To say that he was worried would be a serious understatement. In fact, probably the last time Bruce had been this worried was... no. He could not think about that. Not now, at least. Not when Dick so clearly needed him.

Bruce reached out a hand, trying to comfort his clearly distraught son, only to withdraw it hurriedly as Dick flinched away, a soft whimper of fear slipping past the boy's lips.

He had let Dick go from his restraints, once he had done a thorough search of his bedroom and bathroom and removed all possibly dangerous items, and had told him that for now, at least, he would be confined to his room.

The door was locked, as were the windows, although Bruce did hope that Dick was not suicidal enough to attempt breaking through them. The three-story fall had to be some kind of deterrent, right?

Bruce snorted to himself.

Yeah, right.

Of course, it would not be deterrent. Dick had stabbed himself in the chest already.

Dick's body was trembling, eyes swirling with too many emotions for Bruce to read. The trembling increased every time Bruce moved closer.

It was fairly plain to see that the boy was not in a very emotionally stable place, something that only made Bruce more and more angry. And, thanks to Dick's confession as to who was behind his actions, Bruce knew exactly where to direct hat anger.

Slade Wilson.

Better known in the hero circles as Deathstroke the Terminator.

If looks could kill, Deathstroke would have been tortured, burned at the stake, and then drop kicked into hell hours ago with how hard Bruce was currently glaring at his photo on his computer screen.

To make matters worse, the security cameras that he had placed in Dick's room were showing a constant feed of the boy curled up in a fetal position in a corner, rocking back and forth ever so often. He had not moved from that position for hours.

Not even when Alfred had brought him food, the tray sitting untouched on his bedside table.

As Bruce glanced at the corner of his screen where the feed was playing, he could practically feel the rage overtaking him.

Dick did not deserve this.

Bruce reached for him again, doing his best to keep his touch gentle as he released Dick from the straps. Dick scrambled away from him as soon as he was free, shrinking in on himself.

He was a child, and that monster had used and manipulated him, and made him believe in a flawed reality that left him completely unstable now that the veil had been torn down and the truth revealed.

And Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to help Dick, to show him that things could be okay, he did not know how to. He had never been good with emotions, had ever been able to express what he himself was feeling well, much less help a clearly traumatized and suffering child.

But at the same time, he knew that he could not just leave Dick in his room. The boy was clearly not in a good headspace.

He had tried to commit suicide.

Bruce wanted to help.

No, he needed to help. Even if that meant letting someone else be the one to aid Dick now. And so, Bruce did the only thing that he could think of.

He called the Flash.

~•~

Dick shuddered, pressing back into his corner even more, arms tightening around his legs.

It was not safe.

His eyes burned from keeping them open for so long, his body aching from holding the same position for hours on end. But he could not move away.

Not safe.

As soon as Bruce had untied him and left, Dick had moved into the corner. It was the safest place to be, after all. He could watch both the window and the door at the same time, the wall at his back providing protection from being snuck up on.

It would not take long for Slade to realize that he had failed. They had been meeting up fairly regularly, after all, and Dick knew that his master had the manor and zeta tube entrance under surveillance.

Slade was going to be angry.

He shuddered again, teeth sinking into his lower lip to bite back a distressed whimper. Slade would come for him. Slade would hurt him.

But... but he deserved it. He should not be hiding. He should be trying to find a way to get to his master.

Staying away would just make Slade even more angry.

No... that was not right.

Slade had lied to him. Slade had told him that Batman killed his parents, but there was proof that Bruce had been somewhere else that night.

Slade might have killed his parents.

Slade was going to kill him for having doubts.

Dick's fingers made their way into his hair, tugging at the strands. He knew that he probably looked a mess, knew that Bruce was undoubtedly watching his breakdown. But Dick could not find it himself to care.

Everything was a lie.

It felt like his entire reality was fragmenting, shards piercing his skull and leaving him reeling in shock. Because, if Slade had truly lied about Batman, then that would have to mean that Slade knew what had happened on the night of his parents' deaths. And if Slade had somehow had something to do with them dying, then exactly how much of what occurred afterward had been planned?

Had he been molded into a puppet from the very beginning?

Dick did not feel like it was possible for the plan to be that complex. And yet... the plan. Was his part of the plan just a mere segment in a much larger scheme? It would have to be... right?

His fingers yanked at his hair harder, the pain radiating through his skull as he struggled to maintain a normal breathing pattern.

In...

Out.

In...

Out.

A frustrated cry left his lips as he threw his head back, skull colliding with the wall with a hollow thump. It was not working. He could not calm down. There were too many thoughts, too many questions.

He had failed.

The plan had failed.

This was not part of the plan.

Slade was going to be angry.

Fear welled up in his chest, silencing the thoughts with pure unadulterated panic. He could not handle Slade being angry... the last time... he had barely survived the last time.

Dick slammed his head back again, the reaction more instinct than anything at this point.

Needed to calm down.

Could not calm down.

And then, a sound sliced through his panic, leaving him momentarily confused.

What was that?

It came again, and Dick could not help but flinch. Someone was knocking on the door.

