a smile over his shoulder, a smile that seemed a little forced. "Bye!" he even waved as he jumped out her window, Deathstroke already gone.

Dick released a breath and closed his eyes, Miss Martian taking his cue and everything dissolved. It felt a touch like falling into a pool, but it was dark, but he was much too tired to care because when he opened his eyes he was back in the Mountain, feeling almost violated. He felt sore, mentally and physically. Sitting in one position for so long (as it was clear time had passed, he wouldn't be sore otherwise) was not healthy for his acrobatic body. It was also one of the tells of his true feelings, he felt like crap, pale and weak. He wasn't sure how one could FEEL pale, but if there was ever a time to feel pale that is when it would be.

The team was quiet, each silently reviewing in their minds what happened, not all of it quite digested yet.

There was no doubt about it, Dick felt sick and he knew exactly why. He had lost control in his own mind, that alone made him want to curl into a ball and hide, so he didn't think much of it when he rose to his feet and said, "I'm going to my room."

Wally stood up with him, eyebrows knit with concern at the very depressed looking mercenary. "Want me to come with?"

"No." Dick said too quickly, body slightly sizing at the thought, "I just... need to be alone right now."

He let autopilot take over as he walked away, down the hall and towards his door. He could already hear his friends talking behind him, talking about him, but at this point he didn't care, too much had happened in his head. In fact he was glad they knew (maybe) because now he wasn't alone with these feelings, even though he was literally removing himself from the situation. It was good they were discussing, that meant maybe they would have some type of answer to a question he didn't have, some type of viable consolation to his issues beyond the pity.

Dick made it to his room and shut the door behind him, taking one look at the lock before flipping it into place. He told himself it was because he didn't want to be disturbed, because he really needed some alone time, a shower, sleep, something to clear his head. Something just felt off about something and he couldn't pinpoint what it was, and he didn't particularly care enough to dive in his muddled brain to find it so he left it be. The acrobat's feet dragged him towards his bed before being redirected, his eyes finding Matthew's fluffy belly splayed next to his pillow. His feet were taking him to the bathroom, where his thoughts just soured and he tried to stamp them out. Dick really wanted Slade at that moment, he needed to hug, he needed to cry or something because there was this pressure beginning to build in his face. But at the same time, he didn't want Slade, he wanted to hate him, to be disgusted. Instead, he angled his thoughts towards someone he COULD lean on. He could lean on Wally, though that one time they 'cuddled' was because of a panic attack, not really for this type of stuff. And he didn't want to freak him out by asking even though the stupid speedster would probably say yes in .2 seconds. There was always Damian, Nightwing, Batman... Bruce Wayne.

Dick found himself in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror, emotionless.

Yeah, what a weird thought, Bruce Wayne comforting assassin child because assassin dad abandoned them. But it wasn't just that was it? Sure Deathstroke had abandoned him but he was getting better with that, this was something else. Mg'ann had commented on how impressive his subconscious was, but Dick couldn't help but feel like he had lost control. He hadn't been able to do anything to stop or save him or his friends, and that scared him most. Deathstroke could take it, he was immortal, but his friends were a bit more aquatinted with mortality than he was. He needed someone, someone who wouldn't get hurt, to help him.

Dick needed help.

Dick needed Deathstroke.

The pressure in his face left, the heat building up behind his eyes disappeared. His shaking hands stilled, his shuddering breathing leveled. His skin no longer held a pale sweaty sheen. His maskless face was impassive and almost bored looking.

Dick took one look in the mirror and felt like screaming. He felt like combusting. He felt like crying for all he was worth.

Because he couldn't make himself blink.

He couldn't make himself cry.

He couldn't even move his hand to itch his nose.

Because he was no longer in control of his body.

Chapter Text

Dick, regardless of destiny or linage, of curveballs and trials that life mercilessly threw at the boy, was a gentle soul.

To everyone but himself.

Pride was never part of Dick's vocabulary. Even when he got cocky on the field it was gone as quick as it came, not by a reprimand from Slade, no, the boy himself would become sullen and almost scared after any display of pride. The child was hyper-aware of himself, hyper-aware of everything really, it's what made him a good mercenary. But it was not okay.

Slade had tried smoothing that out of him for years, of relaxing the tense muscles that became rock hard when the boy said anything positive about himself. But the mercenary couldn't break it. He tried as many ways possible, complimenting, encouraging, especially physical affirmations. But the boy's insecurities, his pride, it was all shot, jumbled up and mish moshed then stuffed back into the gangly acrobat Slade knew.

The boy dreaded himself, if it were not for the serum running under his skin Slade was 100% positive the boy would have taken his own life by now. The boy would not allow himself pride because of what he was, of what he was meant to become. Of the inevitable.

His boy was a walking mess of anxiety he could not comfort because there was none.

Slade had tried to be as painless as possible, that boy didn't need any more grief and guilt on his plate. Slade's training shied away from hard unforgiving rules and punishments, and even then he barely had to use any sort of discipline at all because Dick was already so cautious and careful. The old soldier never meant to use that fear in his training, but he couldn't say it wasn't helpful. That fire that lurked under his caution was potent and deadly, and most surprising, driven by his unrelenting need to be compassionate.

That's where the Court made their mistake. The secret behind Dick's skill was not anything like malevolence and thirst for power that all other villains had, it wasn't even revenge or self-preservation. It was a need to do good. Slade didn't want to say it, but because they were so hard on him is what made him into such a resilient boy today. His will alone overrode any of their attempts of brainwashing him into compliance.

Maybe that was why Slade was always so wary of using Dick, he was a true and tried hero. Slade... Slade didn't want to lose him. All his training, all the late nights and compliance with odd requests from the boy was to fix what the Court did to break him, to make him ready. Although he didn't foresee growing attached in the process, something he was paying for now.

Dick would know what was happening, Slade himself had been warned the spare few times when Dick became The Courts marionette. Slade didn't care much if he warned the heroes or not, because either way, after this they would know he's dangerously unpredictable. It would both stop The Light's plan to use him and make him a victim in the heroes' eyes, because when the strings were loosened Dick would beg forgiveness as he always did. However hard it may be for either party, Dick would be safe with them.

And that's all Slade wanted.

That was his rationale for the atrocity he was about to do.

He was about to be the puppet master to Dick's limp strings. Something he promised he would never do because of the anguish it caused the boy, even though he really had no way to be in control until Sportsmaster decided to litter his apprentice with muscle controlling nano-bots.

Slade stood in front of the screen in his 'scheming' room, the keyboard was up and he held his recently bought VR headset in his hands. His single eye was staring at the screen, live security feed of the young heroes 'secret' base. Since Dick's return to the mountain the heroes had dragged him off to the trapeze they set while he was gone.

A gift Slade was rather jealous of, because while he had wished to give Dick that tie to his family he was reluctant to give him such a blatant reminder of their deaths. Dick, of course, had loved the trapeze and Slade couldn't help but be proud. He had actively refrained from giving him reminders of his family in fear of setting him off, but he was glad the hero's gift hadn't done anything of the sort. In fact, it seemed to improve his mood. Afterwards, the group had settled in the living room of the base where for the past hour or so they had been sitting for around with Miss Martian floating with green eyes. He assumed they must be doing something in their heads, but Slade was waiting for the right opportunity to start the real show.

That opportunity presented itself when the team seemed to wake up and Dick promptly walked to his room alone. Slade's eyebrows furrowed as he watched his apprentice walk, finding him to be in some sort of daze, but he could see clear as day that the boy was rattled. He shoved this thought to the back of his mind, noting the boy locked the door before going to the bathroom.

From the camera in the corner he could not fully see into the bathroom, but he could see Dick stopped to stand in front of the mirror. His face was red with built-up tears, a face Slade had seen many times before.

The old mercenary ignored the cold feeling lumping in the pit of his stomach as he lifted the headset over his face and eye(s). He was sure it wasn't meant for a one-eyed man to use but it would have to do. The system required no controller because the flash drive downloaded a mental activity scanner into the headset that would copy the electromagnetic commands in Slade's mind and send them to the nano-bots in the boy's body.

Slade would have full control over every function of Dick's body besides his mind and organs, it was his muscles and tendons the nanos had latched onto.

His now covered eye saw a loading screen before it hazed into reality. He saw Dick clearly now, through the boy's eye(s) who was still facing the mirror. The acrobat's face was no longer red, his features unreadable, his body stagnant like a board.

Deathstroke the Terminator stared at the face of the boy he would call son, cradling the trust so blindly thrown at him, the desperation and tense need for someone that he decided to fulfill.

And ripped it to shreds.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick was absolutely terrified.

As often as this had happened, (which was around three, outside of his time with The Court) he knew something was wrong about this 'takeover'. And it wasn't the fact that he couldn't tell his body to do anything at the moment (although that was one of the HUGE issues on the top of his list), it was the fact that he was still here.

When The Court took over it was nothing like this, he could tell when The Court would take over because it would hurt. It was the electrum igniting under his skin, sweeping away all control until he was gone, but it was done gradually and the sweep was more like a bath in fire. And when he was gone, he meant GONE. It was like being dunked under water, knocked unconscious but still aware of some feelings and movements that he could only barely remember after he was pulled back up.

This was nothing like that.

He could feel everything, see, and even think. He could still feel the warmth of his body, the pumping of his heart. The electrum took all of that away, but right now he could still feel those things. He could even note those things yet he couldn't move, this had to be something else because this is not what The Court does. He was as cognitive as can be without being able to get his muscles to listen to him.

In the mirror he saw himself blink. He felt the muscles in his face move accordingly, but he hadn't told them, and he certainly hadn't told only ONE eye to blink. He winked again, then twice fast, until finally, the other eye blinked as well.

Dick was pretty much full-on panicking, he wanted to say his heart leaped into his throat when his hands lifted and slammed unceremoniously onto the counter, but his heartbeat remained steady in his chest. Dick could literally only watch as his face scrunched, doing a number of odd expressions before smiling. It looked so wrong to see someone else smile for him, it was like his grin but something was off about it, something he was too busy panicking to pinpoint.

Who? Who was controlling him? Because The Court would already be ruled out by the lack of pain and mental unconsciousness, but also because who on earth would make him smile? He wasn't sure if it being someone else was a good thing or a bad thing, he hesitated to think 'better the devil you know' because the Court really was bad news and he didn't want to kill anyone. But right now he was even more unpredictable and that was almost worse.

His weight was lifted off his hands, said hands shifted to the sink where his head and eyes angled down to look at the hands now gripping the faucet. His limbs felt jerky and tight, but he could do nothing about it and prayed this was all a bad dream.

His hands left the sink, his whole body turning on one foot and walked out of the bathroom. He was taking bigger steps than necessary, at one point one of his arms instinctively jutted out for balance and it physically burned the limb. Dick wanted to cry out, but his face remained smiling, his body still walking, though thankfully he was taking smaller steps now.

He was halfway through his room when his feet stopped, his body turned almost robotically to look at his bed, where Matthew had flipped over and now regarded the panicking happy-faced mercenary with a slow blink of his slate blue eyes. Dick moved forwards towards the cat, knowing the cat was the destination because his eyes hadn't blinked or shifted since they saw the cat.

His hands reached out and he bent slightly over to reach across the bed, Matthew's fluffy tail flicking at the approach.

No no no no no no, whoever was controlling him better not even think about hurting his cat.

Dick's body twisted, hands moving to the bed to lift his body onto it, sitting near the edge and then reaching again with one hand to the cat. His face had softened, he was no longer smiling but it felt odd, like he was frowning in slow motion. Maybe the command or whatever it is was wearing off because no way would someone lose a smile THAT slowly. It gave him no hope though, because the rest of his body was still not his, his no longer smiling mouth was still not listening to him.

His hand touched the top of Matthew's head, sliding down onto his back near his tail before repeating the process until it was a smooth motion.

He was petting the cat.

Confusion rolled over Dick like a wave, who the flip was controlling him?! What puppet master would want to PET a CAT while they had access to his not quite full Talon abilities? Not to mention the Young Justice headquarters he was in! They had access to League stuff! He couldn't let whoever it was using him get league info! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! They should have locked him up! He should have told them! He should have warned them this could happen! A prison would be much better than this!

His brain felt on fire, it was working hard to control what it couldn't, and panicking over it. His hand lifted from the cat, moving off the bed to walk towards the door. He wanted to scream, to shout warnings, to curse whoever it was pulling his strings, but to his tense relief, he turned before he reached the door.

Dick cautiously waited for something else to happen as his body was being walked around the room, pacing almost. He got the sense that whoever was controlling him was thinking, maybe they didn't plan this very well. An amateur? That's not much to go off of. What Dick did know was that the silence was killing him, the only sound in the room was his own soft footfalls, did they have control of his vocal cords? Dick sure didn't.

Then it dawned on him, the pacing was getting more natural, the swing in his arms not so forced. The person controlling him wasn't an armature, they were learning.

But this wouldn't fool anyone, Dick was too talkative for a good walk to be infiltration enough, but then Dick wanted to say he got sick to his stomach when his body was launched into a cartwheel. The only reason they'd want to know how to do that well is if they wanted to weaponize him, to make sure their control was smooth enough for fighting.

That's not good.

He was doing a handstand currently, beyond the screaming inner monologue he found the action odd because he could feel the blood flowing down to his head, the ground beneath his palms, but having zero control made it feel more like a dream. He bent backward, making an arch with his back that he stood up from, his breathing barely changed but it did speed up (if only just enough to be noticed) because of the exertion.

Okay, so he could be taken down by the inability to provide energy to the stunts he does while controlled, he could be tired out into submission.

Good to know.

That was sarcasm.

None of this was good news.

His body straightened up and stilled, his head angling downwards as his hands reached for his belt. Dick was not surprised by this action, but the implications of such an action dug at the deepening pit in his gut. On the flip side, Dick was suddenly very thankful Batman had taken all his gadgets.

The hands rifled through his belt pockets and Dick felt some sort of victory as his puppet master was realizing they were empty. Until, of course, they went through his back pocket and found the folded up picture that rested there.

His hands pulled the picture out, lifting it for easier viewing. Dick didn't know how to feel about this, whoever was controlling him was obviously seeing this too. Seeing the picture of Slade coddling him only made the ache in his heart long even more for the older man to be here by his side. He needed his help, despite current grievances, this new problem (or any other argument he had Slade had) was bigger than Dick's hurt feelings and whatever weird reason Slade had for giving him up to the heroes. Whatever their situation was it didn't change the fact that he needed Slade like he had so many times before.

His hand flipped the picture over, scanning the back for whatever reason before tossing the picture aside. Clearly, according to his puppet master, it was useless. Dick wanted to snatch it up and put it back in his pocket. It was a sacred picture and regardless of Slade's 'betrayal' it was still a moment of calm admits the chaos of his mind and he didn't want to lose it.

His head twisted around, going to one of the dressers in the room, where resting on top was Dick's pair of gloves. Dick was bewildered by this, he hadn't expected to get his gloves back, but there they were, sitting innocently on top of his dresser. He was slightly put off that the 'holo' part of his 'hologlove' was gone, stupid Batman, but his hands reached out and grabbed them, putting them on rather skillfully considering how long whoever was controlling him had practiced with his hands.

Head twisting towards the door, The Puppet Master -as Dick was now calling this unknown person- decided they had enough frolicking in his body to get used to it and now it was showtime.

His newly gloved hand went for the doorknob first, but without hesitation, his second hand reached up and easily unlocked the door. Behind him, Matthew silently jumped off the bed, padding up towards the acrobat with his tail raised in the air— a feline's equivalent of a hello or recognition. Dick's arm swung the door open so fast there was a bit of a 'whomf' to it, and as Dick stepped forward Matthew twisted between his feet, making the acrobat stumble.

Dick wanted to hiss in discomfort, but apparently the Puppet Master felt similar because his windmilling arms did not burn—but unfortunately his legs had disobeyed while attempting to gain balance. Matthew simply trotted along unconcerned and Dick was staring after him with a scowl, again he and his Puppet Master were on the same page. At least, the .02% of his brain that wasn't in full-fledged panic mode was on the same page as the person hijacking his highly dangerous body.

The acrobat continued walking down the hall, Dick's inner panic rising steadily as the kitchen came into view. His eyes were moving from person to person, not looking around much for details like Dick thought they would. Wally was in the kitchen eating, leaning his hip against the counter where a few granola wrappers were discarded carelessly, the telltale sign of speedster destruction. Artemis was lounging on the couch, hanging over the top and seemed to be part of the conversation that paused when he walked in. Conner stood in the kitchen as well, the rest of the team was gone, M'gann probably to rest and Kaldur to report or something. Dick wasn't paying much attention to who wasn't there because his body seemed to want to make contact with the ones who were.

Dick's mental screaming increased tenfold as his body stopped in the kitchen archway, in clear view of the two teenagers.

"Hey 'ick, y'u fee'ing a'y bett'r?" Wally greeted around his granola bar, waving a hand while his eyes looked him over with a friendly amount of concern.

Dick was pleading, he needed them to notice, to realize he wasn't himself and stop him before he did anything he'd severely regret and hate. He wanted to use his eyes, his mouth, even a hand gesture or something, but his body stayed completely still.

Conner's gaze was almost soft, but his folded arms made him look like his normal grumpy self. "Well, that was fast." The clone commented under his breath, clearly they were talking about him while he was away.

"Oh, is Dick back?" Artemis said from the living room, he heard some shuffling and imagined she jumped over the couch and entered the kitchen on the far side near Superboy. She folded her arms too and leaned against the cupboards next to the fridge. "M'gann is fine by the way, she went to her room to rest."

Dick figured as much, but didn't care because his friends were in danger, of HIM. Puppet Master did not answer Wally's question, even though a simple nod or shake would do, in fact nothing was happening at all, not even blinking.

Please, please,  please  take notice!

Wally swallowed his granola bar and frowned, "Dick? You okay?"

Still, his body did nothing.

Artemis frowned. "We're not mad at you or anything, what's up with you?" The archer tried, her narrowed eyes looking a bit more scrutinizing than friendly. Dick didn't care much, as long as they figured it out before Puppet Master decided to go all commando on them.

Wally's look changed, his frown also becoming more concerned as he shoved himself from the counter and took a few small steps towards Dick's frozen body. "Dick? Are you having a panic attack right now?"

Dick was screaming, at least he wanted to, because yes he was definitely panicking about attacking. His eyes blinked, but nothing else changed.

Help! Please! You have to get away from me!

"Is this... normal for a panic attack?" Conner asked, his eyes narrowing too as he felt the odd shift in the air.

Wally assumed a cautious stance, inching forward with one hand out like he was approaching a spooked animal. "This is definitely not normal." He said to the Kryptonian, and his green eyes stayed locked with Dick's as he spoke. "Dick? Can you even hear me? What's going on Dick?"

Then his approach stopped altogether and he twisted around to look at Conner. "Wait is he sleeping? Is this one of those Night Terrors again?"

"His eyes aren't closed." Conner grunted, "And he would have attacked us by now, and wasn't he gone for only five minutes? That's not enough time to fall asleep is it?"

Wally's furrowed eyes shifted back to the stone-faced acrobat. What on earth was wrong with his friend?

Dick's body stayed still as the speedster came close, didn't flinch or react at all when the red-head experimentally nudged his arm. After that Wally lost his cautious stance, giving a confused look to his teammates. "I have no idea what's wrong with him, it's like he's frozen." He then waved his hand in front of Dick's face, again gaining no reaction from the dull-eyed mercenary.

Help me!  Please !

Dick didn't think he could get more hysterical in his head, but he started sobbing when his body finally moved. Puppet Master shot his hand up, latching onto the speedster's wrist while his other hand fisted and slammed into his friend's gut, driving all breath from the teen.

Wally's eyes grew wide and he was allowed to stumble back from the blow, gasping for air and holding his stomach. Conner and Artemis tensed, not sure whether to engage because Dick might have been acting on instinct rather than decision, but something was definitely off with that dead expression. It was not lost on them that the young mercenary had yet to speak.

"Ow." Wally gasped while hunched over and quietly grunted, "okay I might have deserved that."

"Dick?" Artemis tried cautiously, wide-eyed, and tense.

HELP ME!

Dick's head snapped to the counter where a clean pan was on the stove, he took two powerful strides towards it before his fist slammed down on the handle. The pan flipped up into the air right in time for Dick's leg to kick it, sending the metal careening into Conner's face. The Kryptonian was caught off guard and was sent slightly backward, making the other two heroes freeze and stare at the attacker.

No no no no no! LEAVE THEM ALONE!

Dick's body moved fluidly forward, jumping up above the counter and flipping over it in one smooth motion. Landing nimbly, he crouched and swept a leg under the female archer, sending her to the ground with a yelp. Wally was there in an instant, trying to make sense of what was happening and to get in between his friends.

"Dick what's going on?! I don't want to fight you!" His hands were up like he could ward the boy away, his stance lowered solidly while his eyes went wide with panic and confusion. Next to him, Superboy shook his head to get his mind back in the game while Artemis recovered.

"Maybe it's a delayed night terror?" Artemis said, scrambling backward on her haunches while Dick seemed to have paused. "A creepy-er one with his eyes open?"

"Last time he had a night terror he beat us by running away. He isn't running away, he wants a fight." Conner said, his stance lowering with his fists out. The clone had no desire to hurt the kid, but defending himself and his teammates might have to trump that, not to mention they really shouldn't let Dick run off again.

Artemis got to her feet, reaching back to get her bow and placing an arrow on the string. "Well last time you didn't have me, and he wasn't so... glitchy."

"Glitchy? You think he's a robot?" Wally asked in pure confusion, Dick was many things, but a robot was not one of them. Even though currently Dick was frozen in a stand, shockingly still. Kinda like a robot... He knew Dick wasn't a robot of course, but maybe something happened to make him robot-like?

"I don't know!" Artemis stamped her foot indignantly behind the speedster, "It was the only word I could think of!"

Conner looked between the two teens and was confused by their fighting, word choice was not something to be arguing about right now. "Do we just wait for him to make a move?"

"I'll call Batman, you guys can... distract him or something," Wally said, slowly inching away with his back to the cupboards because Dick's eyes were solely on him and it was beginning to be really unnerving. 

That was the moment Dick moved, lunging forwards towards the speedster. Wally yelped and sped off, heading for the communication hub. "M'gann? M'gann is the mind link up?" He stopped in the center and brought up the holo screen. After getting no response from the mind link he found the intercom system, slamming on the button before screaming into a hidden mic. "Kaldur! Mindlink is down! Wanna get in here? Dick's gone... robot!"

Kaldur must be near one of the systems because his voice came back genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he's attacking us! Again!" Wally yelled, taking a look behind him into the kitchen where he heard grunts from Superboy and various fighting sounds. "He's not responding to anything we say or do until he attacks and he's moving really weird and freezing up!"

"I am bringing Black Canary. Keep him inside."

"We'll try, I'm not sure what's wrong with him this ti-AAH!" Wally was cut off as something slammed into his body, ripping him away from the keyboard he'd been typing on and slamming his head into the ground painfully. He slid a few meters from the impact, another body rolled along with his. He turned to his back and got to his feet, seeing it was Artemis that had barreled into him. More like thrown actually.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill us this time!" Artemis panted as she got to her feet, leaning heavily on one leg and missing her bow... and quiver. "He's got my weapons!"

There was a small explosion that rumbled the ground in the direction of the kitchen, followed closely by a blue flash of electricity, and then Superboy's pained screaming until it abruptly ended.

"Guys-!" Wally started to shout, attempting to gain Kaldur's attention even though the holo screen was a few yards away now.

He was cut off by the whistling of an arrow, his wide eyes catching the green shaft before the floor was quickly saturated by smoke. Wally thought quickly, hearing Artemis yelp somewhere beside him and a metallic 'thwip'. His lightning crackled in the fog as he sped around, finding the edge of the smoke before starting to run rings around it. The fog let up and revealed Artemis caught in an electric net that came from one of her own arrows, she was unconscious now.

Wally tried to find the source but the telltale whistling sound made his adrenaline spike. He dashed to the side, dodging the explosion but not the shock wave. The speedster was thrown to the floor but he scrambled to his feet quickly, eyes on the knocked-out Artemis who was too close to the explosion for comfort. He floundered his way over to the archer, picking her up under her armpits and speed-dragged her away from the fight. He was able to toss away the net (grimacing at the electricity that temporarily raced through him) before dashing across the room to attempt to deal with his brainwashed buddy.

There were explosions everywhere now, they were shaking the ground and tossing dirt and flames into the air. Wally was able to dodge and weave between explosions, just barely saving himself from becoming speedster barbecue, but had no idea he was being corralled into a small portion of the room. Wally sped forward through a clearing, to his right and left were explosions that threatened to throw him off his feet. Kid Flash slid to a stop, arms windmilling as an arrow hit the ground right in front of Wally's feet.

He tried to turn the other way but it was too late, the arrow beeped once before exploding in the speedster's face. Wally went airborne, feeling crispy and discombobulated. He barely noticed he hit the floor because his first instinct was to curl up to protect his insides and regain his senses. He held his ringing ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Everything felt muted by the fog that drifted over his head. He could feel his heart pumping, blood rushing through his ears, but it all seemed far away.

The roar got louder, he feared he would pass out, but it held a distinct slosh and felt all too real. Wally managed to weakly push himself up, blinking through the dense smog and fire just in time to see a wave of water crash down around him. He had just enough time to brace for impact and hold his breath. The water didn't hit him with too much force, thanks Kaldur, but he was knocked off the ground instantly.

Wally was completely disoriented by the time the water receded. He was splayed on his back but he sat up quickly to figure out what was going on, where he was, and if he could breathe now. Turns out he was out of the water because air flooded his lungs and it took him a moment for him to actually register his hands on the ground and the puddle he sat in. He looked up quickly, taking in the room for danger and a little part of his gut shriveled at the sight.

It looked like a war had come through...

Correction, STILL going through.

Kaldur was cutting arrows from the air, diffusing them at the same time with his water swords. Arrows were being sent to the side to see if he could throw the hero off but the water reached up and diffused the arrows as they came raining down. The Atlantean was advancing towards the source of the shooting, somewhere high in an alcove Wally had never seen before. Black Canary was off to the side, hopefully getting League help because she couldn't do much while Dick was up there where none of them could really reach. How did he even get up there?

The speedster got to his feet unsteadily, swallowing rising bile and closing his eyes at the bout of dizziness. He grimaced, feeling otherwise okay besides being exhausted and a little toasty, he might have gotten a concussion though. The tilting ground sure thought so.

The room was littered with still burning fires between the puddles, the water around Kaldur seemed alive and his arms were glowing more than Wally had ever seen. Kaldur was also growing tired, this much water-magic exertion was not something he did often. Wally steeled himself and got closer, realizing he could get up to where Dick was perched with a super speed jump, despite the raging headache springing from behind his eyes. Kaldur said nothing to the approaching speedster, too focused on the water and the unrelenting rain of arrows, Wally called out his plan anyway.

"I'll get him down!" He shouted before bolting. Wally gulped and plunged onward, narrowed eyes on the assailant. Dick was getting really scary.

Wally pushed himself faster, letting loose the flow of electricity that ignited across his skin and into his bones, making everything else look frozen in time. He didn't have much of a runway but it would do, he ran as quickly as possible in the short distance before leaping off the ground. Wally arched off the ground, raising his arms and legs to land on the ledge, practically flying through the air towards the black-haired boy and his arrows.

Unfortunately once in the air speedsters lose speed, not that he wasn't going fast, but gravity and wind resistance remained in effect while his main force of movement (his feet) were severed. It gave Dick enough time to turn his head to look at him, notching back an arrow and moving his sights towards the flying speedster.

Wally's green eyes widened as his breath caught in his throat, he had no way to dodge this one. In a last-ditch idea, Wally swung his arm back, concentrating on generating the electricity there.

Just as the string was let loose Wally hurled the gathered lightning at his friend's feet.

The arrow was sent, but it didn't explode, instead it broke apart, twirling, heading for Wally's feet. Wally recognized it as a bola the second the lightning he threw struck the ground in front of Dick. The acrobat was blown back in slow motion as Wally still careened forwards. Unfortunately, the bola added to the speedster's weight, dragging him out of the speed force and down. He wouldn't be able to land on the ledge.

Wally felt his stomach rise into his throat as he frantically reached out at normal speed, being just able to grab the lip of the cave.

Dick was there in an instant, face completely blank as he raised his fists up to smash down on Wally's hands. Wally grunted between his grit teeth, lunging upwards and grabbing the boy's shirt collar. Wally locked eyes with the young mercenary as he let go of the ledge, dragging Dick over the edge with him.

Wally released him as they fell, deciding he didn't want to break his legs on impact, or break Dick. As far as he could tell Dick had the same idea, his eyes on the ground and readying himself for landing.

Wally landed on his legs of course, he tried to distribute the impact but the bolas weighted his feet too much and he went into an awkward side tuck and roll. The initial impact on his feet sent a shock wave of pain up his legs and even into his back. His shoulder connected next, and he was sure if he hadn't then his ankles- if not his fibula/tibia- would have definitely broken.

Thank goodness for speed healing. But not so much for pain.

The pain clenched the air out of his lungs, his heart thumping loudly in his ears as his body tumbled to a stop. He laid on his back, shoulder throbbing (pretty sure he dislocated it at the very least, maybe even fractured it) and legs spiking suspiciously like TV static. His head arched back at the wave of throbbing pain, wanting nothing more than scream but his throat closed up and all that left him was a few gasping squeaks. All he could see was white and he was fighting to stay conscious when all he wanted to do was enter the land of painless sleep. No, he had to stay awake, Dick was practically slaughtering them.

He forced his eyes open (not really sure when they closed) and saw Dick hit the ground, rolling to distribute the impact and into a low stance, bow— but no arrows —in hand.

"My friend," Kaldur called, holding only one water bearer with both hands and panting. He started to slowly circle the young mercenary, who reciprocated the action. "I am unsure of what has been truth and what has been told to lead us on. I do know this though." Kaldur paused, leveling his blade at the boy who also stopped. "He may carry the name Renegade, but Dick Grayson would never willingly betray those he calls friends."

Dick's body froze completely, giving Kaldur the chance to leap forward, changing the sword to a mace for a knock out blow. At the last second, Dick moved, raising Artemis's bow like a staff and blocked the hit completely. Kaldur didn't let up, switching again to a sword and slashed at every angle, keeping Dick on the defensive. Canary entered the game, leaping into the fight and landing a few solid good hits on the assassin. They fought rather fluidly, dancing almost, Dick surprisingly (or maybe it wasn't too surprising) being able to keep his own against the two heroes.

Kaldur and Canary rushed him, forcing him to back up and block every slice from Kaldur and hand to hand from Canary, still with that calm face that hinted nothing. Every hit landed by Canary he doubled on her, sending a smashing kick to her gut that made her back off for a few seconds.

