AN: 

Things get kinda dark at the end of this chapter. If self-harm is a trigger for you, you have been warned. It doesn't get too serious, and is kind of an important part, but I just figured I'd warn any more sensitive readers. So... if it's an issue for you, stop reading at "If he could not win, there was only one other option."

This was not how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to have time to plan everything out, was supposed to be able to prepare.

Slade had made the plan, and Dick had trusted it wholeheartedly. This was not Slade's fault. No, this was Dick's, and he could already imagine the world of pain that he would be in when Slade found out about his failure.

But maybe... maybe Slade did not need to know. He just had to take out Batman now... yes. That could work. At least, it could work if Batman stopped dodging away from his hits.

"Stay still, damn it!" Dick hissed, heart rate still rising as he fought down the oncoming panic. He could do this. 

Anything to keep Slade from getting upset.

"Dick, I need you to calm down, okay? You can tell me what's going on. I'm here to help you." Batman's tone was too calm. Too patronizing.

Dick could not stand it.

"Shut up! I don't need your help! I don't need anything from you." He gritted his teeth together, launching a roundhouse kick at Batman's head, only to be thrown off balance as the other male sidestepped out of the way.

Damn it.

He could not focus, could not seem to be able to breathe normally.

The plan.

This was not part of the plan.

Slade would be angry.

"Fight me already!"

"I am not going to fight you, Dick. Come on, we can talk about this. I don't want to hurt you."

So that was it, huh? The almighty Batman was scared of hurting a child? He was holding back, and Dick would not, could not, accept that.

Taking in a shaky breath, Dick shifted his fighting stance, eyes narrowing at his target, pure hatred radiating from him in waves, the tension almost suffocating. A bitter laugh fell from his lips, the sound cold enough to make Batman pause his movements.

"You don't want to hurt me? That's funny, coming from you. Did you really think that I had forgotten? Did you really think that I fell for this nice act that you're pulling? You're even more of an idiot than I thought you were."

"Richard, stop this. Clearly there has been some kind of misunderstanding. You're going to hurt yourself if you continue behaving in this manner." Bruce had the nerve to sound concerned. As if Dick would fall for his nice act again.

Stupid.

Dick knew better than to fall for niceties. They were all lies. No one was ever truly nice. Slade had taught him that long ago. Friendship was a lie. Kindness was a lie. All that mattered was family, and, thanks to Batman, Dick's family was gone.

"Like you'd care if I hurt myself, you bastard. Now shut up and let me kill you." His hand moved into the pocket of his pants, withdrawing a switchblade knife. This fight would have been better with actual weapons, but Dick would do the best that he could with what he had.

He had to win.

Slade would be angry if he lost.

With that thought in mind, Dick lunged forward again, concentrating on switching his fighting style to how it was before he trained with Batman. He had the advantage here. He knew Batman's fighting style, had analyzed it carefully for years with Slade even before Batman had trained him, but Batman? Batman had no way of knowing all that Dick could do.

Finally, Dick no longer had to hold back.

He sliced with his knife, the blade cutting across Batman's cheek before the older male could dodge again, and Dick grinned, pleased to have gotten the first blood. But it was not good enough.

Batman was still holding back.

"Come on. Fight me!" Dick snarled, anger pulsing through his body, melding with the panic and making his thoughts muddied. He knew that he needed to clear his mind, knew that he needed to focus.

But... the plan had failed.

He had failed.

Slade would be angry.

Fear. Was that what this feeling was? No... worse than just simple fear. Dick was terrified of failing his master, terrified of what would happen if he failed to succeed.

He could remember all too well what happened when he failed to complete missions. But Slade was justified in hurting him. After all, his master wanted to make him better, wanted to help him achieve his goals. Not like Batman.

No.

The hero had killed Dick's parents without provocation. The hero had ruined his life, and Dick would make him pay. He could not fail.

Slade would be angry if he failed.

"Richard, put the knife down." Batman chided, still sounding incredibly patronizing. His tone alone was enough to kick Dick into a higher gear, his attacks gaining speed and momentum, spurred on by the rising hatred and frustration.

