I AM SO SORRY FOR HOW LATE THIS IS. I did nOT intend for this book to accidentally go dark. Last fRiggin year. My gosh.

I'm not gonna dwell on it (2020 sUcks) cuz I'm updating now and now is a good time.

We at 17,804 words my peeps! Extra long cuz it just sorta happened like that, I've never actually planned how long these chapters are lol.

Anyway I'm sorry for the long wait, you might want to reread the last chapter (the Slade bit in particular— I'll understand if you don't want to read Wintergreen getting murdered again)

Anyway, enough talking, GET READING!

Dick didn't know what to do when the door opened, he wasn't expecting anyone to come in. Like sure yeah someone has to come in at some point. He was given food of course and that meant some sort of interaction. So he wasn't sure why he was so spooked this time.

Maybe its because he didn't want to get caught wallowing under the bed.

Well, he was sure he was being watched via the cameras in all four corners of the room, but he liked to pretend those didn't exist while he was being depressed.

The rebellious part of Dick said he should stay under the bed and pout some more, but that wouldn't lead him anywhere but more embarrassment. Another part of Dick felt justified in wallowing under the bed, he had every right to feel sad about his situation. It was a good to honest terrible situation. But then there was a different side of Dick that screamed 'GET OUT FROM UNDER THE BED YOU IDIOT' because he should not act like a feral child. (That one might have been in Wintergreen's voice) (not the yelling of course)

The voices raged in his head, shouting at each other and at him, from Slade's 'get your butt in gear' to Wintergreens ironic consolation that Dick could actually do something about his situation. But his own voice whispered back, the quietest but most powerful. No more Matthews. He needed to stay cautious and locked away because who knows who he'll hurt next. Then there was the constant internal screaming in the background, it sounded too young though. Dick decided to label that one Talon and then never acknowledge it again.

All of those voices flew around his mind in milliseconds, a cacophony of noise too complicated for Dick to reach a solid conclusion.

Dick ended up scrambling out from under the bed. He jumped to his feet, standing up awkwardly next to the bed he oh so obviously pushed into the corner of the room like a weirdo. He pulled Batman's cape with him, bundling it up in his hands to give his nerves something to do as he was approached by two figures who had ample time to realize he had been huddling under the bed.

(He liked it there okay? It was nice and small and using Batman's cape as a cushion it wasn't too uncomfortable either. Small places with lots of corners that weren't too bright or too dark were the best places. Slade's cramped apartment had plenty of those.)

"What are you doing here?" Dick asked the one person he recognized, hoping they'd ignore his mad scramble from underneath the bed because he started the conversation. Then he hoped his voice didn't waver or hint at any surprise or discomfort because that's literally all he was feeling at the moment. He didn't want to talk about why he was under the bed, or anything relating to his situation really.

The vigilante wearing the blue bird stopped in front of the young mercenary, the second man stopping next to him. There was an odd silence that gathered between them, Dick felt like he was being studied and he had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, the weird feelings weren't actually coming from the stranger, they were coming from Nightwing himself. It was a difficult vibe to decipher, Dick just hoped he didn't comment on how terrible he looked again. (Damian apparently takes to pointing out flaws in the people he cares about in the name of some weird form of love.) (This explanation was whispered to him by Bruce— the entire affair was alien to Dick, it honestly felt like a dream and he wasn't sure it actually happened.)

Dick hadn't really slept, he was too scared he'd wake up somewhere else with more blood on his hands. The result was expected, the bags under his eyes felt as heavy as his eyelids, and his brain was trying desperately to either turn off or sputter back on. It's not like he had coffee or anything stimulating, it was just him and his fear keeping him awake.

"You look deplorable Grayson, have you tried sleeping at all?"

Ah, so it was real, or maybe he actually was sleeping and this was a dream. A very weird dream. Dick's eyes narrowed on the masked stranger, didn't dreams only include people (faces?) you've seen before? Or would that be negated by the fact the stranger was wearing a mask?

"Can't," Dick responded, still staring at the other (assumed) vigilante. "Too risky."

"Does sleeping increase the chance of evil Dick Grayson?" The stranger asked, a reasonable if not surprising question.

Dick had enough of staring into white lenses, he let out a sigh through his nose and looked away. "No. I just don't... want..." his voice tapered off and he felt ashamed. He couldn't even speak about what was wrong with him in fear of it. Why was he so messed up?! Why couldn't he deal with things like a normal human being?! Just talk to the stranger about your gosh darn fears about everyone else's safety because you might become a slave in your own murderous body and then have to live with the blood on your hands afterward and never be close to anyone ever again.

Dick's eyes were stinging as he stared furiously into the wall that was steadily getting blurrier while his hands clenched the ball of Batman's cape too tightly.

"If you're really insisting on isolating yourself you should at least conserve your liquids," Nightwing mentioned. The tone was supposed to be patronizing, but Dick heard soft sighs where there could have been sharp whips.

Dick sniffed and swiped at his face to get rid of the stinging. "Right."

Nightwing was so weird, but he understood the words were supposed to be helpful. The words weren't helpful at all, in fact, if Dick wasn't paying enough attention he probably would have gotten offended at the notion he shouldn't cry. It was all just words though, his tone is what spoke to Dick and it said 'You're upset, crying is reasonable, but it won't fix anything.'

He looked up at Nightwing, the frown on his face feeling heavy and unchangeable. It was not lost on Dick that Slade was the reason he could read the vigilante like that, and any thought with Slade made Dick feel the black hole in his chest suck a little bit more of his soul away.

"Anyway," Nightwing jabbed a thumb at his accomplice, a shorter, younger man wearing a red and black suit with some sort of black and gold emblem on his chest. "Drake has been finally cleared to meet you against my better judgment, we also have some questions."

Dick looked over this 'Drake' guy, instead of just staring at his face to see if he could ID him he took in everything. He had subconsciously done so earlier, but he was being too angsty to pay too much attention. (Stupid feelings)

'Drake' had shaggy black hair, masked eyes similar to Nightwing's, his belt was yellow and had shoulder belts strung across his torso with his emblem where they intercepted. The process of elimination said this guy is that one weirdo who liked him enough to want his picture in his wallet for some convoluted reason. Red Robin, one of Batman's weird family of vigilantes, the same vigilante who also figured out his ID.

The ebony-haired boy's face soured and took a small step back from the man. The guy had done himself no favors, everything about him and what he had done in relation to Dick was very suspicious despite Nightwing's comforts. So Dick was content to label him 'Sketchy Weirdo Maybe-Ally' and was totally going to wipe the floor with him if anything weird or uncomfortable happened.

"Nightwing!" Red Robin immediately complained, giving the elder vigilante a loath look and slapping his arm with the back of his hand (ineffectively chastizing the man) before turning his annoyed gaze to Dick. "Okay, well first off; The whole picture for my wallet thing was for a PRANK. I'm nOT into children, I have a pregnant wife, thank you VERY much Nightwing."

"Prank?" Dick repeated, the scowl that was feeling permanent softened a little in pure befuddlement. What kind of prank would need his picture? Especially one of him while drugged?

"You look like Buttwing here when he was younger, I wasn't exactly around for that era of his life so yeah, getting dirt on him when he was younger would be great." Red Robin explained, throwing Nightwing another terrible look as he too crossed his arms and huffed. "But that was wrong of me to try to use you and I acknowledge my mistake. I'm sorry." Red Robin sighed and grew a more somber tone. "Unfortunately, neither of us are here to hang out."

Dick took a deep breath, unable to deny the relief trickling down his spine now that he knew a bit more context around whatever Red Robin is. He set the bundled Batman cape on the bed and leaped up beside it, sitting with his legs dangling. "Then what are you here for?"

Nightwing spoke first, "We met Deathstroke at those coordinates. He had decided to give us some information but even our biggest brain with an even bigger ego can't really make heads or tails of it." The pointed glare at Red Robin labeled him the 'biggest brain with an even bigger ego' and said biggest brain with an even bigger ego sighed and raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose (mask?) as the older vigilante continued. "He said he was being clear, but the only thing we got out of it was something about owls."

Every single bit of relief and relaxation left faster than Kid Flash. Dick was completely frozen and rigid. He barely breathed, staring at his knees as his hands clenched impossibly tight over the edge of the bed.

Owls... with all their terror and horror... Owls were unpredictably predictable. He knew how they did things and what their goals were, well sort of... He had been 8 at the time and thoroughly terrorized into forgetting anything other than pain or misery. But he did remember some things, like the maze, the injections, and all the horribly bloody fighting. Slade, Slade was predictable up until he was abandoned on that roof. (Had he known the man at all?) An unpredictable Slade on top of Owls... that combination would only wreak havoc.

Also, Owls and Talons were two very different things... did Slade mention Owls specifically or Talons?

"We have a recording if you'd be able to translate for us." Red Robin invited gently. Dick couldn't decide if he hated that his reaction had been noted, or glad of it.

He just slowly nodded his head.

Red Robin pulled a screen up from his version of a hologlove, a tap here and there and the recording started.

Dick was silent and still the entire time. Right until Slade started the rhyme.

"Stop— stop it. Stop the recording!" Dick frantically spoke right as the achingly familiar voice started that sickly haunted chant. Dick was unable to unclench his hands from the edge of the bed while his fight and flight responses were warring in his head. He needed to both lunge for the device and flee from it. So many thoughts were flying too fast, but there was only one that kept repeating... Slade couldn't be that stupid could he?

Red Robin stopped it thankfully, with a tap on his portable computer that was embedded in his glove, Slade's recorded voice cut off. (The glove was not unlike Dick's gloves, but they seemed more high tech, more literal portable computer less portable hacking device that was Dick's.)

But Dick wasn't thinking about the glove, he was shivering and was glad his hands were stuck clenched on the edge of the bed. Nightwing and Red Robin waited in the silence, another stab of fear and agony slashing through the child as he realized it was because they were watching him intently. They're always watching.

Dick wasn't breathing very well, his eyes weren't exactly seeing anything at the moment, but he took a shaky breath and asked quietly. "...D-did he... did he finish the rhyme?"