He focused on Kaldur for that moment, twirling his bow staff dangerously but without wasting an ounce of effort and efficiency in his attack. Kaldur was starting to waver, his unrelenting attacks on top of the intense water magic he'd done earlier was doing a number on him.

Canary put herself back into the fight right as Kaldur started to falter, letting him catch his breath for a moment. She went into an intense round of hand to hand with the young mercenary, blocking jabs at her neck (no doubt aimed for nerve clusters) while Dick used his lithe body to evade most of her attacks. The boy sustained only bruises though out the fight but he was getting visibly fatigued, his midnight hair started to stick to his head and he began to pant through clenched teeth.

Suddenly ignoring Canary completely, Dick lunged at Kaldur, using him as a stepladder to jump up and over behind the female hero and knocking her to her knees before she could dodge. Kaldur leaped forward with a downward strike with both hands on the sword, attempting to get Dick away from the Leaguer. Dick raised the bow to meet it, kneeling and supporting with two hands.

With a crack like the break of a bone, the bow broke in half.

Dick immediately rolled to the side, getting enough distance between himself and the two heroes. The fight seemed to pause, Canary rose to her feet and Kaldur reclaimed his breath for the few sparse seconds of inactivity.

Dick's mouth twitched into a smile, one that didn't look quite right, and twirled the two halves in his hands, holding them with practiced familiarity. He rushed Kaldur, laying down his own heat with his improvised escrima sticks, it took all of two seconds for the Atlantean to go down.

Dick stood over his unconscious body, chest huffing but otherwise frozen.

Canary was on him in milliseconds, trying to get him in a headlock so she could finally end the fight. She twisted around, throwing him to the floor bodily with her practically hugging him from behind. She pinned an arm with her leg and forced him to straighten out so he had no leverage. Her arm was around his neck, but his face never changed from that sick smile. The impromptu escrima sticks fell from his hands, his free hand latching onto the arm around his throat. It was only there for a moment before he wiggled, the quiver still attached to his back gave him enough room between him and Canary that he kneed her spine and slipped his trapped hand away. He reached back and found a discarded arrow lying in a puddle, he jabbed it at Canary's head. She dodged easily enough, but her jerking loosened her grip. He slammed his head back into her chin, the woman just barely grunted in pain when he jabbed the arrow again, hitting her necklace right on the canary cry.

Black Canary's eyes widened as electricity shot through her body from her neck, her hands releasing the boy to fly to her neck, desperately trying to get the device off. Dick was up in seconds, reaching down and grabbing her jacket as his other fist reared backward. His fist connected with her head and he let go, letting her body slump to the ground.

Wally waited with wide eyes, wondering if he should pretend to be unconscious or call out to the boy. There was still fire, still puddles of water, and debris was littered everywhere. It was just Dick, surrounded by unconscious bodies of people he shared his deepest darkest secrets with.

Wally jerked in surprise when a guttural cry tore through his mind, making the speedster physically wince and gasp in pain. It sobbed uncontrollably, blubbering incoherently and absolutely stunning the tired redhead.

"Wally!"

Wally nearly blacked out in relief. M'gann. Ohthankgoodness.

"M'gann! Sweet green cheeks from Mars, I'll never call your cookies burnt ever again!" Wally yelled over the crying in the mind link, temporarily ignoring it in the pure need to acknowledge he wasn't alone. He could feel the confusion from the Martian and a sneaking suspicion rose from the pits of Wally's mind. If Miss Martian activated the mind link and crying was the first thing spearing through his mind...

"Wally what's going on?! Who's crying?"

"...I think that's Dick..." The redhead said carefully, not understanding but recognizing the sobbing voice belonged to the frozen mercenary standing over Kaldur and Canary's unconscious forms.

"W-Wally?!" The crying paused just long enough for the name to be croaked out, confirming the speedster's theory and surprising the Martian. Wally opened his mental mouth to speak but Dick shot off in a rush of blubbered words only half understood. "Yo-you're not- you're not dead! Oh, my g- my go- I never sh-should h-have- this is all my fault! I-I am... I'm so sorry! This- this is all my fault-! all my fault- all my fault-"

"Dick! Calm down! What's going on?!" Wally shouted over the boy's mantra. He was so confused and it only heightened his anxiety, Dick's body wasn't moving but Dick's mental self seemed to be in complete disarray.

"I'm s- so sorry!" Dick continued to whimper, he could hear the pure agony in his voice, like if he could he'd be rocking in a ball on the floor. "I-I should have- should have told you guys! I should have s-said anything!" There was a break of incoherent words, he breathed deeply and harshly like he was running out of air. He couldn't be though, his body was fine, just standing there. But then the hiccuping and the sobbing cut off for a moment as Dick screamed. "I SHOULD HAVE FORCED BATMAN TO PUT ME IN PRISON!"

"Dick... you're not making any sense," M'gann said, her small voice tinged with fear, the fear gnawing away at Wally's gut. His eyes on Dick flickered to some movement from the kitchen, seeing Miss Martian in camo-mode, her slight distortion in the sky cluing him to her whereabouts. He couldn't make out her face but he could practically feel the worry etched into it, it probably mirrored his own.

"You knew this would happen?" Wally breathed, scared of the answer.

Dick's response was instant, apparently he could hear their gentle (scared) whispering over his agony. But he was still a rambling mess of words with too much emotion. "Yes? No? I kn-knew it was a possibility- it-it hadn't happened in a while but it's different this time and I don't even know what's going on or how it happened! This is all my fault-! Stupid stupid stupid- I never should have come here!" He erupted into sobs again, his answer didn't clear up much of anything for the cognitive heroes.

Then Dick's body started to move.

The young mercenary's sobbing voice cut off with a sharp intake of air. "Please! Please you have to stop me! Before I kill anyone! Please! Pleasepleaseplease! I can't do it again!"

Wally was having a hard time connecting the pleading to the stone-faced mercenary stalking towards the kitchen. He was also stuck on the 'again', and he had a sneaking feeling that whatever 'it' was had nothing to do with killing.

The two impromptu escrima sticks were thrown to the side, the assassin emotionlessly reaching down to pick up one of the few arrows scattered in the water.

"There's something you're not telling us-"

Dick's body broke into a run, leaping up onto the wall and running across it in a few steps before pushing off.

"M'GANN LOOK OUT!"

He raised the arrow like a javelin, eyes narrowed on the Martian shocked in place. At the last second she moved, but the arrow still detonated. Dick, who was still holding the arrow, was blown straight into the ground, an accompanying grunt of pain striking through the mind link.

M'gann was thrown to the side, hitting the ground with less force but the close exposure to fire made her weak. She stumbled to her hands and knees, trying to keep the mindlink up and get away from the fire that was sapping her energy. She was also concerned about Dick, clearly he wasn't doing any of this on his own volition and was highly upset by it, as anyone would be. He was also right next to the source of the explosion.

"Dick! Are you alright?!" M'gann asked as soon as she could, realizing the mindlink had gone down for a second because Dick was mid-sentence when she finally heard his voice.

"-gotten close! I should never have found Slade! I should have died with my parents!"

While Dick lamented, Dick's body rolled to the side, seemingly unaffected by the explosion. His eyes set on the weary Martian. She honestly looked unconscious, but her face was twisted in concentration, she was obviously working as hard as she could to keep the mind link up.

She wouldn't be able to save herself.

"Please! Somebody just stop me! Wally! Wally please!"

The speedster groaned into the ground, sucking in a tense breath and gathering his hands under his body. He lifted himself up, grimacing at the pain and almost buckling under his bad shoulder, "Yep, definitely dislocated..." He muttered quietly (not in the mind link, though he was sure they got some form of pained feeling from him). He managed to sit up, holding his bad arm. Wally blinked away the spots dancing in his vision, reaching forward to untangle his still very much hurting legs.

He experimentally dragged a leg out of the now loose bola, grimacing at the pain shooting up his leg and back. The pain was bearable though, thrumming into a nice buzz he could dismiss with enough sweat and determination.

The speedster painstakingly got to his feet, leaning heavily and staggering to keep his balance. "I'm coming." He grunted, holding his bad arm.

Dick's body was zeroing in on Miss Martian but at the speedster's movement, his head snapped in his direction.

"Wally, Wally he's coming for you, well, I-I'm coming for you." Dick sounded stressed, scared, and tired. Wally couldn't help but concur.

"That's the point, I'll distract you long enough for us to come up with a plan." Wally scowled, grimacing through the pain as he stumbled around on his feet.

Dick's face split into a smirk, changing to the easy target and darting forward.

Wally's eyes widened, yelping as he forced himself to speed to the side, having just enough adrenaline to keep himself alive. "What is the plan exactly?!"

Dick lunged again, the speedster dodged, rolling to avoid a kick but realizing his mistake when the pain doubled down on his legs. Wally cried out, hunkering to clutch the legs, Dick's mental screaming adding to his own. Dick's body flew over the speedster, clearly expecting resistance but there was none. The boy slid to a stop, digging his feet and hands into the ground and scowling at his prey.

"WALLY GET UP!" Dick shouted, almost echoing in the speedster's brain.

Instead of giving a response Wally just pushed himself to his feet, narrowly dodging another lunge from Dick.

"Left hook!" Dick called out, confusing the speedster as he dodged a fist aimed for his face. "My left was open right then! You could have hit me!"

"I don't want to hit you!" Wally yelped, ducking under a high kick and backing from the quick fists of his friend.

"Don't worry about hurting me!" Dick said, demanding with a type of anger and frustration that only created another worm of worry in the speedster's heart. "I can heal! Just get me to stop! Knock me out!"

"I don't want to feed your ego or anything but you're kinda unstoppable!" Wally dove to the floor, grunting again as he got to his feet, dashing to the side and jumping over Dick's swiping legs.

"The next time I leg sweep do the same, it'll throw me off for a second! Sure I'll acrobat my way out but it'll give you some breathing room." Dick replied, sounding the most calm as he had the entire time. Wally took note of this, as it was more like now that he had a mission he could focus on he was less inclined to panic. A non-panicking Dick was much more preferable.

"Right, and the meantime?" Wally yelped as he bent backward to avoid another round of fists.

"Don't let me trap you, pin you, or otherwise keep you from moving," Dick said, again sounding calmer than the past two minutes. "Is M'gann okay?"

"No idea, but the mind link is still up so I assume she's at least awake," Wally replied, risking taking his eyes off of Dick's body to glance over at the martian on the ground. "The fire isn't helping at all."

"Hurry!" Came the exhausted martian's voice, sounding in pain and rightly so.

"Wally pay attention!"

The speedster focused back on Dick's offensive right as a foot caught him in the chest, sending him backward onto the floor. The redhead didn't respond, busy rolling backward and scrambling to his feet to avoid Dick's fist slamming into the ground where he'd been milliseconds before.

He turned his back on the young mercenary and ran, or limping more like. He couldn't access the speed force, he was too tired, his everything was in too much pain. Through his blurry eyes and short huffing breaths he saw the kitchen and headed there if only to lure the assassin away from Miss Martian.

He jerked to the side, avoiding a lunge and the small mercenary hit the ground next to the speedster. Dick's body was up in seconds, lunging again, but in just enough time for Wally to twist out of the way and jarringly jump out of reach.

"Wally no! Never turn your back on an enemy!" Dick screamed through his mind, his frantic tone back with a poisonous passion. Wally just continued limping, too tired to respond and only having one goal in mind. "Wally no! I don't want to kill you! Please! Listen to me!"

Wally called on his last reserves, the last of the last, scraping the bottom of the bucket for any ounce of speed to give himself. His skin felt on fire until he blinked and seemed to appear in the kitchen. The redhead leaned heavily on the wall, his heart was thudding so loudly in his chest it felt like it was going to burst out.

Another scream punctured the air, a real one, one not in the mind link.

"Superboy!" Dick gasped, as if it never occurred to him the Kryptonian wouldn't stay down long "Wally you're leading me to Superboy!"

Wally only nodded, gasping in pain as he took in the war-torn kitchen, luckily Dick wasn't mentally screaming anymore and neither was Superboy. Darkness started creeping along the edge of his vision, focusing solely on Superboy tangled in electric chords on the floor. The bright flashes of electricity felt like strikes on his skin even though he wasn't near enough to be affected. His head was throbbing and spiking like a knife was being driven through his eye sockets.

Then something collided with his back, heavy and pushing him into the ground. Wally barely felt it, finally relinquishing himself to the numbing painless bliss that was unconsciousness.

"WALLY!"

Conner ripped apart the sizzling chords, angry and concerned. He was angry he let himself be zapped unconscious and let his friends deal with Dick alone, not that they were helpless, but that he was Superboy, he was impenetrable and superhumanly strong. He should have been able to take care of Renegade in no time flat, but instead, he let himself get hit by an electricity arrow and proved useless.

The angry clone got to his feet, only a little unsteady, and easily finding Dick's body perched on top of an unresponsive, face down, Wally. Conner scowled as Dick's mental self resumed crying and screaming, cursing at the speedster for being dumb and himself for being even worse.

Dick's body wasn't looking at him though, he was still focused on the speedster, two fists raised in an almost primal beating action. Conner roared as he jumped forward, his own fist out and refusing to hold back this time. Artemis was gone and from what he could see from the doorway Dick had made a war in the mission room.

Dick jumped backward from his flying fist, a scowl implanted on his face.

"Conner! knock me out!"

The clone's next lunge was slower because Dick was screaming at HIM now, allowing the young mercenary to easily dance out of the way and towards the kitchen again. "What's going on Dick?"

"Someone has taken control of my body! Knock me out before I kill someone!  Please! "

"If you could stay still that would be helpful," Superboy grunted as he jumped again for the lithe assassin.

"I just told you!" Dick's voice lashed out in fear, "I can't control anything!"

Conner was getting deja vu, remembering how Dick broke down when he was not able to control his memory. Meanwhile, Superboy chased Dick's body back further into the kitchen, not finding the mercenary immediately he paused. "Don't focus on that remember? What CAN you do?"

He heard Dick take in a breath, not his body, but his mental self.

"I... I can see where I am, where I'm going, a-and what I'm about to do."

"I can't find you right now, so where are you?" Superboy asked, being surprisingly gentle, when Dick was scared he either curled up or lashed out, he lashed out before so right now he was probably curling up. Mentally at least. Getting angry with Dick wouldn't fix anything right now, even though his insides were screaming for revenge for his friends, demanding Dick was a traitor. He also wondered how hurt everyone was, but considering the mind link was up he had to assume M'gann was alright, or at least cognitive. But why wasn't she helping?

"I'm under the stove, grabbing the gasoline tank, I'm rigging an explosion! Conner, you have to stop me! I don't want anyone to die! I-I might have killed Wally! And maybe even Kaldur too!  Please!"

"Calm down, Wally said he was getting Batman, and when it comes to you he always listens so he'll be here and no one else will get hurt." Conner reasoned, zeroing in on the stove. The cupboards under it were open and he could see the boy's hunched over back. He grabbed the back of his neck, lifting him up and out, trying to think of a humane way to knock him unconscious. Dick's pleading voice in his head wasn't helping.

" — Wait,  its— Wait! I ts open!"

Not understanding, Conner continued to hold the boy and turned him around. Dick was clutching the gasoline tank, a sick smile spreading as he lifted it up over both of them and tipped it over.

The gasoline really couldn't do much to him except serve as a distraction, and that's exactly what it did. The liquid splashed in his eyes and mouth, making the clone drop the kid to wipe his face.

"I'm going to set you on fire!" Dick screamed in his head as his body disappeared from in front of the Kryptonian.

"Which is dumb!" Conner cut him off, tired of all the screaming in his head. He swiped his face one last time and forced himself to open his eyes, it stung a bit, but he'd live. Dick's body was gone again. "Fire can't hurt me. Where are you?"

"I don't think thats my intention!" Dick pointed out, gasping out one more word in anguish. "M'gann!"

Conner just then realized what he meant when he bolted forwards out of the kitchen, running to the mission room and finding both M'gann and Dick's body near each other. Dick was emptying the can of gasoline on the downed Martian, still wearing that sick smile. Conner saw red.

The boy flipped out of the way, going back behind the charging Kryptonian bull and landing solidly in a crouch, right at the end of a stream of gasoline leading to Miss Martian. Conner twisted around just in time to see the boy smirk before he raised his gloved arms and brushed them together. Somehow that made a snapping sound and a few sparks fell right onto the gasoline below him. The gas ignited on contact with a crackling 'fwoom', racing along the stream towards Miss Martian.

Then too many things happened at once.

"Recognized: Batman-02"

"How...how'd... how did they know I can d—"

When Dick's voice cut off Conner knew Mg'ann was unconscious, he lunged forward and snatched her body right as the fire spread to her puddle. He mentally apologized but didn't see any other way to save her, he threw her away from the puddle and from any other fire, getting caught himself in the flames.

It was hot of course, but it didn't burn, he had more important things to think about anyway.

Conner lept through the flames, finding Dick exactly where he was before, just standing there, and Conner took full advantage.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Batman and other leaguers appearing, but he focused on pulling his arm back as he jumped forward, slamming his fist into the boy's head and dropping him like a rock.

He stood there, panting for a moment, unsure of whatever had just happened. He hoped nobody was dead, he wasn't sure he'd be able to forgive Dick if any of his teammates died, whether it was his fault or not.

"Superboy." It was Batman, running over and looking all types of upset. He stopped in front of the clone, away from the bath of fire Conner had just stepped out of. That's when the Kryptonian noticed he himself was on fire. He assumed Batman had already seen all the damage, but Batman took one look at Dick's crumpled body and glowered. "What happened."

Conner took a second to think of an actual answer, lowering his gaze around to the destruction caused by the kid he just clocked over the head. "...I'm... I'm not actually sure. But I do know one thing." He looked up at Batman, "Dick was sent to kill us, and almost succeeded."

Chapter Text

Soulless, golden eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling.

It was white. Like everything else.

The white was overbearing, blinding, yet the eyes remained half-lidded as fingertips trailed across the left wall. Bare feet padded softly on the ivory tiles, gilded orbs roaming from left to right rhythmically. White, yes, clean, no. The edges were filled with darkness, crevices without light, yet completely exposed. Sometimes the walls wore red instead of white, splashed on, handprints, it looked like a painting really.

The paint was brown when it was dry, crumbly, leaving more darkness to be scattered in the corners and creases.

It looked like a bloody body was slammed into the wall, smeared across in one direction until it dropped completely. But the ground remained devoid of any bloodstains.

His mind. Blank. Bare. Wiped clean like the ground the soft feet tread upon. Untarnished. Hollow. Numb.

He stared straight ahead, unblinking, void of thoughts as he kept walking to who knows where. Walking was simple, one foot, next foot, right, left, right, left. His left big toe had some blood on it. Dry, brown, and flaky. His observing eyes followed the stream up, the dried blood path growing bigger. It traveling up his ankle, up his leg, disappearing into the pants around his waist. His chest was bare, and a small thing it was. There were lines on it, raised jagged light pink lines, crisscrossing everywhere.

He looked away. He was supposed to feel something about this, he knew that much. A feeling, an emotion, something he lost.

He decided he didn't much care.

Timeless, a word bubbled up from his mind like petrified amber, a word that adequately explained what he believed he felt. Out of place. Foreign. Yet he felt nowhere else to belong. It was all a fog, a blank, a white canvas. It was not easy to make words, it was not easy to name feelings when there was nothing to compare. Although, he did know a few things he wasn't.

He felt no danger when he silently entered the center of the maze. Not one ounce of care as his golden gaze looked up at the giant bronze owl statue overlooking the fountain gently burbling clear liquid.

He did not need water. He felt no thirst, no hunger, no pain.

His ears were suddenly assaulted, eyes darting to the assailant, his body gone stiff. Stiff, but ready to snap into action in a moment's notice.

A man was there, half-collapsed in the shallow pool and drinking greedily.

The stiffness faded slightly, the overwhelming need to move at the drop of a hat backed off. The man was not dangerous to him, not even close. The stiffness was not caused by fear, but obligation. The poise in his body did not leave, but the rush of wanting movement did, like a gruff voice grounding out 'at ease'.

The man didn't even notice him, enthralled by the task of scooping the clear liquid to his mouth. 

Stupid man. The water was drugged.

His feet carefully carried him to the fountain anyway, though he held no desire to drink the water. He observed the man from a quarter way around the fountain, a sense of constraint and duty laid over his blank mind. Observation was all that was required at the moment, and he was content with that.

But he would be ready for the next requirement which he, somehow had no doubt, was blood.

But that was getting ahead of himself.

The man had a mop of rugged brown hair on top, slightly wet with the man's haste to quench his thirst. The man finally looked up at his approach, making it easier to note the stubble on his chin and green eyes tired and cautious. The man was weary, he had been here for a long time. He was wounded, fresh red paint seeped from cuts and gashes across his body, clothing torn and dirtied.

The floor remained pristine.

The man stopped drinking, staring now at the boy in front of him. An expression shifted the weary man's face, wrinkling around the eyes, lips upturning. An expression he could not place.

"...Matthew..." The man whispered, whimpered, speaking the name with such reverence and hope for a reason unknown to him.

The child felt nothing, blinking once at the man in front of him. That name meant nothing to him, but it clearly meant something to this man.

"Oh, Matthew..." The man spoke again, relief filling his voice as a different liquid filled his eyes.

Salty, his nose told him. Tears, his mind dragged the word from the abyss.

He was obliged to stay still as the man dragged himself closer, scraping himself across the floor, splashing in the water until the two were right in front of each other. The man reached up with one shaky and bloody hand, eyes blown wide with the hallucinogenic drug. "Matthew." He breathed in a sob, the warm hand finally touching his face with tender care.

The touch of a father.

The word sent a jolt through the body, blinking quickly, leaning into the touch, moving to hold the hand there even though his skin burned. Cerulean blue eyes stared up at the man, wanting, hopeful, and deep sorrow all in one.

Dick was dreaming.

"You killed Matthew." The man's voice twisted, his face contorting in pure rage. Blue eyes grew impossibly wide as the hand suddenly felt like fire as it shifted lower and cinched around his throat. The boy was shaken in a sudden bout of violence, tugged closer, spittle landing on his wide-eyed face. 

"You killed Matthew." The voice shook with emotion, the enraged man's eyes sparking a dangerous yellow.

The man suddenly stood, dragging his no longer broken body upright until he was looming over the child. The grip around the boy's neck grew impossibly tight, the rest of the child shaking like a leaf, but the man didn't care.

"You killed him..." The man spoke again, softly this time. His head tilted off to the side, like a predator, a raptor. A Talon. His face contorted once more, lifting the boy and throwing him clear across the room as he roared, "FOR NOTHING."

Dick was done dreaming.

His back slammed against the wall, driving the air from his chest and he fell to the ground in a heap. He got to his hands and knees as quickly as he could and scrambled back against the wall, instinctively curling up to protect his soft insides. The tears came down full force, hot and scared, body trembling and lip wobbling as he attempted to quiet his sobs. Save his energy, he only had so much water in his body that needed to last until the next time he could find the un-drugged water.

But something didn't feel right.

He wasn't hit again, he didn't hear the Talon's light footsteps... there was no pain.

He felt heavy, warm, and present.

"I have seen many horrors in my day," a gentle, familiar, good nurtured voice cut through the roar of rushing blood. Dick hiccuped and looked up with a quiet gasp. "But you are no monster."

William Wintergreen was crouched in front of him, a warm crinkled smile, the white of the labyrinth gone, the smell of blood gone, the man and the fountain gone. Replaced with the apartment, the warm, brown, and tan toned apartment. With tacky hotel-like carpet and the bed that always dipped to one side because Slade broke the springs there. The oddly styled chair that didn't fit much with the theme of the room and the dingy window that refused to move past halfway. The counter was cluttered with random objects they couldn't store anywhere else like the canned cat food and other odds and ends of groceries. Familiar was the cleared off table-desk, except for the few dashes of stray gunpowder and bullet shells all evidence of mercenary business was wiped clean. The TV was off, the remote laying in the chair in front of it, the 'kitchen' chair dragged next to it. Matthew was predictably curled up in Slade's favorite chair, snoozing away the evening until it was time for the early morning (read 2 AM) zooms.

Home.

Dick cried, this time with relief although fear ran rampant through his veins. He hugged his legs close, stuffing his face into his clothed knees. "T-they-they're going to come back!" He pleaded, argued... promised. "I-I-I did it! I- did ex-exactly wh-what th-they w-wanted! I c-can't... I'll n-never be free!"

Wintergreen's eyes were soft, a solid, calloused hand reaching slowly out and landing gently on the child's ebony head of hair. "Richard John Grayson." His voice was reverent, speaking each name with awe and glory. "What a wonderful boy you are. I have never met a child so strong."

Dick just buried his face further, not understanding why Wintergreen was saying things that weren't true.

The hand shifted, rubbing down his head and onto his back, smoothing over his shoulder and down his arm before going back up again. His voice remained gentle and soothing, the right Wintergreen amount of snark and amusement. "I didn't say clean or pure, none of us are that anymore, and you had yours ripped away from you much sooner than it should have. You are not perfect, and such is life, no one is." The hand started picking at his hair, ruffling it and rubbing, soothing circles that gently rocked his curled form. Warmth covered one side of Dick, settling next to him as the arm wrapped around his shoulders to pull him closer, the second hand running through his hair.

Wintergreen's cheek rested on his head, moving slightly to gently speak into the boy's ear. "I'll tell you a secret, yeah? Super big secret, we can't let anyone know, especially Slade. And I know you'll keep it, you're a good boy."

Dick sniffed and rolled his head closer to the older man, keening quietly in both distress and annoyance. Wintergreen loved drawing things out, he'd rather Wintergreen rip the band-aid off. "W-what is it...?" He whined, pushing himself closer to the old soldier.

Wintergreen chuckled, warmth bouncing from his chest and transferring that ease into Dick. The arms squeezed him close, slightly lifting him up into Wintergreen's lap. The man hugged him closer, squishing the boy uncomfortably until a small squeak came out and the pressure released. "You are the best thing to happen to Slade, ever, in all his entire life. And he's got a really long life, and I mean reeeally long."

A smile tugged at the corner of Dick's mouth at the exaggeration, but he shook his head instead. Wintergreen didn't let him argue though.

"I know he's not the best at showing it, or saying it for that matter, but he loves you, Dick, really loves you," Wintergreen promised, rocking gently from side to side. "And I do too of course. And no matter what you do we won't stop, you're stuck with us my boy. You've managed to capture and enslave two old stone-hearted soldiers."

Dick whined, shaking his head again because why was Wintergreen saying these things!? They had nothing to do with the problem! Dick was the problem! "B-But I killed! I-I ru-ruined th-that man's life! I-I hurt h-him... w-worse than death! I-I used him! H-he was m-my f-friend! A-and I killed his son!" Dick burst into tears, lying limply in the old soldier's lap, burying his face into his chest.

"Yes," a hand carded through his ebony hair, "there is no denying the truth. But the truth is if you hadn't used that little boy's life to escape how could you have met Slade and affected all of our lives in such a positive way? You are happy here, aren't you? Isn't that something Matthew would want?" Wintergreen smiled, sometimes a different perspective was all that was needed, a gentle prodding from a different direction. Hopefully out of the ground where Dick buried his head.

Dick's fingers fisted over Wintergreen's shirt, the boy shifting and almost kicking while he tried to get upright on his own. "No!-- Well yes," The child looked off to the side, ducking his head in shame. "I-I am happy here... but it's not forever, his life was wasted for me, he died for..." Dick's chest shuddered and his grip grew impossibly tight on Wintergreen's clothing. "...for nothing."

Wintergreen gently took hold of the child's shoulders, trying to get him to look at him. "Dick Grayson is many things, but he is not nothing," Wintergreen was about to say something more but hesitated, knowing it wouldn't sit well with the child. The fact that Matthew was an unwilling participant in Dick's breakout from The Court was a whole nother minefield Wintergreen would rather not try to navigate. 

But Dick was already shaking his head, tossing his ebony hair and giving the old man a glimpse of his tear-stained cheeks. "No... no, you- you don't get it!" Wintergreen frowned when Dick looked up at him, those dazzling blue eyes bloodshot and puffy with tears. "It's still IN me! I'm Theirs..." his voice dropped to a horrified whisper, "I'll never be free..."

Wintergreen didn't ask what 'it' was, in fact, he looked rather solemn. Dick took that moment to continue, feeling like he was finally making some ground in enlightening his loved one. Wintergreen kept trying to cheer him up with positive things he and Slade thought about him and his life, but he didn't care what Slade and Wintergreen thought of him, all Dick knew was that Dick liked them and that was cause enough for fear. Wintergreen just didn't know the stakes that came with even being associated with Dick.

"Th-They're going to take me again! A-and I'd n-never see you again, a-and Th-They would probably kill you!" Dick stressed, begging with his eyes before he retreated and let go of the man. His eyes went wide and he looked down in horror, "...I might kill you..."

Wintergreen just stared for a moment, the child in front of him starting to hyperventilate. His lips formed a thin line, eyebrows drawn up and wrinkling his forehead in a sated sadness. He surged forward and took the boy up by the armpits, standing on his own with the boy propped on his hip. "Then I suppose we'll have to have fun with the time given to us, won't we?" Wintergreen said softly, holding the child close before moving towards the 'kitchen'. The boy cuddled on his shoulder, crying silently and wiping the tears and boogers on his shirt. 

"Bad things happen, yes, but the real victory is being able to not let that fear rule you. You've been happy before, it may not be easy to ignore doom and gloom, sometimes you can't or shouldn't, but even the stormiest days have rainbows." The old soldier stopped at the counter, turning to look directly at the crying face of his little ward. "You taught me that."

Dick sniffled, shakily adjusting his grip so he could more hug than sit. He was silent for a bit, letting the words soak in. Because Wintering wasn't arguing, he wasn't making fake promises, he was offering a solution. "...O-okay..." Dick eventually garbled through the lump still stuck in his throat. Dick would be taken, there was no stopping it. But maybe... maybe he could enjoy this temporary freedom a little bit. 

"I do have to admit though, they have such a silly nursery rhyme," Wintergreen spoke with an odd huff, directing his attention to the counter where a half-eaten cake resided. 

'Hap-- ---thday Di--'

It was a chocolate cake, bought at a store, but Wintergreen told him later that Slade was the one who wrote the words on top. Dick stared down at the cake, partly destroyed because Slade kept sneaking bites from the corners, cutting off half of Dick's name and actual slices having been cut right through the middle of 'Happy Birthday'. 

Not that it made too much of a difference, for all his skill, Slade Wilson could not master writing in frosting, the words were barely legible even when the cake was whole. It made a smile tug on the corners of Dick's lips, Slade was so funny sometimes. 

Dick held onto Wintergreen tighter, twisting around a little to watch him cut out a slice of the half-eaten cake with one hand, the other holding Dick. 