"Dick? I brought someone to see you." Bruce's voice filtered through his mind, muffled by the door, but distinct nonetheless.

He wanted to protest, wanted to say that he did not want visitors, but the door was already pushing open and, before he could form the words, it was already closing again, leaving him and the other boy all alone.

Dick was honestly unsure what to say. How was he even supposed to approach this situation? Anxiety started to fill the void that the fear had left, and he shifted uncomfortably on the floor, somehow managing to curl in on himself even tighter.

Really, Dick should not have been so worried. After all, the other boy had been his first real friend since Tommy, and even if that friendship was based off a lie, they had truly bonded.

"Wow. You look like crap." Wally commented, raising one eyebrow at Dick before he turned his attention onto the bedside table and the untouched plate of food. "Can I eat that?"

It was faint, but Dick's lips twitched upward ever so slightly.

"Sure," he mumbled, "you can eat it."

They both fell silent again as Wally chowed down on the food, finishing everything in record speed before grabbing a blanket off the bed and flopping down next to Dick, completely disregarding how the younger boy flinched away at the action.

"So, Bruce said you stabbed yourself. That doesn't sound like fun." Wally tilted his head to the side, contemplating Dick for a long moment before spreading out the blanket and draping it over both of them. "Wanna watch cute cat videos? I brought my laptop?"

Dick blinked, brows furrowing in confusion. "You don't... you don't want to talk about it? I know he probably just sent you in here because I wasn't going to talk to him."

"I'm here because I'm your friend, Dick. I don't know what's going on with you, but I don't need to know unless you want to tell me. Sure, Bruce told the Flash about you going all crazy and attack ninja on him, but from the sounds of it, it wasn't your fault. And even if it was your fault, you're still my friend. I'm here to support you." As he spoke, Wally unslung his backpack from his shoulder, pulling out a beaten-up laptop and a bag of chocolate. He passed the bag to Dick and turned on his computer. "So... cute cats?"

Slowly, Dick let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving his body as he huddled up under the blanket. "Sure... cute cats sound good."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, eyes fixed on the screen, watching kittens rolling around with eachother. Around half an hour into the video watching, Dick began to talk, voice soft and slightly raspy.

"Not sure if Bruce has told you, but... I grew up in the circus. Or at least, I was with them until I was eight. We traveled around a lot, but it was the first time we had come to America since I was too little to perform, so I was excited. Gotham City was the third stop on our trip, and we were only supposed to be here for a week. It was our last night's performance, but I landed funny in practice and sprained my wrist so my parents decided that I shouldn't go on with them. I... I checked the lines before they went on. Everything looked fine, but... but it wasn't fine. We performed without a net, and... well... the trapeze is very high up." His voice broke as he hunched up a bit more under the blanket.

Wally reached over, handing him a piece of chocolate. "Hey, you don't need to talk about it if it's too painful. You don't need to talk about it, period. It's okay."

Dick simply sighed, shaking his head. "I need to... to talk about it. Besides, it's better with you here... that way I don't have to repeat it." He glanced pointedly down at the recording device which was poorly hidden inside Wally's backpack.

"Sorry... he wouldn't let me come in without it." At least Wally had enough tact to sound remorseful about it.

"No... it's okay. It... things are better this way." Dick sighed, reaching for the device and setting it down in front of them both so his words would be picked up more clearly. He did not think he could tell everything to Bruce face to face. This was better. At least he did not have to worry about fending off an attack from Wally. The speedster was too nice to be plotting things.

"So... anyway... I watched them fall. And... and that wasn't even the worst part. Earlier in the night... I saw... well, I saw Batman. I didn't know it was him, even though I know now that it wasn't actually him, I was still not great at English, and we didn't have any tv connections to be able to watch the news or stuff like that, but it was a man dressed in black with a bat mask and a cape. I told my parents. I... I said it looked suspicious, but... but I should have pushed harder. We were members of a circus, after all. Strange people came around all the time. I... it's my fault they fell. If I had done a better job at checking everything, if I had made a bigger deal about the man dressed like a bat, if..." He shook his head, sighing softly. "Nothing I can do about it now anyway. They took me to a boy's home that night. It wasn't the best, but it could have been worse. I made a friend, my first real friend. He was older and kept the meaner kids away... but then he ran off with his twin sister and I never saw him again."

Wally frowned, placing a gentle hand on Dick's shoulder. "That's awful, Dick. I... If I'm being honest, I can't really relate to what you've been through, but... that sucks."

Dick gave him a wobbly smile before continuing on. "Anyway... after he left the kids got meaner. Not that I can really blame them though. I was the weird little gypsy kid who had a weird accent and had been friends with the main person keeping everyone in line. So, I learned to adapt. I couldn't fight back with punches, so I started pranking everyone. Didn't take too long before they learned to leave me alone. Things had started to get better, and then... and then Slade came along. He told me Batman had killed my parents and he could help bring him to justice, and... well... I was a kid. It made sense at the time, considering the man dressed like a bat that I saw the night it happened. That and most of the kids had Batman horror stories, considering the fact that their parents were criminals. To them, he was a monster, so he became a monster for me too."

