Stepping into the house felt surreal. So much had changed since he was last there, and yet inside the house nothing seemed to have changed at all.

Pictures of Slade and Dick adorned the walls, his younger self's smiling face sending chills down his spine. It was all the same, and Dick hated it. He hated that he still felt at home; hated that he now knew that it was all a lie.

"Wow. This is like an actual family home. What the fuck." Jason commented, taking one of the photos off the wall, staring down at the image of a younger and clearly happier Dick, standing next to Slade, the older male looking almost unrecognizable with his civilian clothes and found smile.

Dick glanced over at the photo, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

"That was my twelfth birthday... my first one with Slade, actually. He took me to an amusement park. I'd never been to one before," he whispered, taking the photo from Jason and carefully placing it back upon the wall, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. "I couldn't win a shooting game and got really sad, so he played and won me a teddy bear. He really went all out to gain my trust. Kinda funny, actually."

Jason frowned, reaching over to ruffle Dick's hair. "Hey now... if it's any consolation, it does look like he actually cared in that photo. Sure, everything was a lie, but I'm sure he cared about you in his own way."

"I know Slade... he didn't care about me. He cared the plan. And I was just a pawn in that plan." Dick sighed, shaking his head and continuing down the entryway hall. "He's not here... but he'll be here soon. The house has motion sensors and cameras. We need to prepare for a fight."

"Right. Okay. You know this house, where should we go? Are there other entrances?"

"Yup. Garage, back door, side door, front door. We should go to the training room. I... it's close to the side door, so an easy escape. Also only has two entrances, so it'll be easier to defend if it comes to that... hopefully, he'll let us just talk. But I know Slade, and... well... Slade does not like failures." Dick took in a slow breath, eyes narrowing as he glanced up at the corner of the room, noting the tiny camera that was pointed directly at them, red light blinking faintly.

Jason was beginning to think that maybe this was not such a great idea. Dick seemed too unfocused, too affected by the house to be fully present in what they were trying to do. If things went south, Jason was unsure how Dick would react.

But it was too late to stop the plan now. They had already broken into the house and tripped the alarms. Slade would know that Dick had turned against him, meaning that there would be no fleeing; it was time to act.

Leading them through the house, Dick brought Jason to the room where he had spent hours upon hours training to be a good fighter; where Slade had molded him into the perfect assassin. The room appeared fairly nondescript at first glance, wide and open with a wood floor and minimal furnishings. A few swords hung on the walls, but other than that, the room was completely barren.

Dick stepped up to the back wall, gripping the handle of one of the swords and twisting it sideways. Parts of the wall opened up, revealing more weapons of various nature along with several screens, the largest playing footage from cameras around the house.

"Impressive."

"Yeah, well... unless Slade puts it on a loop before arriving, we'll be able to see his entrance through these. I mean... unless there's a secret entrance that he never told me about, which wouldn't be surprising at this point."

Jason snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes and leaning against the wall. "Right, okay. No point worrying about that... he'll come to us either way. We can just chill out for now."

"Sure... I guess so." Dick nodded, taking in a deep breath.

This was really happening.

Unable to relax like Jason, Dick focused his gaze on the computers, ears straining to pick up any possible sounds. It was nerve-racking; having to wait like this. The silence was practically deafening, and yet Dick could not bring himself to make small talk, his mind whirling with the possibilities of the oncoming encounter.

Fortunately, Jason did not seem to have the same issues with talking.

"So, has Alfred made you waffles yet? They're about the only thing he can't make well. Seriously, they're fucking gross."

Dick blinked, glancing away from the screen briefly to give the older male a judgmental look. "Waffles?"

Jason nodded vigorously. "He clearly has not made them for you yet. You'd know if you ate them, they taste like paste. Literal crap. Packet mix waffles would taste better. Hell, packet mix waffles do taste better. But you can't tell Alfred that they taste like crap, otherwise he'll beat you with a fucking spoon. The old dude whacked me with a spoon so many times. I wasn't even that bad."

"He hasn't hit me with a spoon."

"Of course he hasn't."

The pout in Jason's voice was enough to make Dick glance away from the screen again, and when he looked back, he could have sworn he saw a flash of orange in one corner.

"Jason..."

"Just never tell him that they taste bad when he does inevitably make them. He's always so proud of them. Like, sure, they might look pretty or whatever, but they taste like shit which really just ruins everything, ya know?"

Dick saw another flash of orange and black in one of the cameras, and he turned away, eyes narrowing at the doors. "Jason... he's here."

"I'm pretty sure those waffles scarred me for life. Can't even think about eating a waffle without feeling sick." Jason continued on, frowning after a moment as he registered Dick's words. "Oh. Really? Well that fucking sucks. You ready, Rob?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, Red."