Then Wintergreen began to speak, "Beware the Court Of Owls, that watches all the time," Dick felt a shudder run through his body, but he didn't know how to handle such words coming from the old man. "Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime." The man's voice went flat and grave, sliding the piece of cake onto a paper plate set out next to the remaining half circle of cake. "They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed," 

"Speak not a whispered word of them..." Dick continued quietly, staring at the cake.

"Or they'll send the Talon for your head." Wintergreen finished, settling a plastic fork on the plate in what felt like a finalizing manner. 

The man took a deep breath, scooping up the plate and twisting around to drag the 'kitchen' chair back to the table from its place in front of the TV. The old soldier settled him and the boy in the chair while he laid the plate down. "Silly rhyme, it's hardly worthy of putting anyone to sleep, much less a child. But all nursery rhymes do have a hint of horror to them don't they?" Wintergreen asked, tone light like the horrible words were forgotten. "And do many of them are about Jack, why not get some original names in there? Nursery rhymes are just the dregs of the imagination of an emotionless wet napkin."

Dick giggled at Wintergreen's assessment, shifting down to sit more comfortably in the man's lap and reached for the fork. "They're not real." the child spoke, meaning all the 'Jack's in nursery rhymes because he knew all too well The Court was very real. But he allowed himself to poke some fun, it really was a stupid rhyme anyway. "Who puts the location of their evil base in their rhyme? And they're obviously evil, it's like they want heroes to come beat them up." Then after he shoved a piece of cake into his mouth, he added, "Like Batman."

Wintergreen smiled and scrunched over, tickling the boy on the sides, "Who needs Batman when you have a Dick Grayson though?" The child shrieked with laughter, the cake remaining on his fork flinging who knows where. Dick wiggled and laughed, content in Wintergreen's arms, and content in the time they still had. 

Dick may be on the clock, but he'd rather spend the count down happy and with his surrogate family than worrying about the doom and destruction he was destined for. He hopped Slade would get home soon, he wanted a cake fight and Slade was the only one who ever enjoyed it besides him. Wintergreen was a party pooper that way, complaining of the mess and the stomach ache it would give Matthew who would eat more than his fair share. (Totally ignoring the fact the cat really shouldn't eat cake) 

One thing he did hate, however, was that he had no idea how much time he had left. Or that his time with Wintergreen would be so short-lived.

No sooner did Wintergreen get to the TV for some good old Star Wars marathoning when a knife embedded itself in the TV, Wintergreen having dived to the side to dodge the blade meant for his back. 

Wintergreen stood up in an instant, Dick jumping in his seat still at the table. Matthew (the cat) was roused by the activity, intelligent gray eyes blinking over the quickly unraveling scene.  

"Dick!" The old soldier shouted, rushing over to the terrified child now huddled in the seat. 

The Romanian boy continued to cry as a flurry of action swept the room. His eyes squeezed shut and he held his arms too tightly, curled inwards as chaos reigned around him. He was picked up, recognizing Wintergreen's warm arms Dick cracked open his eyes, only to be shoved in some direction. Wintergreen and Dick hit the ground,  knocking the breath from the child and disorienting him even more. A flash of black caught his vision, the weird shape slowly registering as the cat dashing across the room towards the half-open window. 

There were too many sounds, his heart was hammering in his chest and Wintergreen was breathing too loudly. There was a familiar 'shing' of unsheathing blades, of the lightest thumping footsteps, and Dick froze. 

The footsteps that graced his nightmares were here. 

In the real world. 

Dread coiled in Dick's stomach, the familiar unsettling aura that followed was damning. He didn't need to look, but his eyes found the figure anyway. The mahogany suit littered with familiar golden accents, handcrafted knives in every crevice of the reinforced fabric. It was not made for protection, but mobility and speed and silence. Dick would know, Dick knew, Dick couldn't not know.

It was Talon.

Dick was frozen on the ground, looking up at the horrible truth playing in front of him. Wintergreen was up instantly, thumping more loudly than the Talon, using long swiping attacks as he stood over Dick's curled up body. Dick didn't know what weapon Wintergreen was using, everything was getting fuzzy and disjointed. 

Wintergreen was breathing heavily, the scent of iron, of blood, thick and heavy around him from wounds Dick couldn't see. Wintergreen was getting hurt, he was bleeding, he was going to die because of Dick! He had to DO something!

Dick Grayson forced himself up, standing on wobbly knees and clinging to the back of Wintergreen's shirt. One of the old man's hands went backward, warding the boy behind him further towards the wall. 

He had to help! Wintergreen needed help! Where was Slade?! Why couldn't Dick make his body move?!

His ears were suddenly assaulted with voices, too many of them, all familiar sounds. He knew it was all in his head, but he was sure he could hear something, screaming maybe, speaking, words, going in and out of his ears. The threats, orders, comforts, and praises echoed and rebounded off the walls of his head like sonar, bringing a burning pain right behind his eyes. 

His back suddenly hit the wall, his hands came up to his eyes, trying to rub the pain away and shake his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears, but those actions only enhanced the pain. It ran through his veins like fire, spreading to every nerve ending in his body.

His body went rigid when he recognized the feeling, horror stretching his face as his eyes stared into nothing.

"W-Wint...Wintergreen...!?" He warbled breathlessly, feeling the cracks in the temporary reality of safety he built with Slade and Wintergreen. "I-I'm sor-sorry...!"

"Richard Grayson, what a wonderful boy you are. I have never met a child so strong."

Dick was slammed back into the wall, eliciting a small cry from the boy. When he opened his eyes he saw Wintergreen's body over his, his back still to Dick. Wintergreen was speaking, speaking to Dick without turning around, professing soft-spoken white lies about safety.

Slade would save him, Slade would always save him. 

"Don't be scared." Dick couldn't speak past the lump in his throat or the cold pit in his stomach. As breathless and gentle as Wintergreen's voice was, it was scared. "It will be alright Dick, but unfortunately, our time is up. I love y--" 

shhllllik

Dick gasped brokenly, his head slowly turning to his shoulder. 

A blade, red, dripping, burning. Embedded into his shoulder.

Through Wintergreen's stomach. 

The voices ceased, there was no sound outside the squelching noise of the blade being driven deeper and into the wall behind the two bodies. Wintergreen went stiff, Dick's wide eyes watching from behind as Wintergreen grabbed at the sword hilt in his gut. 

The Talon stood in front of them, another sword held lazily (but none the less dangerously) in the other hand. Wintergreen was gasping, grunting, trying to move the sword out without much damage. The sword wasn't moving, and Dick knew why. Wintergreen would bleed out slowly this way, with the sword obstructing both entry and exit wounds the blood would take longer to escape. 

But The Talon was not planning for Wintergreen to die by bleeding out, he just needed to pin him, keep him from moving to evading the actual killing blow. 

"William Wintergreen, The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

And with those words, the Talon moved. 

The blade was suddenly up, dashing in a sideways arch too high to have any effect on Dick, but the sound... the sound was unmistakable. The squelching noises weren't what caught his attention, it wasn't the bone snapping, the flesh being cut like butter or the sick squirt of arteries gushing blood into the air. 

It was the thunk

Dick couldn't close his eyes, barely registering the bigger body in front of him slumping over the sword holding it in place.  

Wintergreen's... Wintergreen's head rolled slightly along the ground, staining the carpet with the blood of someone Dick considered an uncle or even a grandfather. 

That's when Dick lost control, he felt the fury under his skin, the fire racing through him like a roaring, unforgiving ocean. His golden eyes snapped to the Talon standing in front of him and his hands pushed against the body trapping him in place. The pain didn't register, just the fire coursing through his blood. 

The body hit the floor and he tugged the sword effortlessly from its sheath in the wall and in him. There was blood on his hands, the eleven-year-old held the sword steady, leveling it at the Talon before an unholy roar left his throat and he lunged. 

The Talon sidestepped easily, not even taking the opportunity to slash back, just evading an annoyance as one would swat a nat. Then all movement stopped.

The rage flowing off the crouched boy was snuffed in seconds, an eerie calm silencing any more screams of emotion. He stayed low, taking stock of this new situation he happened to be in. His gaze flicked up, head tilting to blink blankly at the Talon standing in front of him. 

With speed that did not mean desperation or fear, the boy stood at attention in front of his superior. The fire under his skin felt right at home, although something made him feel, some other form of bubbling... something. He felt off, his hand clenched unbidden over the bloodied sword in his hand. Something... something made him want to slash and cut and hurt. He was not ordered to do any of those things, in fact it seems like he HAD already, considering the state of the... room. 

Where were they? Well, no matter, if it was important he would be told, location was not detrimental for training. 

But he couldn't shake it, he wanted those things, to hurt and cut something, someONE. But there was no target, he should not be feeling like this. Had he failed training? Was that why he woke here? Was discipline over or was this the start of discipline? Nothing was making sense, but he supposed it didn't have to, he was here now so he better get on with it. 

He kept the sword tilted down in a show of subjugation, keeping his limbs stiff at his sides as he also bowed low to his superior. That's when it clicked, that burn in his chest (which was slowly fading) it was directed at The Talon. 

That wasn't quite right, his face twisted gently, ruining his bland look with confused crinkles he hopped his superior couldn't see while bowed. 

"I tried to tell them it was too early," The Talon conversed before him, but it wasn't an order... was he talking to him? There was no one else in the room, just a dead target. The information must be important then, but he found he had no clue what The Talon was talking about. But he continued to speak aridly, "'Piece of cake', Indeed. Impatient is what they are, and stubborn." 

The Talon seemed to be... insulting someone, but who?

The boy blinked at the ground. Why did he care? Where was this... curiosity coming from? He needs to stop asking internal questions. 

Movement came from The Talon and the pre-teen stood upright. His superior sheathed his blade but did not prompt him to do the same. "You have a mission, Gray Son of Gotham. Three targets, priority Leif Maxwell, no witnesses."

The Gray Son of Gotham nodded.

"We've taken the liberty to bring you to your location, targets should be within the block. You are dismissed." 

The child dipped his head once more and moved efficiently to the window with his weapon. 

He didn't ask why he wasn't wearing the usual mission garb, or why he wasn't given the usual three-hour limit, or why he wasn't given a location at all. He didn't ask who the dead (assumed to be past) target was,  or why he was being deployed right now. He didn't ask about the one-eyed man following him, nor did he ask when the man interfered. He asked nothing. He was not curious and he no longer harbored rebellious feelings towards The Talon.

He had a mission and he was going to complete it with no witnesses.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Batman pinched the bridge of his nose before letting the hand edge around one eye and rub the tired muscles on his face. 

This was a mess, a very large mess and from here it only seemed to get messier. 

From the in-depth debrief he got from Conner and the others once they woke up made it clear Dick was just as much a victim as the team was. Which only made things more complicated for the poor kid, but it mostly got on Batman's nerves. 

He wasn't mad at Dick, no. Well, maybe a little for not telling them the possibility of this happening... but mostly he was mad at himself and Deathstroke. Batman should have been there for Dick the first time around, the very first time, ages ago when he had the opportunity to take the boy in after his parents fell. Instead, he let the boy slip through his fingers and now it was back to bite him with a vengeance. Vengence taught by Slade Wilson. 

But the present was not the time for getting caught up in the past, the past can't be changed and Batman can only look to the future. 

The team was a mess, Kid Flash was the most heavily wounded, with broken ankles, ribs, and quite the concussion. Luckily the kid had a healing factor, but that made it no less jarring to see the boy in such a state at the hands of his friend. Most of the team was just exhausted or taken out of the fight early, Aqualad, Miss Martain, and even Artemis were spared most of the pain, and Conner assured them he was fine. Kid Flash was the only one to have fought Dick alone for such a long amount of time. 

Black Canary and most of the team felt guilt over Kid Flash's condition, and most of them held some sort of resentment to Dick. But after an explanation from Miss Martain and Conner, their resentment morphed into slight guilt and pity. 

Wally has yet to wake up, Barry hasn't left his side in the med bay while most of the others rested. Batman was here though, watching through the one-way glass into the room they turned into a prison and infirmary. 

Dick was still asleep as well, the rise and dip of his chest indicating a deeper sleep. Batman's eyes flicked over the rest of the boy and his anger flared up. Dick wasn't injured much, only a few bruises and cuts, and of course the welt on his head courtesy of Conner. What made him angry were the straps. Each hand was cuffed to the bed, even his legs individually wrapped to keep him in place. There was debate over a strap over his chest, Batman silenced them by doing it himself. 

But that didn't mean he liked it. 

Batman was finding he hated seeing the kid in cuffs, but they couldn't be sure who would be in control when he woke up so it was imperative he remain in a containable state until they could figure it out.

Which is why Batman was here, watching him, waiting for him to wake up and figure out who's fault it really is. Batman had his money on Wilson, though that line from Dick's panic attack in the library about a 'they' was in the back of his mind. Whoever 'they' were were obviously heavily influencing the boy's life. Especially the part of what scared him.

'clink, clink, clinkclink... clink'

Batman was pulled out of his thoughts and his eyes were on alert in an instant, trying to find where the noise was coming from. It didn't take long for him to figure it was coming from Dick, evidently, the boy was awake, but not himself. 

His body was too still, his eyes were open but they just stared up at nothing. His wrist was rattling against its restraints, making the clinking noises Batman was hearing. 

The Dark Knight swept into the room, making sure to close the door behind him and he walked up to the boy. Dick's body didn't react, it just kept clinking away in some random pattern. Batman just observed for a while, leaning over to snap his fingers under the boy's nose to no avail. Just the constant 'clink clink, clink'.

Like a light switch turned on Batman rose a hand to his hear, pressing on his comms. "Re-"

"I'm already on it," Red Robin's voice interrupted, "All I know so far is that its coordinates."

Batman stayed silent, letting the younger vigilante listen to the code without other interference. Bruce had reluctantly allowed Tim to resume his stalking, the argument wasn't well fought on Bruce's part. With Tim starting out with 'If I had been watching this never would have happened.' Bruce had pretty much lost from the start. But you know, Bruce has this thing called 'Pride' and Tim had to make it look like it was Bruce's idea for Bruce to accept it. Bruce couldn't deny full surveillance on the kid was probably for the best, Tim just needed to be reined in a little. Tim was pleading innocence, a harmless prank the reason for his previous stalking. Bruce knew it probably to be true, but that didn't make it right. Overall though, both Bruce and Tim were glad to have the younger of the two stalk the boy now, it was necessary.

Batman needed to brush up on his coordinate codes, he was sure the kid had sent the sequence out a few times now but the only remarkable information Batman could glean from it was the location was in Gotham. 

"Got it." Red Robin crackled in his ear, "Alderwoods Apartments on Blackburn Street, on the south side of Gotham Bay, room 34... What should we do about it?"

Check it out obviously, Batman wanted to say, that could be the location of something important to whoever was controlling Dick, or just a meeting place, or a trap. Either way, the location would be explored, but right now it looked like the controller was letting go of their puppet.

It happened all at once, the stiffness in Dick's body seemed to disappear as fast as the Flash on taco Tuesday. The boy's chest heaved like he was struggling for air like he'd been forced underwater for too long. He was twitching everywhere, fists clenching and legs tugging at their restraints. 

"Dick," Batman laid a hand on the panicked boy's shoulder, causing most of the movement to still. Dick's wild eyes found Batman and the Caped Crusader couldn't help but feel his heart weigh a little heavier in his chest. The boy was so broken, there were tears in those dull blue eyes, his complexion was drained of blood but the heat rising to his red puffy eyes made the poor kid look sick. 

"I-I-" The boy started, fumbling with his mouth and trying to both speak and breathe too fast. He then looked away, shifting as though he didn't want to be near Batman despite the restraints on him. The boy was shivering, whether it be because of fear or literal sickness Batman didn't know, but the kid obviously needed comfort. "I'm sorry." his voice was so quiet Batman barely heard it, it was more of a squeak and yet again so broken. 

"Dick," Batman said again, trying to get the boy to look at him again. The Romanian boy only flinched, his head ducking and shoulders scrunching as much as they could while he was stuck in place. Batman opened his mouth to speak but found himself at a loss for words. 

What could he even say?

Ask him if he was alright? That was stupid, he was obviously NOT alright.

Explain the necessity of the restraints? Dick knew already, he didn't need to be told and bringing it up might just worsen his mental state. 

Ask who was behind all of this? A bit shallow, probably not something he should approach RIGHT after the traumatic experience. Even though that WAS why he was here. 

"I'm sorry," Bruce settled with, a deep sigh accompanying the statement. 

Dick huffed, rolling his head back towards the Dark Knight, the fakest smile he'd ever seen on the kid's face. It didn't even reach his dead-looking eyes. "What are you sorry for? I'm the one to beat the crap out of my friends." Batman was surprised by how strong his voice was, but he could see it was just as fake as the smile. Dick was putting up a front in self-defense, he was a scared kid so he did what he did best and pretended nothing was wrong. 

Batman took another long breath, gently squeezing the shoulder his hand was still on. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when your parents died."

Dick seemed to freeze, the fake smile gone. "Oh."

"I was there, but I wasn't fast enough and I'm sorry. I wasn't able to save them and I let you slip through the cracks to be picked up by Deathstroke. I'm sorry." 

"Huh," the acrobat seemed blindsided by the apology. "I guess you were there... I don't blame you though, they were going to die no matter what and I-I've come to terms with that."

And that... Batman closed his eyes for a second, that was so horrible. 

"And honestly it doesn't matter who picked me up afterward, it wouldn't matter if I was picked up by Poison Ivy or freaking Superman." The boy sighed, still not looking at the vigilante, "My fate is sealed, it has been for a long time, it's just a matter of when my time as Dick Grayson runs out."

"No," Batman stated, he didn't care what fate Dick thought he was meant for, "You are a good kid Dick, you're meant for better things."

"No... I'm not, and it's about time Slade figured it out too." Dick said, taking a deeper breath and letting his eyes drift along the wall. "He can't save me, and neither can you, so save yourself and drop me before it's too late."

"Dick-" Batman wanted to argue, but the boy didn't let him, stopping him with a piercing broken glare. 

"You have a family, friends, you try to save me and that all gets ripped from you and you won't even get me." Dick snapped, the anger not quite covering up the sadness and fear that leaked in his voice. "I kill the people I'm around, the people I consider friends and family always die, so please, stop, don't get attached and just let me go."

Batman scowled. Dick wanted to be let go? Alright.

Batman lifted his hand off of his shoulder, reaching down and unlocking the cuff holding the wrist in place before the boy could say anything else. 

"Wait- what are you doing?" Dick's head lifted to watch the man travel around his bed to unlock his other hand. "Wait, no--" The boy tried to intercept him, his free hand reaching over but didn't get far with the strap still across his chest. "No, stop, Batman please,"

Batman ignored him, going down to his feet and brushing the padded restraints away. The legs shifted, but the boy forced them back into place, doing the same with his arms as the Dark Knight traveled back up to his chest.  

"Batman, Bru- Batman please, don't!" Dick protested, his voice cracking and wavering in a way that finally gave Bruce pause. 

He stopped right over the boy's chest, hands ready to unlatch the strap, but he looked down at the boy instead. Dick was definitely crying now. 

"I didn't mean- Don't actually let me go- I need-" The boy fumbled with his words, still staring pleadingly up at the vigilante. "I-I need these, k-keep me locked up... please, I can't- I can't handle hurting someone else."

Batman ripped the last strap off and the boy cried out in anger. 

"Do you WANT me to kill you?!" The boy glared through his tears, but sitting up anyway and clutching his knees to his chest. "I mean I don't want to kill you or anyone else but I'm a liability! You can't trust me! Don't trust me! I don't even trust me!"

"Dick." Batman rumbled this time, not letting the boy interrupt or talk over him again. "That wasn't you who attacked the team, that wasn't you who I tied down earlier. You are not going to kill me, and you're not going to kill anyone you think as friends or family. You keep blaming yourself, but you said it yourself, you don't want to kill, so stop letting the bad guys win."

Dick blinked, and then whispered, "I'm not letting them win," then louder, "I'm not letting anything! I can't DO anything about it! Th-they rip me out... a-and put a monster back in." The boy's hands shifted up to his hair, digging his fingers in and gripping ferociously as he stared blankly wide-eyed down at his feet. "I-I'm always trapped... in my own body, d-doing horrible things..." 

"Help me understand then," Batman said gently, "I want to help you."

"You CAN'T." Dick spat, curling in more tightly and wrapping his arms around his head like he wanted to block out noise. "Wintergreen tried... Slade tried... yet I'm still here, I'm still here and nothing has changed. I-I don't understand..."

Batman took a calming breath, he was getting frustrated with all this talking around the elephant in the room. "What don't you understand?"

"This..." Dick lowered his hands to his knees, leaving his hair a scruffy mess, and gestured vaguely around him. "Th-this was different, i-it wasn't them, but I don't--" the Romanian boy buried his face in his knees, whining in exasperation. "I don't get why he did it... or even how for that matter."

"It was Deathstroke," Batman said, less of a question and more of a statement. 

Dick just slowly nodded, hugging his knees tighter. "M-my gloves, o-only me and him know how to make a spark like that. H-he even winked at me, Matthew wasn't fazed. He... he took out t-the picture and... he tossed it away." Dick's voice broke, a gentle sob rocking his shoulders. 

The silence didn't last long, but he continued to speak through his tears. "...It-it's like being dunked underwater... when the... the other people t-take over. Th-this time I could... I could see and think and feel, b-but I couldn't do anything. He knows... he knows that... he knows I would- I would-- but why...?"

Batman stood still, even though every atom in his body demanded he comfort the poor kid in some way. He didn't have an answer, at least not a good one, but he was starting to understand. Slade wrecked Dick's trust in him, which, as an outside perspective, was incredibly odd to Batman.

Why would Slade do it NOW of all times? When Dick was surrounded by his enemies; heroes? When his one greatest fear is ultimately hurting those he loves regardless of both the hero and the monster slumbering away inside of him?

Slade was leaving Dick, just as he left him with Batman on that roof, blindsided the kid into trusting someone else. Slade was kicking him out, giving him the boot, leaving Dick with heroes. 

That's when a startling realization hit Batman. 

There was still a 'They' a third (apparently all-powerful) party.

Slade couldn't protect Dick from Them anymore, so he found a way to settle Dick in with someone who could. A bunch of heroes. 

This... Slade's betrayal and 'take over' was the call to action, this was bringing Dick's number one problem straight to the front of the hero's attention. Something was going down and Slade needed the heroes to protect Dick. To confine him because that's what Slade needed.

"Slade left a message," Batman started, but the boy nodded while squeezing his arms tight around himself. He had stopped crying, for now, just sniffing in and huddling like he was cold. 

"The apartment," he muttered groggily, "I-I'm awake when he's in control remember? He sent you the address of the apartment I grew up with him in. The apartment where Wintergreen died."

"I'm going to take a look around the place." Batman stated, "I'll try to get some answers."

The Dark Knight turned to leave, even though he didn't feel much like leaving the poor kid just wallowing there. Dick's hand flashed out, grabbing the hem of his cape. Batman stopped, looking down at the boy who stared back up with pleading dull broken blue eyes. 

"I-It could be a trap, h-he likes traps... and explosions," Dick said quickly before he seemed to remember himself and tucked his hand back to his body, looking down. "I don't want--"

Dick didn't have to say what he didn't want, his ducking head and curled up body already told him that. Batman's gaze softened, "I'll bring back up," he promised.

He turned to leave again, and he was nearly to the door when the boy spoke out again. 

"W-Wait!" 

Batman turned around. 

The boy was on his knees, looking like he was about to jump off the bed to follow. But his hands were fisting his pants and his wide eyes looked alarmed as he leaned back to sit on his heels. "I-Is Wally okay?"

Batman nodded, "I believe the only wound he still has is the concussion, he'll be fine when he wakes up."

"O-okay..." He didn't seem too relieved, but his hands relaxed some. "And the others...?"

"All fine as well, only a little banged up." Then as an afterthought, "They're worried about you."

Dick's gaze dropped to the bed, muttering something under his breath that Batman didn't catch. When he looked back up his gaze changed, looking more like the scared boy who woke up earlier. "C-can you at least handcuff me? I don't want..."

Again Batman easily filled in the rest of the sentence, but when he came back over to the boy it was not for what the boy requested. He unclipped his cape and tossed it around the boy's shoulders, fixing it over his front and making sure it covered him completely. Dick didn't protest, but the vigilante could see the confusion in his eyes as they followed his movements. 

"No one except me is getting in or out through that door."  Batman hated how Dick almost visibly relaxed at the notion of being trapped in the room. Although he still looked uneasy, "Would you like me to bring in some things for you to do?"

But the acrobat was already shaking his head, "No, don't give me anything I can use as a weapon, not even a stuffed animal."

Batman frowned. "Are you sure? You might be in here for a while."

"I don't care if I'm in here for the rest of my life, don't let me hurt anyone else." The boy said with the utmost security Batman had ever heard from him, along with the strongest glare. It wasn't even a glare, it wasn't a challenge or taunt, it was a rock-solid affirmation. He was sure if the kid said 'Batman wears bright pink and fairy wings' with that face it would instantly come true and no one would question it. 

It once more put weight on Bruce's heart.

"You won't." He affirmed, turning to leave again. "You'll be alright, Dick."

Dick didn't call him back this time, Bruce was just closing the door when he heard, "don't make promises I can't keep."

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

"So we crashing this place or what." Red Robin said, crouched on the lip of the roof adjacent to their target building. The roof was rather low, the building wasn't all that tall compared to the high and mighty buildings in Gotham central. But this was in the south, borderline to the slums, this was practically a skyscraper. At least a still habitable one...

Batman stood a few feet away, Nightwing on the other side of him. The vigilantes had their sights set on the apartment room, noting its obvious aging and all possible exits and entries. The building was rather squat for being four stories high, the target room on the third floor in a corner with two possible windows as entries and exits. Regardless of 'squatty-ness' the building really was taller than most on the street, the building they were using to spy on the place was actually across the street behind it, and even then it was barely level. 

"Keep a lookout." Batman gruffed as he simply stepped off the roof, cape billowing like a parachute to buffer the large man's fall onto the target apartments' roof. Nightwing gave no goodbye as he too lept off the roof, using a collapsable glider staff to make the trip across the street. He landed in a roll before popping up on his feet next to his father.

"Hmph," Tim grunted, folding his arms under his cape with a playful scowl. "Yeah leave Red Robin to do all the surveillance, not like I'm already looking after anyone already."

"Guess that's why I'm here." Stephanie Drake's voice crackled through the comm, pulling a small smile from the lonely vigilante. "Totally fine by the way, not at all annoyed Bruce shoved something on us again."

"Oh, so there's an 'us' now?" Tim full-fledged smirked now. Nightwing looked up at him from the roof before lifting an arm... and fliped Tim off. 

"Quit flirting Drakes, this is serious," Damian growled into the comms while Batman reached over and put his arm down.

"Oh yeah, what's Bruce's motto?" Steph sniggered before grotesquely modifying her voice. "No dating, only justice."

Tim's grin grew wicked, only Bruce's traveling batglare making him shut up enough to not actually laugh out loud. "Yes, this is completely serious. How's surveillance going on your end, love?"

"Well, I'm almost done with Wayne Tower in my Gotham City scale model made completely out of waffles." 

"Stephanie." Bruce's gruff voice cut in.

"Oh yeah totally blame me, not like you're taking my husband from a well-earned waffle night only to make the pregnant woman get involved too! It's waffle night!" Steph ranted with clear irritation, but from experience, everyone knew she was not well and truly annoyed yet. The men went silent and Tim had a low-key glare war with Damian to make sure the rude older sibling didn't say anything, well... rude. Tim heard his wife sigh quickly out her mouth how he knew she did when she was annoyed but collected herself. "Dick is fine, he's just been sitting there on the bed."

Bruce grunted before he spoke, his version of both an apology and a thank you. "Tell me if he changes at all."

"Aye-Aye Captain, this is Waffle Queen signing out until something important happens, over." 

Steph went quiet and Bruce and Damian glared up at Tim.

Tim couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Steph was awesome. "What?" he said to their incredulous looks, "You expect me to be able to control her? Hate to break it to you but she might be married to me but she's still 100% Stephanie."

"We're just wondering why you had to marry her," Damian muttered before turning his back on the vigilante. Batman did the same, reining in his focus away from Tim's wife and the weird complications there to the very pressing matter of Slade's apartment. 

"We do this quickly" Batman grunted to his sons, marching over above the window he decided they were going to use as a door. Nightwing followed behind him, Red Robin's eyes peeled for any suspicious activity that might suggest a trap.  

The Dark Knight slid down silently, noting this was the window into the 'kitchen' area of the apartment. There was another in the bedroom but this one had access to the entire apartment so there'd be no surprises. Batman did look in through the window first of course, the place was decently wrecked for starters. Definitely left to rot for a while and stripped bare of anything helpful by either the homeless or the greedy. The most notable part of it all was how quiet it was, there didn't seem to be anyone there. 

Batman dug his gloved fingers under the windowpane and lifted, only to be stopped about halfway. He pushed harder but the window wouldn't budge, it squeaked a little in retaliation until it really didn't move. 

"It won't go any higher than that."

Batman stopped his attempts to lift the window, finding Deathstroke The Terminator leaning against the wall next to the window on the inside. His arms were folded, weapons safely stowed but not inaccessible. Only the black covered half of his mask was visible, giving the mercenary a headless look. 

"I can look the other direction if you want me to save your dignity." The man snarked dryly.

Nightwing was having none of it, because unlike his father his suit was slimmer and was less of a hassle to get through the tight space. The blue vigilante held fire in his eyes as he stalked up to the standing mercenary. 

"What did you do to him," Nightwing growled, hands hovering over his escrima sticks at his sides.

Deathstroke was unimpressed, still lounging against the wall inside the apartment. "A pointless query everyone seems so worried about."

Nightwing's nose scrunched, Slade was as cryptic and unhelpful as usual. While Nightwing distracted Deathstroke Batman was able to get into the apartment without too much hassle. The Batman stood solidly across from the mercenary, a safe enough distance while still being able to converse well. "You brought us here, but won't answer our questions. Why?" 

"An exchange," Deathstroke announced as Nightwing backed off to stand next to his mentor. "There are forces at play beyond our control."

"The puppetmasters, the ones who turned Dick into a slave in his own body," Batman affirmed in the shadows. The only light came from the window where the mirky moonlight shone through, barely illuminating the duo standing in front of the mercenary completely drenched in darkness. 

"They are, admittedly, not to be trifled with. It would do you good to stay out of their way." Deathstroke said, reaching a hand up and sliding out one of his blades. The two vigilantes eyed him warily but the man simply rested the blade on a propped knee and took a whetstone from one of his pockets. The mercenary's attention turned from them to his sword, taking careful interest in a soothing swiping motion down the blade. 

"But you have." Batman grunted, "You got in their way when you took Dick in."

"No," Slade said, continuing to hone the blade as if the two vigilantes weren't there. 

