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 flug 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 held no effect to the kryptonians 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! H-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 mercenaries 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 mindlink, hoping M'gann was cognant 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 launch pad to flip away. Superboy spun around, only to have his arms swep 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 eye'd 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 speedsters 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 to 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 waterbarers, 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 canon, especially in this... sleep induced... rage?

"Have we contacted Batman?" The Atlantean asked, walking forward twards 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 woken from sleep, 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 alway 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 red-head'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.

"You ok?" Connor 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 to 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. "Obviously 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 arily, 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 cut his stuffed animal, he asked me if I could fix it, then I asked him how he got it and 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 acted really scared while telling me." The pause was shorter this time, flowing easily the longer the clone talked. "I thought he meant Deathstroke, but he said it was 'Them'. Specifically, he said 'I can't say their name, I can't make that mistake again.' 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, big long white lashes, but they didn't cover his whole back. When I asked about that he told me scars don't grow, he got them when he 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, and they wouldn't even kill him. Death was considered mercy."

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, and 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 still thinks he's broken, that he can't 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 awhile. "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, Renegade should NOT be alone right now.

"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. Clearly Renegade 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 never talks about." 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 programing 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 long since healed) then zipped back into the Zeta Tubes, cutting off his teammates rationale with a flash of yellow trailing behind him in wakes. In a split second he was gone.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Fair warning: Heavy mature themes up ahead

"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 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.

"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 didnt 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 tightly so he wouldn't have to face his terrible fate at the hands of someone he thought as a father.

"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 scenario, 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 tree house, 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 before hand 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 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 curled and resting on the mercenary's lap, his side curled up 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, clearly the emotion was there, just not quite out.

"It's not your fault." He said sternly in a whisper.

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."

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, in other words, 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 some time 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 the serum took over. That was  always the worst part of being with them.

"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 again if you get taken over. 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 utterly confused on how that 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, and 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 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 launch pad 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, his 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.

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 weather 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 stated 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 life. (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.

"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 backwards, 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 behind him 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.

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.

"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 the real threat and now he was paying for it. 

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 backwards kick that landed on his hip. He cried out as he staggered backwards, 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.

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 as 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. 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 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, belonging to a speedster.

"Robin! Robin are you ok?"

He felt the presence next to him, probably kneeling, slightly hovering over his injured body.

"Mmhm, j-just... peachy." Dick drawlled, wincing at the pain it caused his throat and lungs.

"You're awake?" Wally said, sounding surprised.

"Yah," Dick said in a loud breathy way, then his tongue grew thick and heavy. "'oke 'p 'ere, th'n Sp-"

"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.

"Mmm..." 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.

"-d 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 sike kicks 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 leapt 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.

"Mm yo- 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.

WOOT! Yayyy!! I love writing this boook!!! Progresss!!! My gash this is so much fun. I realize I'm terrible at showing you guys what the bad guys are doing, but I think the upcoming chapters will help with that.

Just to be clear, Dick is not suicidal, he only had thoughts about it and they were not going to be acted upon, and they quickly left so... yeah.

We got a determined speedster friend and a Daddybats to deal with, or more accurately, Dickie has a determined speedster friend and a Daddybats to deal with. But who knows? Slade might have something to say about this little incursion from Sportsmaster.

So I would end it here, but a reader requested a Q+A, so HERE WE GO!

Q+A YAY! (I think, I've never done one...)

Comment questions! Or PM me the questions! Depending on how many questions you guys ask (and this is being sUper optimistic) I'll only answer up to 20 questions.

This Q+A will have its own chapter, but I won't leave you guys hanging story wise, call it a 'deleted scenes' bonus. Also I has another drawing to show, but it's not done yet so I'll show it with the Q+A.

But I do suggest caution. I cannot guarantee straight answers to plot questions, but I won't not answer (Aka hints but not spoilers).

11,898 words my friends! A bit longer than normal but I couldn't really split, also this AN is kinda a lot so eh.

See ya soon!!