Dick grabbed a vase off one of the main side tables that adorned the walls of Wayne Manor, tossing it at Batman. "Shut up. Just... just shut up and fight back! I can't... I can't kill you if you don't fight back!"

"You aren't going to kill me, Dick. You need to calm down." Batman dodged the vase, only to be met with a knife in his face. He grabbed Dick's arm, twisting his hand until he was forced to drop the knife. Dick let the knife fall, using the other male's grip to leverage himself up, legs locking around Batman's neck as he threw his body momentum forward, bringing them both to the ground. It was a move that he had perfected while training with Slade.

Could not let Slade down.

Flipping away, Dick grabbed the next nearest object; a decorative sword. He grinned. Learning how to wield a sword was one of the first things that Slade had taught him.

"You so sure about that, Bats? Because I think I have the upper hand here." Dick swung the weapon once experimentally before once again launching himself at Batman.

This time however, things were different.

Batman was fighting back.

Even without a weapon, Batman was a formidable opponent, dodging Dick's sword attacks with uncanny speed.

"I really don't want to hurt you, Dick..."

The words only made Dick scowl, slicing down with his blade. Batman lifted his hand, catching the blade in his hand. Of course the stupid thing was not sharp enough to do actual damage.

Stupid.

He was so stupid.

He had failed.

Slade would be angry.

Dick released the blade, ducking under Batman's arm and aiming a punch at the hero's chest. It should have landed, but Batman had fast reflexes and reaction timing, the sword landing with a clatter on the ground as he grabbed Dick's arm, twisting it behind the boy's back to restrain him.

"Dick, take a deep breath, okay? You're starting to hyperventilate."

"L-Let go of me!" He snapped back, breathing growing even more unsteady as he struggled in Batman's grasp, twisting against his hold and successfully managing to dislocate his shoulder. Jerking himself away, Dick snatched up the knife from where it had fallen on the floor.

Not good.

He was out of practice, his body still weakened from the injuries that had first brought him to Batman's attention. The years of training with Slade could only do so much for him in a fight if he was not at full strength.

The plan was to wait longer.

Dick could feel the panic rising up his throat as he stumbled back, unable to steady his breathing, his dislocated shoulder leaving his right arm hanging limply by his side. He was not strong enough.

There was no way to win.

Slade would be so, so, so angry.

He had failed.

Batman had not even come at him with his full strength, and still, Dick had failed.

Pathetic.

As if of its own accord, his good arm started to rise, the knife clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles had turned white.

If he could not win, there was only one other option. Dick could not allow himself to be taken alive. Slade had drilled that into his head from the very beginning. It was simple, really. So simple in fact, that Dick could not help but laugh at the shocked and horrified expression taking over Batman's face as he positioned the knife right above his heart.

Slade had showed him how to end it quickly.

"Dick, don't. We can talk about this. Just put the knife down, okay? We can work this out. I promise I'm not angry, I just want to know what's going on." Batman took a step forward, hands outstretched in a clearly placating manner.

Dick scoffed. "Yeah, right. So you can kill me later and have the joy of finishing off my entire family? Not likely." He could feel his chest heaving, black spots clouding his vision even as he pressed the knife down, through his shirt and against his skin, feeling the sting as it drew blood.

What a horrible time to have a panic attack.

"What are you talking about? I never even met your family." Batman protested, confusion so seemingly genuine that Dick might have bought it if he did not know better.

Yeah... no.

Dick was not about to fall for any of that hero idiocy. He knew better.

Slade had taught him better.

Hands shaking, Dick plunged the knife into his chest.

No!

His hands were shaking too much. The knife slipped down as he pressed it into his own skin. He had missed.

Pathetic.

Yanking the knife out, Dick prepared to stab himself again. He needed to end it. He had to end it, and he would have done it too, had something hard not hit the back of his head with a surprising amount of force, the blade dropping from his hand as his body slumped forward.

For a brief moment, confusion overtook the panic as he saw Alfred standing above him, a heavy looking rolling pin held in his hand. The moment was gone all too quickly, however, and, as darkness spread across his vision, so too did fear once again fill his mind.

As he slipped under, Dick had only one final, terrifying, thought.

Slade was going to be furious.

It would be better to have died.