Silence fell when the man didn't continue, simply denying the fact. Nightwing grew restless beside the Dark Knight.

"You did not go through all this effort to warn us." The younger vigilante wanted to snarl, he held back the growling, but not the curled lip. 

"Take a look around." The mercenary stated, finally stopping the gentle ministrations to his sword to gesture vaguely to the room with the whetstone. "This is warning enough." And he went back to sharpening his blade. 

Batman and Nightwing did take a second to look around, sure the first initial sweep of the room was for threats and escape routes, this time they actually looked and digested. A mess, yes, like a battle had come through. The TV was shattered, which looked to be the imprints of a knife in the innards of the technology. A chair was overturned and the moldy carpeted ground had more than a few questionable stains. One spot in particular was bloody, the carpet stained brown and stiff. It trailed along the ground until there was a larger splatter next to the wall, wherein the wall was a slit where another blade might have punctured it. Around the slit was more dried blood, frozen from where it dripped down.

"What happened here?" Batman asked gravely, looking back to the mercenary who's sliding whetstone grated to a stop. 

"Wintergreen died here." The man said, looking oddly stiff. "I'm sure you know about that, your friend on the roof doesn't seem to know the meaning of personal space."

"We're working on it, though it doesn't seem like a smart option right now." Nightwing said, still looking at the slit in the wall where a man had died. But it was too small, the amount of blood loss to kill a man did not happen there, the blood was everywhere else BUT the wall. How did Wintergreen die exactly? "Was that man's death supposed to be consequential?"

Deathstroke's grey eye slid up. "Yes."

Batman scowled, he's had enough with beating around the bush. "If that boy really is special to you you'll tell us what we need to know to save him." There was a threat in his tone, a glower in his masked eyes, and a sinking hole in his heart.

"Save him?" Slade commented like he was confused and amused. "There is no 'saving him', he's gone, has been since the moment he was born."

"Ask him about owls." Tim's voice suddenly sparked in the comms. He sounded tense, that tone he uses when he hopes he's wrong but knows he's right. It made the sinking feeling in Batman's stomach go all the way down to a black hole.

Batman was wary to find out why Tim would think owls are important, he didn't want that theory to be correct. Not for Dick. Not for Tim.

"Does it have anything to do with owls?" It was Nightwing who asked, Batman swallowing something thick. 

Deathstroke didn't have to say anything, he moved. His blade went up and sheathed, the other coming down as the mercenary pushed off the wall towards the duo. The two vigilantes lowered their stances, but the man just walked right past them, dragging out one of the chairs set haphazardly next to a desk-like table. The chair creaked as he settled, putting the new blade on his knee and dragging the whetstone along its seemingly pristine surface. 

"No owls." the man grunted thickly as he shook his head. "It's the Talons you have to look out for."

"So the Court Of Owls is real," Nightwing said, looking over to his father for a moment, "I thought Red Robin made it up."

"You can't 'make up' an encounter with Them, They have a way of making sure you don't forget. The ones who do don't have a head, and the others are at Their beck and call. I'd count Red Robin lucky if it weren't for the fact he is now a chess piece." Deathstroke spoke morbidly, but in the leisure he said it at only added to the dread piling in Bruce's stomach. 

"What do you mean?" Batman asked, his concern immediately going to his other son. Actually the question was sort of aimed for Tim himself, considering he was technically part of the conversation. 

"No one knows about Them unless They want you to and if They want you to, well... Did they give the red bird a time limit? They seem rather fond of those." Slade grunted almost as an afterthought. 

"Red Robin," Batman growled into the comms, he needed an answer to this yesterday. 

"No time limit, I only know about the rhyme and rumors." When the silence continued and his voice came back with the slightest of tremors. "...And I may have been privy to one of their meetings..."

Nightwing drew a short breath, he felt like they'd gone nowhere except confirm an evil cult was real. What they needed was real information and a way to save Dick. And maybe Tim, whatever THAT was about. He rounded on the mercenary, "If you were going to be useless then why did you bring us here?"

"I did get you here didn't I?" Deathstroke repeated and a flurry of thoughts crossed the vigilante's minds. 

It boiled down to two; One, Deathstroke had lured three bats away from the cave where Dick was left alone. Two, Deathstroke was the one who gave them the information on where to go. Via Dick's body.

Deathstroke was confessing. Confessing to controlling Dick.

"Why," Nightwing demanded as he knew Dick would want this information. "And how?"

"Drakes aren't the only pawn." Deathstroke spoke, "There are actually quite a few players in this game, but I wouldn't worry, the numbers will thin down eventually. In a game of four-sided chess, it will always come down to the classic two. The light and the dark. I'm just opening your eyes."

"And that included playing into Dick's one true fear?!" Nightwing raised his voice, confused by all of this riddle talking and wanting a straight answer for once. Deathstroke hurt Dick, if not physically then emotionally, in a way only Deathstroke would know how. Damian couldn't help but be reminded of his mother, not with Slade's track record. The record that was playing right now.

"He's dangerous." Slade combatted, as if that was the best excuse. "This is what Dick would want."

"You have a messed up version of what Dick wants." Nightwing growled low, "he loved you like a father and THIS is how you repay him?! Preying on his fears in the name of his own good?!"

Deathstroke stood up slowly, whetstone stowed away and blade handled dangerously in his palm. "You know nothing."

"What are you hiding?!" Nightwing continued to grill, escrima sticks out finally and advancing on the mercenary. "You've jumped around our questions all night, wasting our time with useless riddles and stupid myths! If you--"

"Beware the Court Of Owls, that watches all the time. Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed. Speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send a Talon for your head." 

The silence from the others was deafening. The mercenary did not sheath his blade, but picked something from one of his many pockets.  

"I have given you all that you need, and I thought my motives would be clear by now, but as you evidently need to be spoon-fed that information I will supply." Slade dipped his head slightly, sounding oddly exhausted. "Everything I do, I do for Dick. I have given you all the pieces, I will not make the puzzle for you. Time, however, is running out." The man moved off towards the window, standing solidly in place with his sword pointed down and a hand resting on top. His other hand came up, gesturing loosely with a clenched fist. "This is when you will need to take your leave."

Then something beeped. 

Batman and Nightwing stalled for a moment. Slade's hand was not clenched, it was holding a detonator. 

"Explosion on the north side." Tim's voice rang through the comms, "Unidentified movement two blocks out. I suggest picking one and going for it."

Batman and Nightwing went still, each hearing the explosion from a distance with a new sinking feeling. "Get to that explosion, we're on our way," Batman ordered, keeping an eye on the mercenary who continued to stand calmly. 

Nightwing was less mild, he charged the man, knocking the detonator from his hand as he slammed him against the wall with a mighty kick. Deathstroke didn't have time to retaliate before an escrima was at his throat, another reared back and sparking dangerously with flashes of bright electricity. Nightwing's growling face was illuminated by the sporadic light, an eerie look in the dark room. 

"I am not your enemy," Slade said calmly, not even attempting to free himself from the pitifully awful attempt of a pin. A comforting thought to think this powerful vigilante's ineptitude here was a sign of his care for his son. As dangerous as such follies could be, Slade was grateful nonetheless. "You won't have to worry about me for much longer."

Nightwing spat in his face, it was lucky the man wore a mask. "You are disgusting and a cretin, I have no idea how Grayson could come to admire such putrid scum. I am not the one who has to live with a demon for a father in my head." Nightwing spoke with such venom Slade was honestly surprised he didn't shrivel up and die right there. 

"Maybe." Slade slightly nodded, "But I am the lesser of two evils, which would you rather he have?"

Nightwing's glower didn't waver, "The lesser of two evils is still evil."

"Then it's a good thing you have him, or I might be worried." Slade huffed, his eye dashing to the side for a second because something dark flickered in the corner of his eye. 

"Nightwing," Batman chided with the word, "Stand down, we have work to do." 

The blue vigilante's masked eyes narrowed impossibly on the mercenary, but he shoved off with another growl. "Fine, we were wasting time anyway." Escrima sticks powered down and stowed the man slid through the window and disappeared, leaving just the Dark Knight with Deathstroke The Terminator. 

"He's hurting because of you," Batman stated lowly, honestly curious to see how the man would react. It was clear he had some form of attachment to Dick, surely he wouldn't WANT Dick to feel bad? 

"If I recall correctly," the man drawled mockingly with an eye roll(something he may or may not have learned from Dick), "One has to fall to learn how to get back up."

"I'm not sure there's much farther for him to fall," Batman said gravely, trying to appeal to the man's sense of fathership over the boy. 

"I'm not talking about Dick."

"Father, your assistance would be more beneficial over here." Nightwing's voice growled through the comms. "Red Robin where are you? You never answered father's order."

"I'm on my way," Batman spoke, staring at the mercenary one last time before he left. "Red Robin call in."

The Dark Knight shot off his grappling hook, speeding towards the column of smoke traveling upwards into the Gotham smog. His eye caught a fluttering of red and redirected his next line, swinging wide to land next to the crouched figure. 

"He still hasn't left yet." Red Robin reported to the man, low and unmoving as he stared down the apartment. Batman's permanent scowl furrowed and the younger vigilante continued. "Slade's always been slippery, but he hasn't left yet. What is he waiting for?"

"Any idea about his riddles?" Batman asked, internally noting the younger's observations.

"Well sorta, but we don't need to figure it out, we already have a Slade-translator," Tim said with a small smirk, but then it faded. "The Talons are no joke, Dick really is in trouble if my new theory is correct. We have more than just Slade riddles to ask him about, this could... explain a lot actually. But..." Tim took in a breath, breaking eye contact with the apartment's roof to stare Batman in the eye. "Batman we really might not be able to save him, at least not without severe casualties. The Court... it's something else."

Bruce didn't react, which meant he was taking the news badly. His cape billowed as he twisted around to stalk towards the corner ledge of the roof, "I won't be late a second time."

Tim stared after him as he lept off the roof, Nightwing's annoyed yelling in his ear about being the only one attending to the now raging fire. A different cold feeling settled in the pit of Tim's stomach, Bruce's words bringing back difficult memories and feelings.

Bruce refused to be late a second time.

Tim knew Bruce was getting attached to Dick, he didn't really think it would be this severe so early though. Bruce was latching onto Dick like a lifeline just as much as Dick was to him. Because of Dick Bruce was finally healing from the loss of Jason. After two long years of Tim and Damian trying to keep Bruce's head above water (and their own heads) all it took was for a small murder child to fall into his lap for his focus to change entirely. Tim may be the one labeled with obsessive behavior about Dick but Bruce has been the one with the kid on his mind since the Grayson's death. 

Damian had never said it outright to Tim, but he knew they both noticed how much Bruce was actually doing for this kid. He went in public to meet Selina Kyle, showed completely blind trust to the kid after his argument with the team. Tim could see how much it worried him when Sportsmaster beat the kid, Damian too (not that Damian would admit that). Tim knew it was only the fact of this uncertainty, the third party, the freaking Court of Owls that was keeping Bruce from bringing the kid to the manor. Even then, Tim was 78% sure Bruce was going to bring the kid to the manor anyway with the purpose of 'protection'. 

But Dick, while having Slade after an undoubtedly horrible time with The Court, was thrown from everything he knew into something else, something he dreaded. If Bruce hadn't been there, if he hadn't given the kid space and showed him that olive branch of trust, the kid just wouldn't have survived mentally. 

They needed each other, it was obvious, but Tim feared the repercussions of another Jason. Jason's death had been planned, yes, goaded by the Joker, but nothing to the extent of The Court. Tim honestly didn't know much about The Court, but every time he heard something about them he shivered at the thought of being involved. 

And the ONLY reason Tim could have for a kid, an orphan child, involved with The Court? They needed a killer, a Talon for the Owl's feet.

Tim understood one thing from all of Slade's riddles. 

No one escapes The Court. 

For Dick, it was already too late.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Slade closed his eye, breathing in deeply to calm his nerves. He would never admit it, never out loud and never in body language. He wouldn't give them that edge over him, they already had too much held over his head. 

He breathed in the smell of the old apartment, it was hardly as he remembered it, but just standing there with his eye closed he could imagine it at its peak. Wintergreen's annoying mothering over a giggling boy, the child munching loudly on snacks with no care for the poor chair getting drowned in crumbs. 

He calmly opened his eye at the end of his third breath, unsurprised by the new presence in the room. The warmth was gone.

"Talon."

"Slade Joseph Wilson."

The Talon was just as Slade remembered, gold goggles and carefully crafted arm guards. Deep marron fabric that simply held everything together, less for protection and more for silent movement and mobility. Everywhere else that wasn't for that was covered with hidden (and not-so-hidden) knives.

"The Court has agreed it was within their best interest that The Light's plan proceeds." The Talon spoke, a voice that Dick had confided in him that graced his nightmares. A voice that echoed in Slade's nightmares as well. 

"Good for them," Slade replied listlessly, feigning indifference with a half-hearted shrug. But Talons were not ones so easily fooled, they were breed to know their victim's every tell even if they'd forgotten the experience themselves. 

"You do not deny you jeopardized our Gray Son's involvement?" It wasn't much of a question, but even with a bland speech as The Talons', it was. 

A dangerous question requires a dangerous answer. 

"I do not," Slade said with a dip of his head. His hand gripped his katana harder, the Court would not allow him to know this unless...

"Then you are of little use to us." The Talon said with a tilt of his head with a tone of contemplation. "Slade Wilson, The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

As soon as the words filled the air the room exploded into action.

Chapter Text

Dick didn't know what to do when the door opened, he wasn't expecting anyone to come in. Like sure yeah someone has to come in at some point. He was given food of course and that meant some sort of interaction. So he wasn't sure why he was so spooked this time.

Maybe it's because he didn't want to get caught wallowing under the bed.

Well, he was sure he was being watched via the cameras in all four corners of the room, but he liked to pretend those didn't exist while he was being depressed.

The rebellious part of Dick said he should stay under the bed and pout some more, but that wouldn't lead him anywhere but more embarrassment. Another part of Dick felt justified in wallowing under the bed, he had every right to feel sad about his situation. It was a good to honest terrible situation. But then there was a different side of Dick that screamed 'GET OUT FROM UNDER THE BED YOU IDIOT' because he should not act like a feral child. (That one might have been in Wintergreen's voice) (not the yelling of course)

The voices raged in his head, shouting at each other and at him, from Slade's 'get your butt in gear' to Wintergreens ironic consolation that Dick could actually do something about his situation. But his own voice whispered back, the quietest but most powerful. No more Matthews. He needed to stay cautious and locked away because who knows who he'll hurt next. Then there was the constant internal screaming in the background, it sounded too young though. Dick decided to label that one Talon and then never acknowledge it again.

All of those voices flew around his mind in milliseconds, a cacophony of noise too complicated for Dick to reach a solid conclusion.

Dick ended up scrambling out from under the bed. He jumped to his feet, standing up awkwardly next to the bed he oh so obviously pushed into the corner of the room like a weirdo. He pulled Batman's cape with him, bundling it up in his hands to give his nerves something to do as he was approached by two figures who had ample time to realize he had been huddling under the bed.

(He liked it there okay? It was nice and small and using Batman's cape as a cushion it wasn't too uncomfortable either. Small places with lots of corners that weren't too bright or too dark were the best places. Slade's cramped apartment had plenty of those.)

"What are you doing here?" Dick asked the one person he recognized, hoping they'd ignore his mad scramble from underneath the bed because he started the conversation. Then he hoped his voice didn't waver or hint at any surprise or discomfort because that's literally all he was feeling at the moment. He didn't want to talk about why he was under the bed, or anything relating to his situation really.

The vigilante wearing the blue bird stopped in front of the young mercenary, the second man stopping next to him. There was an odd silence that gathered between them, Dick felt like he was being studied and he had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, the weird feelings weren't actually coming from the stranger, they were coming from Nightwing himself. It was a difficult vibe to decipher, Dick just hoped he didn't comment on how terrible he looked again. (Damian apparently takes to pointing out flaws in the people he cares about in the name of some weird form of love.) (This explanation was whispered to him by Bruce— the entire affair was alien to Dick, it honestly felt like a dream and he wasn't sure it actually happened.)

Dick hadn't really slept, he was too scared he'd wake up somewhere else with more blood on his hands. The result was expected, the bags under his eyes felt as heavy as his eyelids, and his brain was trying desperately to either turn off or sputter back on. It's not like he had coffee or anything stimulating, it was just him and his fear keeping him awake.

"You look deplorable Grayson, have you tried sleeping at all?"

Ah, so it was real, or maybe he actually was sleeping and this was a dream. A very weird dream. Dick's eyes narrowed on the masked stranger, didn't dreams only include people (faces?) you've seen before? Or would that be negated by the fact the stranger was wearing a mask?

"Can't," Dick responded, still staring at the other (assumed) vigilante. "Too risky."

"Does sleeping increase the chance of evil Dick Grayson?" The stranger asked, a reasonable if not surprising question.

Dick had enough of staring into white lenses, he let out a sigh through his nose and looked away. "No. I just don't... want..." his voice tapered off and he felt ashamed. He couldn't even speak about what was wrong with him in fear of it. Why was he so messed up?! Why couldn't he deal with things like a normal human being?! Just talk to the stranger about your gosh darn fears about everyone else's safety because you might become a slave in your own murderous body and then have to live with the blood on your hands afterward and never be close to anyone ever again.

Dick's eyes were stinging as he stared furiously into the wall that was steadily getting blurrier while his hands clenched the ball of Batman's cape too tightly.

"If you're really insisting on isolating yourself you should at least conserve your liquids," Nightwing mentioned. The tone was supposed to be patronizing, but Dick heard soft sighs where there could have been sharp whips.

Dick sniffed and swiped at his face to get rid of the stinging. "Right."

Nightwing was so weird, but he understood the words were supposed to be helpful. The words weren't helpful at all, in fact, if Dick wasn't paying enough attention he probably would have gotten offended at the notion he shouldn't cry. It was all just words though, his tone is what spoke to Dick and it said 'You're upset, crying is reasonable, but it won't fix anything.'

He looked up at Nightwing, the frown on his face feeling heavy and unchangeable. It was not lost on Dick that Slade was the reason he could read the vigilante like that, and any thought with Slade made Dick feel the black hole in his chest suck a little bit more of his soul away.

"Anyway," Nightwing jabbed a thumb at his accomplice, a shorter, younger man wearing a red and black suit with some sort of black and gold emblem on his chest. "Drake has been finally cleared to meet you against my better judgment, we also have some questions."

Dick looked over this 'Drake' guy, instead of just staring at his face to see if he could ID him, he took in everything. He had subconsciously done so earlier, but he was being too angsty to pay too much attention. (Stupid feelings)

'Drake' had shaggy black hair, masked eyes similar to Nightwing's, his belt was yellow and had shoulder belts strung across his torso with his emblem where they intercepted. The process of elimination said this guy is that one weirdo who liked him enough to want his picture in his wallet for some convoluted reason. Red Robin, one of Batman's weird family of vigilantes, the same vigilante who also figured out his ID.

The ebony-haired boy's face soured and took a small step back from the man. The guy had done himself no favors, everything about him and what he had done in relation to Dick was very suspicious despite Nightwing's comforts. So Dick was content to label him 'Sketchy Weirdo Maybe-Ally' and was totally going to wipe the floor with him if anything weird or uncomfortable happened.

"Nightwing!" Red Robin immediately complained, giving the elder vigilante a loath look and slapping his arm with the back of his hand (ineffectively chastizing the man) before turning his annoyed gaze to Dick. "Okay, well first off; The whole picture for my wallet thing was for a PRANK. I'm nOT into children, I have a pregnant wife, thank you VERY much Nightwing."

"Prank?" Dick repeated, the scowl that was feeling permanent softened a little in pure befuddlement. What kind of prank would need his picture? Especially one of him while drugged?

"You look like Buttwing here when he was younger, I wasn't exactly around for that era of his life so yeah, getting dirt on him when he was younger would be great." Red Robin explained, throwing Nightwing another terrible look as he too crossed his arms and huffed. "But that was wrong of me to try to use you and I acknowledge my mistake. I'm sorry." Red Robin sighed and grew a more somber tone. "Unfortunately, neither of us are here to hang out."

Dick took a deep breath, unable to deny the relief trickling down his spine now that he knew a bit more context around whatever Red Robin is. He set the bundled Batman cape on the bed and leaped up beside it, sitting with his legs dangling. "Then what are you here for?"

Nightwing spoke first, "We met Deathstroke at those coordinates. He had decided to give us some information but even our biggest brain with an even bigger ego can't really make heads or tails of it." The pointed glare at Red Robin labeled him the 'biggest brain with an even bigger ego' and said biggest brain with an even bigger ego sighed and raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose (mask?) as the older vigilante continued. "He said he was being clear, but the only thing we got out of it was something about owls."

Every single bit of relief and relaxation left faster than Kid Flash. Dick was completely frozen and rigid. He barely breathed, staring at his knees as his hands clenched impossibly tight over the edge of the bed.

Owls... with all their terror and horror... Owls were unpredictably predictable. He knew how they did things and what their goals were, well sort of... He had been 8 at the time and thoroughly terrorized into forgetting anything other than pain or misery. But he did remember some things, like the maze, the injections, and all the horribly bloody fighting. Slade, Slade was predictable up until he was abandoned on that roof. (Had he known the man at all?) An unpredictable Slade on top of Owls... that combination would only wreak havoc.

Also, Owls and Talons were two very different things... did Slade mention Owls specifically or Talons?

"We have a recording if you'd be able to translate for us." Red Robin invited gently. Dick couldn't decide if he hated that his reaction had been noted, or glad of it.

He just slowly nodded his head.

Red Robin pulled a screen up from his version of a hologlove, a tap here and there and the recording started.

Dick was silent and still the entire time. Right until Slade started the rhyme.

"Stop— stop it. Stop the recording!" Dick frantically spoke right as the achingly familiar voice started that sickly haunted chant. Dick was unable to unclench his hands from the edge of the bed while his fight and flight responses were warring in his head. He needed to both lunge for the device and flee from it. So many thoughts were flying too fast, but there was only one that kept repeating... Slade couldn't be that stupid could he?

Red Robin stopped it thankfully, with a tap on his portable computer that was embedded in his glove, Slade's recorded voice cut off. (The glove was not unlike Dick's gloves, but they seemed more high tech, more literal portable computer less portable hacking device that was Dick's.)

But Dick wasn't thinking about the glove, he was shivering and was glad his hands were stuck clenched on the edge of the bed. Nightwing and Red Robin waited in the silence, another stab of fear and agony slashing through the child as he realized it was because they were watching him intently. They're always watching.

Dick wasn't breathing very well, his eyes weren't exactly seeing anything at the moment, but he took a shaky breath and asked quietly. "...D-did he... did he finish the rhyme?"

"Yes."

Dick felt so many emotions fly through him at once, so many, too many. He couldn't breathe, he needed to get them out.

He roared, loud and guttural. He tore a hand off from the bed frame and slammed his newly formed fist into the wall. His fist of rage and pure emotion collided with the wall, the resounding sound of crackling drywall echoed in his ears along with his heavy breathing.

Dick just stared down at his knees, blinking when his vision got blurry. He felt a new wave of emotions roll over him as the tears dripped freely down his nose and fell between his knees.

"...Grayson?"

Dick wrenched his fist from the wall, not needing to look to know he made a bad fist-sized crack. He took a deep breath and cradled his tingling hand, blinking back tears for a man who didn't deserve them.

Yes he did, he did deserve them. That was his father he was mourning. Regardless of what Slade was doing now (soon it wouldn't matter anyway) the past still happened, all those memories and emotions were still there. Happy memories, memories worth mourning.

He had processed the man's betrayal already, he had plenty of time here alone to finish that. Slade had a reason for doing it, as there was a reason Slade does everything. The man was weirdly meticulous that way. The fact was... Slade hadn't killed any of his friends, there were so many opportunities to do so and made himself (Dick) able to be taken out. When Slade gets involved in things, they get done. From point A to point B. Cause and effect. Slade sent Dick a message in his own 'Slade' way. Impactful, efficient, and immediate. Slade wanted this result and guaranteed it just like he did all his jobs. Dick being locked up was something Slade needed, something he knew would happen even if the heroes didn't lock him up. He knew Dick would lock himself up anyway if he had lost control over himself like that.

Slade was a cunning mastermind, Dick had enjoyed the way he could manipulate the playing field like a chessboard. He had marveled at Slade's abilities, comforted sometimes too. Dick was always on the outside of this, watching from Slade's side. The very idea that Slade would use him in such a way was so foreign it was like biting an apple but getting a lemon. But the sour taste in his mouth was exactly that. Dick felt like a chess piece.

He didn't feel in checkmate, he didn't even feel like a queen going around slaughtering the opponents left and right (that chess piece was Slade if anything). He didn't feel like a pawn either, set up on a silver platter to die for the greater good of the game. He felt like a bishop or rook, being placed around wherever Slade needed to intimidate and manipulate the other opponent's choices.

For once Dick didn't feel protected or safe, he felt used. It took him a while to actually pin down this feeling, however familiar being used felt. It wasn't a feeling Dick equated with Slade, it was a shock to his entire system and now he was sputtering, blindsided, just trying to understand.

Dick just couldn't fathom why. Slade had taught him that he wouldn't always get an answer to the question of why. Some things just had to be accepted as they were because there was no explanation or rationalization. Trying to find out why when why could never be answered was a surefire way of going insane. But this... this was something else.

Slade had just killed himself. Slade knew it was going to kill him. He knew 100% if he spoke those words then death would finally find him.

Dick only had one question.

Why?

"Grayson, what does that mean? What does finishing the rhyme have to do with anything?" Nightwing asked again. His words said 'I'm annoyed and impatient, you are not cooperating and giving me what I want'. His tone spoke the opposite, 'I'm worried and alarmed, I feel tense because I don't know how to fix this.'

"Is there more?" Dick asked instead, voice sounding as absolutely wrecked and waterlogged as he felt. "Is there anything after?"

Red Robin's jaw clenched, taking a glance at Nightwing before responding. "Yes, I can skip the rest of the rhyme."

Dick nodded slowly, barely a bob of his head that felt too heavy for his shoulders. He needed all of it, get all of it before he could focus on any one part. No more secrets. No more hidden agendas. Everything needed to be laid out, even if it hurt. However, he was actively avoiding thinking too much about what he had learned so far. Plenty of time to let the dread and horror suck his soul away later. He needed all of it before he could let himself be swallowed in despair.

Red Robin was tapping away at his holographic screen until the recording started up again with Slade's voice once more. Thankfully not saying the dreaded rhyme.

Dick went still again as he continued to listen. An explosion must have happened, a classic Slade move that he totally warned Batman about. But when Dick thought that was the end of it, it continued. Nightwing fought Slade for him, argued with words Dick had never thought would ever have any relation to his father figure. And Slade... Slade was not speaking to Nightwing or Batman.

'If I recall correctly,'  The mercenary's voice recording spoke condescendingly, 'One has to fall to learn how to get back up.'

Batman's response was gruff and sad. 'I'm not sure there's much farther for him to fall.'

'I'm not talking about Dick.'

And the recording was over.

Dick sat in the silence, feeling overwhelmed. Not whelmed, not whelmed at all. Not even an inkling of whelmed. His brain rebelled all the information he was just given for a second, deciding there should be an aroundwhelemd and throughwhelmed. Can't go underwhelmed, can't go overwhelmed, can't go aroundwhelmed. Gotta go throughwhelmed.

So he did.

"Th-the Owls..." Dick started, already feeling sick. "Stay away from Owls. Stay away from Talons. Don't speak the rhyme. Let me leave, you can't... you can't save me." Dick mumbled the last part, echoing the phrase his long time guardian has spoken. And that... that hurt. His head dipped as the dread collecting finally spilled over and flooded every inch of his being.

When he was with Slade he had hope, he thought he could make it, he thought Slade was better than the bad guys. He was safe with Slade, he could be honest with Slade. Slade was his beacon of hope, the only light in his life that was bright enough to chase away the dark. It was so difficult to hear that same man who promised him safety from the dark suddenly snuff out the light.

On purpose. A quiet voice said. Dick squeezed his eyes shut and violently shook his head. He couldn't think about that right now.

Why did Dick have to go and jinx himself? When talking with Batman before all of this he had said that Slade would have to figure out that there was no saving him. He hadn't really believed that, Slade had attacked his belief that he was doomed, attacked it until it was nothing. Dick didn't mean for him to... to just undo years of trust and therapy like hitting the backspace while typing. More like deleting the entire paper. Dick wasn't prepared for it, for those words of condemnation to come out of Slade's mouth, said so solidly like he knew.

Because he knew from the very beginning.

Dick knew how he knew. The picture that was painted now that he had all the prices didn't make much sense but it had to have happened for Slade to act this way. It was the only way he could know, and it made Dick want to scream. Everything about what Slade revealed made him want to scream and fight and kill (preferably Slade himself). There was just so much to it. Dick has so many questions, so many answers he needed, so many deep layers of emotions that wanted to come roaring out.

Instead, Dick bit that thought with ferocious intensity, wrestling it down into submission and deciding that that would be the last thing he would think about. He wanted to keep pretending for now, it would hurt later but he wanted to get other things out of the way before he became a horrible mess of hate and murder. So he moved onto the thing he could talk about.

It was less depressing, or maybe it was more? Dick wasn't keeping track anymore. The Court, the Talons. He wasn't sure what it said about him that he decided Talons and his terrible fate as one of them would be somehow better than the other thing to talk about. (Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade.)

The silence was thick and he could tell the two heroes wanted to say something but both didn't know what words strung together would affect Dick in the way they wanted. He knew because he was in a similar boat, or had been, Dick made frequent trips to the land of lost words. Also because most times he didn't have anything to say, just screams. He wanted nothing to do with words. He wanted to rip and tear, scream himself silent, then scream some more.

Dick gladly cut off their silence, head dipping even lower and throwing the heroes a bone they could latch onto. "Red Robin should come with me, he is as doomed as I am."

Red Robin was an easier concept to grasp than Dick was and he was going to exploit that to delay the inevitable. (Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade.) Dick couldn't blame them for thinking about Red Robin first even if his life was unbelievably simple. It was just... a lot.

"Deathstroke seemed to believe the same thing, care to enlighten us?" Nightwing prodded. This time it took a second before Dick could decipher the Damian code, even if it was like reading Slade they were different people and Dick hasn't had THAT much interaction with the man. The vigilante's words and his tone were too similar, while the annoyance was consistent the contempt in his words was wrong. He was worried still, worried about his younger companion.

Dick took another shaky breath. He was so tired and— scared. He was scared. "Red Robin met the Owls. Like... like Slade said, he's a pawn now and he will continue to be a pawn until he's outlived his usefulness." Dick knew Bruce Wayne was rich, but obviously the Court didn't approach Bruce, if they had Bruce would know them but he didn't seem to. Red Robin must be rich, rich AND connected to Bruce Wayne. The Court loved that, having close ties to innocent people just to exploit and destroy. Sometimes even by blood.