"Well, well, isn't this charming? Richard, may I ask why you felt the need to bring a friend home?"

Dick flinched, eyes roaming around the room. The door had not opened. He had been watching it. So... where?

Part of the wall opposite him and Jason lowered, and Slade stepped into the room, decked out in his full Deathstroke attire.

"Slade." What was meant to be an accusatory tone slipped into nothing more than a whisper.

Slade chuckled, lifting one grey eyebrow. "Yes, boy? Speak up."

"Did you do it?"

"Do what?"

His old mentor sounded so calm, so collected. That alone was enough to rekindle the flames of rage inside him. "You know what. My parents, Slade. I know Batman didn't kill them."

Slade smirked. Smirked.

Dick bit back a growl. He would not let Slade toy with his emotions. Not anymore. Not now that he knew he had been lied to. "Tell me. You owe me that much, at least."

"Owe you? I owe you nothing, apprentice. But yes. Of course I killed them. What, did you think it was just a coincidence?" Slade was too calm, making no move to attack, watching with thinly veiled amusement as Dick stumbled back as if he had just been struck.

Dick had known that this was the answer he would receive. He had known. So why did it hurt so much? Why did this confirmation feel like a burning knife driven into his heart? Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

He gritted his teeth together, finding comfort in Jason, the older male stepping up behind him, offering silent support.

It hurt.

But that was okay.

Slade had trained him to handle pain.

"How much of it was fake? How much of... how much of all this was a lie?" He asked, gesturing around at the room, eyes burning with the odd need to cry.

Slade had been like a father too him.

Slade had killed his real father.

Slade simply shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest, the amusement growing all the more evident in his eyes. "Do you really want to know that, Dick? Do you really think you can handle that information? You are weak, boy. You are foolish and naïve. You have no one but yourself to blame for this."

"Shut up! You manipulated me! You... you made me think you a-actually cared."

"You thought that on your own. You are just a needy little boy trying to latch onto whoever will give you affection. It's hardly my fault that you are so emotionally driven. In fact, I tried to break you of that habit. Clearly, I did not do a good enough job if you're letting heroes tell you what to do. Pathetic."

Dick could not help flinching back. It felt like he was shrinking, weighed down by Slade's words, smothered and unable to breathe.

It hurt.

"Oh, fuck off. You murdered his fucking parents in front of him, dipshit. Of course he's going to be an emotional wreck. God, no wonder the kid is messed up. You're a fucking horrible parental replacement. Even fucking Batman is better at parenting than you are, and he's an emotionally constipated asshole." Jason's hand clamped down firmly on Dick's shoulder as he stepped forward, putting himself ever so slightly in front of the younger boy. "So, what do you say, Robin? You wanna kick some mercenary ass or what? Because I really wanna kick some mercenary ass."

The statement was a bit rough around the edges, sure, but Dick could not help the faint smile spreading across his lips. He had always been on his own when dealing with Slade's harsh words. It was comforting, having someone willing to stick up for him; willing to put themselves between him and a clearly deadly foe.

He did not have to do this alone.

"I'm ready."

Even the sound of Slade's sword sliding out of its sheath did not faze him.

He was not alone.

"You are going to regret turning against me, apprentice. And you, Red Hood... you will regret getting involved in this." Slade informed him coldly, striding closer, his stance having clearly shifted into one that Dick knew all too well. He was like a predator stalking its prey, and Dick, well, Dick knew that he was that prey.

Still, his smile remained, his eyes narrowing, the brilliant blue burning with fiery passion. "I disagree. You do not control me anymore, master. You killed my parents. You lied to me about everything. You will pay."

"Well, you heard the kid. He's in charge for this fight."

Jason fired the first shots, the bullets burying into the wall as Slade dodged with deadly speed, lunging into action.

Dick followed suit, attacking with all the ferocity that he could muster, his pent-up anger burning like fire through his body, numbing pain and adding a steely edge to his resolve. He would not lose. He could not lose.

He was not alone.

However, as the fight progressed, it became more and more clear to Dick that he should have come alone.

Slade was targeting Jason, and Jason, while a very competent fighter, was no match for the mercenary. Every attempt by Dick to get Slade away or to distract the fight onto himself was only met with parries and no returned attack. And, to make it even worse, Slade was fighting in an entirely different manner from what Dick was used to.

It was beyond frustrating, and yet at the same time, Dick could not help but feel foolish. Of course, Slade had not taught Dick everything. Why would he? After all, it was all just a lie. Slade had probably planned for Dick turning against him from before he even took him in, and that thought alone made Dick furious.

Dick knew what Slade was doing. He would take out Jason and then defeat Dick before dragging him off to be tortured for disobeying. It was textbook Slade, and yet, Dick could see no way out of this situation.

Not unless they tried to escape now.

