AN: Hey guys! Thanks for being patient, lots of stuff has been happening, and I was plagued with a bit of writer's block. Here's a new update, hope you enjoy! Now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.


"Hey, asshole!" A loud shout filled the garage, and Dick turned towards the noise. There was a loud thud, and the young man was sent flying across the garage. Bruce glanced towards the attacker, and was met with the sigh of a red helmet glistening in the low lighting. It was Jason, who was dressed in his customary leather jacket, army pants, and heavy black boots. On his shoulder rested a bright red fire extinguisher, which he had used to send his older brother flying.

Resting on his idling bike, Jason turned his head back, looking at his mentor. "Hey, Bruce. Need a lift?"


"What took you so long?" Bruce growled as Jason turned his bike off, nudging the kickstand down.

"What, no 'hello,' or 'thanks for saving my ass back there, I was in danger of dying'?" came Jason's sarcastic reply. "Typical Bruce. Too proud to say 'thank you.'" He scoffed, the sound catching in his throat.

"Think fast." He tossed the fire extinguisher to Bruce, who deftly caught the object with one hand. Jason swung his leg over the side of the bike, glancing back over towards Dick's rising form. Reaching for the holster on his right leg, Jason withdrew a silver pistol, moving the slide back, checking the chamber of the weapon.

"Jason," Bruce growled, a warning tone in his voice.

"What? Oh come on, Bruce. I can't believe that you think I would actually shoot Dickie." Jason almost sounded disappointed, but it carried a sarcastic tone. "Though I have thought about it before," he added, looking at Bruce over his shoulder again, "I wouldn't do it. Timmy gave me some tranquilizers, which, last I checked, don't cause death. He won't die. Not today, anyway."

There was a quiet groan from the other end of the garage. Dick had finally risen to his feet, and was bent over slightly. There was a small gash on his forehead, the blood running down his face slowly, staining his skin red. "Finally," Jason mocked, his voice deep. "Twinkle Toes finally decided to join the party."

Dick snarled, but didn't move towards the two men. "Come on, Dickiebird, don't tell me you've got cold feet. You can't skip out. I want a rematch." Jason's helmet gleamed in the low lighting, as did the gun in his hand. Raising the weapon, Jason aimed the barrel at Dick. "The last time I fought you, you ran, and I was left in a dirty alleyway." If one could see under his helmet, they would see the smirk across the man's lips. "I'd say it was a draw. So, how about best two out of three?" There was no reply.

Jason sighed. "I don't know what Deathstroke did, but it fucked you up, didn't it?" To Bruce, he almost sounded sad. Jason often never showed emotion unless something really bothered him. The older man felt a tiny prick of guilt pierce the walls around his heart. He knew that he should have told Jason of what happened to Dick; however, fear, anger, and a plethora of other emotions had blinded him, allowing him to push the man further away. He had hurt Jason, and now it was beginning to manifest within himself and his son.

Unfortunately, this was not the time nor the place to figure out what he was feeling. Bruce pushed his feelings into their designated box, and buried deep within himself, allowing the 'emotionless' Batman to take over. Studying the injured man, Bruce noticed that Dick was favoring his right side, his ribs clearly causing him pain.

Although this was the case, the young man was not going to give up easily. Both of his hands went to his sides, each hovering over the pommel of two knives. Unsheathing the weapons, he held them in his hands much like his escrima sticks. Sliding his feet across the pavement, he took up a defensive stance. "Oh, we're in deep shit, aren't we?" Jason asked his mentor, quickly drawing his other pistol, switching the safety off.

Unfortunately, Bruce was not able to respond, for Dick made the first move. Stepping to the side, he moved, never staying in one spot for more than a second. His younger brother let loose a shot, barely missing the older man. "Dammit!" he swore, quickly firing his other weapon. Even though Jason was a master marksman, he was having great difficulty hitting Dick. The black-clad man continued to evade the bullets, sidestepping and ducking behind cars, using the metal as cover.

"Stay still!" Jason yelled, letting loose a stream of bullets, slowly walking backwards, keeping the distance between him and Dick. Unfortunately, his request fell on deaf ears. One second, Dick was behind a black Sedan, the next he was a mere ten feet from Jason. "Crap!" Jason ducked to the side, tucking and rolling. In that spilt second, he rolled up onto one knee, and took a shot at Dick, who was forced to stop, and backtrack a step.

