AN:

Trigger warning still applies, although it's more so just thoughts in this chapter.

Also, I just want to say that I really appreciate all of you guys who comment and interact with this story. It truly means the world to me to see people getting genuinely invested in the storyline, and I love you all. 

Dick jolted up, a scream echoing from his lips as he jerked at the restraints holding him to the bed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his breaths came in ragged gasps, eyes roaming the room wildly, glazed over as if he was not really seeing his surroundings but rather was still trapped within whatever nightmare had awakened him.

It took a few long moments for him to calm enough to realize that he was not in fact in Slade's special room, and a few moments more to register the fact that he was laying on his bed in Wayne Manor, straps holding his body in place.

With that realization, his senses began kicking in and Dick became aware of exactly how much his head hurt, pain radiating through his skull like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. In the same vein, his chest hurt too, each breath making his lungs ache.

And of course, that pain reminded him all too quickly of what had transpired.

He had failed.

Pathetic.

Dick took in a slow, shaky breath. Now was not the time to panic again. He needed to think about this. He needed to plan.

Planning would not save him.

Slade was going to be angry.

Shuddering, Dick shook his head, trying and failing to push back the memories of all the other times that he had messed up. He could not think of that now. There was a reason why he suppressed those memories.

He had deserved it.

He had failed.

Slade was going to be angry.

Stupid. He was so, so stupid. He could not even manage to off himself properly. He deserved whatever punishment Slade would dish out this time. Maybe it would not be so bad? No. Dick had failed. He had messed everything up.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, the noise forcing Dick out of his thoughts, eyes fixing on the doorknob as it turned, and Bruce stepped into the room. Doing his best to school his expression, Dick gave the hero what he could only hope to be a cold stare.

There was only one reason that Dick could think of as to why Bruce was there. "Here to torture information out of me?" After all, Slade had told him that was what would happen if Batman or the League ever captured him.

Better Batman than Slade.

No.

Dick deserved Slade's punishment.

He had failed.

Bruce looked taken aback by his words, face drawing down into a frown as he pulled a chair up to the bedside table. "I... no. I'm not going to torture you. I would never torture you."

"Suuuuure you won't. I tried to kill you. It'd only be fair for you to return the favor at least..." Dick glanced pointedly down at the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. "Or at least give me another knife and let me finish the job."

"You are not going to kill yourself."

"Easy for you to say... I'll find some way to end it. I'm not about to let you hold me prisoner."

"We need to talk about that. We need to talk about a lot of things, actually. But for starters, how are you feeling? Do you need any pain medication? Water? Food?"

Dick sneered at Bruce's words, nose scrunching up in distaste. "If you think I'm willingly going to eat something that you give me now, you're seriously mistaken. I am not an idiot. You'd probably just drug it."

"I already told you that I mean you no harm. In fact, I don't think I've done a single thing to harm you since we met. If anything, I've protected you from harm. I really do not understand where all of this is coming from." Bruce sighed, honestly looking a bit defeated.

Nope. He was not going to fall for the clueless innocent trap. No way.

Dick was smarter than that.

But he failed anyway.

He was pathetic.

"Seriously? You don't understand where this is coming from? Did you seriously think that I didn't know what you've done? That I would willingly live with a monster like you?" Dick let out a derisive snort, glaring at the man in front of him. "You murdered my parents and yet you're just going to sit there and pretend that this is out of nowhere? Wow, you're even more of a psychopath than I originally thought."

Bruce frowned, eyes narrowing as he met Dick's gaze, stare unwavering. "Murdered your parents? That's what this is about? Richard, you said that your parents were killed by gang members. And even if they weren't, how does that link meto their deaths?"

"Yeah, well, I lied about that. I lied about a lot of things. Had to get in with you somehow, after all. And you fell for it, didn't you? Did it make you feel good, thinking that you had me fooled?"

"Richard, I did not kill your parents. I don't know who told you that or where you got that idea from, but I had never even heard of you or your parents before I found you in Joker's hideout."

Dick huffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, yeah. Suuure. You can't lie to me about this, Batman. I saw you the night it happened. I know it was you."