If the Waynes are two-thirds of the Bats then their third member would definitely be close, close enough for the public to know they exist happily together. It took a few seconds, Dick blamed the inner fire trying to take him down and submit to a rage-induced killing spree, but he finally found a person who fits. Timothy Drake, owner of Drake Industries, and if the tabloids were correct, his wife was pregnant.

Dick closed his eyes and let himself be overtaken by deep regret. Tim Drake had been perfectly set up. He shouldn't have expected anything less of The Court of Owls. It still hurt though.

"I haven't seen hide nor hair of them since that encounter." Red Robin said with a contemplative lilt, "do they usually take their time with these things?"

Dick opened his eyes to stare at the ground and nodded stiffly. "They play with their food."

With that morbid statement, an uncomfortable silence befell the trio.

"Are you going to give us any more than that?" Nightwing asked, leaning the slightest bit forward. The question was impatient, but Dick didn't blame him, he was drawing this out unreasonably. Dick was in denial and completely comfortable with that, but life wouldn't allow that for much longer.

Dick again closed his eyes to block out the truth staring him in the face, ready to prove itself real in his make-believe world of sunshine and roses. He couldn't face it yet, the fire of rage would consume him when he did. (Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade.)

He hated a lot of things about his situation but time was never on his side. That was one the most frustrating part, besides the unfairness of it all. There were huge lapses of nothing, a fake sense of security dangling right within reach, only to be yanked away right as his fingers curled around it. There was no escaping it, there never had been. Slade's lies had been the final nail on his coffin.

He was thinking about Slade.

First, he got confirmation Slade was going to die, if he wasn't already dead. Sure Slade had his healing ability but that would do nothing to help a severed head. Not even the Talons survived those.

Then he was allowed all of five seconds to grieve before the pain of betrayal set in like the sting of a slap. Then it morphed into the fire that threatened to take over. Because of course, of course, Dick couldn't have anything that was his own. Dick was desperately holding the inevitable off, scared because he knew there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop it because it was already over. It had already happened. It was the past and he had been living a lie.

But right now he had to pretend, just for a little bit longer. Stretch out this demented dream that he knew was too good to be true while the demons in the closet were closing in for the ultimate kill.

"W-Wintergreen's death... it was a warning." He let his mouth run, to speak anything, even if it hurt, just as long as it wasn't that or else he'd be lost to the rage. No more Matthews. "It was a warning to me. To Slade. And now to you. They play with their food, but they know not to waste it. They are relentless... but you won't know until it's too late. It's a game to them, they plan for everything, nothing escapes them. My— my own escape wasn't even real. There is no saving me."

The heat in his face and the stinging in his eyes returned and he knew he didn't have it in him anymore to stop it. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't control his life any more than he could control his shaking, faltering voice. "M-my life has been planned l-long before I w-was was even born. My time allowed here is running out, and-and It'll be easier if I just leave now and get it over with. Red Robin is the same, they've groomed him into the right position. He's a target the same as I am, worse, he's a player. The sooner we both leave this life and accept our new ones the less it'll hurt, it'll save our loved ones the pain. Th-the waiting is half the torture, everyone is a victim, no one is safe. No one ever is with them, I-I can't allow more families to be ripped apart just because I started to care. It's— it's their favorite, they break you long before your body gives out. They already broke me, this is just a vacation, a vacation anyone I've ever cared about has paid for with their lives. I can't let Red Robin go through the same thing. We will be their's soon and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. I-I'm sorry." Dick's voice tapered off to a hoarse whisper, a slow flood of resignation washing over him and even temporarily drowning out the real kicker he had been desperately edging around.

A smirk void of anything relating to happiness tugged at one end of his lips. Use one terror to cover up the other one. Heh, if that wasn't the story of his life and the epitome of his mental health he didn't know what is.

The faint smile was gone in milliseconds. Not that emotions would matter once he was back there...

He was just so happy playing pretend with Slade, it was so easy to trust him and that hurt.

"Bullsh*t." Nightwing spouted in anger once more, "Your life couldn't have been planned by them before you were born and they can't possibly know everything before it happens. Trust me, Grayson. There's always another path. You and Drake arent as condemned as you think you are. We CAN save you, both of you!" The man roared, fighting with a spirit that made Dick nostalgic. His closed eyes squeezed, sending a few more tears dripping into his lap. He had hope like that once. Dick was not surprised at the hero's disbelief, heroes are stupid like that. Heroes and their stupid hope. "As long as I'm around you're not going anywhere, Grayson. Father would fight tooth and nail for you. If need be we can even make this a League priority if the Owls presence is so disastrous to the world."

"You don't know them like I do, how... permanent and persistent they are." Dick countered, cracking open his eyes to see his hands were trembling in his lap. And suddenly he was hit from behind, the one trauma he hadn't been paying attention to because he was so focused on avoiding the other. "They have unlimited patience. They're always watching. They have eyes everywhere. They've perfected their system of breaking people, they've planned human lives before, hundreds if not thousands of times. They're just doing it again. And again. And again. Th-they've done it so many times."

Dick dropped his head into his hands, dragging his fingers through his hair and pulling as his speech grew more frantic and breathless. "They can't die you know. They can't die. I can't die. They won't let me die. Why can't I die?!" He curled in on himself as he screamed, "I'D RATHER DIE!"

Dick felt numb all over as he sobbed, his face hot with emotion and his fingers methodically grabbed and pulled at his hair. He was a fool, pretending to use one trauma to hide the other, he forgot the first was just as formidable as the one he was trying to hide from. He was such an idiot, a doomed, pathetic, murdering idiot. He was 100% overwhelmed, at full capacity. Now there was nowhere for his emotions to go but out.

Above him, Nightwing was visibly spooked. The heat of anger had long disappeared from his face and he stepped forward to take the boy's shoulders. "Grayson... Richard," The vigilante tried ducking his head to try to get some semblance of eye contact. His attempt was not in vain as broken, soulless blue eyes lifted into sight.

Nightwing searched the boy's face, not sure what he was after but needed to know. "Do you truly think death is better than this life?"

"I don't want to die." Dick croaked through his tears. His shoulders curled up as he leaned down again to rub the heel of his hands into his wet eyes. "I don't want to be theirs. I don't want this. I never wanted it. But I can't escape. I have no control. If I die I'm theirs. If I live in theirs. There is no... no nothing." He sucked in a few stuttering breaths, only releasing them in words as another wave of dread and terror washed over him. "I-I won't even have him." Dick burst into more hysteric sobs, entire form trembling as his shoulders shook and back bounced with all the weight of his pain.

Nightwing's hands were shaken off, but the man stayed close, hands hovering and unsure. Red Robin was watching, face unreadable with the mask, but behind it he wasn't as proud to say he wasn't tearing up. But he made an effort to catalog everything the lamenting boy said, thinking and comparing to the bigger picture. Something wasn't adding up.

"Slade gave you to us, he must have thought we would have a chance to keep you away from them." Red Robin noted aloud.

For some reason that was it. This was the tipping point.

Dick's head fell again, his legs coming up to curl in his seat as a cry that sounded more like anger and indignation roaring from trembling lips. He sobbed, knowing he couldn't pretend anymore. He let the fire consume him, he poured every ounce he could into tears, desperately trying to stave off the rage so he didn't hurt anybody. He desperately wanted to kill, to end something, to hurt someone else because that's just how he felt. He was just so angry.

Dick tried to collapse on himself, his body both so rigid and tense but also lax and pliant. His entire mind and body was warring with itself, all the hate and rage was vying for an outlet but it wasn't outdone by the sheer force of the black hole that was sadness, consuming his every thought and feeling. He hugged Batman's cape, trying to get rid of the ache in his chest and precariously leaning to one side.

Then Nightwing was there, holding him upright against his chest. Dick immediately latched on, sobbing into the hero's chest knowing this was probably the last time he was going to feel anything like this for the rest of his mostly immortal miserable life. He wanted this so badly, to be safe and warm in someone's arms. A whole body, human and soul connected to his, fending off the black hole with its warmth and light.

"Grayson, please. Explain yourself." Damian demanded with a thudding heart, glancing fervently at Red Robin before returning his attention to the mess of Dick Grayson. The boy's face was buried in his chest, Damian didn't honestly have a lot of experience here except with his pets and maybe his father. He was usually the one being coddled, he didn't do much coddling himself. His chin brushed the teenager's wild raven hair and he pressed down, settling his head on top just to complete the hug the rest of his body was giving to the child.

Dick couldn't stop his crying even if he wanted to but he relished the feeling of Damian's warm strong arms wrap themselves around him, a lovely warm pressure all around that made things feel less like they were falling apart. But words were not something he was capable of at the moment, everything was too raw and agonizing.

But he should at least try.

"S-Sl-Slade was... he was... he was wor-working for them." He muttered through the thick emotions in his throat, clutching Nightwing closer because he didn't want to face this alone.

With the fire finally let loose he wailed as the pain of this betrayal overtook every atom of his being.

Slade knew from the very beginning. The very beginning. And there was only one way he would know that. Slade was most likely hired, hired to keep an eye on Dick, hired to give him back when it was time.

"You got in their way when you took Dick in." ~"No."

"Save him?" Slade's voice taunted, "There's no 'saving him', he's gone, has been from the moment he was born."

"They have a way of making sure you don't forget. The ones who do don't have a head, and the others are at their beck and call."

But then... then something had happened. Slade probably hadn't been expecting it. He had been tasked with keeping an eye on Dick (or something like that, he wasn't sure on the details) and he was content with doing that from afar. Slade didn't need to get personally involved and for a long time, he wasn't. Dick had just thought Slade was giving him space and let him warm up to Slade in his own time.  But that wasn't what happened. Slade hadn't cared at that time. Dick was just a job.

But that had changed. That had changed when Wintergreen came in. That had changed after Dick went missing and had been raped. That changed when Slade started training him in self-defense, giving him discipline instead of fear. Slade made a mistake. He started to care.

That wasn't a lie. Dick knew that. Slade did care. The big oaf was practically bleeding the stuff. And it made everything so much worse.

"He's dangerous, this is what Dick would want."

"Everything I do, I do for Dick."

"You won't have to worry about me much longer."

"Then it's a good thing you have him or I might be worried."

"I'm not talking about  Dick ."

Slade was sorry.

Dick's mind was spinning too fast that even Wally would have a hard time keeping up. But it was so d*mn simple.

Dick wasn't the one falling, it was Slade, and the only reason he would be falling is if he cared enough about Dick getting any higher. Slade knew he had done Dick wrong, he had gotten too close —too personal— and before he knew it he was making empty promises to a highly unstable child who used those lies as his foundations of hope. And now his entire building was going down. The same hand that had lovingly and tenderly built him up just as easily with just as much pain, tore him down.

Slade was sorry and Dick was destroyed.

Dick screamed his lament, grabbing onto Nightwing tighter and daring to pretend it was Slade. No, no. No more Slade. He couldn't imagine Slade anymore. He wanted Nightwing. Nightwing was right from the very beginning. Slade was bad. Slade had been manipulating him, lying to him for so long. And Dick had thought... Dick had thought Slade was a good guy! Dick wasn't even sure what good and bad were anymore. He just needed Nightwing. He needed someone who was right because Dick was an absolute idiot.

It hurt so much. Dick couldn't even think at this point, everything was just pain. There was a buzzing in his head and his whole body felt like it was throbbing. He was hot and his tears were everywhere getting everything gross and wet and all he could do was just keep crying.

Slade had lied to him. Slade had built him up just to take him down. Slade had helped just to hurt later. But he hadn't meant to.

If Slade meant to break him Dick would be in even worse shape. In fact, he wouldn't be here at all. If Slade meant to break him completely he would have delivered him to The Court in person. Instead, he had given him to the heroes, given him someone who could replace Slade who was even better because they weren't working for The Court. It was so... it was so unfair! Because now Dick was so angry, so hurt and broken and all he wanted to do was hurt Slade back. But Slade was already hurting, Slade hadn't wanted to do this, he was a victim just as much as Red Robin was. A pawn.

And that made Dick even angrier. Because now he can't be mad at Slade, it wasn't entirely his fault they were in this mess. It was The Court's fault. It didn't make any sense yet it made so much sense. Dick hated Slade right now, yet if he came face to face with him he knew he wouldn't even be able to say anything mean to him much less physically fight with him. He just wanted his Dad back. He wanted all of this to just go away and go back to when things were normal and happy.

This was torture. And somehow he knew that's what The Court had planned. He didn't think they planned on the heroes getting involved, Slade probably didn't think it would come to this either. The Court had let him go, let him live on the streets with a mercenary to keep him in check. The only reason Dick could fathom as to why The Court would do such a thing is just to break him even more. The Court had probably planned this. If Slade didn't get attached they knew Dick would.

Dick felt a new wave of cold heavy fear wash over him like tar.

They were breaking Dick with the very tactic Dick had used to escape them in the first place.

And just like Dick did... they succeeded.

They knew Dick would get attached, they knew he latched onto any positive relationship he had with literally anyone. That's how he escaped before, he was friends with... with a different Talon. He had been content with that, with a friend The Court was almost bearable. But then Dick saw an opportunity. It hadn't been there before but then it was right there. In the heat of the moment, he took it. He had taken his first life and cruelly used it to his advantage. That single act of brutality and pure heartlessness had given himself his freedom and he hated it. He hated himself. Matthew died for nothing. He had killed for nothing.

He was the heartless killer they wanted. They knew it was inside of him and now he knew it too. He had done exactly what they wanted without the influence of any of their drugs. He killed Matthew for his own escape, ruining his relationship with his friend in one fail swoop. He was a killer. He was their killer. He was always theirs. The leash they had on him hadn't disappeared since he 'escaped', it had just slackened.

And now Slade was in his position. Slade was the one following orders now, knowing the consequences of being their puppet. Just like Dick had. But Dick has still done it. Slade hadn't. Slade, a mercenary, a master manipulator, his father figure, was more successful in attempting to free Dick and it still failed. The Court was too strong. The Court took Slade's plan of freeing Dick and turned it on its head just like they do with everything good.

The Court was using Slade to hurt Dick. They knew he would get attached to Slade. They were trying to break him. They were breaking him. Dick was broken. He didn't want to get attached to anyone ever again. It only ended in pain. So much pain. He shouldn't care anymore. Caring hurt. Caring was his downfall from the very beginning. He had cared about his parents. Now they're gone and it was his fault. He cared about his friend. Now he's mindlessly doing The Court's bidding and his son was dead and it was all Dick's fault. He cared about Wintergreen and that had gotten him killed. He cared about Slade, and now he was going to die if he wasn't dead already. All this anguish and death all because he cared. There was a common denominator here and Dick already knew what it was. He had known from the beginning. He had just been lying to himself. He had started believing Slade's lies, all the promises that it wasn't his fault. But it was.

The Court was right. They had told him it would be so much easier if he stopped caring. If he just surrendered. It would be easier, it had been, it aided his escape. He escaped, but they still won. He escaped, but small eight-year-old Dick had been scared, he felt guilty afterward. So much guilt, but the damage was done. Dick had not cared once, it was easy to do it again, and even easier to do it to people he didn't care about. They were right back then. They were right now. But Dick made the same mistake Slade did, he started to care again, and this is how well that turned out. Dick understood now though. He would never get attached again. He wouldn't care anymore. It was easier that way.

But now what? He was a ruthless good for nothing killer and he was still balling his eyes out in the arms of an actual hero. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve their help or kindness. He was a Talon. Talons don't belong in the arms of heroes. Talons don't cry. They don't feel pain when they get hurt. Talons don't care. Talons don't have emotions.

Slade was the reason he was here in a hero's arms. Slade was the one who put him here. Slade was right. Dick needed to be locked up. This was the only chance at keeping a killer off the streets. This is what Dick wanted.

Slade had known Dick had wanted this. Slade was right.

Slade was right.

There was no saving him.

"I'm sorry." He said, finally devoid of any more tears. He twisted from Nightwing's suffocating (the best) hug and grabbed his arms to move them away. "I can't have this."

-0o0o0- little backtrack here -0o0o0-

D*mn this is complicated, was Tim's concluding thought.

Dick had just announced Slade had been working for The Court of Owls and then promptly started crying with understandable (if not a little disconcerting) vigor. Tim had no idea if he should feel bad for Damian who was being subjected to the lamenting boy or pleased that Dick felt he could do that to Damian (who was mostly hug avoidant). Or maybe it was instinctual to hug anything that breathed. Either way, no one was prepared for his reaction to the news.

Slade had been working for The Court of Owls. The only reason the two interacted or even met at all was because some puppeteers wanted their rouge puppet on a leash. Well maybe, they didn't actually know what exactly Slade was hired for. Keeping an eye on Dick made sense, but that would be much lower than Slade's pay grade, Deathstroke doesn't do babysitting. Slade also didn't have to get as involved as he did, Dick had mentioned there was a time with Slade that was more off and on than full time. Somehow they convinced a killer mercenary to keep an eye on their nine-year-old runaway and then Slade got too close.

It was important to note that this was between Dick and The Court, Slade was just a pawn and subsequently caught in the crossfire. He was supposed to do his job and be done with it, but he hadn't. With all of Dick's talk of The Court planning lives, Tim was sure The Court didn't plan Slade's attachment to the kid. To be honest he didn't think it was a move anyone was expecting, including Tim.

Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, was trying to save a kid he made a contract over. He chose Dick over money, over his own life he knew would be ended if he chose that path. He did it anyway, he gave Dick to them (the heroes), right when Slade knew The Court would come for Dick. Slade wanted Dick to detach from him and attach to the heroes. Everything Slade did... was for Dick. To attempt to free the child he foolishly started to care about.

Tim was honestly impressed, but when he wasn't busy being impressed he was angry at Slade. He was a stupid, stupid man. The fact that Slade did care was going to tear Dick apart.

And it was, Dick was crying violently in Damian's arms, wailing because the one person he thought he could trust, the one he DID trust, had been grooming him at the instruction of his childhood abusers. And Slade had regretted it. But then he denied the boy reconciliation by instigating his own death.

Tim couldn't imagine the onslaught of emotions flooding Dick's brain, it was no wonder he was crying and wailing in agony. Dick, for all his training and conditioning, was sentimental and emotionally driven. This was Hell to him.

Damian, after a few seconds of silence and hugging the boy, looked up to Tim. His face was in a snarl but it was pinched in a way Tim knew that meant Damian was upset that he didn't have anyone to punch to fix this problem. It was the same expression Bruce had occasionally, particularly with emotional problems. "I don't understand. What is wrong with him Drake?!"

Tim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This was so messed up. "Slade is... was diabolical is what. The Court hired Slade for Dick, probably to keep him away from heroes and running too far. We didn't know about him until very recently so Slade was holding up his end of the deal as far as we can tell. What he did do though was start to care about Dick. Now he's trying to save Dick by getting Dick out of The Court's planned situations and take himself —an element controlled by The Court— out of the equation so The Court couldn't use him against Dick. Slade knew he was going to die if he said the rhyme, he knew he had betrayed The Court by giving Dick to us. And he eliminated all of Dick's other options besides us in the process." It was brilliant, Tim wouldn't deny that, but the emotional fallout was the price and he was sure Dick would like a refund.

Damian scowled but continued to hug the heavily sobbing child who didn't seem to be aware of their conversation. "That doesn't explain why he's so upset. If Slade set him free he should be happy! Not regurgitating his sinuses onto my suit."

Tim sighed and shook his head. "Slade was someone he trusted though, remember? Slade was the one who gave Dick hope, who taught him that not everything was controlled by The Court. To him it doesn't matter if he did succeed in getting Dick away from them, Slade had lied to him for years. Slade was working for The Court, he was exactly what he promised Dick he wasn't. He manipulated Dick into thinking he was free for such a long time... it makes sense Dick is angry. He's angry he didn't see it, angry the man he trusted was just another puppeteer. Angry that Slade cared so much that Dick is almost forced to mourn the death of an abuser."

Damian's scowl was deadly by the time Tim finished, holding the sobbing Dick closer and started growling. "I should have punched him harder."

"Yeah." Tim agreed, "But that leaves the ball in our court. We have Dick now, Slade is no longer a factor and you can bet The Court is going to come after Dick now that the jig is up. We need a plan."

"He stays with us," Damian spoke dangerously, a dark look hovering over his eyes. Probably remembering his own tug-of-war between his mother and father and deciding he needed to be what Bruce was for him for Dick. "I don't care how dangerous he claims to be, he is not going to be locked up for his entire life. We need to take The Court down."

Tim nodded acknowledgment but frowned. "That's a tall order Nightwing. The Court isn't something we know a lot about, they're practically ghosts."

"Batman has found ghosts before," Damian snapped back, "You've even found and sat in on one of their meetings. How did you find them?"

Tim grimaced, feeling like the conversation was heading in a dangerous direction. This topic wasn't one Damian usually started with the intent of sincerity. Tim was not in the mood to be made fun of again. "I've told you before, it was an accident really, I'm not sure I could do it again even if I tried. The case I was working had nothing to do with what I saw." He shook his head, lifting his holo-glove as he continued to speak, trying to change the direction of the conversation. "We're going to need Batman for this if we're really going to hunt down The Court. But technically, we probably won't have too much trouble finding them or figuring out their weaknesses, we have Dick."

Nightwing's brows pinched as he hugged the sobbing boy a little bit closer even though he was already as close as possible. "Drake, you're asking him to re-live the most traumatizing moments of his life. You can't possibly want to ask him to do that."

Tim shrugged, "Well I am sure he'd love to help take down The Court." At Damian's scowl, Tim quickly continued, "I'm not saying we have to ask him right now but he did escape from them so he knows something. Even if it's just a lead, we need everything we can get, and right now you have a direct source of Court information in your lap."

Nightwing cradled the boy's head with one hand, snarling at his brother. "He's not just information Drake!"

Tim raised his hands in surrender with a solemn dip of his head, "I know, believe me, I know." He let out a deep breath and looked to the side. "I'm just figuring out all our options. We can't exactly do much until we know what we're getting into."

"So your sit in on their meeting yielded nothing?" Damian taunted, the same tone Damian used when he was goading Tim into doing something. It was the same tone he used when they were younger, which wasn't actually too long ago. Which is why it still stung that Damian was trying to manipulate him.

Tim sighed, letting all his grievances with Damian's attitude go for a moment. As entitled as the brat acted sometimes, he did have a point. A very small point. But Damian was still wrong.

"The meeting I found wasn't really a meeting Damian, I've told you that before. I mean I guess they were meeting someone but it wasn't like they were talking about anything and I wasn't even close enough to hear if they were. All the information I have right now are rumors and speculations I found after a lot of time digging. And even if these rumors and speculations are seeded in truth none of it would help us find them or take them down." Tim stared at the ground, knowing it was a bad idea to recount his encounter for the man who delighted in making fun of him. But this wasn't about Tim or Damian anymore, this was for Dick. "I wasn't looking for them, I was investigating a different case, stolen items from antique shops— nothing like the style of Catwoman."

It hadn't been a normal night, Tim was pursuing this case in the field on his own for the first time after his training was completed and Bruce gave him the green light. Batman was on the other side of the city, content to let Red Robin spread his wings on the other side. "It was a stakeout, I was ready to jump in at any time but about five hours in I got distracted. There was a couple going down the street right in front of my target shop, even if they weren't wearing the owl masks they would have stood out like a sore thumb. They were dressed like they were going to one of Brucie Wayne's parties, clothing much too rich for this district. If I wasn't intrigued by the masks I might have followed them to make sure they didn't get robbed."

"What do you mean owl masks?" Damian interrupted. It was not an innocent question. Tim regretted this already. He spoke as if sensing Tim was daring to go off-topic.

Anger curled in his gut, gearing up to lash out and the injustice. Didn't Damian know that recounting ALL the information was important? Why would he think he would get off topic with such an important topic? Tim felt insulted, and it's taken a while for most of Damian's insults to bounce off, but this one had just slipped right through and penetrated a vital organ.

He bit back a scalding retort to continue his story but didn't refrain from saying his retort in facial expression. Because of that interruption, his train of thought was completely thrown off!

But Tim had to keep his cool, couldn't let Damian rile him up. This was about Dick, not him and Damian. Sibling squabbles later, protect the smol bean now.

"Yes." Tim clenched his jaw, "The couple were wearing white owl masks. The masks weren't complicated but they covered their entire face and had blacked-out holes for their eyes. I watched them go down the street and go into one of the more decrepit buildings, it was pretty much just the bones of a building. I followed them of course, none of this felt right and I was ready to radio Batman just in case. I found them as they traveled up, this time they weren't alone. They were meeting a man there, someone I didn't realize was a Talon until my research later."

"So your 'meeting' was faux—"

Apparently, he was going to go headlong into sibling squabbling.

"I never coined the term 'meeting' Damian!" Tim snapped, tired of being blamed for inaccurate details that Damian nitpicks when Damian himself never believed him to begin with. "I saw suspicious activity. I investigated. Turns out The Court of Owls are legends for a reason and they're really good at it considering neither you nor Batman will give me the time of day! I didn't even find the rhyme until I was thrown into Crime Alley by Killer Croc where it was etched into the brick building! But you can't find it now because Killer Croc was kicked through that portion of the building! Every single time I think I'm getting somewhere I hit a dead end!"

Damian rolled his eyes, "And you didn't think to ask for help?"

Tim threw his hands in the air, "You didn't believe me!"

"As if that's stopped you before." Damian scoffed.

"Yeah?" Tim felt abused. He knew Damian was better now than when he was a kid, and even when he was in that stage a lot of the backlash and demon-brattiness wasn't even Tim's to deal with. Bruce dealt with it, and then Jason when Damian felt like visiting. Tim didn't start becoming a target until he showed up, then suddenly everything he said was under scrutiny just because Tim liked knowing things. Sure, he'll admit he is a stalker, but a well-intentioned stalker. He knew that didn't make it better but Damian sure could relax with the name-calling and source questioning and even motive questioning. Tim knew he didn't have any sibling experience, but he was pretty sure this was some kind of abuse. "I didn't stop. If any part of any of the rumors I found is true, which Dick has already proven a few right— or if you just listened to Dick talk about them at all— these guys are the literal stuff of nightmares. I wasn't about to let them off Scott free just because everyone else was that desperate to be stupid. Cults thrive on the population's stupidity. I know you're as stubborn as Bruce and you hate me, but you can't deny me anymore because the proof is sitting right there in your lap!"

Damian looked down for a second, something that registered as him backing down in Tim's brain, but his words only fueled Tim's rage. "Your argument is useless Drake, I do not doubt The Court exists."

"Of course you don't!" Tim shouted, "because you just always have to be right!"

Damian's head snapped up, glaring at him with bat-level intensity. He had a rebuttal right there in his throat, it was interesting to see him actually pause for a second to consider his words before swallowing them down instead of aggravating the situation any more than it already was. Dick was still crying and that wasn't helping anyone's temper at the moment.

Tim felt his face flush with anger, he had more to say, loads of tiny instances that got under his skin and of the general normalcy that was dangling this 'rumor' over his head. But Damian was silent, jaw clenched tight but face heated as well.

Tim stopped to take a few deep breaths, forcing his anger down. This was not the time nor the place for that argument. This was about Dick and how they were going to help him. Not how Damian is a brat and no one listens to Tim. This is not a sibling squabble time. "All I'm saying is yes, the 'meeting' was a flop, all information we have about The Court is rumor unless proven otherwise by Dick. Happy now?"

Tim waited for a response, or maybe just for the temperature to drop in the room. Contrary to popular belief, Tim didn't like having screaming matches with Damian. It was like trying to argue with Bruce but more impossible because this Bruce had a grudge against him.

Damian actually turned his attention back to coddling Dick. Tim didn't notice until now but Dick had gone silent in Damian's arms. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing at this point. The word 'Court of Owls' had been thrown around a lot, hopefully, they hadn't triggered anything?

"Your scheming can wait Drake," Damian spoke, and then he looked off to the side. "You are... and were... right," It was odd to watch the grown man struggle, but the effort was commendable. Tim quite appreciated being agreed with on a matter they had been arguing for a while. But Tim wasn't expecting to win the lottery and was utterly floored by his next statement. "I apologize for not believing you."

Tim just stared, Damian still wasn't looking at him but Bruce does the same thing too sometimes. When the emotionally constipated bat actually needs to get their feelings out usually pretending the other wasn't there made it easier. Tim didn't dare respond, feeling blindsided by the sudden apology, a sincere apology. Well, as sincere as Damian Wayne can get.

Damian huffed in the silence, shifting his hold on Dick as he did so, obviously uncomfortable under Tim's stare. "Well we need to be focusing on fixing Grayson now, we can wait to take on The Court later, I'd rather he stop smearing my suit with boogers."

Tim smiled, finally having a response, "Thanks Dami."

"Tt- I'm not doing it for you." Damian bit back.

Tim sighed in exasperation and shook his head, still retaining his smile. And back to our regularly scheduled demon brat. Tim meant it for the apology, but the slight coloration on his cheeks meant Damian understood that but deflected his feelings with an insult anyway because he's Damian.

Tim wished Bruce had gotten Damian earlier, but even then, maybe he wouldn't have changed much. Damian grew up without siblings, he didn't have to learn to get along with anyone but his own dad until Jason and he and Damian always chaffed. Damian may have made and been Robin, but that didn't mean he was good at long term, healthy, relationships. Kinda like Batman. Well, like father like son. The only good part about that is that they were both latching onto Dick now, it was oddly adorable.

Sometime during their argument, Damian started a rocking motion and raked his fingers through the boy's messy hair. Dick was also finally calming down, still clinging to Damian like he was afraid he was going to leave. Tim would usually jump at the chance of documenting Damian doing something uncomfortable but this was not the time nor the place for such things. It was a miracle Damian himself was any sort of comfort to the poor kid.

The kid had only been here a week, a solid seven days and even that was barely enough time to become acquaintances for people like them. This kid really was incredible, he deserved the world and so much more, yet it only dragged him through the mud.

Suddenly Dick was moving, reaching Damian's arms and moving them away from himself. Tim felt hopeful... until Dick started talking.

"I'm sorry," his broken waterlogged voice spoke barely above a whisper, "I can't have this."

Damian, of course, did what Damians do.

"What are you talking about Grayson?!" He demanded, looking unreasonably enraged about not hugging anymore. He didn't say a thing about the snot and tears on his suit.

Dick turned and sat still, hands in his lap, and head down. He stayed silent.

'I can't have this.'

Tim didn't like this. This felt all sorts of wrong. They must have triggered something with all their arguing. And it was an achingly familiar phrase, something Tim told himself when he was small, watching Bruce be a doting— trying father to Damian and Jason from afar, knowing he could never have it but only ever observe.

"Hey, Dick?" Tim didn't wait for an answer, feeling oddly connected even if the boy looked completely unresponsive. "I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through, but I hope you can keep an open mind because I'd like to tell you a story."