"Yes."

Dick felt so many emotions fly through him at once, so many, too many. He couldn't breathe, he needed to get them out.

He roared, loud and guttural. He tore a hand off from the bed frame and slammed his newly formed fist into the wall. His fist of rage and pure emotion collided with the wall, the resounding sound of crackling drywall echoed in his ears along with his heavy breathing.

Dick just stared down at his knees, blinking when his vision got blurry. He felt a new wave of emotions roll over him as the tears dripped freely down his nose and fell between his knees.

"...Grayson?"

Dick wrenched his fist from the wall, not needing to look to know he made a bad fist-sized crack. He took a deep breath and cradled his tingling hand, blinking back tears for a man who didn't deserve them.

Yes he did, he did deserve them. That was his father he was mourning. Regardless of what Slade was doing now (soon it wouldn't matter anyway) the past still happened, all those memories and emotions were still there. Happy memories, memories worth mourning.

He had processed the man's betrayal already, he had plenty of time here alone to finish that. Slade had a reason for doing it, as there was a reason Slade does everything. The man was weirdly meticulous that way. The fact was... Slade hadn't killed any of his friends, there were so many opportunities to do so and made himself (Dick) able to be taken out. When Slade gets involved in things, they get done. From point A to point B. Cause and effect. Slade sent Dick a message in his own 'Slade' way. Impactful, efficient, and immediate. Slade wanted this result and guaranteed it just like he did all his jobs. Dick being locked up was something Slade needed, something he knew would happen even if the heroes didn't lock him up. He knew Dick would lock himself up anyway if he had lost control over himself like that.

Slade was a cunning mastermind, Dick had enjoyed the way he could manipulate the playing field like a chessboard. He had marveled at Slade's abilities, comforted sometimes too. Dick was always on the outside of this, watching from Slade's side. The very idea that Slade would use him in such a way was so foreign it was like biting an apple but getting a lemon. But the sour taste in his mouth was exactly that. Dick felt like a chess piece.

He didn't feel in checkmate, he didn't even feel like a queen going around slaughtering the opponents left and right (that chess piece was Slade if anything). He didn't feel like a pawn either, set up on a silver platter to die for the greater good of the game. He felt like a bishop or rook, being placed around wherever Slade needed to intimidate and manipulate the other opponent's choices.

For once Dick didn't feel protected or safe, he felt used. It took him awhile to actually pin down this feeling, however familiar being used felt. It wasn't a feeling Dick equated with Slade, it was a shock to his entire system and now he was sputtering, blindsided, just trying to understand.

Dick just couldn't fathom why. Slade had taught him that he wouldn't always get an answer to the question of why. Some things just had to be accepted as they were because there was no explanation or rationalization. Trying to find out why when why could never be answered was a surefire way of going insane. But this... this was something else.

Slade had just killed himself. Slade knew it was going to kill him. He knew 100% if he spoke those words then death would finally find him.

Dick only had one question.

Why?

"Grayson what does that mean? What does finishing the rhyme have to do with anything?" Nightwing asked again. His words said 'I'm annoyed and impatient, you are not cooperating and giving me what I want'. His tone spoke the opposite, 'I'm worried and alarmed, I feel tense because I don't know how to fix this.'

"Is there more?" Dick asked instead, voice sounding as absolutely wrecked and waterlogged as he felt. "Is there anything after?"

Red Robin's jaw clenched, taking a glance at Nightwing before responding. "Yes, I can skip the rest of the rhyme."

Dick nodded slowly, barely a bob of his head that felt too heavy for his shoulders. He needed all of it, get all of it before he could focus on any one part. No more secrets. No more hidden agendas. Everything needed to be laid out, even if it hurt. However, he was actively avoiding thinking too much about what he had learned so far. Plenty of time to let the dread and horror suck his soul away later. He needed all of it before he could let himself be swallowed in despair.

Red Robin was tapping away at his holographic screen until the recording started up again with Slade's voice once more. Thankfully not saying the dreaded rhyme.

Dick went still again as he continued to listen. An explosion must have happened, a classic Slade move that he totally warned Batman about. But when Dick thought that was the end of it, it continued. Nightwing fought Slade for him, argued with words Dick had never thought would ever have any relation to his father figure. And Slade... Slade was not speaking to Nightwing or Batman.

'If I recall correctly,'  The mercenary's voice recording spoke condescendingly, 'One has to fall to learn how to get back up.'

Batman's response was gruff and sad. 'I'm not sure there's much farther for him to fall.'

'I'm not talking about Dick.'

And the recording was over.

Dick sat in the silence, feeling overwhelmed. Not whelmed, not whelmed at all. Not even an inkling of whelmed. His brain rebelled all the information he was just given for a second, deciding there should be an aroundwhelemd and throughwhelmed. Can't go underwhelmed, can't go overwhelmed, can't go aroundwhelmed. Gotta go throughwhelmed.

So he did.

"Th-the Owls..." Dick started, already feeling sick. "Stay away from Owls. Stay away from Talons. Don't speak the rhyme. Let me leave, you can't... you can't save me." Dick mumbled the last part, echoing the phrase his long time guardian has spoken. And that... that hurt. His head dipped as the dread collecting finally spilled over and flooded every inch of his being.

When he was with Slade he had hope, he thought he could make it, he thought Slade was better than the bad guys. He was safe with Slade, he could be honest with Slade. Slade was his beacon of hope, the only light in his life that was bright enough to chase away the dark. It was so difficult to hear that same man who promised him safety from the dark suddenly snuff out the light.

On purpose. A quiet voice said. Dick squeezed his eyes shut and violently shook his head. He couldn't think about that right now.

Why did Dick have to go and jinx himself? When talking with Batman before all of this he had  said that Slade would have to figure out that there was no saving him. He hadn't really believed that, Slade had attacked his belief that he was doomed, attacked it until it was nothing. Dick didn't mean for him to... to just undo years of trust and therapy like hitting the backspace while typing. More like deleting the entire paper. Dick wasn't prepared for it, for those words of condemnation to come out of Slade's mouth, said so solidly like he knew.

Because he knew from the very beginning.

Dick knew how he knew. The picture that was painted now that he had all the prices didn't make much sense but it had to have happened for Slade to act this way. It was the only way he could know, and it made Dick want to scream. Everything about what Slade revealed made him want to scream and fight and kill (preferably Slade himself). There was just so much to it. Dick has so many questions, so many answers he needed, so many deep layers of emotions that wanted to come roaring out.

Instead, Dick bit that thought with ferocious intensity, wrestling it down into submission and deciding that that would be the last thing he would think about. He wanted to keep pretending for now, it would hurt later but he wanted to get other things out of the way before he became a horrible mess of hate and murder. So he moved onto the thing he could talk about.

It was less depressing, or maybe it was more? Dick wasn't keeping track anymore. The Court, the Talons. He wasn't sure what it said about him that he decided Talons and his terrible fate as one of them would be somehow better than the other thing to talk about. (Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade.)

The silence was thick and he could tell the two heroes wanted to say something but both didn't know what words strung together would affect Dick in the way they wanted. He knew because he was in a similar boat, or had been, Dick made frequent trips to the land of lost words. Also because most times he didn't have anything to say, just screams. He wanted nothing to do with words. He wanted to rip and tear, scream himself silent, then scream some more.

Dick gladly cut off their silence, head dipping even lower and throwing the heroes a bone they could latch onto. "Red Robin should come with me, he is as doomed as I am."

Red Robin was an easier concept to grasp than Dick was and he was going to exploit that to delay the inevitable. (Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade.) Dick couldn't blame them for thinking about Red Robin first even if his life was unbelievably simple. It was just... a lot.

"Deathstroke seemed to believe the same thing, care to enlighten us?" Nightwing prodded. This time it took a second before Dick could decipher the Damian code, even if it was like reading Slade they were different people and Dick hasn't had THAT much interaction with the man. The vigilante's words and his tone were too similar, while the annoyance was consistent the contempt in his words was wrong. He was worried still, worried about his younger companion.

Dick took another shaky breath. He was so tired and— scared. He was scared. "Red Robin met the Owls. Like... like Slade said, he's a pawn now and he will continue to be a pawn until he's outlived his usefulness." Dick knew Bruce Wayne was rich, but obviously the Court didn't approach Bruce, if they had Bruce would know them but he didn't seem to. Red Robin must be rich, rich AND connected to Bruce Wayne. The Court loved that, having close ties to innocent people just to exploit and destroy. Sometimes even by blood.

If the Waynes are two-thirds of the Bats then their third member would definitely be close, close enough for the public to know they exist happily together. It took a few seconds, Dick blamed the inner fire trying to take him down and submit to a rage-induced killing spree, but he finally found a person who fits. Timothy Drake, owner of Drake Industries, and if the tabloids were correct, his wife was pregnant.

Dick closed his eyes and let himself be overtaken by deep regret. Tim Drake had been perfectly set up. He shouldn't of expected anything less of The Court of Owls. It still hurt though.

"I haven't seen hide nor hair of them since that encounter." Red Robin said with a contemplative lilt, "do they usually take their time with these things?"

Dick opened his eyes to stare at the ground and nodded stiffly. "They play with their food."

With that morbid statement, an uncomfortable silence befell the trio.

"Are you going to give us any more than that?" Nightwing asked, leaning the slightest bit forward. The question was impatient, but Dick didn't blame him, he was drawing this out unreasonably. Dick was in denial and completely comfortable with that, but life wouldn't allow that for much longer.

Dick again closed his eyes to block out the truth staring him in the face, ready to prove itself real in his make-believe world of sunshine and roses. He couldn't face it yet, the fire of rage would consume him when he did. (Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade. Don't think about Slade.)

He hated a lot of things about his situation but time was never on his side. That was one the most frustrating part, besides the unfairness of it all. There were huge lapses of nothing, a fake sense of security dangling right within reach, only to be yanked away right as his fingers curled around it. There was no escaping it, there never had been. Slade's lies had been the final nail on his coffin.

He was thinking about Slade.