"You... you saw me? Richard, I can assure you with all certainty that whoever you saw was not me. If you want proof, I can find you some. There are news articles and pictures of me in Central City that night, as Bruce Wayne. There was no way Batman was at the circus." Bruce sounded more than a little bit frustrated, although he was keeping his tone civil at the very least, which was more than Dick could attest to.

It felt surprisingly good to be able to let out the secrets, to be able to reveal himself and not hide behind the pretense of being simply a sweet child caught in unfortunate circumstances.

However, that relief was shallow in comparison to the overbearing waves of confusion in his mind. Proof? If Bruce really did have proof that he was somewhere else the night of his parents' deaths, then who had done it? Who had pretended to be Batman?

Something was not adding up, and the more Dick focused on things seeming out of place, the more his head began to hurt.

"Show me the proof, and then we can discuss this more." It was probably all an elaborate trick. There would be no proof. Or it would be photoshopped and fake. It was impossible. Dick had seen Batman there that night. Slade had told him that the killer was Batman.

Slade was never wrong.

Dick watched, mind whirling, as Bruce stood and left the room to go find his 'proof'. There was no way it was real. It could not be real. It just was not possible... right?

If Slade ever found out that Dick was actually listening to Batman, listening to the enemy, Dick would suffer for it.

Slade would be angry.

And with that thought, Dick was swarmed by fear once more. He could not ignore the fact that he had so clearly failed, that he had messed up a plan that his master had spent so long working on, so long training him for.

Slade had done nothing but help Dick, asking for little in return, and Dick had turned around and failed him.

He had no right to be scared. Fear was pointless when he knew all too when that whatever punishment Slade dished out, he well and truly deserved. Because he had failed. Dick had let himself get caught, had let down the only person who had ever believed in him. And still, even though he knew he deserved whatever punishment was to come, Dick was honestly terrified. He feared the man who had saved him, and in turn, he hated himself for having that fear.

Pathetic.

He could not even kill himself properly.

Dick was so lost in his thoughts that he barely registered Bruce re-entering the room, only looking at him once he had returned to the seat next to his bedside. In his hand was a stack of pictures, along with a tablet.

"I gathered everything that I could find about that night. There's a lot, actually, considering the fact that I was attending one of the largest tech company conferences in the world." Bruce told him calmly, watching Dick for a few long moments. "If I untie one of your hands, will you promise not to hurt yourself?"

Unable to hide a flinch at the question, Dick looked away. Of course he would try to hurt himself. He had failed his mission, and thus he needed to die.

Bruce sighed. "Alright then... I'll just show them to you."

As he began flicking through the stack of photos, showing Dick picture after picture of Bruce Wayne shaking hands with other men in suits and speaking in front of a large crowned, Dick could feel his suspicions growing.

"You do know that these are all just random photos, right? They don't show the date. If you're trying to trick me, this is a pretty pathetic way of going about it."

Wordlessly, Bruce typed in the tablet's passcode and held it so that Dick could see, scrolling through news article after news article, all showing the exact same date; the date of Dick's parents' murder.

After about the tenth article, Dick's body slumped, and he looked away. "Fine. Okay? I believe you... you didn't do it. But if you didn't do it, then who was it? They were wearing your Batman suit. I saw them."

"I do not know. That's something that we'll have to figure out. But tell me, Dick... who helped you with setting this all up? I know you can't have planned all this on your own. I mean... no offense or anything, but you're just a kid. There's no way an infiltration of this level was planned solely by you." Bruce still sounded calm, too calm for Dick's liking.

Or maybe it was the clear concern in his voice that was throwing Dick off. He had tried to murder the man, for crying out loud. Bruce should be angry. He should be furious. But he was nothing but calm and caring, and for the first time in a long time, Dick felt tears prickling up behind his eyes.

Slade was never this caring.

Slade.

A chill ran through Dick's body as his eyes widened. There was no way.

It was not possible.

Slade had saved him.

Slade had trained him.

Slade was like a father to him.

So... there was no possible way that Slade could have been behind his parents' murder all along... right?

"No... it can't be. He wouldn't... he wouldn't do that." Dick whispered, shaking his head, denial clearly written across his face.

Slade would be furious with Dick for doubting him.

"Who wouldn't?"

Against his better judgment, Dick whispered the name of the only person who he had thought truly cared. 

"S-Slade..."