"What sto—" Tim glared at Damian and he had enough brainpower to stop talking. Smart move.

Tim returned his softening gaze to the troubled child. "Do you know how I became Red Robin?" Tim asked.

Tim was surprised when Dick actually answered. The kid pulled his knees up to his chest and held them, staring down as he spoke. The words he said sounded like Dick, but the tone was devoid of all life and it sent another spiral of wrongness down Tim's spine. "I'm guessing Batman didn't kidnap you."

Damian's face twisted in confusion but then smoothed over into concern. He moved to reach out but let his hand drop to the medical bed. "Is that how you view my Father Grayson?"

Dick shrugged, a weird look when his shoulders were already up to his ears. "I guess it's an exaggeration." His flat tone continued and Tim hated every moment of it. "I was technically given to him."

Tim wasn't sure he wanted to touch the Slade topic when Dick was obviously so freshly sensitive about it. But there was something very wrong about the way he spoke with such a flippant air of disinterest, of indifference. It was like all his feelings —things that made Dick Grayson Dick Grayson— had dried up, leaving a husk of a human in absolute apathy in his situation.

Tim swallowed and spoke again, hoping to lift the boy's spirits a bit, or maybe it was just an attempt to get the kid to emote at all. "No, I wasn't kidnapped. I figured out Batman and Robin's identities when I was nine."

Dick actually looked up at him, sure he didn't move his head and his eyes couldn't quite meet his, but his eyes flicked over to him in was could be surprise. It was actually more like disbelief like his eyes were saying, 'You. Tim Drake. Figured out Batman and Robin's identities when you were nine?'

Tim smiled and shrugged a single shoulder, it was still one of his proudest moments, and he got Dick to look at him! Sorta. "Yep, but of course I was still nine, and nowhere near participating in any vigilante work. But that didn't mean I didn't try. My parents weren't home very often so I took to some hobbies, hobbies that included my infatuation with Batman and Robin."

Damian snorted and he crossed his arms. "That's an understatement. Putting it plainly, Drake is a world-class stalker."

Dick still had no reaction, just sitting. He might not even be listening.

"I won't deny that, it's part of my charm." Tim gestured to his face in an over-dramatic way, determined to get a reaction from Dick while Damian scoffed his "-tt-"

"Anyway, I took to following Batman and Robin around, both in and out of the cape. I made sure I was very careful and it wasn't until I was 12 that things really started to go down. Batman and Robin had been captured, there were bombs strewn around the city that were set to go off and there was no possible way they would make it in time. So I stepped in, having a lot of time to myself (as you know) I became sort of an expert in coding and other technological stuff. I was able to hack the bombs and stop them, it took Bruce years to figure out that that was me. You should have seen his face when I casually mentioned it was me, I'm pretty sure he got coffee up his nose."

Tim felt the back of his neck creep when Dick still didn't react to anything he was saying. That story killed in some audiences because who could ever make Batman choke on his drink? It was a happy memory, having Bruce snort out his drink at family dinner when Tim offhandedly mentioned he had been behind the bomb hacking had Tim feeling quite accomplished.

Having Dick not even blink to this story felt like a punch to the gut. Not to his pride (not out loud anyway), but in pure despair. Where on earth did Dick Grayson go?

"But anyway," Tim waved the memory away, feeling the worry override his smile. "I gained a bit of confidence after that, I started helping in other ways, gathering information and sending it to Batman during relevant cases."

"We thought he was a villain," Damian piped in, glancing at Tim and silently agreeing that this unresponsiveness of Dick's was really unsettling. "We knew we were being stalked and whoever it was knew our identities, but there was no face, no trace, and no signature to any of Drake's help."

Tim wouldn't lie, it was fun to be anonymous, but it got old when he was older and could do more than just be on the computer. "Yeah, that lasted up until Damian decided to be rebellious and became Nightwing. That's when I started using Robin as an alias when I helped Bruce and even started training in my downtime. It was no Bat-training but I could decently defend myself in a civilian capacity."

Damian nodded, remembering the time he was absent but hearing about it from Bruce. "It was subtle, but it didn't last. Not once Todd came into the picture."

Tim finally cracked another smile, but it was one of regret and melancholy. "Jason Todd, he was twelve when Bruce found him in crime alley, stealing the Batmobile's tires." He paused for Dick's reaction, as one usually exclaims their disbelief and how impressed they are. Bruce had a similar reaction, but it had been concealed in a look rather than words. Dick's reaction to Jason's story made Batman's look like a pop-up book complete with glitter and rainbows.

Tim nodded his affirmation like Dick had challenged it (he had not) and tried for a smirk because he was attempting a joke. "That's the one Bruce kidnapped, he took Jason home and it wasn't long until there was a new Robin roaming the streets with Batman. I, of course, continued my work from the shadows. I still didn't have a true name though until I started using the color red to trademark my help. They had taken to calling me Red Robin and I ran with it."

Tim jumped to the next shocking bullet point of his life, at this juncture he was willing to say anything just to get Dick to blink. "By the time I was 14 I had become Batman's technological eyes and ears as Red Robin, having proven myself an ally more than a suspicious colleague."

Then Tim's bad feelings sank even deeper, his words dying in his mouth as he realized where they were in the story. Damian took this one, gaze down and to the side as he scowled at the floor. "Then Todd died. He was barely 15."

Now Tim felt the worst. "I— I had helped," Dick remained unchanged and Tim just sighed and continued explaining. "Jason was looking for his birth mother, he was going to go with or without Bruce's help so I decided to lend a hand. But the Joker... he was ready, I was sent on a wild goose chase. By the time I figured it out it was too late. Jason had suffered through horrendous torture before he exploded, but even that didn't kill him. He died by suffocation in the aftermath, Bruce was seconds too late. I was too late."

The room stayed quiet, Tim regretting trying to help, for enabling the quest that had eventually gotten Jason killed. Damian hadn't even known until Tim told him and that started uncomfortable beef between father and son. A grieving Bruce Wayne was a terrible terrible thing.

Dick was still just sitting there. As void as a rock. The silence was agonizing, but his lack of reaction was even worse.

Damian summed it up best, attempting to end the uncomfortable silence and continue the story. "It was... a lot. For everyone."

Tim allowed a few moments more of silence in respect for the dead. He internally joked that that included Dick now with how responsive he was. He didn't laugh.

Tim sighed deeply and plowed on. "Bruce became a bit unhinged after Jason's death. He started hitting harder, sending men to the hospital on life support for stealing a purse. He stopped caring about himself and the relationships his anger and grief had ruined." It was actually something Bruce was still working through, but he was no longer in danger of breaking his one rule. He even decently handled the formation of the team, something that had honestly surprised Tim and Damian. As well as their father was progressing over his grief he wasn't totally back on board with the Justice League, but since The Team's formation, he'd been getting much better.

It was actually kinda funny, all it takes to fix Bruce Wayne was to give him some children to look after.

Tim lightly shook his head, he knew that already, Dick was proof of thar. But he was still telling his story, hopefully Dick was actually listening and could see the end for what it was. "Overall a very bad time. That's when I decided I couldn't let Bruce run himself into the ground like that. So I did the only logical thing, I showed up at the manor and revealed I was Red Robin."

Dick continued to be a wall. Tim and Damian shared another concerned look. It was Damian's turn to sigh. "I was in Bludhaven at the time, it had become my city as much as Gotham is Batman's city. I also had to work through my own grief as well, and Father did a good job of pushing people away. There were... many arguments."

Tim felt like that was an understatement, but nodded along. "Even after I revealed myself Bruce didn't exactly take to me very well and tried to push me away too. But I was determined, Batman needs a Robin. I wasn't exactly ready for fieldwork though, I might have trained in a civilian capacity but even then I barely did any actual fighting since I was more tech support since day one. It took a while, and Damian coming back, for Bruce to really accept me. And let me tell you, training with Bruce was no picnic. The guy is borderline bipolar, one second he's 'I don't care' and the next he's the epitome of a helicopter parent. It was an entire year before he let me out in the streets as Red Robin. Even now I still have the least amount of time as a field hero. I've only been out in the field for a year."

Tim was tired of Dick remaining unresponsive, he approached the kid and tried for eye contact. The eyes he looked into were not seeing him.

"Look," Tim tried, reaching up to gently shake the boy's shoulder, "When Bruce grieves he throws himself into the mission, into Gotham. Let me tell you, Dick. After Jason died, I've never seen him so focused or worried about something that wasn't Gotham until he met you."

Dick didn't speak, his eyes continued to be blank and lifeless, but his eyebrows lowered and crinkled his forehead in disbelief.

Damian's face soured as well, leaning forward just to see if the boy would emote more. "Do not underestimate yourself, Grayson. You have considerable influence over my father at the moment."

This time his face was much more solid, the disbelief was clear and unchangeable.

"Dick, he cares about you," Tim said, squeezing the boy's shoulder gently like he was trying to infuse the idea through his hand. He stared at the acrobat's blank eyes, hoping to bring life back to them. "More than his mission. You're healing him without even knowing. You've helped us, so now let us help you."

Dick's face scrunched even more, dark coal-like eyes actually looking at Tim for a change. Then his face went slack, his eyes that -just for a moment- were full, overflowing with anger and hurt and feelings went blank again. His emotions left and his face shut down. With that haunted look, he shook his head slowly. "I am just a tool to be used."

Tim's brain short-circuited.

What.

Tim was still reeling when Damian surged forward, grabbing one of the boy's arms to turn him to face Damian. "You are not a tool Grayson. You are not a weapon. You are a human boy, a child, you need love and care. No one is going to use you."

Dick's blank stare remained unchanged.

Tim finally found his words. "No, no Dick, you've got it backward. Use us, Dick. Use us. Slade gave you to us because he knew we could save you. Bruce cares about you, a lot, so you're stuck with him trying to help you now and he won't ever stop. Because he's Batman, he can do anything. Me and Damian? We care about you just as much as Bruce does. I bet even Wally would lay down his life for you, even if he wasn't a hero. All of us care too much to ever let anyone use you and we're definitely not going to let you go back to The Court." Tim promised, desperate for any of this to make it through to the kid. Then he begged, "You have Batman on your side, Dick, use him, use us. How do we take down The Court so you don't have to live in fear anymore?"

Dick's blank face morphed into a scowl, eyes finally alight, but with rage. "They just want me to care. So I can be weak. So they can break me again."

Tim retracted like he got burned, Damian let go as well, but he matched Dick's fire.

"You are not weak for caring." He growled, all rage but a soft pain spoke in his eyes. "I, of all people, would know Grayson. My mother—"

"If you wanted to help me," Dick cut him off, spitting like acid, "You would stop trying to get me to care. I'm not going to make the same mistake a third time."

Damian actually growled, slamming his fist into the medical bed. "So what if Slade was working for the enemy!? He betrayed THEM to save YOU! He cared about you and look what it did, it gave you a chance to win against The Court. Don't throw it away! We are not going to let you throw it away."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into." Dick hissed, snarling right back at Damian. "The Court always wins. Even when they lose. I was never free! Even when I escaped, THEY won!"

Dick was going to continue but Damian took that moment to interject. "Then let us truly free you! We will get rid of this Court of Owls and—"

Damian was cut off by Dick who lunged forward, jumping on the man and pinning him to the wall to slap a hand over his mouth. "DON'T SAY THEIR NAME." He roared. The only reason Damian didn't instantly fight him off was the tears gathering in the younger boy's eyes. They were tears of desperation and utter fear. The mere name of his abusers too powerful in the child's eyes.

Damian lifted his hands up in surrender before moving one to slowly take Dick's hand off of his mouth. "Grayson," He spoke softly, "I was once afraid of my mother. When I finally defied her and joined my father's cause, I would wait for her to show herself. Waiting for her to dispose of me because of the disgrace I was to her and my grandfather. I learned I had nothing to fear, because when she did come to exact her revenge I was not alone. Batman protects his own, that includes you now."

Dick seemed to contemplate his words for a few bare seconds, face softening like his words were finally getting through to him. Then his fire returned and he grabbed Nightwing's suit like he could shove him against the wall (he couldn't). "I don't CARE what you went through!" He snarled in Damian's face. "Slade is DEAD because of me! Wintergreen died because of ME. I killed Matthew."

Dick took a deeper breath to continue but his chest shuddered and hitched. "E-even my parents..." Dick started to cry again, holding onto Damian's suit and screaming in his face. "They fell because of me! It's MY fault they're all DEAD."

Damian felt a lump in his throat as he grabbed Dick's wrists, "Grayson—"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT." He roared, hands clenched full of Nightwing's suit shaking with emotion. His head fell forward, new tears streaming down as he sucked in more air.

Damian cradled the boy, shifting a little because Dick had perched uncomfortably on him in his haste to scream at Damian. He didn't dare try to pry him off, just letting his arms rest around him and take the boy's weight. Damian let his chin rest on the top Dick's head, eyes lifting up to meet Tim's gaunt gaze.

The entire room jolted when Tim and Damian's gloves went off simultaneously, literally making Tim jump and Dick flinched in Damian's arms. Damian ignored his completely, reaching only to turn it off while Tim gave it a scan. Satisfied it didn't need immediate action, Tim quickly turned it off. It made him feel tired though, right in his soul. Evil never rests does it? Apparently Poison Ivy was going global and had a team of villains with her, including the Joker. The team thing made sense, even on a good day Ivy can only reach so far. It was bad news for sure, and they were calling themselves the Injustice Leauge. It was stupid, but right up a villain's alley.

"What is it, Drake." Damian asked, lifting his head off of Dick's.

Tim waved him off, "The Justice Leauge is probably all over it, don't worry."

Tim then made a small step towards Dick, feeling all of 17 again knocking on Bruce Wayne's door to tell him he was Red Robin. Except this was worse. "Dick..." But before he could get any more words out he was cut off.

"No!" Dick screamed into Damian's chest before he paused to breathe again. Tim remained silent, waiting for the kid to continue, sensing he had something to say. Tim was right, the acrobat's voice groggy but gentle. "I-I don't care about what you're going to say. You're just going to try to get me to care again and I shouldn't. But... b-but I already do. I care too much all the time and I'm tired. I'm tired of it being used against me. But I can't stop them from killing the people I care about, that's why you've got to let me go. If you let me go they won't come after me and kill everyone in the process. I care too much to let any of you die because you're stupid enough to care about me."

"Yeah we're stupid enough to care about you, but we're not going to die," Tim responded, finally getting to the point he had tried to address earlier before Dick threw the conversation on its head. "I told you my life's story because I wanted to show you how much The Court couldn't have planned." Dick turned in Damian's lap to throw him a nasty glare and Tim rose his hands up in surrender and fixed himself before Dick could bite his head off. "Not that they don't plan anything! I just want you to know that they aren't some all-powerful untouchable gods. These are people doing these things, brainwashing and conditioning you into thinking you can't escape. The Court is a cult in the most literal sense, but like the League of Assasins —who are also definitely a cult— who Bruce tangos with on a monthly basis; they're not impossible to defeat."

Dick's response was softer than he had spoken to Damian, but it was almost more powerful.

"You don't know them like I do. I lived with them for an entire year. I had to learn things no kid should ever learn. I know they can't control or plan everything. But they control the things that matter." Dick went silent for a moment as his chest expanded with a deep breath. He stared down at the floor, hunkering closer to Damian like he could hide from what he was about to say. "Timothy Jackson Drake's parents were both murdered by The Court, at very specific times to make sure you would have the right set up to join them. You saw them because they wanted you to see them. They want you, and when The Court wants something... they get it."

Tim really wanted to argue with that. Because Tim's parents were not murdered by assassins. His mom had gotten sick, died in the hospital right around the time Tim started doing his tech stuff. His dad was killed by Captain Boomerang, and while he was an assassin, Jack Drake was actually a collateral death. He really wasn't as tangled with the Court as everyone said he was, but he had to take into account who 'everyone' was. Slade Wilson knew Tim had seen The Court. Slade Wilson whom Tim had never encountered before (at least not physically). Slade Wilson who was now known to have direct contact with The Court.

But something cold sank into his bones.

He didn't want to say Dick was right, he didn't want to believe Dick was right. Because that meant The Court really was going after him. He was tangled with The Court of Owls and didn't even know it.

"Your mom was poisoned." Dick spoke, as if sensing Tim's doubts, "Captain Boomerang was hired just like Deathstroke was, just for a different purpose."

Above him, Damian's face twisted, "How do you know?" He asked, rightfully confused because those were pretty small details to remember from something that happened years ago.

"I learned..." Dick hesitated, "I- I'm supposed to be a Talon, one of their mindless assassins. I know because I was there when they made the decision. I was told to study the- the methods." The boy took in a shaky breath, voice small and ultimately that of a child's. "I... I'm sorry."

Tim wasn't sure how to feel, in fact, all of this was just very overwhelming. Tim's holo-glove chimed again but he ignored it.

"You know what?" He said instead, "All the more reason we should defeat The Court, it saves you, it saves other people from their parents being killed or being drafted into their assassin army. If we die trying then we die free and fighting. The Court won't get you and it won't get me. It's not going to hurt anyone anymore. We are destroying The Court Dick."

Dick sighed against Damian's chest and mumbled a barely intelligible, "Heroes are stupid." But at least he submitted to the fact he couldn't convince them not to go after The Court. That's progress, right?

"Red Robin, Nightwing, come in NOW."

Everyone in the room startled at Batman's voice coming from Tim's holo-glove. Tim lifted it up, showing Batman's scowly face on its screen.

"Did you not see the alerts." He growled in his disappointed Bat-dad way. "Ivy's gone global and wreaking havoc. We need everyone on the ground and fighting these vines now."

But Tim is confused, "If it's global it's Justice League against Injustice league, neither I nor Nightwing are on the Justice League." Tim wasn't arguing really, just confused because even if it was Poison Ivy and Joker why would a Justice League event require him and Nightwing? Especially when Batman didn't tell them he needed them?

Oh wait. That was him they ignored earlier, wasn't it?

Sh*t.

Dick shot straight up from Damian's lap, staring at Tim in something like horror. Tim missed the movement entirely while Damian raised an eyebrow at him in question as Batman responded.

"She's targeting all major cities and hero cities, her vines have been enhanced with Kobra venom and their pores release Joker venom." Tim's eyes widened, he was not one to underestimate an opponent but holy-. "The Justice League is spread thin, I have Captain Marvel with me here in Gotham and I need Nightwing and Red Robin with me or a lot of people are going to die."

Tim nodded but frowned, usually the tactic with Poison Ivy was to go for her instead of her plants. "We're on our way," he looked up at Damian, also finding Dick's peculiar stance. Dick was as stiff as a board and looked like he'd seen a ghost with how white his face was. But Tim didn't have time to question, just nodding at Damian who returned his mask to his face to become Nightwing again. "Then what is the plan? If the Justice League is busy who is going to take down the Injustice League?"

"The Team has already been despatched to go after the Injustice League."

"No," Dick whispered. The desperation in his voice made Tim and Damian swivel their heads towards him. The poor kid looked sick.

Dick didn't look like he was going to explain himself though, so Tim talked. "They're ready for that? I saw Wotan and Black Atom in that lineup, it's not going to be a fair fight."

"With any luck, they won't have to face them at all." Batman agreed. "All they need to do is destroy the control hub helping Ivy spread to the cities then the Justice League will be free to come in and take them down."

"Alright, well we were just finishing up with Dick here." Tim said hurriedly, "We'll be on our way back to Gotham soon." Tim didn't give Batman time to respond as he turned off his glove, sighing as he looked at Dick.

Dick just stared at him. This was almost worse than before. Almost. At least Dick was emoting this time, though it wasn't very comforting that it was terror.

"We'll be fine Dick," Tim said, trying to figure out and soothe whatever was making Dick so tense. This was a terrible way to end this conversation. The kid still thinks The Court is all-powerful and Tim just found out his parents were killed by the same group. Tim and Damian fought and Dick cried a lot. Perfect conversation. 10/10 would converse again. "We gotta go save our city now though, you sit tight here."

Then Tim pointed at the frozen acrobat, making eye contact to make sure this next line made some sort of impact. "And no going after us or escaping to go to The Court. I mean it when I said we're going to take them down. You're going to be free of them. I promise."

"I'll make sure he understands Drake." Nightwing rolled his eyes, taking a step towards the kid.

"Alright," Tim headed for the door, and then it was just Dick and Damian in the room.

The silence was awkward, Damian wasn't really sure how to address what he wanted to address. He really wanted the kid to know he cared, that he and the other heroes weren't like Deathstroke, that letting them care about him wasn't going to end in ruin. Dick said he wasn't going to make the mistake of caring a third time. That means twice before he trusted someone and that someone threw his trust away. Twice. Slade was an obvious one, but what was the other? Damian couldn't imagine Dick had trusted The Court at any point. His parents? Well with the way Dick spoke of them he was fond of them, he only had good things to say about them. That didn't mean they were good parents though. Ten-year-old Damian would only have good things to say about his mother, but now is a different story altogether.

Trust is a fickle thing, Damian didn't have a lot of it, but he was working on it. Right now he really wanted Dick's trust. He wanted to carry this heavy burden the kid was carrying that he should have no reason to carry. He wanted to help in every way possible. He also really wanted to know why Dick took offense to being called Grayson. It was the name of his parents, surely he'd prefer the connection rather than hate it?

Dick is a mystery, a sad suffering mystery, and all Damian wanted to do was unlock it and let the kid breathe in relief. He had yet to see Dick truly relax around heroes, which meant Damian had never seen Dick relax at all ever. It reminded him of his younger self, and it filled him with the desire to fix it.

"So..." He started lamely, avoiding looking at the kid as he shuffled uneasily on his feet. Where to start? How to start? Oh, a previous observation? That works sometimes. "I'm impressed... you managed to make Drake ignore a call from Father."

"They know," Dick spoke over him, whispering again with a sudden urgency. "Damian they know."

Damian's train of thought paused, hands stopping together as he looked at the kid in confusion. "Who knows what?"

Dick slid off the bed, looking anxious. "The Injustice League, they know The Team is coming."

Nightwing's gut sank and was instantly on alert. "That means The Team is heading into a trap."

Dick nodded quickly, looking towards the door like he was about to rush it.

Damian caught the movement in his eyes, narrowing his own. "How did you know?"

Dick smiled sheepishly, a small smile that wavered and fell soon after. "Deathstroke and I were invited to a few of their meetings? I played Slap Jack with Ivy and Harley a few times."

Nightwing sighed and rubbed his forehead. Somehow he forgot that Dick was ALSO a mercenary and of COURSE he would play Slap Jack with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. He stalked towards the door, giving Dick the same (parental) pointing finger Tim did. "You are not going anywhere, Richard, I'll contact Batman."

"Good idea." Dick agreed, suddenly more sure of himself as he followed Damian like he didn't just tell him not to follow him.

Nightwing stopped before the door to turn around and lay a hand on the small acrobat's shoulder. "Richard, you are to stay here."

Dick just smiled ruefully at him, reaching up with one hand to rest on top of Damian's gloved hand. "And I told you; I care too much to let any of you die because you're stupid enough to care about me."

Nightwing only had time for his eyes to widen before he was airborne, a punch to the gut made him bend over and suddenly his gut was filled with the acrobat's shoulder and his arm was being tugged. His feet lifted off the ground and before he knew it his back his the ground and all air was driven from his lungs. Disoriented and not expecting a fight, it took Damian a hot second to get his bearings.

"Sorry, but that includes you too," Dick said from somewhere above him.

Dick reached for Nightwing's belt while the hero was down, taking his grapple line before fleeing for the door. It was left unlocked, a stupid idea, not that it would have stopped Dick in this state.

He felt on fire, yet cold as ice. It crept along his bones and deep inside he knew what was happening but elected to ignore it. He ignored how even on a good day he would never have been able to flip a man of Nightwing's size from a standstill. He ignored how fast the ground traveled beneath him as he ran, muscles working in tandem to be a perfect flawless machine. How familiar it felt.

He turned a corner in the hallway, a mental map of the mountain plotting his course to the Zeta tubes. But as fast as he was, Nightwing wouldn't be down for long. That's why he grabbed the hero's grapple wire.

Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, Nightwing came roaring at him from behind. Naturally light on his feet, the acrobat sidestepped the rushing vigilante, smirking when the man had to sacrifice his speed to turn towards his target.

Dick let himself be stopped, pausing before the hero. Nightwing held out his Escrima sticks, a warning that his attempts to leave would be met with a real fight. Nightwing would aim to knock out. Dick had a similar plan, but he still needed him to alert Batman the Injustice League was a trap for The Team.

If Dick could get to the team in time, he could save them. He knew the Injustice League's plan, he knew how to defeat all of them. The Court may rule him tomorrow, but Dick still ruled today, and today he was not going to let his friends die. Screw not caring, he could do that later when they took his emotions away. His friends would not die if he could help it, and he sure as h*ll can. This time.

"Richard!" Nightwing shouted, "you do not need to do this. We want the same thing."

Dick frowned and made a show of folding his arms and pouting. "I'll cut you a deal. You inform Batman the Team is in trouble and let me pass. I have no intentions of letting my friends die when I'm capable of stopping it."

Nightwing grimaced, or growled? "I can't do that Richard. You are a flight risk and currently attempting it. The Team can handle themselves until we are able to help them."

Dick sighed through his nose and gently shook his head in disappointment. "I had hoped this would be quick... as you know, lives are in danger." He let his lax stance drop into his perfected crouch, holding the hero's grappling wire in one hand like a lasso. "But I won't lie, I've been itching to fight something."

"So be it." Nightwing's head dipped and like a shotgun at a horse race, the two combatants shot off towards each other.

Nightwing aimed low, a mistake because Dick jumped high over his head to land in a roll and take off running. He was not close enough to the Zeta Tubes yet, he was thinking about speed here. Every second wasted fighting Nightwing was another second closer to his friends potentially dying.

Dick heard the soft whistle of a bola being thrown, he almost laughed because Dick had a similar idea. He let the bola catch one leg, lifting the other high as he bent over into a cartwheel. He pushed off the ground with his arms, launching into a backflip that tucked his legs close. He yanked the bola off his leg in that time, landing smoothly in a roll with the bola now in his possession.

He smirked at Damian who continued to run at him. Silly hero, to make one unconscious one has to be close enough to hit or be gassed, and Dick wasn't about to let that happen.

Instead, Dick went in take-down mode, he needed Nightwing down but not out. First, he had to take away Nightwing's more formidable weapons, his sticks and his arms. It would do no good to flip around him only to be konked on the head by a flying elbow. So when Nightwing got close and aimed high this time, Dick dove under him, catching his foot and looping some lax grapple wire around it. He popped up behind the man, staying low until he surged up to hit his shoulder blade pressure points, and when he got too high he slammed his knee into his back, sending the man toppling forward.

He didn't go down however. But that's okay.

Nightwing turned to swing at him, but Dick was ready. Arms now weakened by his nerve attack, Dick was able to kick Nightwing's Escrima out of his hands, one right after the other, both dodging the hit and taking away his weapon. That's when Nightwing went for a kick himself, only to have Dick yank hard on the wire he had around the now extended ankle and throw the bola at the same time. Damian's balance was instantly shot as he was forced into a near split. He was unprepared, his arms now flailing to compensate. Until his arms couldn't flail anymore when the bola tightened over his chest and arms, wrapping him up tight like a Christmas present.

Nightwing growled, his leg still in the air held taut by Dick and finally twisted his other leg so he wasn't off-balance. Dick caught the smallest hint of a smirk right before Damian jerked his leg back, yanking Dick along with it and sending the surprised acrobat to the ground.

Dick scrambled to his feet, rolling under another kick but throwing up extra wire. Once behind the hero he jumped and latched onto his back, pulling him backward while he climbed on his shoulders.

"Richar—" Damian's annoyed tone was cut off when Dick 'accidentally' stepped on his face.

While Damian struggled with his feet tangled in wires and his arms trapped, Dick made a nice little perch on the man's chest. He grinned down at Nightwing, holding his shoulders for balance and the last of the wire tight in his grip. "Hey Nightwing? Guess what?" He didn't wait for the hero to try to answer, his grin growing feral as he whispered, "Timber."

He launched backward off Damian's chest, successfully making the man go down. He pulled the wire as well, trapping the hero's legs as well. Feeling no adrenaline but heart pumping anyway, Dick grinned atop his groaning hog-tied hero. But he didn't have time to gloat, gloating wasn't anywhere in tonight's mission. He shot off and booked it towards the Zeta Tubes.

Over his shoulder, he threw out, "When you get free tell B-man I'm saving my friends!"

Whatever Damian said in response Dick missed, he nearly collided with the Zeta Tube control panel. He selected Gotham for his location and was gone in seconds. The idiots had his biometrics in the system, calling out his mercenary name as he left the hero tied up in his own base.

Blinking away the bright teleporting light, Dick burst out of the phone booth, sprinting for the open end of the alley. It only occurred to him that Gotham had been one of the Injustice League's target when he nearly got flattened by a gigantic sick-looking vine.

The ground rumbled unhappily and Dick concurred. Until he disagreed, finding abandoned vehicles all around him. The citizens had already fled, Dick was on the outskirts of the attack. Good, that meant Batman and Captain Marvel wouldn't be bothering him. After looking around and avoiding vines and humans, he hijacked the only motorcycle that was there. It wasn't the best motorcycle nor anywhere near the motorcycle Slade had just got him, but it was useable.

He tore off into Gotham, heading for Wayne Manor.

The Batcave would probably have his suit. And if it didn't, well, Bruce could handle losing a few bombs.

Chapter Text

Dick really should have planned this better. Sure he was in Gotham, sure he needed the Batcave, sure he knew Bruce Wayne was Batman. But he overlooked one majorly minor detail. Where exactly was the Batcave?

He realized this problem as he stepped up to the Manor, because while he had visited Gotham with Batman and was in the Batcave before, he never actually got the location of the Batcave. From what details he could remember it really was a cave, so it couldn't be IN the giant Wayne mansion. Under it maybe, but not a room in it. Besides, that would be terrible for ID protection, no one should be able to simply walk in.

Speaking of simply walking in, the front door wouldn’t open for him. Bruce wouldn't be home and neither would any of his adult vigilante kids. (Did they even still live here? It's definitely big enough.) No one was going to let him in so he would have to bust in. He'd apologize later when his friends weren't throwing themselves into a death trap. 

Dick made use of a window, using a rather large rock from the driveway gravel to weaken the Batman-sanctioned windows. 

The glass kinda hurt, it was ignorable, especially with much more important things happening. Like how much time his friends had left. They could be dead right now. Or they could still be alive. Yeah, yeah no they were still alive, it was a long way to Louisiana, they’re fine. For now. Dick just had to catch up before villains do what villains do. 

Well now he was in, he didn’t stop to brush off the glass or anything. The room he was in was some type of foyer or waiting room. Dick wasn’t going to wait. 