First, he got confirmation Slade was going to die, if he wasn't already. Sure Slade had his healing ability but that would do nothing to help a severed head. Not even the Talons survived those.

Then he was allowed all of five seconds to grieve before the pain of betrayal set in like the sting of a slap. Then it morphed into the fire that threatened to take over. Because of course, of course, Dick couldn't have anything that was his own. Dick was desperately holding the inevitable off, scared because he knew there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop it because it was already over. It had already happened. It was the past and he had been living a lie.

But right now he had to pretend, just for a little bit longer. Stretch out this demented dream that he knew was too good to be true while the demons in the closet were closing in for the ultimate kill.

"W-Wintergreen's death... it was a warning." He let his mouth run, to speak anything, even if it hurt, just as long as it wasn't that or else he'd be lost to the rage. No more Matthews. "It was a warning to me. To Slade. And now to you. They play with their food, but they know not to waste it. They are relentless... but you won't know until it's too late. It's a game to them, they plan for everything, nothing escapes them. My— my own escape wasn't even real. There is no saving me."

The heat in his face and the stinging in his eyes returned and he knew he didn't have it in him anymore to stop it. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't control his life any more than he could control his shaking, faltering voice. "M-my life has been planned l-long before I w-was was even born. My time allowed here is running out, and-and It'll be easier if I just leave now and get it over with. Red Robin is the same, they've groomed him into the right position. He's a target the same as I am, worse, he's a player. The sooner we both leave this life and accept our new ones the less it'll hurt, it'll save our loved ones the pain. Th-the waiting is half the torture, everyone is a victim, no one is safe. No one ever is with them, I-I can't allow more families to be ripped apart just because I started to care. It's— it's their favorite, they break you long before your body gives out. They already broke me, this is just a vacation, a vacation anyone I've ever cared about has paid for with their lives. I can't let Red Robin go through the same thing. We will be their's soon and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. I-I'm sorry." Dick's voice tapered off to a hoarse whisper, a slow flood of resignation washing over him and even temporarily drowning out the real kicker he had been desperately edging around.

A smirk void of anything relating to happiness tugged at one end of his lips. Use one terror to cover up the other one. Heh, if that wasn't the story of his life and the epitome of his mental health he didn't know what is.

The faint smile was gone in milliseconds. Not that emotions would matter once he was back there...

He was just so happy playing pretend with Slade, it was so easy to trust him and that hurt.

"Bullsh*t." Nightwing spouted in anger once more, "Your life couldn't have been planned by them before you were born and they can't possibly know everything before it happens. Trust me, Grayson. There's always another path. You and Drake arent as condemned as you think you are. We CAN save you, both of you!" The man roared, fighting with a spirit that made Dick nostalgic. His closed eyes squeezed, sending a few more tears dripping into his lap. He had hope like that once. Dick was not surprised at the hero's disbelief, heroes are stupid like that. Heroes and their stupid hope. "As long as I'm around you're not going anywhere, Grayson. Father would fight tooth and nail for you. If need be we can even make this a League priority if the Owls presence is so disastrous to the world."

"You don't know them like I do, how... permanent and persistent they are." Dick countered, cracking open his eyes to see his hands were trembling in his lap. And suddenly he was hit from behind, the one trauma he hadn't been paying attention to because he was so focused on avoiding the other. "They have unlimited patience. They're always watching. They have eyes everywhere. They've perfected their system of breaking people, they've planned human lives before, hundreds if not thousands of times. They're just doing it again. And again. And again. Th-they've done it so many times."

Dick dropped his head into his hands, dragging his fingers through his hair and pulling as his speech grew more frantic and breathless. "They can't die you know. They can't die. I can't die. They won't let me die. Why can't I die?!" He curled in on himself as he screamed, "I'D RATHER DIE!"

Dick felt numb all over as he sobbed, his face hot with emotion and his fingers methodically grabbed and pulled at his hair. He was a fool, pretending to use one trauma to hide the other, he forgot the first was just as formidable as the one he was trying to hide from. He was such an idiot, a doomed, pathetic, murdering idiot. He was 100% overwhelmed, at full capacity. Now there was nowhere for his emotions to go but out.

Above him, Nightwing was visibly spooked. The heat of anger had long disappeared from his face and he stepped forward to take the boy's shoulders. "Grayson... Richard," The vigilante tried ducking his head to try to get some semblance of eye contact. His attempt was not in vain as broken, soulless blue eyes lifted into sight.

Nightwing searched the boy's face, not sure what he was after but needed to know. "Do you truly think death is better than this life?"

"I don't want to die." Dick croaked through his tears. His shoulders curled up as he leaned down again to rub the heel of his hands into his wet eyes. "I don't want to be theirs. I don't want this. I never wanted it. But I can't escape. I have no control. If I die I'm theirs. If I live in theirs. There is no... no nothing." He sucked in a few stuttering breaths, only releasing them in words as another wave of dread and terror washed over him. "I-I won't even have him." Dick burst into more hysteric sobs, entire form trembling as his shoulders shook and back bounced with all the weight of his pain.

Nightwing's hands were shaken off, but the man stayed close, hands hovering and unsure. Red Robin was watching, face unreadable with the mask, but behind it he wasn't as proud to say he wasn't tearing up. But he made an effort to catalog everything the lamenting boy said, thinking and comparing to the bigger picture. Something wasn't adding up.

"Slade gave you to us, he must have thought we would have a chance to keep you away from them." Red Robin noted aloud.

For some reason that was it. This was the tipping point.

Dick's head fell again, his legs coming up to curl in his seat as a cry that sounded more like anger and indignation roaring from trembling lips. He sobbed, knowing he couldn't pretend anymore. He let the fire consume him, he poured every ounce he could into tears, desperately trying to stave off the rage so he didn't hurt anybody. He desperately wanted to kill, to end something, to hurt someone else because that's just how he felt. He was just so angry.

Dick tried to collapse on himself, his body both so rigid and tense but also lax and pliant. His entire mind and body was warring with itself, all the hate and rage was vying for an outlet but it wasn't outdone by the sheer force of the black hole that was sadness, consuming his every thought and feeling. He hugged Batman's cape, trying to get rid of the ache in his chest and precariously leaning to one side.

Then Nightwing was there, holding him upright against his chest. Dick immediately latched on, sobbing into the hero's chest knowing this was probably the last time he was going to feel anything like this for the rest of his mostly immortal miserable life. He wanted this so badly, to be safe and warm in someone's arms. A whole body, human and soul connected to his, fending off the black hole with its warmth and light.

"Grayson, please. Explain yourself." Damian demanded with a thudding heart, glancing fervently at Red Robin before returning his attention to the mess of Dick Grayson. The boy's face was buried in his chest, Damian didn't honestly have a lot of experience here except with his pets and maybe his father. He was usually the one being coddled, he didn't do much coddling himself. His chin brushed the teenager's wild raven hair and he pressed down, settling his head on top just to complete the hug the rest of his body was giving to the child.

Dick couldn't stop his crying even if he wanted to but he relished the feeling of Damian's warm strong arms wrap themselves around him, a lovely warm pressure all around that made things feel less like they were falling apart. But words were not something he was capable at the moment, everything was too raw and agonizing.

But he should at least try.

"S-Sl-Slade was... he was... he was wor-working for them." He muttered through the thick emotions in his throat, clutching Nightwing closer because he didn't want to face this alone.

With the fire finally let loose he wailed as the pain of this betrayal overtook every atom of his being.

Slade knew from the very beginning. The very beginning. And there was only one way he would know that. Slade was most likely hired, hired to keep an eye on Dick, hired to give him back when it was time.

"You got in their way when you took Dick in." ~"No."

"Save him?" Slade's voice taunted, "There's no 'saving him', he's gone, has been from the moment he was born."

"They have a way of making sure you don't forget. The ones who do don't have a head, and the others are at their beck and call."

But then... then something happened. Slade probably hadn't been expecting it. He had been tasked with keeping an eye on Dick (or something like that, he wasn't sure on the details) and he was content with doing that from afar. Slade didn't need to get personally involved and for a long time, he wasn't. Dick had just thought Slade was giving him space and let him warm up to Slade in his own time.  But that wasn't what happened. Slade hadn't cared at that time. Dick was just a job.

But that had changed. That had changed when Wintergreen came in. That had changed after Dick went missing and had been raped. That changed when Slade started training him in self-defense, giving him discipline instead of fear. Slade made a mistake. He started to care.

That wasn't a lie. Dick knew that. Slade did care. The big oaf was practically bleeding the stuff. And it made everything so much worse.

"He's dangerous, this is what Dick would want."

"Everything I do, I do for Dick."

"You won't have to worry about me much longer."

"Then its a good thing you have him or I might be worried."

"I'm not talking about Dick."

Slade was sorry.

Dick's mind was spinning too fast that even Wally would have a hard time keeping up. But it was so d*mn simple.

Dick wasn't the one falling, it was Slade, and the only reason he would be falling is if he cared enough about Dick getting any higher. Slade knew he had done Dick wrong, he had gotten too close —too personal— and before he knew it he was making empty promises to a highly unstable child who used those lies as his foundations of hope. And now his entire building was going down. The same hand that had lovingly and tenderly built him up just as easily with just as much pain, tore him down.

Slade was sorry and Dick was destroyed.

Dick screamed his lament, grabbing onto Nightwing tighter and daring to pretend it was Slade. No, no. No more Slade. He couldn't imagine Slade anymore. He wanted Nightwing. Nightwing was right from the very beginning. Slade was bad. Slade had been manipulating him, lying to him for so long. And Dick had thought... Dick had thought Slade was a good guy! Dick wasn't even sure what good and bad were anymore. He just needed Nightwing. He needed someone who was right because Dick was an absolute idiot.

It hurt so much. Dick couldn't even think at this point, everything was just pain. There was a buzzing in his head and his whole body felt like it was throbbing. He was hot and his tears were everywhere getting everything gross and wet and all he could do was just keep crying.

Slade had lied to him. Slade had built him up just to take him down. Slade had helped just to hurt later. But he hadn't meant to.