He sighed, eyes still focused on the computer screen, watching as two kittens tumbled over eachother in a play fight. "Slade was... is... like a father to me. He took me in, taught me how to protect myself, taught me how to fight. I... I would be nothing if not for him. I am nothing if not for him."

"Di–"

Dick lifted a hand, stopping Wally's protest. "You can say that it's not true, but... but it is. At least somewhat. I mean... he was never the most affectionate, but... but he was better than nothing." His eyes flicked to the window, watching it warily as he spoke his next words. "He would get violent when I messed stuff up... I... I deserved it. Of course I did. I was a dumb kid doing dumb things, but I learned pretty quickly on that Slade does not accept failure. And I failed here. This... me being here... it was all part of a plan. And, well... considering the fact that there's a high chance Slade killed my parents instead of Bruce, my part is probably just a minor step in a much larger scheme. The whole thing was a set up from the start."

Wally frowned, confusion fliting over his features. "But Bruce said that you were found almost dead in Joker's hideout. That can't have been part of your plan, right?"

"Believe it or not, I actually let him do that... we prepared for weeks... I starved myself, he beat me up over and over again so I would have older injuries to fit in with the narrative of being tortured. I let myself be injected with all kinds of drugs too... and then... when it actually happened, Slade quite literally beat me with a baseball bat. And... and I wanted it all to happen, because then I would be able to finally get my revenge." Dick smiled softly, letting out a soft, miserable, laugh. "It was the perfect plan. Slade really is a genius, you know... if I hadn't messed up and gotten caught, well... I would have been able to kill Bruce and get all of the information Slade needed. Everything was planned down to even having multiple scenarios thought through. And then I... I failed."

Pathetic.

He was pathetic.

Slade was going to be so angry.

"Hey... Dick... you failing is a good thing, right? I mean... you've realized that he was just messing with your mind the whole time before things could get really bad."

"Not really... he already has access to all the League databases. I hacked the computer during the Red raid. That was Slade too, actually. He... he's so smart. Even... even when I told him that I couldn't access the Batcave data, he thought of a way to get me in. All the adults going missing... he was behind that. There's a whole organization of super villains out there. That's what all of the intel gathering was for."

Wally was looking increasingly panicked by the second, but Dick could not bring himself to really care. He just felt numb. Numb and cold. After all, he had failed Slade, he had failed Batman, and he had failed his friendship with Wally.

No one would want him anymore.

Worthless.

Would be better to have died.

"Dick, does Batman know about this?"

"He does now."

"This is bad, Dick. Really, really bad. You know that, right? I mean... the League stuff isn't the end of the world, I guess. Most of the things in that database are just old mission files. But Bruce stockpiles everything."

Dick laughed again, the sound somehow even more sad and broken. "Yeah, I know... probably why they framed Batman from the beginning. They chose the perfect person too... probably knew that he would take pity on a clearly abused and beaten child, and after setting up everything to look like the system had failed me, and what with me not having any relatives remaining, there weren't many options for a hero to take besides finding some way to take care of me themselves."

Wally's frown deepened at those words, looking more and more horrified by the second. "Dick... none of this is your fault, okay? Slade clearly manipulated you. You were a kid when he got a hold of you. There was nothing that you could have done."

"I was stupid. Could have been smarter. But hey... at least Bruce caught me before I got a chance to give Slade the info from the Batcave. Really would not have been good for them to get a hold of every hero's secret identity. The flash drive is inside the sole of one of my shoes."

"I... you... I'm not sure if I should be impressed that you actually managed to hack into the Batcave security, or horrified that Slade nearly got hold of everyone's identities. That could have been a disaster."

Dick hummed softly. "Yeah... heavy on the dis."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

It felt good, to have shared what was really going on with someone... well... everyone, technically, because there was no possible way that Bruce was not listening in on the recording device. The heroes could rest assured that their identities would remain a secret.

Bruce could destroy the flash drive and be done with it all, and Dick... well... it could not be that hard to forget all of the names and faces that he had memorized, right?

And even if he never forgot, he could at least rest assured that no one would ever take those memories from him. 

Slade had trained him to withstand torture.

~•~

Bruce frowned as the conversation between the two boys came to an end, brows creasing together as he felt worry wash over him.

Sure, what Dick had just admitted to doing was horrible, but it had just made the boy's unstable emotional state all that more clear to him.

Dick was blaming himself for what was happening, and it was still abundantly clear that his attachment to Slade was still there.

Once again, Bruce did not know what to do.

He was failing as a parent.

He could not fail again.

He refused to lose this boy like he had the last.

That thought made him freeze for a moment, his eyes widening.

Maybe.

It would be a gamble, but he knew more of what it was like to be tortured and manipulated. If he was willing to help, Bruce knew that he could make a serious difference.

And so, Bruce pulled out his phone, punching in the numbers that he had memorized years ago.

For Dick.

He would do this for Dick, his son.

"Hey Jason. It's Bruce. I... I need your help."