"Red! He's trying to take you down first!"

"Yeah, kinda figured that much." Jason snapped back, ducking under a sword swipe and firing his gun. "Fuck." He was out of bullets.

Dick yanked a sword off the wall just in time to block a downstroke from Slade which would have hit Jason's shoulder. "You need to go. G-get out of here," he told Jason, doing his best to push Slade back from the other male.

"Strategizing with me right here? Your training really has gone to waste... such a shame." Slade chided, landing a solid kick against Dick's chest and sending him flying.

He hit a wall, back arching as the air left his lungs, only able to watch as Slade lunged for Jason again. Jason was not running.

Why was he not running?

Blood splattered on the floor as the sword found a new home in Jason's chest, but still the antihero continued to fight back. Jason was losing. It was clear that Jason was losing. And yet... and yet he continued to fight, continued to fight Dick's battle for him.

That thought pulled Dick out of his head and back into the battle. He was bruised and out of breath, sure, but other than the preexisting wound from his failed suicide, he was mostly unharmed.

This was his fight, not Jason's.

Jason was being hurt because of him.

"Leave him alone, Slade. Your fight is with me. This is between us and us alone." Dick sprung back into battle, swinging his sword at Slade as Jason dropped to the floor, too injured to continue onward. This was a losing battle, Dick knew that, but he could accept that. It was his own fault for agreeing to this stupid idea. He had been foolish, thinking that this could work, and Jason was hurt because of it.

He could accept torture if he knew that it meant Jason would live.

That being said though, Dick was not about to go down without a fight.

And Dick really did put up a good fight, especially considering that he had not slept or eaten in a few days. But he was weak... too weak to ever be able to beat his master.

Slowly, he could feel his attacks weakening, his arms aching with the effort of wielding the sword, numerous slash and stab marks dripping blood down his body and onto the floor.

He would not give up.

He could not give up.

Even as Slade's blade cut deep into his shoulder, even as black spots began to cloud his vision, Dick continued to fight. His parents deserved at least that much from their failure of a son.

Even as the sword became too slippery in his grasp, the hilt slick with blood, Dick pushed forward, pushed onward.

It dropped to the floor with a loud clatter, and yet, Dick was still not finished yet.

His legs gave out from under him and his body toppled to the floor, yet still he tried to rise again.

Slade's fingers gripped Dick's hair, lifting his head up before slamming it down onto the floor, over and over again until the blue eyes drifted closed and the fight drained from his body.

Slowly, the mercenary gathered the boy's limp body into his arms, standing and carrying him out of the room, leaving the barely conscious Red Hood to bleed out on the floor.

Slade looked down at the boy he was carrying, gently caressing his bloodied cheek with one finger. "It really is too bad, boy... you could have been great," he murmured, shaking his head in disappointment.

Truly, it was too bad. The boy had had so much potential, and all that was lost now. After all, once Slade was done with him, Richard Grayson would be nothing more than a lifeless shell. Oh well. Sacrifices were necessary.

~•~

To say that Bruce was furious would be an extreme understatement. In fact, it was doubtful if words were strong enough to explain the amount of rage that he was experiencing. He had thought Jason was going to help.

Jason had said that he would help, not lead Dick into more trouble.

Which he had most certainly done, considering the fact that both Dick's and Jason's emergency signals had gone off within minutes of eachother, meaning that something serious had to have happened.

What made him even more angry though, was the fact that it had taken an absurd amount of time to track the signals, they had been distorted by something, and Bruce had only been able to pinpoint an area when he by chance stumbled upon Jason's motorcycle parked next to a random house in a suburban neighborhood.

After that, it did not take long for him to discover that the door had been broken into, and, after searching most of the house, Bruce had finally stumbled upon what quite frankly looked like a murder zone. Blood splattered the walls and lay in pools on the floor, various weapons were scattered around the room, and, worst of all, Jason lay in a growing pool of blood slumped against a wall.

Bruce hurried to his side, kneeling next to him and examining his injuries carefully. "Red Hood. What happened?"

Jason coughed weakly, his eyes fluttering faintly, barely managing to stay open. "S-stupid plan... sorry... he... he got the kid."

"Shh... don't talk. We'll figure this out later. Let me just get you to Alfred, and you'll be patched up in no time, okay?" Bruce pushed away his anger for now. It was not the right time for an interrogation. Jason needed him. "It's alright. I've got you now. You can rest."

"N-nice to see that you care... now..." Jason's eyes really did flutter closed this time, his body slumping forward.

Bruce caught him, carefully picking him up and carrying him from the room.

It really was a shame that Jason was unconscious, because he missed the fear and worry in his mentor's eyes, missed the whispered reassurances that he was going to be okay, missed the mumbled apologies for letting this happen again.