If Slade meant to break him Dick would be in even worse shape. In fact, he wouldn't be here at all. If Slade meant to break him completely he would have delivered him to The Court in person. Instead he had given him to the heroes, given him someone who could replace Slade who was even better because they weren't working for The Court. It was so... it was so unfair! Because now Dick was so angry, so hurt and broken and all he wanted to do was hurt Slade back. But Slade was already hurting, Slade hadn't wanted to do this, he was a victim just as much as Red Robin was. A pawn.

And that made Dick even angrier. Because now he can't be mad at Slade, it wasn't entirely his fault they were in this mess. It was The Court's fault. It didn't make any sense yet it made so much sense. Dick hated Slade right now, yet if he came face to face with him he knew he wouldn't even be able to say anything mean to him much less physically fight with him. He just wanted his Dad back. He wanted all of this to just go away and go back to when things were normal and happy.

This was torture. And somehow he knew that's what The Court had planned. He didn't think they planned on the heroes getting involved, Slade probably didn't think it would come to this either. The Court had let him go, let him live on the streets with a mercenary to keep him in check. The only reason Dick could fathom as to why The Court would do such a thing is just to break him even more. The Court had probably planned this. If Slade didn't get attached they knew Dick would.

Dick felt a new wave of cold heavy fear wash over him like tar.

They were breaking Dick with the very tactic Dick had used to escape them in the first place.

And just like Dick did... they succeeded.

They knew Dick would get attached, they knew he latched onto any positive relationship he had with literally anyone. That's how he escaped before, he was friends with... with a different Talon. He had been content with that, with a friend The Court was almost bearable. But then Dick saw an opportunity. It hadn't been there before but then it was right there. In the heat of the moment, he took it. He had taken his first life and cruelly used it to his advantage. That single act of brutality and pure heartlessness had given himself his freedom and he hated it. He hated himself. Matthew died for nothing. He had killed for nothing.

He was the heartless killer they wanted. They knew it was inside of him and now he knew it too. He had done exactly what they wanted without the influence of any of their drugs. He killed Matthew for his own escape, ruining his relationship with his friend in one fail swoop. He was a killer. He was their killer. He was always theirs. The leash they had on him hadn't disappeared since he 'escaped', it had just slackened.

And now Slade was in his position. Slade was the one following orders now, knowing the consequences of being their puppet. Just like Dick had. But Dick has still done it. Slade hadn't. Slade, a mercenary, a master manipulator, his father figure, was more successful in attempting to free Dick and it still failed. The Court was too strong. The Court took Slade's plan of freeing Dick and turned it on its head just like they do with everything good.

The Court was using Slade to hurt Dick. They knew he would get attached to Slade. They were trying to break him. They were breaking him. Dick was broken. He didn't want to get attached to anyone ever again. It only ended in pain. So much pain. He shouldn't care anymore. Caring hurt. Caring was his downfall from the very beginning. He had cared about his parents. Now they're gone and it was his fault. He cared about his friend. Now he's mindlessly doing The Court's bidding and his son was dead and it was all Dick's fault. He cared about Wintergreen and that had gotten him killed. He cared about Slade, and now he was going to die if he wasn't dead already. All this anguish and death all because he cared. There was a common denominator here and Dick already knew what it was. He had known from the beginning. He had just been lying to himself. He had started believing Slade's lies, all the promises that it wasn't his fault. But it was.

The Court was right. They had told him it would be so much easier if he stopped caring. If he just surrendered. It would be easier, it had been, it aided his escape. He escaped, but they still won. He escaped, but small eight-year-old Dick had been scared, he felt guilty afterward. So much guilt, but the damage was done. Dick had not cared once, it was easy to do it again, and even easier to do it to people he didn't care about. They were right back then. They were right now. But Dick made the same mistake Slade did, he started to care again, and this is how well that turned out. Dick understood now though. He would never get attached again. He wouldn't care anymore. It was easier that way.

But now what? He was a ruthless good for nothing killer and he was still balling his eyes out in the arms of an actual hero. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve their help or kindness. He was a Talon. Talons don't belong in the arms of heroes. Talons don't cry. They don't feel pain when they get hurt. Talons don't care. Talons don't have emotions.

Slade was the reason he was here in a hero's arms. Slade was the one who put him here. Slade was right. Dick needed to be locked up. This was the only chance at keeping a killer off the streets. This is what Dick wanted.

Slade had known Dick had wanted this. Slade was right.

Slade was right.

There was no saving him.

"I'm sorry." He said, finally devoid of any more tears. He twisted from Nightwing's suffocating (the best) hug and grabbed his arms to move them away. "I can't have this."

-0o0o0- little backtrack here -0o0o0-

D*mn this is complicated, was Tim's concluding thought.

Dick had just announced Slade had been working for The Court of Owls and then promptly started crying with understandable (if not a little disconcerting) vigor. Tim had no idea if he should feel bad for Damian who was being subjected to the lamenting boy or pleased that Dick felt he could do that to Damian (who was mostly hug avoidant). Or maybe it was instinctual to hug anything that breathed. Either way, no one was prepared for his reaction to the news.

Slade had been working for The Court of Owls. The only reason the two interacted or even met at all was because some puppeteers wanted their rouge puppet on a leash. Well maybe, they didn't actually know what exactly Slade was hired for. Keeping an eye on Dick made sense, but that would be much lower than Slade's pay grade, Deathstroke doesn't do babysitting. Slade also didn't have to get as involved as he did, Dick had mentioned there was a time with Slade that was more off and on than full time. Somehow they convinced a killer mercenary to keep an eye on their nine-year-old runaway and then Slade got too close.

It was important to note that this was between Dick and The Court, Slade was just a pawn and subsequently caught in the crossfire. He was supposed to do his job and be done with it, but he hadn't. With all of Dick's talk of The Court planning lives, Tim was sure The Court didn't plan Slade's attachment to the kid. To be honest he didn't think it was a move anyone was expecting, including Tim.

Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, was trying to save a kid he made a contract over. He chose Dick over money, over his own life he knew would be ended if he chose that path. He did it anyway, he gave Dick to them (the heroes), right when Slade knew The Court would come for Dick. Slade wanted Dick to detach from him and attach to the heroes. Everything Slade did... was for Dick. To attempt to free the child he foolishly started to care about.

Tim was honestly impressed, but when he wasn't busy being impressed he was angry at Slade. He was a stupid, stupid man. The fact that Slade did care was going to tear Dick apart.

And it was, Dick was crying violently in Damian's arms, wailing because the one person he thought he could trust, the one he DID trust, had been grooming him at the instruction of his childhood abusers. And Slade had regretted it. But then he denied the boy reconciliation by instigating his own death.

Tim couldn't imagine the onslaught of emotions flooding Dick's brain, it was no wonder he was crying and wailing in agony. Dick, for all his training and conditioning, was sentimental and emotionally driven. This was Hell to him.

Damian, after a few seconds of silence and hugging the boy, looked up to Tim. His face was in a snarl but it was pinched in a way Tim knew that meant Damian was upset that he didn't have anyone to punch to fix this problem. It was the same expression Bruce had occasionally, particularly with emotional problems. "I don't understand. What is wrong with him Drake?!"

Tim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This was so messed up. "Slade is... was diabolical is what. The Court hired Slade for Dick, probably to keep him away from heroes and running too far. We didn't know about him until very recently so Slade was holding up his end of the deal as far as we can tell. What he did do though was start to care about Dick. Now he's trying to save Dick by getting Dick out of The Court's planned situations and take himself —an element controlled by The Court— out of the equation so The Court couldn't use him against Dick. Slade knew he was going to die if he said the rhyme, he knew he had betrayed The Court by giving Dick to us. And he eliminated all of Dick's other options besides us in the process." It was brilliant, Tim wouldn't deny that, but the emotional fallout was the price and he was sure Dick would like a refund.

Damian scowled but continued to hug the heavily sobbing child who didn't seem to be aware of their conversation. "That doesn't explain why he's so upset. If Slade set him free he should be happy! Not regurgitating his sinuses onto my suit."

Tim sighed and shook his head. "Slade was someone he trusted though, remember? Slade was the one who gave Dick hope, who taught him that not everything was controlled by The Court. To him it doesn't matter if he did succeed in getting Dick away from them, Slade had lied to him for years. Slade was working for The Court, he was exactly what he promised Dick he wasn't. He manipulated Dick into thinking he was free for such a long time... it makes sense Dick is angry. He's angry he didn't see it, angry the man he trusted was just another puppeteer. Angry that Slade cared so much that Dick is almost forced to mourn the death of an abuser."

Damian's scowl was deadly by the time Tim finished, holding the sobbing Dick closer and started growling. "I should have punched him harder."

"Yeah." Tim agreed, "But that leaves the ball in our court. We have Dick now, Slade is no longer a factor and you can bet The Court is going to come after Dick now that the jig is up. We need a plan."

"He stays with us," Damian spoke dangerously, a dark look hovering over his eyes. Probably remembering his own tug-of-war between his mother and father and deciding he needed to be what Bruce was for him for Dick. "I don't care how dangerous he claims to be, he is not going to be locked up for his entire life. We need to take The Court down."

Tim nodded acknowledgment but frowned. "That's a tall order Nightwing. The Court isn't something we know a lot about, they're practically ghosts."

"Batman has found ghosts before," Damian snapped back, "You've even found and sat in on one of their meetings. How did you find them?"

Tim grimaced, feeling like the conversation was heading in a dangerous direction. This topic wasn't one Damian started with the intent of sincerity. Tim was not in the mood to be made fun of again. "It was an accident really, I'm not sure I could do it again even if I tried. The case I was working had nothing to do with what I saw." He shook his head, lifting his holo-glove as he continued to speak, trying to change the direction of the conversation. "We're going to need Batman for this if we're really going to hunt down The Court. But technically, we probably won't have too much trouble finding them or figuring out their weaknesses, we have Dick."

Nightwing's brows pinched as he hugged the sobbing boy a little bit closer even though he was already as close as possible. "Drake, you're asking him to relive the most traumatizing moments of his life. You can't possibly want to ask him to do that."