Seeing an opening, Bruce rushed towards Dick, the fire extinguisher heavy in his hands. With a loud CLANG, the extinguisher met the blades as the two men engaged in combat. Both of the men's arms shook with exertion as each struggled to throw the other off balance. Shoving off of each other, they broke contact, and were quickly engaged again. Dick was swinging his knives at any opening he could find. Bruce was able to block the strikes, deflecting the blades off the extinguisher's sides, the metal screeching as it slid across the surface. "Dick, stop this! Stand down," Bruce stated, his voice deep and intimidating.

Unfortunately, the voice that normally turned criminals into Jell-O did not have the same effect on the former Boy Wonder. He continued to attack with deadly ferocity, the tips of his blades managing to graze Bruce, leaving thick scratches across the man's chest. Bruce had many of these marks across his body, which were bleeding as the fight continued.

Meanwhile, Jason was trying to find another opening in the fight. He had his barrels trained on the two men, but was unable to get a good angle to shoot Dick. After letting loose a string of curses, he holstered his guns. "Fuck it," he said, reaching into his boot, and pulling out a large knife. Flipping the grip in his hand, he positioned the knife in reverse, so that the blade faced towards his enemy, all while facing downwards. Not giving himself a chance to rethink his decision, he rushed headlong into the fight.

Now there was a whirlwind of metal, Dick's blades trying to find both of his opponents. They were all evenly matched, but something shifted inside of Dick. He began to attack more ferociously, his blows pushing Jason and Bruce back. "Dick, stand down!" Bruce growled once again, the fire extinguisher cracking Dick across the face. Dick shook his head, and spat onto the pavement. The splatter was a deep crimson, its color standing out in the dim lighting. Bruce swung the extinguisher again. Dick, expecting the blow, bent over backwards, watching the metal pass harmlessly over his face. Righting himself, he drove a fist against Bruce's kidneys, forcing the older man to bend over in pain. He rushed Jason, and continued to clash blades.

Bruce struggled to regain his breath, but was failing miserably. He could only watch helplessly as Jason was driven back by Dick's ferocious blows. Jason pushed back Dick's knives, and tried to land a swing on the would-be assassin. Dick avoided this by flipping over his brother, leaving Jason vulnerable from the back. Then, Dick, taking one of the knives, drove it into Jason's side, right above the hip. He had found a kink in Jason's body armor, and exploited it.

There was a loud gasp from Bruce. Jason stood in shock for a few moments, but quickly regained his composure. He swung his arm back, catching Dick across the face with the end of his blade. Sensing the attack, Dick had moved back, but was still caught, a small scratch on his left cheek dripping blood. "You asshole!" Jason yelled, looking at his side, and back at Dick. "You fucking stabbed me! What the hell!"

Bruce gave a mental sigh of relief. Jason was still standing, and swearing, which was a good sign. But upon further investigation, he noticed that the younger man was slowly bending in half, red seeping through his coat. Knowing that he wouldn't last very long, Bruce struggled to get back up. Using the extinguisher as a crutch, he lifted himself up, and shakily stood to face Dick. His oldest son stared emotionlessly at him, apparently having no qualms about stabbing Jason. He twirled the bloodstained knives on his fingers, small droplets flying across the garage. Bruce stared right back, anger at himself and Deathstroke slowly burning his insides. "This isn't you, Dick. You have to fight it." Dick's face flickered for a moment, but it was covered by a sneer a second later. He took a step towards Bruce, but stopped. He cocked his head slightly, like a dog listening for something. Then, the whites of his mask widened.

Bruce began to listen too, at first hearing nothing. Then, the slow rise of a powerful engine met his ears. I know that sound anywhere, he thought as a wave of relief passed through him. The engine grew louder and louder, when a large black vehicle entered the garage behind Bruce. The driver slammed on the brakes, the Batmobile sliding to a halt. Everyone in the garage just stared. Dick, sensing the situation was no longer in his control, slowly began to back away.

He stopped when the Batmobile shifted into battle mode, the long barrel targeted on him. "Don't even think about it," said the voice over the speaker system.

"Tim?" Jason breathed, surprise filling his voice.

"You two alright?" Tim asked, the guns never leaving Dick.

"We're fine," Bruce replied.

"Bullshit. You're lucky Robin and I came when we did."

"Wait. Demon Brat is in there with you?" Jason asked.

"Of course I'm here, Hood," Damian sneered. "I am a part of this family too, don't you forget." There was a loud sliding sound. The hatch opened, and out jumped Robin. His hood was down, the black cape only coming down to his knees. He strode over to Bruce, and glanced at his father. "You look like crap."