He made it out of the room, everything about the inside of the house (that he had seen so far) was large and mildly confusing. Dread curled up like a snake inside his gut, ready to strike. 

This house was too big. 

How on earth was he supposed to find the Batcave in time?

Between his urgency and his lack of knowledge, his body felt on fire with anxiety and adrenaline. Even with his easy access to the house, the time was still ticking, he had to find where the Batcave was and fast. His friends were tough, they were heroes, but the Injustice League was going to kill them. Why do heroes always have to go headfirst into deadly situations? Dick hadn't really cared that the team was actually a bunch of stupidly heroic teenagers until now.

With literally no other plan, Dick took to running its halls, peering into different rooms that all looked the same before dashing off. 

With every room he looked into his stomach dropped, he didn't even know the purpose of half of these rooms and the Batcave wouldn't just be sitting there. It didn't matter how fast he was searching, he still had no idea what he was searching for. His friends were running out of time, the thought weighed on him like a bag of bricks on his chest. 

He came to a fork in the hallway and took a left, the first room he greeted was a giant ballroom. Knowing it was a horrible idea, (because hello big) he chose to push right through it. He booked it across the empty room, danger prickling along his skin like nails on a chalkboard. His feet pushed him faster like some unseen demon was chasing him, heart rate spiking as white edged his vision. Coming out of the big empty room, he slammed into a wall, breathing heavily as panic ran rampant in his veins. 

He didn't give himself time to calm down and started running the halls again. He needed to find the heart of Wayne manor, some part of him said. The fou- cave would be there. His goal. His everything. The center of the maze. 

That thought stopped him dead in his tracks. Dick was at a new crossroads in a hallway, identical to the one before. It was a maze. A labyrinth. 

Dick panted, eyes wide and refusing to blink. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears as loud as a drum and he swiveled around, checking his six. Both he and his heart jumped as he saw a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He only calmed slightly when he found it was just his reflection in the small pieces of some ornate object on a decorative shelf. Nothing was actually there. Dick was fine. 

Something dark flashed to his left and Dick flinched, breath catching in his throat when the dark mahogany hallway turned white for a fraction of a second. His heart thundered when he looked down, the deep red rugs splattered with blood. 

Dick clutched his head, gasping in short spurts of air that weren't enough. His sight turned blurry, not feeling the tears collecting and overflowing, diving deeper into a panic. 

Find the center. Find the center. Things would make sense once he drank from the fountain. Had he drunk any water yet? No... no, he hadn't. 

No! No the water was bad! Don't drink the water!

It made it easier to... to hide. To obey. To kill. 

Dicks eyes went wild, flicking around like a crazed bird. 

E-everything was white, everything was danger. Every corner would be hiding a Talon to test him, to kill him. His fingers dug into his scalp, body trembling with short useless breaths. NO! He couldn't- he couldn't let them win again! His friends! His friends, they needed him! They were going to die if he didn't get his crap together right now!

He scratched at his eyes, getting rid of the blur, only to see a dark maroon figure to his left.

Dick screamed and lunged with a powerful kick, driving his heel into his enemy. Dick landed in a crouch and spun around, ready to attack again as his target thumped to the grou-

CRASH

Dick jumped like he'd been electrocuted, the sound jarring him into the real world. 

He blinked uncomprehendingly down at the broken vase. 

He had knocked it and it's dark wooden pedestal over, the fancy vase completely shattered at his feet. The walls weren't white, this was no labyrinth. The maroon he'd seen was the pedestal the vase had been sitting on. He was in Wayne Manor, a house belonging to a hero. He was safe. 

"If you desire a training dummy, young Master Richard, we have plenty in the basement."

He jolted at the voice, staring up at the ceiling as if it belonged to a ghost. But that was stupid, and so was the fact the voice was calming. He had never heard this voice before, it couldn't be from his head and that was reliving. He hadn't drunk the fountain water. There was no fountain here. This wasn't the labyrinth. He was safe. 

He looked down at the vase, suddenly sheepish. He just broke something that belonged to Bruce, to Batman. Also, there was that whole um... breakdown thing he just went through, but he was going to ignore that. 

"S-sorry, I-I'll uh... I'll clean that up later," Dick promised the disembodied voice. He rubbed his face more gently this time, taking in the deep calming breaths Slade had him practice for moments like these. Usually, the breathing exercises were to combat the actual attack but it worked just fine claiming him down after too. He sighed into his hands, hating himself for breaking down when he should be helping his friends. He was getting nowhere with all this panic. He needed actual progress here. 

He decided to go out on a limb because he had no more ideas and he really wanted that voice to not be in his head. He'd rather all of this not be an elaborate illusion. He also didn't want to be alone.

The young acrobat looked up, unsure of where exactly to look. "Hey uh, mister, I really need to find the Batcave, my friend's lives depend on it."

"Very well, I will direct you to the study-"

The voice did just that. Dick was guided through the not-white maze by the British man (“Alfred Pennyworth at your service young master.”) on the intercom system, where a bookish office was the destination. Dick was given the time passcode and Dick felt like he was in a spy movie as the great grandfather clock opened up. Dick wasn't quite recovered, but he was no longer a shaking driveling panicked mess. It would have to do, he couldn't waste any more time on his own problems. 

The elevator was pretty cool, it was rather large but it kinda made sense. He stayed leaning against the corner with his arms folded, trying to feign calmness so his brain and body would get the memo. When the elevator finally came to a stop at the bottom Dick was greeted by the Batcave. 

It was surprisingly bright, though he wasn't sure why he was surprised. It was also extremely cool. He saw so many gizmos and just stuff that looked like it would kick arse. 

Dick didn’t have time to get distracted by cool gadgets.

His antsy-ness returned, turning an analytical eye on every nook and cranny of equipment he could see. Just looking at all of it, He knew he wouldn't be able to find his suit in all of this. If it was even here. But he found the explosives easily enough.

It was a giant weapons rack, some of the slots were empty and Dick could imagine it was stuff like batarangs or grappling hooks. Taking one of those wasn't a bad idea. But what really caught his interest was the shelf dedicated to explosives. Some looked like honest to goodness cartoon bombs straight out of Tom and Jerry. Some were a lot smaller and had minuscule variations in style. Taking one of the tiny bombs off the shelf and giving it more scrutiny, Dick came to the conclusion they had to be custom made or something. He got the distinct impression all these similar-looking bombs did wildly different things and the different designs of each section of tiny bombs were the tells of which bomb did what. Only he didn't know those tells were, although he did recognize the smoke pellets, flash bombs, and more simple things like that. He took a few of each, trying not to feel guilty because he wasn't supposed to have a fully stocked belt. 

It was rather easy actually, his friends needed him and he needed these bombs to help his friends. Simple. Past infractions about weaponry between him and Batman were a moot point at the moment. Dick just needed this to work once. 

Regardless, filling his belt felt both amazing and scary. He wasn't supposed to have this, if he was caught he’d be punished (cold and isolated- wait no Batman would do that would he? Maybe, it would be safer for everyone else if he did and Batman was nothing if not effective), but he was going to be locked up at the end of this anyway so what did it matter?

Then he found the Batarang bombs and he couldn’t help but grin. He took one off the shelf, inspecting the disk that would fly magnificently and with edges sharp enough to wedge itself into any surface if thrown hard enough. 

"Oh, you'll do perfectly," Dick told the explosive disk and promptly shoved the whole shelf into his belt. He looked over to find some normal batarangs and took a few of those just for precaution. 

He had spied the ‘garage’ part of the cave from the elevator, now that he was done stocking up he spun around only to meet a clothed human body face first. 

Dick was surprised he didn't stab them on instinct. 

A pair of thin hands landed on his shoulders and pushed him back and upright. Dick was then greeted by someone who undoubtedly had to be Alfred, he was much too British. 

Dick looked at him, seeing Wintergreen. Alfred looked down at him, Dick was sure he was seeing a child on the verge of losing their mind. 

Odd how that particular situation hasn’t changed since changing hands from Slade to Batman. 

"Ah, Master Richard, I do hope you’ve found everything you need alright?” Alfred spoke, and yeah, he was totally British intercom guy. He was also standing oddly poised like some sort of butler. 

Dick took a step back, taking a deeper breath to calm his nerves that were still screaming. He looked down at the batarangs, frowning. The young mercenary looked up, only to find the connection to this man and Wintergreen only grew stronger. He was old like Wintergreen and Slade were, though he was also oldER. He looked much more frail compared to the old guys Dick knew, but he didn't look weak exactly. He could probably throw down if he wanted, but he was much more... disarming. Dick wasn't sure why he was thrown by the similarities, but he felt thrown.

As the silence stretched Alfred raised a perfectly British eyebrow. “I do hope you will be returning those when you’re done, young sir.”

It took way too long for the sentence to process.

“Oh,” Returning the batagrangs was the least he could do, he was stealing them after all. It also reminded him once he saved his friends (he was going to save them. He couldn’t return empty handed. They can’t be dead.) he would return to be a permanent and forever prisoner and he was okay with that. He was too dangerous, but right now that was the point. His friends knew he was dangerous, time to fight for them for once instead of against them. 

"Sorry," Dick shook his head, his creeping sense of dread returning once again to remind him time was of the essence. "I'll return the batarangs, but I really should get going, my friends really need me right now."

The kind butler nodded, then inclined his head to the plethora of bat-themed vehicles. "If you're in such a hurry, might I suggest a method of travel not confined to the ground?"

Dick followed his nod, narrowing in on the vehicle that looked like a plane or jet. Bat-jet, bat-plane, whatever. 

He couldn’t help but grin, all of his options looked really cool. He turned to the butler, head tilting and an odd nostalgic feeling in his gut. “How do you know I know how to fly one of those?" Or even need one of those, Bayou Bartholomew isn't exactly a quick power walk from Gotham. 

"I seem to recall you being in a hurry, all the planes here have an autopilot feature. Simply put in the coordinates of your destination and you will not have to worry about much else.” 

Dick nodded along, that was actually really nice. Alfred was nice. 

"Thanks," He gave the man a grin, surprising himself with how genuine it was. He wanted to do more to thank him, but the panic writhing under his skin was coming back with a vengeance. "It's a long way to Louisiana." He quipped as he dashed off to the nearest bat-jet, missing any response the butler might have for him.

"If I'm lucky they're still on their way and aren't dead yet. That would be nice." He muttered to himself as he climbed into the cockpit, feeling small because this vehicle was clearly custom made for someone as big as Batman and not a tiny mercenary like himself. 

The jet itself wasn't actually that big, which was great, speed was key right now. The controls seemed to be similar enough to the ones Dick had studied (yes Slade had him study flight controls for many types of aircraft) but it was just easier to hack. He didn't have his holo-glove but that was fine, he didn't technically need it. 

He flipped the engine on, feeling the machine rumble pleasantly beneath him. If he weren't in such a time crunch Dick might be impressed, if they all survived this Dick might have to take it for a spin. That thought made him grin, then it faded. 

That’s assuming he wasn't locked up after this... He was technically stealing, or was it okay if the butler pointed it out to him? Though he doubted the butler was in charge of such things, Batman would probably not be happy either way. He did hand Nightwing's butt to him and left the Mountain and filled his belt and stole his bat-plane and just did basically everything Batman told him not to do (short of killing- well actually his little jaunt wasn’t over yet and Dick wasn’t sure he could promise the safety of any villain who wanted his friends dead, not with what was coursing through his veins right now). Dick decided he didn't care anymore. He was expecting to be locked away anyway, it wouldn't change the outcome much. Besides, being locked up is safest for everyone.

The glass cover lowered down over him, sealing him into the airtight plane. He saluted the butler who still stood by the weapons rack and gave him a wary but thankful smile. He did in fact put in the coordinates for Louisiana, though sitting back and doing nothing felt like a terrible idea. He laid his hands on the flight stick anyway, letting the autopilot guide him and nervously looked for some sort of runway, only finding a long tarmac right into a waterfall. He couldn't help but snort, Batman was so dramatic. 

Alfred must have pressed some button or maybe there was a motion sensor because the waterfall began to split from the top, opening the runway up into the dark crisp air of October. 

The joystick pushed itself into the direction of the runway, then felt his breath leave his body as the vehicle blasted off like it was a rocket. Dick found himself grinning again, the entire machine rumbled around him and it shook him like he was jello. Inertia asserted itself onto him, forcing his body back into the seat even though Dick really wanted to lean up to take a look outside. He settled for just moving his eyes.

The cool grays and blues of the cave were gone in seconds, the setting sun bathing the sky in orange overpowered his eyes and made him squint. The black bat-plane pierced through the air like an arrow, cutting through the burnt light. 

Dick was on a mission. For once not given to him by a superior, whether it was his Grandmaster or Slade or Batman. The only other time Dick had his own mission like this it ended with his temporary freedom from the court and a dead Matthew. Dick was determined to learn from his mistake. This time Dick would succeed. This time no one would die. This time Dick was going to save his friends instead of himself. 

Dick had never acted like a hero before, but it was more terrifying to imagine doing anything else. As the sun set lower and lower Dick said goodbye to the selfish orange that leached the other colors from the world. Dick embraced the deep blues and the protecting shadows of the dark night. 

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick could see it from miles away. He was sure it would actually be very hard to see on the ground level but when there's a giant vine tree sticking way out of the ground in a swamp where the trees don't grow past 10 feet it's kinda hard to miss. He landed behind it, banking around after seeing evidence of a fight in the front. He saw the abandoned bioship in the murky drink, and his heart thumped harder in his chest.

He slid down a wet hill he landed on and climbed up the crest to the building. The building itself was pretty huge too, but Dick was packed with bombs and desperation. It was easy to get above ground level, using his new handy dandy bat-issued grapple gun. The plant was exploding itself out of the roof and wasn't that just fantastic for Dick. 

He threw as many bombs as possible all around the plant antenna, but saved quite a few for the base because blowing up the antenna was great and all but it would just grow back like nothing happened if he didn't get its roots. 

Scouring the roof Dick looked for an opening between the glass and the plant, he was delighted to find one just big enough for him. Scaling down was harder than he thought though, the vines were slippery and he couldn't use anything to impale the vine lest he incur the wrath of Poison Ivy and alert everyone to his presence. No, surprise was on his side and he was going to use it. 

He shimmied down the plant trunk, keeping a firm grip on the various knobs and vines that made for convenient hand and footholds. Glancing down, Dick didn't find any guards, but Atomic Skull was at the base of the plant. The villain was busy transferring his atomic energy into the plant, Ivy was a bit farther away, tending to the giant roots. 

Dick stayed still and quiet to see what they'd do and how to separate them to take them down. Atomic Skull would be easy, Ivy... Dick didn't want to hurt Ivy, maybe he could talk her down. 

Dick's head snapped up when a noise from outside caught the two villain's attention. It sounded like the other villains, but it also sounded like a fight. 

Ivy nodded to Atomic Skull, entrusting him to stay and guard while she left to investigate.

Atomic Skull was alone. 

It was almost too easy, sneaking around the trunk to place himself above the villain. He let go and dropped down on the man, landing on his shoulders and placing his hands on the villain's head and jaw. Before the injustice league member could call for help or even fight back Dick yanked his arms in opposite directions, there was a snap and then the body fell. 

Dick rolled to his feet, pausing to glance at the broken body he left behind. 

Uh, whoops. He might not have meant to do that. 

It's fine, shake it off, he's fine. Atomic Skull was a bad guy anyway, and more importantly, Ivy hadn’t heard the scuffle. 

Good. 

Dick got to work placing his bombs, the disks sinking into the flesh-like plant. He had five minutes max to get out before they blew automatically, or he could detonate them at any time. 

He ran around quietly, throwing the bombs to the farther roots just to be sure. He didn't want any of this to survive. It's what his friends were here for, he wasn't going to let them stay in danger even if he was able to get them away from the Injustice League.

"How dare you!" Ivy shouted behind him.

The ground rumbled and Dick jumped as the ground beneath him exploded with vines. 

He danced away, taking out a few of the smoke bombs and a batarang before settling into a fighting stance. Ivy was an enemy. 

Ivy had her hand outstretched to him, vines at the ready. She faltered, however, when she recognized the tiny assassin in front of her. 

"Wait, Dick?" She slowly lowered her arm, the vines shifting away from the teen like a receding pool of water. 

Dick let himself relax slightly, maybe he didn't have to fight her. “Hia Ivy.”

The villainess's face was twisted in confusion and rage, "What are you doing here?” Interestingly, she seemed more upset that he was here than anything else. “I didn't think Deathstroke was coming." 

"I'm saving my friends," He said instead, as if that perfectly explained everything.

Ivy's brow narrowed as concern flashed across her face, fists clenching at her sides. "Where is Deathstroke, Renegade." She asked dangerously, a familiar cut throat cold seeping into her words. He got the feeling her ice wasn't indented for him, but for Deathstroke.

Dick stayed silent. 

His throat stayed closed by itself, feeling hot and swollen with emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with. 

He wasn't sure what was going to come out if he spoke about Deathstroke. However, his sight got blurry and he hastily blinked the tears away. He would not be compromised, not now when he's so close to saving his friends. 

He couldn't save Deathstroke. He couldn’t fight Them . But he was going to save his friends. He could. 

The silence spoke for itself, and Ivy caught on quick. 

The green woman’s eyes widened in shock at the implication of the silence to such a question, noticing the way his eyes glistened with unshed  tears. 

"I'm saving my friends Ivy." He forced out, this time softer but with no less conviction. "I don't want to kill you, but if you stand in my way I will."

Ivy frowned, still a little confused, "Friends…?” 

He could see how she worked over the situation and the exact moment she realized it. She was surprised, jabbing a thumb behind her to where he assumed his friends would be fighting the rest of the Injustice League.

 “The little heroes?"

She didn’t sound upset.

"Yes. They're mine." Nobody was going to touch what was his.

"This is where you've been? Playing with the heroes?" Ivy asked, but it didn't sound patronizing, she almost sounded relieved.

Dick didn't have time for whatever Poison Ivy was feeling, his friends were beyond her, trapped probably. Wotan and Black Adam alone would have made quick work of them, if they aren't already dead.

"They’re my friends Ivy. I’m not going to lose them even if they are stupid self sacrificing idiots.” He gave Ivy a knowing smile, through it never touched his eyes, “besides, I thought you weren’t into murdering kids.” 

Ivy's eyes narrowed again, seeing the obvious manipulation. A calculating look overtook her features. Her gaze flicked to behind him, seeing his network of bombs scattered on her towering vine. She contemplated for a few seconds, seconds Dick might have lunged at her for if he had any less of a grasp on his self control. He didn’t want to hurt her.

She must hate him now, by attacking her vines he was labeling himself as an enemy, a hero against villain. Dick was sad, because he didn't want to fight Ivy, she had been so nice to him.

Instead of the rage he was expecting, something shifted in her eyes, something soft yet cunning. Settling on something that showed her kindness while keeping herself and her motives secretive. Much like the Ivy he'd seen deal with other villains. Except usually without the softness. 

"Alright Dick," she spoke gently, yet stronger, again like she was talking more with an equal but with a more understanding lilt to her voice. She placed a hand on her hip, a purely Ivy move that almost made him smile, "You care an awful lot about these teen heroes don't you?"

Dick's chin lifted, smiling a little because while the words were taunting they were not malicious. She was almost teasing him, amused by the fact Dick had such friends, but not entirely surprised. Ivy approved of his friends. Ivy would not hurt them. Ivy wouldn’t stop Dick from saving them. 

 “I do.” He nodded, some restless energy shuffled his footing. 

Ivy glanced down at his feet, smiling almost smugly at him, like she was proud of something. He’d be worried about that look if it wasn’t exactly the same as her Mom Look^TM. 

The green woman dipped her head to him as well, taking a step to the side. “I will not stop you. But I won’t help you either, it would be suspicious.”

Dick was struck with a bit of heartache at the deceleration, for this was a Poison Ivy who put his needs in front of her own. He could count on one hand how many adults did that for him, and she was one of them. Why did he think he needed to fight her at all when she would so readily step aside for him? He understood she wouldn’t be helping him, but she wouldn’t hinder him, and that was just as good as helping him in his line of work.

“Just make sure you come out okay as well greenbean.” She said, softest he’d ever heard her speak.

It drew a genuine smile on his face, glad to have her silent support. But knowing what was ahead, he could not make that promise. 

“Thank you.” He dipped his head in sincerity, actually taking his eyes off of her for the first time. She wasn’t a threat to him. 

Ivy was displeased by his lack of promise but she let him be, walking past Dick to the back door. “And you’re right, hurting children isn't what I signed up for anyway. But Dick?”

He twisted to fully face her for a moment. 

“I’m glad you made friends.”

Dick ducked his head and blushed, a terrible time for embarrassment, as the woman disappeared into the shadows and out of the building. 

Now freed from the burden of possibly fighting a mother figure and shaking off the embarrassment, Dick’s anxiety urged him to move on. His friends weren’t going to be alive much longer if he kept stalling. 

He ran to the front doors, bursting from the building and finding a collection of villains touching down in a particularly swampy area a bit farther down the hill. Wotan was projecting a golden cage filled with familiar bodies, Count Vertigo standing atop it like an overdramatic (and worse) rendition of Darth Vader. Black Adam was below it, seemingly carrying the cage itself. 

He ticked off his mental checklist of villains. 

Poison Ivy had left, check.

Atomic Skull was dead, check.

Joker was unaccounted for, no check.

Wotan, Count Vertigo and Black Adam were here in front of him, once they were dead or gone he could check them off.

Mallah was unaccounted for, no check. 

Fine. That was better than taking them all on at once, but it would ruin the surprise for the missing two. 

Now for the plan. 

Wotan first. Free his friends from the cage. Black Adam would be the next biggest hitter he’d have to take down, uh, somehow. Wasn’t he a century’s old god dude? Whatever, there were very few beings that could survive a severed head. This would work. Mallah would be next maybe if he showed up. Count Vertigo would be annoying but Dick shouldn’t hog all the fun, his friends could handle him easily enough. 

The trio of villains didn’t see him exit the building, however unless he could fly it would be impossible to sneak up on them with all the mud and water around. That’s okay, Dick wanted to make an entrance anyway.

He approached almost leisurely, splashing loudly on purpose and all three villains turned to look at him. He also saw Wally mouth his name, sitting upright despite his wounds to stare at his friend that last time he had seen, had been mind controlled to kill them. The other members of the team perked up as well, faces in varying stages of worry and pain.

Dick ignored the team and kept his sight on the first target. He also ignored his aching heart, the chance of losing any of them was too high.

“Wotan.” He called. Calmly approaching the group of villains that held his friends hostage. 

All three had resting B faces, none were ever happy to see him during their little meetings and Dick could safely say he felt the same. Not that he expected them to like him, they were just a different breed of villain. He suspected they didn’t like a lot of things unless it was general destruction and mayhem. He’d love to see Black Adam take up knitting though. 

“Renegade.” Wotan frowned, voice practically dripping in annoyance. “I seem to recall Deathstroke sent you to kill these whelps. Should I be surprised we have to do it for you?”

That… that wasn’t the mission Deathstroke sent him on. That was never the mission. 

Except for the two occasions his body got hijacked, both ending in a fight against the team. (Technically one was his night terror response but same difference) Twice is not an accident. Not when it comes to fighting his friends against his will.

His anger swelled against Slade, while his heart hurt more. Slade wouldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have tricked Dick into being compromised for the sole purpose of destroying the team. They’ve had so many conversations of Slade trying to convince him he wasn’t a weapon, Slade wouldn’t just turn around and use him like one now.

Would he?

Had he?

Dick pushed it all down into a nice little box to pick apart later, but the other reason his gut felt like a led weight was because he could feel the team watching. They heard what Wotan said, it wouldn't be hard for them to connect the dots either. Even if he was tricked, they might hate him now. 

Rage flickered up again inside him, bitter and sweet. Just a tool for someone else’s game of chess. Nothing had changed from Them to Slade.

But the team… the team was different. The team had been on the business end of his blade twice now and still opted to semi-trust him. They were friends . Despite most of the forced interactions and how exactly they all ended up meeting, with Slade gone and tainted, they were his only support left. They… they were his friends, they were heroes. They would never use him like Slade might have, and they wouldn’t die because Dick refused to make the same mistake twice. He had trusted Slade could protect himself from Them, the team wasn’t even fighting Them and Dick had to step in. However, Dick was not the only one who wanted to keep the team alive. Where it was just Slade and Dick, it would be Dick and the entire Justice League protecting the team. Dick just had to follow his plan. 

However, with Wotan outing his failed assigned ‘mission’ (whether Dick knew about it or not), all of  those promises and plans wouldn’t stop his friends from thinking he was not only a killer but a liar too.  Dick was going to cry if they asked if their relationships were real. They were real to Dick, and that was enough to make him risk it all.  

Dick could only imagine what they would feel once they found out who and what he really was. 

He let none of his thoughts show, face as still as stone until he regarded Wotan and his words. He placed his hands on his hips, letting a smile split his face. “I was? Huh, nobody told me that. I’ll get right on it, chief.” 

Wotan’s eyes glowed with rage and he growled. Wotan lunged and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him to face height. 

Dick felt excited, grabbing onto the magician’s hand that was strangling him, still smiling. 

“Well I’m pretty sure this isn’t how you’re supposed to talk to people shorter than you.” He grunted out with a grin. 

“Careful Renegade.” Wotan hissed, “I am not your precious master, I won’t tolerate your snark.” The magician tilted his head, regarding the slightly suffocating boy like he was a lost puppy he planned on kicking. “Why are you here anyway? Deathstroke got himself into quite a bit of trouble on your behalf, why waste it away here when it would be all too easy to eradicate you like the gnat you are?” 

What?

Slade got in trouble for him? 

The sense of fondness at the news came and went like a fart; relief, and then a horrible lingering smell. 

Wotan made it sound like Dick ruined something Slade did to help him. Wotan also said Slade had set up all of the times Dick nearly killed the team. 

It was confusing and Dick hated it. He hated Slade. He hated Wotan. And he could only do one thing about it. 

Wotan scoffed at his silence and then Dick was tossed to the ground. Dick landed roughly on his side, grunting with the force of impact. Wotan had turned back around, done with his little interruption. 

Dick got to his knees and then to his feet. This was probably Wotan’s version of mercy, or he was just ignoring him for the sake of their mission. He wasn’t going to let Wotan write him off so soon. He would regret calling him a gnat. Dick was anything but a gnat, he was a weapon, bred and forged for a single purpose. He was a Ta-

“Well this is awkward,” Dick made a show of brushing himself off, a sick smirk stuck to his face. “‘Cuz I’m actually here to save them. They’re my friends ya see? And you’re not. So I suggest you let them go and get as far away as possible because if you hurt any of them, there won’t be a crevice in time and space where I won’t find you and make your immortal life H*ll.”

The silence was deafening, Dick was sure he could hear a pin drop. He refused to back down, eyes glowering at Wotan, daring him to confront him. 

Wally was shaking his head desperately, eyes wide and trying to telegraph to Dick to back down and get the heck out of dodge after that kind of threat to an immortal magician. 

Dick felt something like relief at the sight. Wally still cared about him even if Dick was a danger to him and everyone else. Even after it was exposed that Dick had been sent there to kill them. The rest of the team were on his side from what he could tell, shocked and scared, scared for him. 

He wanted to tell them it was okay. He would make it out okay. He was here to make sure they made it out. Dick could take care of himself. 

“Oh?” Wotan’s voice was tilted, edged with dangerous amusement. “And what would a child mercenary know of time and space? What could someone like you possibly do to someone like me?”

Dick’s grin became wolfish, what a wonderful challenge. He was excited to see the horrified surprise on the magician’s face as this ‘child’ turned out to be one of the most horrific monsters of all. 

“I’m glad you asked.” He started, “you’ve never met someone like me, if you had, you’d be dead. Immortal magician or not. You haven’t been made like I was, molded and changed by someone else to fit a perfect criteria. You may be immortal, but they’ve had centuries to perfect their mold, and here I stand. The perfect weapon that kills perfectly.” 

Wotan began to chuckle, deep and dangerous, glowing an ever brighter and sinister gold. “No wonder Deathstroke keeps you around, your pride is amusing. It makes the fall ever more bitter sweet, I look forward to tasting your defeat. You’re on a dead man’s mission, twice over.”

Thrice over, technically. Or would it be four? Eh, who’s counting anyway?

Dick’s smile tugged wider, feeling something wild flicker in his chest. Something locked away, excited and dangerous. “Well, you’re right about that, almost.” 

Dick had never been more aware of his audience. He had cared about people’s reaction before, with Slade and Wintergreen. This time he wasn’t sure if he wanted the team to stick around after the truth dropped like they did, or shun him like he feared. But perhaps he could beat around the bush a little longer. Or maybe just beat the dead bush with a dead man, that would be amusing. 

“I’m what they send when they want a dead man’s mission completed.” He took a step forward, “dead men can’t be killed again, can they? The perfect weapon that kills perfectly-

“I don’t think you understand,” Wotan interrupted, no longer amused. “You are a child with the delusion that being labeled dead to the world means you’re unstoppable, but not even Deathstroke was-“

“No, I understand perfectly.” Dick snapped, taking another threatening step forward. “Kill me Wotan.” He snarled, throwing his arms wide. “Kill me right here right now. Kill me and see how long you last against a dead man on a mission. Those are my friends you’re planning on killing, they are my mission and you’re in my way.” 

Dick was faintly aware of the loss of sensation in his body. He could feel the cold crawling into his soul. He couldn’t make himself care, pouring every inch of rage he had in his body into these words. They would not be the last thing Wotan would witness from him, he found himself excited at the thought. 

“Even an immortal like you has a weakness,” Dick felt a cackle slip loose, some morbid humor over his own damnation making an appearance. “It’s simply a matter of losing your head. Imagine,” he continued, sensing a rebuttal but refusing the interference. Dick wasn’t done yet. “A state of being where you can’t die, yet are in a constant state of death.” 

Something loosened in his chest, something freeing. Something released. Something taking the weight of control from him.

“Sounds fun doesn't it?” He asked, smiling again, mirthful eyes wide and cold. “Why don’t I demonstrate?” 

With speed unmatched by anyone besides Kid Flash, Dick dashed forwards, a batarang in each hand and murder in his eye. 

Wotan was quick, hands configuring some spell that blasted towards him. The red beam hit Dick square in the chest, pushing him back against the ground. 

Dick grunted with the force of the blast, the magic felt entrapping, yet as he crouched there being ‘pummeled’ it felt nothing more than a gentle force pushing on his chest. It was laughably easy to get up, smiling as he got to his feet. The red beam of deadly destructive magic felt almost ticklish on his chest. 

“Impossible!” Wotan seethed, eyes narrowing. The ‘mere boy’ that should have been burnt to ashes was walking towards him, like his magic wasn’t even there.