Tim shrugged, "Well I am sure he'd love to help take down The Court." At Damian's scowl Tim quickly continued, "I'm not saying we have to ask him right now but he did escape from them so he knows something. Even if it's just a lead, we need everything we can get, and right now you have a direct source of Court information in your lap."

Nightwing cradled the boy's head with one hand, snarling at his brother. "He's not just information Drake!"

Tim raised his hands in surrender with a solemn dip of his head, "I know, believe me, I know." He let out a deep breath and looked to the side. "I'm just figuring out all our options. We can't exactly do much until we know what we're getting into."

"So your sit in on their meeting yielded nothing?" Damian taunted, the same tone Damian used when he was goading Tim into doing something. It was the same tone he used when they were younger, which wasn't actually too long ago. Which is why it still stung that Damian was trying to manipulate him.

Tim sighed, letting all his grievances with Damian's attitude go for a moment. As entitled as the brat acted sometimes, he did have a point. A very small point. But Damian was still wrong.

"The meeting I found wasn't really a meeting Damian, I've told you that before. I mean I guess they were meeting someone but it wasn't like they were talking about anything and I wasn't even close enough to hear if they were. All the information I have right now are rumors and speculations I found after a lot of time digging. And even if these rumors and speculations are seeded in truth none of it would help us find them or take them down." Tim stared at the ground, knowing it was a bad idea to recount his encounter for the man who delighted in making fun of him. But this wasn't about Tim or Damian anymore, this was for Dick. "I wasn't looking for them, I was investigating a different case, stolen items from antique shops— nothing like the style of Catwoman."

It hadn't been a normal night, Tim was pursuing this case in the field on his own for the first time after his training was completed and Bruce gave him the green light. Batman was on the other side of the city, content to let Red Robin spread his wings on the other side. "It was a stakeout, I was ready to jump in at any time but about five hours in I got distracted. There was a couple going down the street right in front of my target shop, even if they weren't wearing the owl masks they would have stood out like a sore thumb. They were dressed like they were going to one of Brucie's parties, clothing much too rich for this district. If I wasn't intrigued by the masks I might have followed them to make sure they didn't get robbed."

"What do you mean owl masks?" Damian interrupted. It was not an innocent question. Tim regretted this already. He spoke as if sensing Tim was daring to go off-topic.

Anger curled in his gut, gearing up to lash out and the injustice. Didn't Damian know that recounting ALL the information was important? Why would he think he would get off topic with such an important topic? Tim felt insulted, and it's taken a while for most of Damian's insults to bounce off, but this one had just slipped right through and penetrated a vital organ.

He bit back a scalding retort to continue his story but didn't refrain from saying his retort in facial expression. Because of that interruption, his train of thought was completely thrown off!

But Tim had to keep his cool, couldn't let Damian rile him up. This was about Dick, not him and Damian. Sibling squabbles later, protect the smol bean now.

"Yes." Tim clenched his jaw, "The couple were wearing white owl masks. The masks weren't complicated but they covered their entire face and had blacked-out holes for their eyes. I watched them go down the street and go into one of the more decrepit buildings, it was pretty much just the bones of a building. I followed them of course, none of this felt right and I was ready to radio Batman just in case. I found them as they traveled up, this time they weren't alone. They were meeting a man there, someone I didn't realize was a Talon until my research later."

"So your 'meeting' was faux—"

Apparently he was going to go headlong into sibling squabbling.

"I never coined the term 'meeting' Damian!" Tim snapped, tired of being blamed for inaccurate details that Damian nitpicks when Damian himself never believed him to begin with. "I saw suspicious activity. I investigated. Turns out The Court of Owls are legends for a reason and they're really good at it considering neither you nor Batman will give me the time of day! I didn't even find the rhyme until I was thrown into Crime Alley by Killer Croc where it was etched into the brick building! But you can't find it now because Killer Croc was kicked through that portion of the building! Every single time I think I'm getting somewhere I hit a dead end!"

Damian rolled his eyes, "And you didn't think to ask for help?"

Tim threw his hands in the air, "You didn't believe me!"

"As if that's stopped you before." Damian scoffed.

"Yeah?" Tim felt abused. He knew Damian was better now than when he was a kid, and even when he was in that stage a lot of the backlash and demon-brattiness wasn't even Tim's to deal with. Bruce dealt with it, and then Jason when Damian felt like visiting. Tim didn't start becoming a target until he showed up, then suddenly everything he said was under scrutiny just because Tim liked knowing things. Sure, he'll admit he is a stalker, but a well-intentioned stalker. He knew that didn't make it better but Damian sure could relax with the name-calling and source questioning and even motive questioning. Tim knew he didn't have any sibling experience, but he was pretty sure this was some kind of abuse. "I didn't stop. If any part of any of the rumors I found is true, which Dick has already proven a few right— or if you just listened to Dick talk about them at all— these guys are the literal stuff of nightmares. I wasn't about to let them off Scott free just because everyone else was that desperate to be stupid. Cults thrive on the population's stupidity. I know you're as stubborn as Bruce and you hate me, but you can't deny me anymore because the proof is sitting right there in your lap!"

Damian looked down for a second, something that registered as him backing down in Tim's brain, but his words only fueled Tim's rage. "Your argument is useless Drake, I do not doubt The Court exists."

"Of course you don't!" Tim shouted, "because you just always have to be right!"

Damian's head snapped up, glaring at him with bat-level intensity. He had a rebuttal right there in his throat, it was interesting to see him actually pause for a second to consider his words before swallowing them down instead of aggravating the situation any more than it already was. Dick was still crying and that wasn't helping anyone's temper at the moment.

Tim felt his face flush with anger, he had more to say, loads of tiny instances that got under his skin and of the general normalcy that was dangling this 'rumor' over his head. But Damian was silent, jaw clenched tight but face heated as well.

Tim stopped to take a few deep breaths, forcing his anger down. This was not the time nor the place for that argument. This was about Dick and how they were going to help him. Not how Damian is a brat and no one listens to Tim. This is not a sibling squabble time. "All I'm saying is yes, the meeting was a flop, all information we have about The Court is rumor unless proven otherwise by Dick. Happy now?"

Tim waited for a response, or maybe just for the temperature to drop in the room. Contrary to popular belief, Tim didn't like having screaming matches with Damian. It was like trying to argue with Bruce but more impossible because this Bruce had a grudge against him.

Damian actually turned his attention back to coddling Dick. Tim didn't notice until now but Dick had gone silent in Damian's arms. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing at this point. The word 'Court of Owls' had been thrown around a lot, hopefully, they hadn't triggered anything?

"Your scheming can wait Drake," Damian spoke, and then he looked off to the side. "You are... and were... right," It was odd to watch the grown man struggle, but the effort was commendable. Tim quite appreciated being agreed with on a matter they had been arguing for a while. But Tim wasn't expecting to win the lottery and was utterly floored by his next statement. "I apologize for not believing you."

Tim just stared, Damian still wasn't looking at him but Bruce does the same thing too sometimes. When the emotionally constipated bat actually needs to get their feelings out usually pretending the other wasn't there made it easier. Tim didn't dare respond, feeling blindsided by the sudden apology, a sincere apology. Well, as sincere as Damian Wayne can get.

Damian huffed in the silence, shifting his hold on Dick as he did so, obviously uncomfortable under Tim's stare. "Well we need to be focusing on fixing Grayson now, we can wait to take on The Court later, I'd rather he stop smearing my suit with boogers."

Tim smiled, finally having a response, "Thanks Dami."

"Tt- I'm not doing it for you." Damian bit back.

Tim sighed in exasperation and shook his head, still retaining his smile. And back to our regularly scheduled demon brat. Tim meant it for the apology, but the slight coloration on his cheeks meant Damian understood that but deflected his feelings with an insult anyway because he's Damian.

Tim wished Bruce had gotten Damian earlier, but even then, maybe he wouldn't have changed much. Damian grew up without siblings, he didn't have to learn to get along with anyone but his own dad until Jason and he and Damian always chaffed. Damian may have made and been Robin, but that didn't mean he was good at long term, healthy, relationships. Kinda like Batman. Well, like father like son. The only good part about that is that they were both latching onto Dick now, it was oddly adorable.

Sometime during their argument, Damian started a rocking motion and raked his fingers through the boy's messy hair. Dick was also finally calming down, still clinging to Damian like he was afraid he was going to leave. Tim would usually jump at the chance of documenting Damian doing something uncomfortable but this was not the time nor the place for such things. It was a miracle Damian himself was any sort of comfort to the poor kid.

The kid had only been here a week, a solid seven days and even that was barely enough time to become acquaintances for people like them. This kid really was incredible, he deserved the world and so much more, yet it only dragged him through the mud.

Suddenly Dick was moving, reaching Damian's arms and moving them away from himself. Tim felt hopeful... until Dick started talking.

"I'm sorry," his broken waterlogged voice spoke barely above a whisper, "I can't have this."

Damian, of course, did what Damians do.

"What are you talking about Grayson?!" He demanded, looking unreasonably enraged about not hugging anymore. He didn't say a thing about the snot and tears on his suit.

Dick turned and sat still, hands in his lap, and head down. He stayed silent.

'I can't have this.'

Tim didn't like this. This felt all sorts of wrong. They must have triggered something with all their arguing. And it was an achingly familiar phrase, something Tim told himself when he was small, watching Bruce be a doting— trying father to Damian and Jason from afar, knowing he could never have it but only ever observe.

"Hey, Dick?" Tim didn't wait for an answer, feeling oddly connected even if the boy looked completely unresponsive. "I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through, but I hope you can keep an open mind because I'd like to tell you a story."

"What sto—" Tim glared at Damian and he had enough brain power to stop talking. Smart move.

Tim returned his softening gaze to the troubled child. "Do you know how I became Red Robin?" Tim asked.

Tim was surprised when Dick actually answered. The kid pulled his knees up to his chest and held them, staring down as he spoke. The words he said sounded like Dick, but the tone was devoid of all life and it sent another spiral of wrongness down Tim's spine. "I'm guessing Batman didn't kidnap you."

