Fair warning- Panic/Panic attacks are going to be a big theme in this chapter.

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 the 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 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 cats 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. 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 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 was too many things he need 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 to 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 its 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 fury 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 more shaky.

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 beckon 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.'

"heeeyyyy... 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 sow?" 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 parents death. As time went on he got better about his parents 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 backwards 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, 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.

"Still sneaking around to get what you want?" 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 his broken mind.

A shiver ran down his back. 

Superboy, taken by surprise by the question, only nodded, his own thoughtful glance passing through his face. 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 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 this mission up and down for making him do this. 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, "if... if I did anything else, 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. 

So he lied. That was the 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 parents 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 chords 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 to 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 criss-crossing 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 most of the team, and those scars were NOT something you 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. "Scars don't grow, they stay the same size as the size when you got them."

"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 weird 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 archs, ending like roots of a plant.

"H... how?" Superboy hesitated with the question, seeing the boy flinch at it.

"I... I-I was eight. M-my parents... h-had just... just died right in front of me. 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 lips kept moving, faster and faster, more and more words toubling 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... it's survival, and you do w-what-whatever it takes to survive. Because they wo-won't kill you, death is m-mercy, they don't believe in mercy." There was a break, the young mercenary's voice cracking and twisting with emotion.

"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."

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-I knew a long time ago that I-I wo-would never be fi-fixed. Death may be mercy, b-but... there are things in this world th-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 half way 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 do do anymore. D-Deathstroke was my anchor, he was... is nice to me, he understands my pain and doesn't push. He-he was simply there for me, no one else ever was." Renegades 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 Renegades 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 is 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 has 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 satly, 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 arrives 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. 

"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.

"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.

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 came 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 thrusted 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, using every trick in the book to keep himself calm. 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? Whats 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 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 speedsters 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 awhile 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 ancy, 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... 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. 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, hes screaming and he's got his knife in his hand."

"I'm on my way."

A bit longer than normal, 11,584 words. I've had this chapter planned for months, I'm so glad to finally get here and get it done, makes me excited for more. We're getting to the juicy stuff now. 

Anyone surprised by the Court of Owls? I know a few aren't, but now the cats out of the bag. But Tim raises a fair question, how did Dick get from evil murder birds to casual friends with Deathstroke? How did Wintergreen die? What were the complications? And why can't Dickie remember that night?

All very good questions my dear readers, some answers will come next chapter, some you'll have to wait a little longer. 

See y'all around mah peeps!!!