“The perfect weapon kills perfectly.” Dick repeated darkly, never losing the cruel smirk as he walked through the magic that did nothing to him. A golden sigil burned on his chest, he knew the lines it was making, it was impossible to forget watching them slice through his skin, the chanting and the burning .  He remembered how much he screamed. 

The magic avoided his warded body, because one of the perks of being drafted into an age old cult is perfect protection against magic. He never thought he’d be grateful for it. 

“I am the dead man on a mission.” He declared, because he was. “You will die, finding out why. Then you will die again. You will remember every time you draw your last breath, every time you spring back into the world of the living, why you don’t mess with a dead man’s mission.”

Wotan might have responded, the magician looked outraged that his magic wasn’t working, but Dick might have seen a bit of fear in his eyes. Good. Tiny little puppets should know their place. Wotan was a pawn just as much as anyone else, and pawns were the first ones to die.

Now only a few steps away from Wotan, Dick paused, staring straight up at the man who thought himself more powerful than Fate. It was kind of funny, Count Vertigo and Black Adam just watched like everyone else. He almost wished they didn’t, Dick was itching for a fight, itching for blood and broken life. 

“Wotan.” Dick declared softly, “You are in my way. The sentence for such a crime is death.”

Wotan’s eyes widened in either surprise or fear. Dick needed a closer look. 

He launched himself up and perched on the man’s shoulders. Wotan stumbled back but it was too late, Dick’s hands were firmly latched onto the target’s head. 

Staring into Wotan’s black and red eyes, he identified the emotion to be pure fear. 

Pleasure curled in his gut, his smile pulling at his cheeks. 

His hands started applying pressure to the target’s head, his smile turning into a vengeful grimace as the feeling of life thrumming under his hands was offensive. Break it. Kill it. Destroy what he could not have. 

Someone sounding like Wally was yelling at him, begging him to stop, to wait. He could not. There would be no waiting. He was efficient. He was effective. That’s why he had been deployed.

The target was a threat to his friends. He did not need their forgiveness, he needed them safe. He would do what they could not. He was a Ta-

No. No no no NO! 

He wasn’t, he shouldn’t, Wally was right, he couldn’t-

Wotan’s face was stuck in horror, it blurred as tears invaded his sight. 

He was no longer smiling, his chest hurt, his throat hurt. He was screaming. The moist Louisiana air on his tongue tasted like puke and frogs. 

He was screaming and he couldn’t stop. He was grasping for control he knew he couldn’t win, he wanted so desperately for it all to stop. He couldn’t move himself, his mind was free but his body was locked in a state of murder. 

He was screaming at himself. A war on two fronts was easily lost and Dick was helplessly drowning.

He couldn’t stop now. Not when he was so close to finishing his mission. How dare he hesitate because of some random emotion, an obstacle he couldn’t fight and kill. 

The resistance was fading, arms shaking and numbness returning. It was relaxing, comforting almost. 

He couldn’t stop himself, he wasn’t going to stop.

What wonderful news.

His eyes moved, moving up and over to find the redheaded blur among the dark Louisiana background. He focused on the dark orange blob in his watery vision. He couldn’t see his face, he didn’t want to, but he hoped he understood. 

I’m sorry.  

Then Dick let go. 

Time snapped back into place, his friends still yelling his name while he wrenched his hands in opposite directions.

The screaming was silenced as the man toppled with him still perched on his shoulders. His sight was blurry for some reason, but it was quickly resolved by some rapid blinking. Dick stared down at the frozen face of terror on his target with disinterest and instead cocked his head to the side in contemplation. He reached up to his own face, his fingers leaving wet and salty. What an odd body function. 

He stayed there for a moment, rebooting. His first target was eliminated. What was the next target?

“You killed him!” A female voice rang out. Artemis, his brain supplied. She was in distress. 

Dick’s mouth spoke without thought.

“He’s immortal.” He said as he stood up, finding his friends no longer in a cage. That was good, that was progress. He turned and kicked the body’s shoulder, just to be sure he wouldn’t move again. “He’s down, but not out.” He reported in case that was what was worrying her.

It was a problem to leave a target down and not out, but for now it wasn’t and there were still a few more active and more immediately important targets. 

When he looked up at his friends he stalled, confused by their states of distress.

The green skinned one, Miss Martian, seemed to be doing that odd bodily function, crying with her hands over her mouth and horror in her eyes. The fish, Aqualad, had an arm across her shoulders and he was slightly putting his weight on her. He must be wounded then, that was not ideal but it should be fine as long as he wasn’t wounded further. 

The large black shirt one, Superboy, looked stiff, eyes wide and body tight. He looked ready to fight and that was probably a good thing. Superboy would be hard to kill, if he recalled correctly he had rather thick skin. Or was it skull? He remembered something about Superboy having a thick skull. He had his giant white wolf named Wolf with him. He liked the name, it was simple and said exactly what it meant. Wolf would fight with Superboy, he was a good wolf. 

The female who had spoken earlier, Artemis, had panic written all over her. She was both angry and afraid of him. He stared at her a little extra, trying to find out why she would be afraid of him. He concluded she had no reason to worry, Dick had no interest in harming his friends so she should not panic. 

Wally, he didn’t have to stretch to remember the name, looked stricken. Dick frowned, he didn’t like that look on his friend. He wasn’t sure what was upsetting him, but he looked troubled to the point of pain. He must be wounded somewhere too, that must be it. 

Dick ignored the odd way his gut sank, it felt like it was a response to Wally in particular but he wasn’t sure why. 

Wally’s face suddenly blanched and he shouted, “Dick look out!” He took a step forward but it was too late. 

Something black and gold slammed into him, the gold lightning bolt symbol was easy enough to remember as the enemy. Dick growled and grappled with the evil champion of magic in the air. 

Dick wasn’t suited for fighting in the air, but he found he didn’t care. He had a target in his grasp and he wasn’t going to let it go until it was killed. 

He kicked and punched and even bit the man at one point. Nothing he did was effective, things that would have pulverized many men in the same amount of time were useless. He felt like he was fighting with one hand tied behind his back. No, he threw out that idea, Dick still totally could have fought well with only one hand. Something else was hampering his effectiveness. 

Black Adam was magic, magic didn’t affect him like it did most people. Then again, Black Adam wasn’t attacking him with any spells. Black Adam’s returning blows made instant bruises and blood, unlike Dick’s own attacks. 

Dick needed to change tactics, the perfect weapon kills perfectly, he must adapt to overcome his opponent no matter the cost. He kicked and wrenched himself out of Black Adams’s grip. Black Adam growled at him and grabbed at him again, this time only grabbing his shirt. 

“You are annoying.” Black Adam snarled. Dick couldn’t help but smirk. 

“Hey that was a pretty big word, big guy,” he smiled with bloodied teeth, “did your villain buddies help you sound it out?”

Black Adam’s eyes glowed with rage and he threw his head into Dick’s, the super headbut sending Dick free falling to the ground. 

That wasn’t very fun, his head throbbed oddly but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t walk off in a few minutes. He awaited the arrival of the ground but Black Adam followed him down and grabbed his shirt once more. 

“I’d like to see you try to sound anything out once I’m done with you.” The big man growled, fist pulled back. 

Dick only smiled, as long as he got Black Adam to the ground this was fine. 

“Oh I wouldn’t worry,” he baited, “teeth are optional anyway. You should know, wouldn't you?” He then gestured to his mouth and teeth, “dentures are a thing.” 

Would that joke even land? How old is Black Adam and when were dentures invented? Or was the guy literally too old to make fun of?

He wanted to laugh but Black Adam drove his fist into Dick’s stomach, sending him hurtling to the ground at an angle. Dick couldn’t breathe, he was sure he was supposed to throw up with that kind of hit but all he felt was immense pressure in his gut. His organs were ripped, he knew that much. If the punch had been any more powerful it would have ripped right through him. 

Though even if it had, it would have been of little consequence to him, such a wound would only delay him a minute or so.

He hit a few trees on the way down, his limbs snapped and bones broke just like the trees he fell through. The water was a bit softer to land in but it wasn’t very deep, he rolled along, tumbling heel over head until he finally stopped with a great big thump against a thick tree. 

Dick groaned and fell into the water, glad he rolled a little so he was face up. It would have sucked to survive all of that just to drown in a puddle of gross swamp water. 

If he wasn’t already soaked by his tumble, he definitely was now, the taste of iron in his mouth was somewhat preferable compared to the muddy water. The numbness was still there, but he could still tell what was broken and what wasn’t. 

Lungs pierced, femur broken, ribs broken, arms dislocated and shredded. All manner of broken bones and body problems, even his head felt cracked open like an egg.  

He watched as Black Adam was promptly tackled out of the sky by an enraged Superboy. Someone yelled his name, it might have been M’gann. A distressed orange blurr raced toward him.

A giggle erupted from his chest, trickling through his broken ribs and up out of his throat. 

Along with everything else that broke, so did something in his soul. Something dangerous slipped out, something he should have been afraid of, something that wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Now it was loose, and he couldn’t tell why it was bad. 

Wally slid to a stop right in front of him, pausing just a few feet away, frozen by either fear or horror he didn’t know. He had come to help. Dick didn’t need help. 

He twitched, tendons jerking as they were pulled and shifted back together. Bones slid back into place, straightening out and replacing shards that were spat out through his currently open wounds. 

He rose on unsteady feet, lifting his shoulders up and back, a full laugh reverberating around his now whole chest. 

He laughed because it was funny. Because they thought breaking a few bones would do anything besides slow him down for a few seconds. 

He had since lost his batarangs, he didn’t need them. 

Golden eyes flicked up, meeting Wally’s wild green gaze for a moment before moving on to the remaining targets on the top of the hill. With another jarring crack his femur snapped into place. 

He sighed, glad to be whole once more. Wally was staring.

“You see.” He took three steps forward, not sure who he was talking to because he was not addressing Wally. Wally was his . These words were not meant for his friend. But his targets were too far away to hear him, and they were preoccupied by his friends starting to fight them. 

He didn’t have his claws but that didn’t stop him from curling his fingers dangerously. “I think. You’re a little out of your league.”

His gilded gaze slid over to the still frozen Wally, a more genuine smirk cracking his cold features as he dipped his head to his friend in acknowledgement. Dick would not be a danger to his friends, but the others? Well.

“I’d wish you good luck,” he huffed to the villains who couldn’t hear him. “but luck doesn't exist for the damned. The perfect weapon kills perfectly.”

Quick as a snake, Dick darted forward. 

Superboy was indeed going toe to toe with Black Adam. Mallah was suddenly accounted for and Aqualad had the very bad idea to go into hand to hand combat with the super-brained super-monkey. He saw evidence of a mental battle between Psimon and Miss Martian, occasionally one of them would be blasted backwards but neither seemed to be able to get a foothold over the other. For now at least. With Wally down here with him, it left Artemis dealing with Count Vertigo alone.

Well that won’t do. 

Dick would love to help Aqualad with his monkey problems, but Artemis was closer and seemed to be in more distress, she was locked in the man’s Sonic beam, she sank slowly into the water, bow dropped and clutching her head. 

Dick was quick though. He was made to be. 

He didn’t bother with stealth, though it was one of his main skills, it would only delay the inevitable and any delays here might cause his friends injury. No. No delays. 

He ran straight at the Count, easily gaining his attention. Good. The man’s fierce gaze locked onto him, with his gaze came the overwhelming pressure of his sonic abilities. 

Dick was slowed, the pain existed, but so did the healing. He was slowed to a walk, but he pushed forward. He glowered with his golden eyes, not breaking the man’s eye contact as his eardrums burst. The pain was sharp and it was uncomfortable to feel his blood seeping out of his ears, but comparatively, it was nothing.

He remained unfazed, ears bloody and walking almost calmly up to the man. 

Count Vertigo took a step back, now frightened by the unrelenting teenager unbothered by how he was drenched in his own blood. The man twisted his cane up, preparing for hand to hand and it was exactly the invitation Dick was looking for. 

He dashed forward, latching onto the cane and grappling with the Count. He snarled in his face, keeping his focus on his face because the man was clearly distracted by it. He wrenched the cane out of the Count’s hands, twirling around to sweep the Count’s feet out from under him, then plunged the cane down into his heart. 

It was no decapitation, but he doubted his friends would prefer that. They just needed to be safe and one less threat was one less threat. 

Artemis was being helped up by Wally, both staring at him still. Artemis was holding her head, but her eyes went wide at the sight of Dick over the dead man’s body, still holding the cane in place. 

“That’s the second one you’ve killed tonight!” She shouted, like the midst of battle was a completely reasonable time to be upset. “You can’t just go around killing people Dick! That’s not what heroes do!

He simply smiled and shook his head. “Lucky for you, I’m not subscribed to your ideals and morals, because you’d definitely be dead by now.”

Her anger faltered after having gotten a good look at his face, she weakly pointed at what he assumed to be his eyes, “your… are you okay? Your eyes- your ears- Is this- is this another puppet situation?” 

Dick snorted, feeling weird at her apparent concern and ingenuity. He was kind of surprised she noticed, or even made that connection. “I’m not going to hold myself back when my friends need my help.”

“Hold yourself back-?”

Dick was keenly aware his other friends were still struggling, so with Artemis out of the way he moved on. Mallah had just tossed Aqualad into a tree and Dick had several healed bones that reminded him what it felt like. He was also very aware of the fact nobody here could heal like him. If his friends get hit too hard, they’re dead. 

So he abandoned the Count’s body, leaving behind a quietly freaking out Artemis and an ever watchful Wally. He felt like he should be concerned the speedster had yet to open his mouth, however it slipped under his radar with the low thrum of concern he had for his friends.

Mallah’s hulking form landed heavily in front of him, splashing him with mud water and barely giving him any time to react as two heavy ape arms came down to crush him. Dick was disappointed, Mallah was supposed to be smarter than this. 

Dick easily sidestepped the attack, launching his own barrage of attacks on the giant ape’s exposed side. Each hit landed stronger than the last, a roundhouse kick to the gut sent the ape flying backwards into the water. 

Aqualad stumbled to his feet, having lost one of his water bearers. He made brief eye contact with his teammates and plunged his remaining water bearer into the drink. Wally and Artemis vacated the merky drink, Dick only stalked forwards his target. 

“Dick-“ the Atlantian  started, confused and worried because he had thought his nod was received, he thought the younger mercenary had understood his nonverbal message, the next plan of attack was obvious yet Dick stuck around where he wasn’t supposed to be. 

Dick was not supposed to be in a lot of places wasn’t he. 

Too late, Mallah was back up and lunged forward with a guttural roar. Dick redirected his attack, shifting the large ape’s weight in the wrong direction and let his bigger body pull him down back into the mud. But instead of twisting around to attack him, he lunged forward again, straight for Kaldur. 

No.

Dick snarled as he chased the ape, wondering why he thought he’d keep Mallah’s attention when there was a weaker, more obvious target. 

Aqualad, to his credit, didn’t back down, lowering himself into a ready stance. Dick would rather him not. 

Mallah was once again arms up and ready to smash, but Dick jumped into the air and smashed into him first. He tumbled to the ground with Mallah, the beast roared in outrage and tried swiping him off his back. 

Dick was clinging to his back, he shifted to his shoulders, tugging the apes weight around to keep him off balance. He swung up and latched his legs around his neck, sitting upright and raised his own arms with his fists curled. Down, his hands went, descending on the ape’s head with all the force he could muster. 

Which for him, was a fair amount. For a Talon.

Thud. 

Thud. 

Thud.

Crack.

Dick’s hands were wet now, wet without the help of the Louisiana bayou. 

Mallah fell face first into the water, blood pouring from his head into the water.

Aqualad’s eyes were wide and locked onto the dead ape. His shocked gaze switched to Dick, but Dick paid him no mind. There were still a few targets left. 

“Miss M!” He called loudly, lifting one hand into the air with his thumb positioned over the red button. 

He honestly forgot it’s existence, but it was one of the objectives so he couldn’t truly forget. 

His call was a warning, the recognizable object an explanation. The blinking Christmas lights behind their fighting twinkled in response. 

The Martian was still busy in her fight with Psimon, but she seemed to understand. She twisted their fight around, Psimon’s back towards the makeshift greenhouse while she started to fly backwards and avoided brain blasts sent her way. 

Aqualad and the others walked up to stand next to him, Superboy and Wolf still fighting Black Adam somewhere else. 

Martians were susceptible to fire, but so would anyone else if they were this close to an explosion. 

Dick pressed the trigger.

“Timber.”

The discount Christmas tree blew up. 

He’d almost call it beautiful the way the plant exploded outwards, it’s spine waved and shook before toppling over. Psimon definitely got caught in the blast, the debris easily overtook him. Miss Martian flew towards them quickly, landing haphazardly near them but getting to her feet quick enough. 

Debris rained down around them, charred sticks and chunks of building plunking into muddy water like off brand marshmallows into hot chocolate. They were safe enough this far away, but the explosion was large and loud and he was sure it would have caught anyone’s attention who was around. 

Two targets left. 

He turned his focus to the next obvious target. Superboy was doing a good job handling black Adam, but Dick couldn’t get hurt doing it-

“Dick.”

His gilded gaze slipped to his friend. Anxious emerald eyes met his own, the redhead was frowning, face creased with worry and fear. 

“That’s enough.” The speedster spoke quietly, or maybe it was quiet compared to the fighting and explosion. Dick blinked at him, the rest of the team looked at him similarly. “You don’t have to do this anymore. You got the antenna, we just need to wait for the Justice League now.” 

Dick nodded. Yes. That was part of the plan. Wait for the Justice League. 

The rubble shifted behind his friends. There was a flash of pale whitish skin and his ears zeroed in on the faint sound of a beating heart. Still alive. 

Four sharp sticks, levitating in the air above his friends. Aimed at their hearts. 

As fast as he could, Dick crouched down to grab his own sharp stick, thanks to the debris it was rather easy to find one. He twirled around with a snarl and threw the stick like a javelin. It arched in the air and sunk into flesh, a garbled cry burbled up from the impaled villain. 

The sticks aimed at his friends fell, returning to the drink in which they came, splashing around them.

His friends looked surprised once more, and now there was something burning on his shoulder. 

He looked down, finding the black camouflaged suit of his speedster friend. 

“Dick.” He said again, eyes pleading this time. “Come back.”

A tremor of fear traveled down his spine. There was something familiar about the line, something cold and terrifying. 

He didn’t understand that emotion, so he pushed it away, letting something he did understand take its place. 

He was sad, disappointed maybe. Of course his friends didn’t want this. They were heroes, they didn’t want him. The real him. The one he fought so hard to hide purely because he knew they’d think he was a monster. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke, feeling the need to look away ashamed, but he had to keep eye contact, he owed them that much. “This isn’t what you wanted. This isn’t what I wanted. But this… this is what I am.”

He took a step back, out from under the speedster’s hand, guilt coiling in his gut. They didn’t want him. 

But he wanted them. 

So he would continue to protect them. The tether was still there, he was holding on tight and he wasn’t about to let go. The mission wasn’t over yet. Just because they didn’t want him didn’t mean the mission was null. It was strange, he was used to getting orders and missions from somewhere else, it was both terrifying and relieving that it came from himself for once. Nobody could tell him to stop or go but him. And he couldn’t stop, not yet. There were still two targets left. 

Wally looked at him, so many emotions caught on his face that Dick couldn’t figure out which one was winning. His arm was still reaching out, as if trying to pull him back in. 

Superboy cried out from somewhere behind him, followed by a booming thud where the kryptonian was slammed into the ground. 

Dick whirled around, abandoning his safe friends to finally get rid of the last present threat. Joker was still missing, but he’d turn up eventually and Dick could take care of him then. 

“Dick wait-!” His friends called behind him but Dick was on a mission. The mission. The only one that mattered. 

The mission he chose for himself. 

“Black Adam!” He shouted, catching the champion’s attention where he prepared to punch Superboy further into the ground. 

Dick approached, but didn’t lunge. He wanted to talk, if only for a moment. 

The evil champion’s interest peaked, he floated over, staying high in the air to appear more intimidating. Dick was familiar with the tactic. It was a fun one to use. 

Black Adam was just as aware that his magic wouldn’t work on Dick than Dick was. Brute strength vs brute strength. Healing factor vs immortality. 

“You can’t kill me.” Black Adam sneered, relishing in an assured victory. 

Dick bowed his head once in a single nod. “And you can’t kill me. We are at an impasse.”

“I will tear you limb from limb!” Black Adam snarled. This was also true. And effective. Growing back limbs took a considerable longer time than anything else. And… well, Dick wasn’t sure he could even do that.

“You could.” Dick shrugged. “But the Justice League are on their way. And you’re the only one here. I wonder how well you would do fighting against me and the entire Justice League.”

Black Adam faltered then, his permanent scowl twitched into something uneasy before it returned. “Then I’ll make this quick.”

“No.” Dick said with another shrug. “I’ll just give you a dose of what I gave Wotan. You won’t die, you’ll just linger for a bit, and when you wake up you’ll have the Justice League ready to greet you with their bright smiling faces.” He smiled as an example, but it looked more wolfish and predatory than happy. “Or you could leave. Ivy did. So could you. What do you care about a giant murder tree distraction for the Justice League anyway?”

Black Adam blinked at him. 

Dick smiled innocently. “Oh sorry, was that too complicated?”

Black Adam’s snarl turned feral and he lunged from the sky. 

Dick huffed as his smile turned cruel. “Good. That was getting boring.”

Dick jumped out of the way, dancing around the new crater that was filling with muddy water. Black Adam stood up and turned to find him again but Dick was faster. 

He launched a kick at the man’s face, the champion’s head snapped back with a crack. While the champion fell he returned, twisting around the larger man’s body until he leveraged the brute above his head and slammed him into the ground. The dazed champion was immobile for a second too long. Dick straddled his chest and with his two hands on the man’s head he made good on his promise.

His hands twisted and the immortal’s neck snapped. 

He wouldn’t die. Just stuck for a while. He wondered if he went to the same place Dick did. 

Dick slowly extracted himself from the site, staring down at the body. That was the last present target. Joker must have left when he saw all his pals getting killed, there was no one left for Dick to fight. 

His friends stood in front of him, staring. The bayou was silent except for the quiet crackling of the small fires from the explosion. 

He had no purpose now. Mission over. 

He took a breath, feeling like he inhaled for the first time in a while. He felt shaken and nervous. Cold fear grabbed his soul. With no mission or threat to drive his actions, he just stood there. Just enough consciousness trickled back in to make him realize he’d been in this situation before. He’d made this mistake before. 

He’d… he had killed before, in this state. He’s had a mission from himself before. It landed him on the streets. It killed Matthew. 

No… no not again!

“I’m not…” Dick started, his words failed him and he couldn’t help the panic that rose with it. His own silence meant them in control, they only ever wanted silence from their pets. 

But he’d been able to talk before. When everything went horribly wrong. When his mission was to escape by any means necessary. By any deaths necessary.

He took a shaky step back from his friends, as if that could protect them, “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

He wouldn’t. 

Not when they were his mission. Quite the opposite in fact, but they he seemed to need the reassurance. 

Wally stepped forward, because of course it was Wally. “It’s alright. Uh, we can fix this. We can just wait, remember? We wait for the Justice League, they’re gonna help.” He was being careful, arms out like he was talking to a spooked animal. 

Dick remembered. He looked up at the smoky sky, knowing it would probably be the last time he got the chance. It would stink, being locked up, but it would keep everyone safe. 

He didn’t want to kill anyone. 

“Dick?” Wally asked gently, sliding a little closer again, reaching yet hesitating to touch him. “Are you in control right now? You gotta give me a sign here buddy.”

Dick looked back down at Wally, taking in the desperate attempt of his friend to tame the monster. Dick… wasn’t really in control. But it was still him. It had always been him. 

They might have called him something else, but it was still Dick who was inside. They locked him up inside his own head when they used him, Slade alwaysed used that to argue it wasn’t his fault. Maybe he had a point there, but this was the second time Dick was ‘awake’ along with Them. The first time didn’t end so well. He didn’t want that to happen again. He couldn’t allow it, he couldn’t ruin another thing that was his only joy in life. 

“I-“ Dick opened his mouth to attempt to answer. 

A gunshot rang out through the bayou.

Dick only had to shift slightly to look around Wally to find the source, fear threading his every nerve. 

The gun was pointed at Wally, his tired and wounded friend, and Dick couldn’t-

He lunged, yanking his friend back to put himself in front of the bullet.

He heard the screams of his friends. They called out his name. 

He felt the bullet bury itself in his skull. He felt his body tumble to the ground. He saw the look of absolute horror on Wally’s face as he pleaded with him to not die. He was crying, his tears falling onto Dick’s face, his trembling hands held onto Dick like if he held on hard enough he would stay.

Dick weakly grinned. 

He was leaving now. It was bad. There was still a target left. But he couldn’t stay anymore. 

The familiar embrace of death pulled at him and he was helpless to stop it. He sunk into the cold. Into the unfeeling. Into the place when feared and dreaded with every ounce of his being. Yet he surrendered. It was all he could do. 

He was dead. 

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Someone was clapping.

Someone was laughing. 

“Bravo! What a show!” There was a smile in that voice, wide and malicious. 

The Joker stepped into the team’s line of sight. The sway of his gait made his hideous purple coat shift, showing the dark form of a weapon at his side. 

A gun. 

“You killed him!” Superboy roared. 

He lunged forward with all the rage of the sun behind him. The Joker’s smile glinted with a flash of green. Instead of hitting his target, Superboy was slammed into the ground, groaning. 

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Joker pouted, finger on his chin as he mocked the down kryptonian. “You really didn’t think I’d have some kryptonite on me?”

He crouched down to pat the super on the head, ignoring the hiss the younger gave at the chunk of glowing green rock resting on his back. 

Wally didn’t know what to do. Things were moving too fast. He was a speedster, he was supposed to be fast, but this was just… it was… 

Dick’s cold body was still in his arms. 

Artemis had her bow at the ready, Wolf was growling fiercely where they laid useless in the water, the beast seemed to be one second away from pouncing despite being down for the count. Similarly, M’gann was enraged. Her eyes were red, not their normal green, arms outstretched and face contorted in rage. There were tear tracks running down her face. Wally knew his face was the exact same. 

“You have five seconds to release him and surrender yourself before I make you.” M’gann called out rather sinisterly. 

Wally had never seen M’gann so enraged before, but some part of him was impressed she still had the self control to give him a choice. He killed Dick. 

He was still trying to process. 

The Joker giggled, and in one smooth motion pulled out his gun again, this time resting it against Conner’s back, right where the kryptonite rested. 

Wally froze. Another friend in danger, another bullet ready to be buried in someone he cares about. Something he couldn’t stop. Kid Flash was fast, but not fast enough for a point blank bullet. 

“Oh no, I want to spend some time here little miss.” The Joker’s grin stretched further, “your mind tricks won’t work on the dead.”

Aqualad and Artemis exchanged glances.

Artemis lowered her stance, string brushing against her cheek. “Step away from Superboy or she’ll brainblast you.” 

It wasn’t a suggestion. 

“Oh oh oh oh,” The Joker chuckled, “no I think I’ve got that covered. Isn’t that right Talon?”

Wally felt numb, the cold of the wet Louisiana ground sticking to his legs and the weight of his dead friend in his arms. He still felt numb when his friend’s eyes opened. 

“Dick.” He breathed, actually feeling his chest expand in some time. 

“Rise and shine Gray Son of Gotham.” Joker sing-songed. 

All eyes gravitated to the corpse. 

Dick’s eyes were open. They were yellow, like how they’ve been yellow ever since he attacked Wotan. This time there was no light inside. His skin was… was turning black. Well no, his skin was actually becoming more pale, more white, more dead, but underneath webs of black crawled into his veins, around his eyes and cheeks. It grew right before his eyes, turning Dick’s pale pallor into something much sicker and more zombie-like. 

All of that, and his eyes opened of their own accord. 

Wally still couldn’t feel a pulse. His body as cold as ice.

It didn’t make any sense. 

Wally grabbed his friend’s shoulder, looking deeper, trying to understand what was happening. “Dick? Dick are you- you’re alive?”

Dick’s yellow eyes were still hollow, staring blankly up past Wally and into some nothingness. 

Wally’s heart clenched, already ripped and broken, struggling to beat once more.

“Gray Son. At attention now, your Grandmaster will be quite pleased with your return.” The Joker made his voice slightly deeper, as serious as a tone the mad man could make. 

Wally shouted in alarm when he was suddenly flipped over onto his side. He scrambled up, arms deep in the mud. Dick was gone. Dick was moving . Dick was dead .

His corpse was standing there at attention, just like he was told, facing the Joker with the same hollow yellow stare. 

Aqualad stepped forward, placing a hand on the frozen boy’s shoulder and putting himself in front of the corpse. He searched his face, taking in the glazed look at the black veins drawn into his skin, but he saw a familiar nothing. Except this seemed deeper. With the two times Dick had gone off the rails, the first time he was sleeping, he had facial expressions. Number two, his eyes could still convey his emotions even though his control was gone. This seemed… complete. There was nothing controlling, it just was . 

“M’gann, snap him out of it.” Aqualad shouted, stepping away but not looking away from his friend. 

Miss Martian floated in front of the boy, placing her hands on his temples. Her eyes remained red, they narrowed in concentration but then- 

“I can’t!” She cried out, fresh tears falling down well worn tracks. “There’s- there’s nobody inside! It’s, he's- he’s dead .” She choked. 

“Gray Son.” Joker crooned from behind. “Grandmaster is pleased with your work here today. We have just a few loose ends to tie up. Knock out the green witch.”

M’gann yelped as Dick suddenly moved, grabbing her arms before thrusting his head into her’s. She landed with a splash into the drink. Wally’s heart finally registered in his ears, and it was pounding .

Dick had killed all those villains. Dick had done it to protect them. Now Dick was dead, and Joker could tell him to kill any of them at any time. Dick wouldn’t hesitate. 

“Good Talon!” Joker praised, with the exact inflection one would praise a puppy. 

Artemis was breathing heavily now, her aim switched to Dick for a moment before returning it to the Joker. “Whatever mind control you have over him, release him now!” She was panicking, seeing the same pattern he was, but having no clue how to fix it. 

They couldn’t fight Dick, not because they physically couldn’t, but because he really had been holding back this entire time. They were no match for him unleashed, the immortal, god level villains were taken out first, quickly.  

Dick could kill them. That’s what Dick had been afraid of this entire time. 

His hands were shaking, he stumbled to his feet but he couldn’t make himself move in any one direction. Things were going horribly, horribly wrong.

Joker only laughed more. 

“My dear,” he drawled, his sick red smile on full display. “Don’t you see? This is his natural state, he loves doing what he’s told.”

With that, a few things occurred to Wally. 

Dick blew up the antenna. The Justice League was coming. 

Joker wasn’t going for killing blows. Yet.

All they had to do was stall. 

Just stall and then Batman and Superman and Uncle Barry would show up and they could fix everything, then this night could be over, he could have his friend back. 

Wally’s mouth opened.