Damian's face twisted in confusion but then smoothed over into concern. He moved to reach out but let his hand drop to the medical bed. "Is that how you view my Father Grayson?"

Dick shrugged, a weird look when his shoulders were already up to his ears. "I guess it's an exaggeration." His flat tone continued and Tim hated every moment of it. "I was technically given to him."

Tim wasn't sure he wanted to touch the Slade topic when Dick was obviously so freshly sensitive about it. But there was something very wrong about the way he spoke with such a flippant air of disinterest, of indifference. It was like all his feelings —things that made Dick Grayson Dick Grayson— had dried up, leaving a husk of a human in absolute apathy in his situation.

Tim swallowed and spoke again, hoping to lift the boy's spirits a bit, or maybe it was just an attempt to get the kid to emote at all. "No, I wasn't kidnapped. I figured out Batman and Robin's identifies when I was nine."

Dick actually looked up at him, sure he didn't move his head and his eyes couldn't quite meet his, but his eyes flicked over to him in was could be surprise. It was actually more like disbelief, like his eyes were saying 'You. Tim Drake. Figured out Batman and Robin's identities when you were nine?'

Tim smiled and shrugged a single shoulder, it was still one of his proudest moments, and he got Dick to look at him! Sorta. "Yep, but of course I was still nine, and nowhere near participating in any vigilante work. But that didn't mean I didn't try. My parents weren't home very often so I took to some hobbies, hobbies that included my infatuation with Batman and Robin."

Damian snorted and he crossed his arms. "That's an understatement. Putting it plainly, Drake is a world-class stalker."

Dick still had no reaction, just sitting. He might not even be listening.

"I won't deny that, it's part of my charm." Tim gestured to his face in an over-dramatic way, determined to get a reaction from Dick while Damian scoffed his "-TT-"

"Anyway, I took to following Batman and Robin around, both in and out of the cape. I made sure I was very careful and it wasn't until I was 12 that things really started to go down. Batman and Robin had been captured, there were bombs strewn around the city that were set to go off and there was no possible way they would make it in time. So I stepped in, having a lot of time to myself (as you know) I became sort of an expert in coding and other technological stuff. I was able to hack the bombs and stop them, it took Bruce years to figure out that that was me. You should have seen his face, I'm pretty sure he got coffee up his nose."

Tim felt the back of his neck creep when Dick still didn't react to anything he was saying. That story killed in some audiences because who could ever make Batman choke on his drink? It was a happy memory, having Bruce snort out his drink at family dinner when Tim offhandedly mentioned he had been behind the bomb hacking had Tim feeling quite accomplished.

Having Dick not even blink to this story felt like a punch to the gut. Not to his pride (not out loud anyway), but in pure despair. Where on earth did Dick Grayson go?

"But anyway," Tim waved the memory away, feeling the worry override his smile. "I gained a bit of confidence after that, I started helping in other ways, gathering information and sending it to Batman during relevant cases."

"We thought he was a villain," Damian piped in, glancing at Tim and silently agreeing that this unresponsiveness of Dick's was really unsettling. "We knew we were being stalked and whoever it was knew our identities, but there was no face, no trace, and no signature to any of Drakes help."

Tim wouldn't lie, it was fun to be anonymous, but it got old when he was older and could do more than just be on the computer. "Yeah, that lasted up until Damian decided to be rebellious and became Nightwing. That's when I started using Robin as an alias when I helped Bruce and even started training in my downtime. It was no Bat-training but I could decently defend myself in a civilian capacity."

Damian nodded, remembering the time he was absent but hearing about it from Bruce. "It was subtle, but it didn't last. Not once Todd came into the picture."

Tim finally cracked another smile, but it was one of regret and melancholy. "Jason Todd, he was twelve when Bruce found him in crime alley, stealing the Batmobile's tires." He paused for Dick's reaction, as one usually exclaims their disbelief and how impressed they are. Bruce had a similar reaction, but it had been concealed in a look rather than words. Dick's reaction to Jason's story made Batman's look like a pop-up book complete with glitter and rainbows.

Tim nodded his affirmation like Dick had challenged it (he had not) and tried for a smirk because he was attempting a joke. "That's the one Bruce kidnapped, he took Jason home and it wasn't long until there was a new Robin roaming the streets with Batman. I, of course, continued my work from the shadows. I still didn't have a true name though until I started using the color red to trademark my help. They had taken to calling me Red Robin and I ran with it."

Tim jumped to the next shocking bullet point of his life, at this juncture he was willing to say anything just to get Dick to blink. "By the time I was 14 I had become Batman's technological eyes and ears as Red Robin, having proven myself an ally more than a suspicious colleague."

Then Tim's bad feelings sank even deeper, his words dying in his mouth as he realized where they were in the story. Damian took this one, gaze down and to the side as he scowled at the floor. "Then Todd died. He was barely 15."

Now Tim felt the worst. "I— I had helped," Dick remained unchanged and Tim just sighed and continued explaining. "Jason was looking for his birth mother, he was going to go with or without Bruce's help so I decided to lend a hand. But the Joker... he was ready, I was sent on a wild goose chase. By the time I figured it out it was too late. Jason had suffered through horrendous torture before he exploded, but even that didn't kill him. He died by suffocation in the aftermath, Bruce was seconds too late. I was too late."

The room stayed quiet, Tim regretting trying to help, for enabling the quest that had eventually gotten Jason killed. Damian hadn't even known until Tim told him and that started uncomfortable beef between father and son. A grieving Bruce Wayne was a terrible terrible thing.

Dick was still just sitting there. As void as a rock. The silence was agonizing, but his lack of reaction was even worse.

Damian summed it up best, attempting to end the uncomfortable silence and continue the story. "It was... a lot. For everyone."

Tim allowed a few moments more of silence in respect for the dead. He internally joked that that included Dick now with how responsive he was. He didn't laugh.

Tim sighed deeply and plowed on. "Bruce became a bit unhinged after Jason's death. He started hitting harder, sending men to the hospital on life support for stealing a purse. He stopped caring about himself and the relationships his anger and grief had ruined." It was actually something Bruce was still working through, but he was no longer in danger of breaking his one rule. He even decently handled the formation of the team, something that had honestly surprised Tim and Damian. As well as their father was progressing over his grief he wasn't totally back on board with the Justice League, but since The Team's formation, he'd been getting much better.

It was actually kinda funny, all it takes to fix Bruce Wayne was give him some children to look after.

Tim lightly shook his head, he knew that already, Dick was the example. But he was still telling his story, hopefully Dick was actually listening and could see the end for what it was. "Overall a very bad time. That's when I decided I couldn't let Bruce run himself into the ground like that. So I did the only logical thing, I showed up at the manor and revealed I was Red Robin."

Dick continued to be a wall. Tim and Damian shared another concerned look. It was Damian's turn to sigh. "I was in Bludhaven at the time, it had become my city as much as Gotham is Batman's city. I also had to work through my own grief as well, and Father did a good job of pushing people away. There were... many arguments."

Tim felt like that was an understatement, but nodded along. "Even after I revealed myself Bruce didn't exactly take to me very well and tried to push me away too. But I was determined, Batman needs a Robin. I wasn't exactly ready for fieldwork though, I might have trained in a civilian capacity but even then I barely did any actual fighting since I was more tech support since day one. It took a while, and Damian coming back, for Bruce to really accept me. And let me tell you, training with Bruce was no picnic. The guy is borderline bipolar, one second he's 'I don't care' and the next he's the epitome of helicopter parent. It was an entire year before he let me out in the streets as Red Robin. Even now I still have the least amount of time as a field hero. I've only been out in the field for a year."

Tim was tired of Dick remaining unresponsive, he approached the kid and tried for eye contact. The eyes he looked into were not seeing him.

"Look," Tim tried, reaching up to gently shake the boy's shoulder, "When Bruce grieves he throws himself into the mission, into Gotham. Let me tell you, Dick, after Jason I've never seen him so focused or worried about something that wasn't Gotham until he met you."

Dick didn't speak, his eyes continued to be blank and lifeless, but his eyebrows lowered and crinkled his forehead in disbelief.

Damian's face soured as well, leaning forward just to see if the boy would emote more. "Do not underestimate yourself, Grayson. You have considerable influence over my father at the moment."

This time his face was much more solid, the disbelief was clear and unchangeable.

"Dick, he cares about you," Tim said, squeezing the boy's shoulder gently like he was trying to infuse the idea through his hand. He stared at the acrobat's blank eyes, hoping to bring life back to them. "More than his mission. You're healing him without even knowing. You've helped us, so now let us help you."

Dick's face scrunched even more, dark coal-like eyes actually looking at Tim for a change. Then his face went slack, his eyes that -just for a moment- were full, overflowing with anger and hurt and feelings went blank again. His emotions left and his face shut down. With that haunted look, he shook his head slowly. "I am just a tool to be used."

Tim's brain short-circuited.

What.

Tim was still reeling when Damian surged forward, grabbing one of the boy's arms to turn him to face Damian. "You are not a tool Grayson. You are not a weapon. You are a human boy, a child, you need love and care. No one is going to use you."

Dick's blank stare remained unchanged.

Tim finally found his words. "No, no Dick, you've got it backwards. Use us, Dick. Use us. Slade gave you to us because he knew we could save you. Bruce cares about you, a lot, so you're stuck with him trying to help you now and he won't ever stop. Because he's Batman, he can do anything. Me and Damian? We care about you just as much as Bruce does. I bet even Wally would lay down his life for you, even if he wasn't a hero. All of us care too much to ever let anyone use you and we're definitely not going to let you go back to The Court." Tim promised, desperate for any of this to make it through to the kid. Then he begged, "You have Batman on your side, Dick, use him, use us. How do we take down The Court so you don't have to live in fear anymore?"

Dick's blank face morphed into a scowl, eyes finally alight, but with rage. "They just want me to care. So I can be weak. So they can break me again."