"Looks worse than it is," he replied, looking at the smirk that crossed his biological son's features.

"Tt. Sure." Damian turned his head, and visibly blanched. "Grayson," he whispered loudly, his eyes wide beneath his mask. Dick took a step back, his face full of surprise as he stared at Damian. No words were spoken as the two examined each other. Then, Damian took a step forward. The older man took another step back, turning his head away from Damian. The youngest Wayne paused, watching Dick. Bruce could have sworn he saw a flicker of sadness cross his features, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. "Grayson, what happened?" Damian asked quietly, not moving.

Dick did not reply, only shaking his head slowly. He reached into his belt, withdrawing something, concealing it in his hand. "Wait," Bruce warned, but it was too late. Throwing his arm down, Dick released smoke pellets from his hands, filling the garage with thick smoke. "Wait!" Damian cried. He was met with silence.

"He's gone," Bruce said quietly, dropping the extinguisher to the ground. Walking over to Damian, he stood next to him, peering into the smoke. "He'll be back," he said, hoping to reassure his son.

"Tt." Damian didn't reply, turning away from the smoke, and heading towards the Batmobile. Bruce followed, seeing that Tim, clad in his Red Robin gear, had exited the vehicle, and was helping Jason. "Dammit, you took your time, didn't you?" Jason growled.

"We got caught in traffic," Tim responded, applying a field dressing to Jason's side. The man hissed in pain, quickly stifling the noise. "C'mon, Al needs to look at that." Tim swung Jason's arm over his shoulder, and helped him hobble to the car. Spying Damian and Bruce, Tim motioned with his head. "Let's get back to the Cave."

The two followed Tim and Jason, wordlessly climbing into the vehicle. "I'll drive," Damian stated, but was cut off by Tim.

"No, I'm driving. You keep an eye on Jason." Damian growled, but complied. Sliding into the driver's seat, Tim pressed some of the buttons on the dashboard, closing the hatch. Revving the engine, Tim maneuvered the vehicle out of the garage and onto the open road.

"What about my bike?" Jason asked from the back.

"Forget about your bike. You couldn't exactly use it," Damian replied.

"I really liked that bike," Jason whined from the back, his hand resting on his side, grimacing slightly.

"We'll get you another one," Tim growled from the front seat, shifting the car into gear. Pressing his foot on the gas, Tim urged the car down the road, smoothly avoiding the other cars on the road. Bruce sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring blankly out of the windshield. There were a few moments of silence, unbroken by anyone in the car.

"Sonofabitch," Jason whispered in the back, disturbing the once quiet car.

"Are you bleeding out?" Tim asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"Not yet, but I don't know how well your dressing will hold up."

"Then you'll be fine," Bruce growled, still not looking away from the road.

"The bastard cut me," Jason stated, incredulously.

"Yes, we are aware of this, Jason," Tim replied calmly.

Jason hissed through his teeth, but did not continue to speak. The rest of the ride was silent, none of the men feeling the need to speak. They were all in shock, for what they had all seen in the garage had shaken them to their core. Dick, the glue that held them all together, was no longer the same. He was broken, and they were all afraid that they would be unable to put him back together.


'Stupid, stupid, stupid.' That is what Dick thought to himself as he retreated from the garage. 'I should have stayed. I should have fought them all.' A shudder of fear passed through him. 'HE will be angry.' He took a breath, trying to calm his rapid heart. 'He's not in Gotham. He wouldn't have come all the way out here.'

After traveling across the city, using the shadows that the sun provided, he was able to make it back to the warehouse. Sliding in an open window, he landed softly on the upper level, his feet barely making a sound. Slinking across the open area, he opened the office door, slipping inside the room. Slamming the door, he relaxed slightly. However, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Whipping around, he unsheathed his knives and faced the threat.

"Hello, Renegade," stated a shadowed figure. The mysterious man was sitting in an old office chair, fingers steepled in front of him. Dick's body chilled when he heard the man's voice. All of his instincts told him to drop everything and run, but his feet were rooted to the ground.

"What, no words of excitement? I'm surprised," the man taunted, standing up from the chair. 'Please, don't be him. Let this all be a dream,' Dick silently pleaded. His prayers, unfortunately, went unanswered. Standing in the office before him was a man he feared and hated, one who had taken him, and twisted him until he was a shell of his former self. In the office before him, was Deathstroke the Terminator.

"So, my apprentice. Shall we discuss how your mission is progressing?"


AN: Sorry, not sorry! Thanks for sticking with this! Until next time!