Tim retracted like he got burned, Damian let go as well, but he matched Dick's fire.

"You are not weak for caring." He growled, all rage but a soft pain spoke in his eyes. "I, of all people, would know Grayson. My mother—"

"If you wanted to help me," Dick cut him off, spitting like acid, "You would stop trying to get me to care. I'm not going to make the same mistake a third time."

Damian actually growled, slamming his fist into the medical bed. "So what if Slade was working for the enemy!? He betrayed THEM to save YOU! He cared about you and look what it did, it gave you a chance to win against The Court. Don't throw it away! We are not going to let you throw it away."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into." Dick hissed, snarling right back at Damian. "The Court always wins. Even when they lose. I was never free! Even when I escaped, THEY won!"

Dick was going to continue but Damian took that moment to interject. "Then let us truly free you! We will get rid of this Court of Owls and—"

Damian was cut off by Dick who lunged forward, jumping on the man and pinning him to the wall to slap a hand over his mouth. "DON'T SAY THEIR NAME." He roared. The only reason Damian didn't instantly fight him off was the tears gathering in the younger boy's eyes. They were tears of desperation and utter fear. The mere name of his abusers too powerful in the child's eyes.

Damian lifted his hands up in surrender before moving one to slowly take Dick's hand off of his mouth. "Grayson," He spoke softly, "I was once afraid of my mother. When I finally defied her and joined my father's cause, I would wait for her to show herself. Waiting for her to dispose of me because of the disgrace I was to her and my grandfather. I learned I had nothing to fear, because when she did come I was not alone. Batman protects his own, that includes you now."

Dick seemed to contemplate his words for a few bare seconds, face softening like his words were finally getting through to him. Then his fire returned and he grabbed Nightwing's suit like he could shove him against the wall (he couldn't). "I don't CARE what you went through!" He snarled in Damian's face. "Slade is DEAD because of me! Wintergreen died because of ME. I killed Matthew."

Dick took a deeper breath to continue but his chest shuddered and hitched. "E-even my parents..." Dick started to cry again, holding onto Damian's suit and screaming in his face. "They fell because of me! It's MY fault they're all DEAD."

Damian felt a lump in his throat as he grabbed Dick's wrists, "Grayson—"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT." He roared, hands clenched full of Nightwing's suit shaking with emotion. His head fell forward, new tears streaming down as he sucked in more air.

Damian cradled the boy, shifting a little because Dick had perched uncomfortably on him in his haste to scream at Damian. He didn't dare try to pry him off, just letting his arms rest around him and take the boy's weight. Damian let his chin rest on the top Dick's head, eyes lifting up to meet Tim's gaunt gaze.

The entire room jolted when Tim and Damian's gloves went off simultaneously, literally making Tim jump and Dick flinched in Damian's arms. Damian ignored his completely, reaching only to turn it off while Tim gave it a scan. Satisfied it didn't need immediate action, Tim quickly turned it off. It made him feel tired though, right in his soul. Evil never rests does it? Apparently Poison Ivy was going global and had a team of villains with her, including the Joker. The team thing made sense, even on a good day Ivy can only reach so far. It was bad news for sure, and they were calling themselves the Injustice Leauge. It was stupid, but right up a villain's alley.

"What is it, Drake." Damian asked, lifting his head off of Dick's.

Tim waved him off, "The Justice Leauge is probably all over it, don't worry."

Tim then made a small step towards Dick, feeling all of 17 again knocking on Bruce Wayne's door to tell him he was Red Robin. Except this was worse. "Dick..." But before he could get any more words out he was cut off.

"No!" Dick screamed into Damian's chest before he paused to breathe again. Tim remained silent, waiting for the kid to continue, sensing he had something to say. Tim was right, the acrobat's voice groggy but gentle. "I-I don't care about what you're going to say. You're just going to try to get me to care again and I shouldn't. But... b-but I already do. I care too much all the time and I'm tired. I'm tired of it being used against me. But I can't stop them from killing the people I care about, that's why you've got to let me go. If you let me go they won't come after me and kill everyone in the process. I care too much to let any of you die because you're stupid enough to care about me."

"Yeah we're stupid enough to care about you, but we're not going to die." Tim responded, finally getting to the point he had tried to address earlier before Dick threw the conversation on its head. "I told you my life's story because I wanted to show you how much The Court couldn't have planned." Dick turned in Damian's lap to throw him a nasty glare and Tim rose his hands up in surrender and fixed himself before Dick could bite his head off. "Not that they don't plan anything! I just want you to know that they aren't some all-powerful untouchable gods. These are people doing these things, brainwashing and conditioning you into thinking you can't escape. The Court is a cult in the most literal sense, but like the League of Assasins —who are also definitely a cult— who Bruce tangos with on a monthly basis; they're not impossible to defeat."

Dick's response was softer than he had spoken to Damian, but it was almost more powerful.

"You don't know them like I do. I lived with them for an entire year. I had to learn things no kid should ever learn. I know they can't control or plan everything. But they control the things that matter." Dick went silent for a moment as his chest expanded with a deep breath. He stared down at the floor, hunkering closer to Damian like he could hide from what he was about to say. "Timothy Jackson Drake's parents were both murdered by The Court, at very specific times to make sure you would have the right set up to join them. You saw them because they wanted you to see them. They want you, and when The Court wants something... they get it."

Tim really wanted to argue with that. Because Tim's parents were not murdered by assassins. His mom had gotten sick, died in the hospital right around the time Tim started doing his tech stuff. His dad was killed by Captain Boomerang, and while he was an assassin Jack Drake was a collateral death. He really wasn't as tangled with the Court as everyone said he was, but he had to take into account who 'everyone' was. Slade Wilson knew Tim had seen The Court. Slade Wilson whom Tim had never encountered before (at least not physically). Slade Wilson who was now known to have direct contact with The Court.

But something cold sank into his bones.

He didn't want to say Dick was right, he didn't want to believe Dick was right. Because that meant The Court really was going after him. He was tangled with The Court of Owls and didn't even know it.

"Your mom was poisoned." Dick spoke, as if sensing Tim's doubts, "Captain Boomerang was hired just like Deathstroke was, just for a different purpose."

Above him, Damian's face twisted, "How do you know?" He asked, rightfully confused because those were pretty small details to remember from something that happened years ago.

"I learned..." Dick hesitated, "I- I'm supposed to be a Talon, one of their mindless assassins. I know because I was there when they made the decision. I was told to study the- the methods." The boy took in a shaky breath, voice small and ultimately that of a child's. "I... I'm sorry."

Tim wasn't sure how to feel, in fact, all of this was just very overwhelming. Tim's holo-glove chimed again but he ignored it.

"You know what?" He said instead, "All the more reason we should defeat The Court, it saves you, it saves other people from their parents being killed or being drafted into their assassin army. If we die trying then we die free and fighting. The Court won't get you and it won't get me. It's not going to hurt anyone anymore. We are destroying The Court Dick."

Dick sighed against Damian's chest and mumbled a barely intelligible, "Heroes are stupid." But at least he submitted to the fact he couldn't convince them not to go after The Court. That's progress, right?

"Red Robin, Nightwing, come in NOW."

Everyone in the room startled at Batman's voice coming from Tim's holo-glove. Tim lifted it up, showing Batman's scowly face on its screen.

"Did you not see the alerts." He growled in his disappointed Bat-dad way. "Ivy's gone global and wreaking havoc. We need everyone on the ground and fighting these vines now."

But Tim is confused, "If it's global its Justice Leauge against Injustice league, neither I nor Nightwing are on the Justice Leauge." Tim wasn't arguing really, just confused because even if it was Poison Ivy and Joker why would a Justice League event require him and Nightwing? Especially when Batman didn't tell them he needed them?

Oh wait. That was him they ignored earlier, wasn't it?

Sh*t.

Dick shot straight up from Damian's lap, staring at Tim in something like horror. Tim missed the movement entirely while Damian raised an eyebrow at him in question as Batman responded.

"Shes targeting all major cities and hero cities, her vines have been enhanced with Kobra venom and their pores release Joker venom." Tim's eyes widened, he was not one to underestimate an opponent but holy-. "The Justice League is spread thin, I have Captain Marvel with me here in Gotham and I need Nightwing and Red Robin with me or a lot of people are going to die."

Tim nodded but frowned, usually the tactic with Poison Ivy was to go for her instead of her plants. "We're on our way," he looked up at Damian, also finding Dick's peculiar stance. Dick was as stiff as a board and looked like he'd seen a ghost with how white his face was. But Tim didn't have time to question, just nodding at Damian who returned his mask to his face to become Nightwing again. "Then what is the plan? If the Justice Leauge is busy who is going to take down the Injustice Leauge?"

"The Team has already been despatched to go after the Injustice Leauge."

"No," Dick whispered. The desperation in his voice made Tim and Damian swivel their heads towards him. The poor kid looked sick.

Dick didn't look like he was going to explain himself though, so Tim talked. "They're ready for that? I saw Wotan and Black Atom in that lineup, it's not going to be a fair fight."

"With any luck, they won't have to face them at all." Batman agreed. "All they need to do is destroy the control hub helping Ivy spread to the cities then the Justice Leauge will be free to come in and take them down."

"Alright, well we were just finishing up with Dick here." Tim said hurriedly, "We'll be on our way back to Gotham soon." Tim didn't give Batman time to respond as he turned off his glove, sighing as he looked at Dick.

Dick just stared at him. This was almost worse than before. Almost. At least Dick was emoting this time, though it wasn't very comforting that it was terror.

"We'll be fine Dick," Tim said, trying to figure out and soothe whatever was making Dick so tense. This was a terrible way to end this conversation. The kid still thinks The Court is all-powerful and Tim just found out his parents were killed by the same group. Tim and Damian fought and Dick cried a lot. Perfect conversation. 10/10 would converse again. "We gotta go save our city now though, you sit tight here."

Then Tim pointed at the frozen acrobat, making eye contact to make sure this next line made some sort of impact. "And no going after us or escaping to go to The Court. I mean it when I said we're going to take them down. You're going to be free of them. I promise."

"I'll make sure he understands Drake." Nightwing rolled his eyes, taking a step towards the kid.

"Alright," Tim headed for the door, and then it was just Dick and Damian in the room.

The silence was awkward, Damian wasn't really sure how to address what he wanted to address. He really wanted the kid to know he cared, that he and the other heroes weren't like Deathstroke, that letting them care about him wasn't going to end in ruin. Dick said he wasn't going to make the mistake of caring a third time. That means twice before he trusted someone and that someone threw his trust away. Twice. Slade was an obvious one, but what was the other? Damian couldn't imagine Dick had trusted The Court at any point. His parents? Well with the way Dick spoke of them he was fond of them, he only had good things to say about them. That didn't mean they were good parents though. Ten-year-old Damian would only have good things to say about his mother, but now is a different story altogether.

Trust is a fickle thing, Damian didn't have a lot of it, but he was working on it. Right now he really wanted Dick's trust. He wanted to carry this heavy burden the kid was carrying that he should have no reason to carry. He wanted to help in every way possible. He also really wanted to know why Dick took offense to being called Grayson. It was the name of his parents, surely he'd prefer the connection rather than hate it?

Dick is a mystery, a sad suffering mystery, and all Damian wanted to do was unlock it and let the kid breathe in relief. He had yet to see Dick truely relax around heroes, which meant Damian had never seen Dick relax at all ever. It reminded him of his younger self, and it filled him with the desire to fix it.

"So..." He started lamely, avoiding looking at the kid as he shuffled uneasily on his feet. Where to start? How to start? Oh, a previous observation? That works sometimes. "I'm impressed... you managed to make Drake ignore a call from Father."

"They know," Dick spoke over him, whispering again with a sudden urgency. "Damian they know."

Damian's train of thought paused, hands stopping together as he looked at the kid in confusion. "Who knows what?"

Dick slid off the bed, looking anxious. "The Injustice League, they know The Team is coming."

Nightwing's gut sank and was instantly on alert. "That means The Team is heading into a trap."

Dick nodded quickly, looking towards the door like he was about to rush it.

Damian caught the movement in his eyes, narrowing his own. "How did you know?"

Dick smiled sheepishly, a small smile that wavered and fell soon after. "Deathstroke and I were invited to a few of their meetings? I played Slap Jack with Ivy and Harley a few times."

Nightwing sighed and rubbed his forehead. Somehow he forgot that Dick was ALSO a mercenary and of COURSE he would play Slap Jack with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. He stalked towards the door, giving Dick the same (parental) pointing finger Tim did. "You are not going anywhere, Richard, I'll contact Batman."

"Good idea." Dick agreed, suddenly more sure of himself as he followed Damian like he didn't just tell him not to follow him.

Nightwing stopped before the door to turn around and lay a hand on the small acrobat's shoulder. "Richard, you are to stay here."

Dick just smiled ruefully at him, reaching up with one hand to rest on top of Damian's gloved hand. "And I told you; I care too much to let any of you die because you're stupid enough to care about me."

Nightwing only had time for his eyes to widen before he was airborne, a punch to the gut made him bend over and suddenly his gut was filled with the acrobat's shoulder and his arm was being tugged. His feet lifted off the ground and before he knew it his back his the ground and all air was driven from his lungs. Disoriented and not expecting a fight, it took Damian a hot second to get his bearings.

"Sorry, but that includes you too," Dick said from somewhere above him.

Dick reached for Nightwing's belt while the hero was down, taking his grapple line before fleeing for the door. It was left unlocked, a stupid idea, not that it would have stopped Dick in this state.

He felt on fire, yet cold as ice. It creeped along his bones and deep inside he knew what was happening but elected to ignore it. He ignored how even on a good day Dick would never have been able to flip a man of Nightwing's size from a stand still. He ignored how fast the ground traveled beneath him as he ran, muscles working in tandem to be a perfect flawless machine. How familiar it felt.

He turned a corner in the hallway, a mental map of the mountain plotting his course to the Zeta tubes. But as fast as he was, Nightwing wouldn't be down for long. That's why he grabbed the hero's grapple wire.

Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, Nightwing came roaring at him from behind. Naturally light on his feet, the acrobat sidestepped the rushing vigilante, smirking when the man had to sacrifice his speed to turn towards his target.

Dick let himself be stopped, pausing before the hero. Nightwing held out his Escrima sticks, a warning that his attempts to leave would be met with a real fight. Nightwing would aim to knock out. Dick had a similar plan, but he still needed him to alert Batman the Injustice League was a trap for The Team.

If Dick could get to the team in time, he could save them. He knew the Injustice League's plan, he knew how to defeat all of them. The Court may rule him tomorrow, but Dick still ruled today, and today he was not going to let his friends die. Screw not caring, he could do that later when they took his emotions away. His friends would not die if he could help it, and he sure as h*ll can. This time.

"Richard!" Nightwing shouted, "you do not need to do this. We want the same thing."

Dick frowned and made a show of folding his arms and pouting. "I'll cut you a deal. You inform Batman the Team is in trouble and let me pass. I have no intentions of letting my friends die when I'm capable of stopping it."

Nightwing grimaced, or growled? "I can't do that Richard. You are a flight risk and currently attempting it. The Team can handle themselves until we are able to help them."

Dick sighed through his nose and gently shook his head in disappointment. "I had hoped this would be quick... as you know, lives are in danger." He let his lax stance drop into his perfected crouch, holding the hero's grappling wire in one hand like a lasso. "But I won't lie, I've been itching to fight something."

"So be it." Nightwing's head dipped and like a shotgun at a horse race the two combatants shot off towards each other.

Nightwing aimed low, a mistake because Dick jumped high over his head to land in a roll and take off running. He was not close enough to the Zeta Tubes yet, he was thinking about speed here. Every second wasted fighting Nightwing was another second closer to his friends potentially dying.

Dick heard the soft whistle of a bola being thrown, he almost laughed because Dick had a similar idea. He let the bola catch one leg, lifting the other high as he bent over into a cartwheel. He pushed off the ground with his arms, launching into a backflip that tucked his legs close. He yanked the bola off his leg in that time, landing smoothly in a roll with the bola now in his possession.

He smirked at Damian who continued to run at him. Silly hero, to make one unconscious one has to be close enough to hit or be gassed, and Dick wasn't about to let that happen.

Instead Dick went in take down mode, he needed Nightwing down but not out. First he had to take away Nightwing's more formidable weapons, his sticks and his arms. It would do no good to flip around him only to be konked on the head by a flying elbow. So when Nightwing got close and aimed high this time, Dick dove under him, catching his foot and looping some lax grapple wire around it. He popped up behind the man, staying low until he surged up to hit his shoulder blade pressure points, and when he got too high he slammed his knee into his back, sending the man toppling forward.

He didn't go down however. But that's okay.

Nightwing turned to swing at him, but Dick was ready. Arms now weakened by his nerve attack, Dick was able to kick Nightwing's Escrima out of his hands, one right after the other, both dodging the hit and taking away his weapon. That's when Nightwing went for a kick himself, only to have Dick yank hard on the wire he had around the now extended ankle and throw the bola at the same time. Damian's balance was instantly shot as he was forced into a near split. He was unprepared, his arms now flailing to compensate. Until his arms couldn't flail anymore when the bola tightened over his chest and arms, wrapping him up tight.

Nightwing growled, his leg still in the air held taut by Dick and finally twisted his other leg so he wasn't off balance. Dick caught the smallest hint of a smirk right before Damian jerked his leg back, yanking Dick along with it and sending the surprised acrobat to the ground.

Dick scrambled to his feet, rolling under another kick but throwing up extra wire. Once behind the hero he jumped and latched onto his back, pulling him backwards while he climbed on his shoulders.

"Richar—" Damian's annoyed tone was cut off when Dick 'accidentally' stepped on his face.

While Damian struggled with his feet tangled in wires and his arms trapped, Dick made a nice little perch on the man's chest. He grinned down at Nightwing, holding his shoulders for balance and the last of the wire tight in his grip. "Hey Nightwing? Guess what?" He didn't wait for the hero to try to answer, his grin growing feral as he whispered, "Timber."

He lauched backwards off Damian's chest, successfully making the man go down. He pulled the wire as well, trapping the hero's legs as well. Feeling no adrenaline but heart pumping anyway, Dick grinned atop his groaning hog-tied hero. But he didn't have time to gloat, gloating wasn't anywhere in tonight's mission. He shot off and booked it towards the Zeta Tubes.

Over his shoulder he threw out, "When you get free tell B-man I'm saving my friends!"

Whatever Damian said in response Dick missed, he nearly collided with the Zeta Tube control panel. He selected Gotham for his location and was gone in seconds. The idiots had his biometrics in the system, calling out his mercenary name as he left the hero tied up in his own base.

Blinking away the bright teleporting light, Dick burst out of the phone booth, sprinting for the open end of the alley. It only occurred to him that Gotham had been one of the Injustice League's target when he nearly got flattened by a gigantic sick-looking vine.

The ground rumbled unhappily and Dick concurred. Until he disagreed, finding abandoned vehicles all around him. The citizens had already fled, Dick was on the outskirts of the attack. Good, that meant Batman and Captain Marvel wouldn't be bothering him. After looking around and avoiding vines and humans, he hijacked the only motorcycle that was there. It wasn't the best motorcycle nor anywhere near the motorcycle Slade had just got him, but it was useable.

He tore off into Gotham, heading for Wayne Manor.

The Batcave would probably have his suit. And if it didn't, well, Bruce could handle losing a few bombs.

Yeah it's a part 1, yeah it's a YJ episode, yeah I've been alluding to it since the beginning. And yeah, Dick about to bUst some hEads.

I can't promise when exactly the next update will be but I friggin pRomise it wOnt be another hAlf yEaR.

I'm actually really really excited for this next bit, it's gonna be a blast (*wink wink* *nudge nudge*). Heehehehehehe I know it's not going to go where you think it's going to go, give my your wiLdest guess. I'm excited ehehe.

Until next time...