Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you had a great Christmas or holiday, and that you got lots of cool things! This will be the last update before the New Year.
One of the sections in this chapter was a bit experimental, so feedback would be appreciated!
Chapter 9: This Too Shall Pass
Dick ate and drank nothing. Instead he sat at Slade's computer and smoked a pack of cigarettes. With every passing cigarette he knew that he would regret it later, but he had to keep himself awake. Why would he want to sleep in this place again? Why spend more time here than he needed to?
There were so many things he had to do now that Slade was dead, and he knew that he wouldn't get it all done in one day. First he opened the program Slade used as a single inbox for all of his email addresses and checked Slade's emails. Were there people whose contracts hadn't been fulfilled? Dick read through the emails carefully, and once he found one that would be unfulfilled he immediately accessed Slade's online bank account. Or, rather, one of the several he had used. Then he wired the money back to the client with an apology email. Then he sent out a mass email informing all clients that he would no longer be providing any mercenary services, and that any quarrels they had with Slade were now moot.
Most of what Dick did in the next few hours was incredibly boring, mundane work, but work that had to be done nevertheless. Shutting down the Haunt would take several days, as he had to destroy the Sladebots and all other blueprints, so that no one could use Slade's technology.
The ashtray next to him filled with ash as the hours passed. He wasn't aware of how much time had passed; Dick was only concerned with shutting down Slade's empire. This was worse than any other all-nighter that Dick had pulled, even when he was Robin.
After several hours (or had it been days?) on the computer Dick finally leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting towards the nanobot controller resting on the counter.
I need to get that back to the Titans, he thought.
He shut down the main computer and headed towards the garage. He turned on the motorcycle. Before getting on it he twisted off Slade's insignia and tossed it away.
He drove out onto the road, the garage door automatically shutting behind him. Although he hadn't driven a motorcycle for a couple of years, the controls came back to him easily. Muscle memory and all that jazz. And the fact that Slade had designed this cycle exactly like the R-Cycle, possibly so that Dick would warm up to the idea of owning a new cycle.
It looked like the night had passed while he was on the computer, for the sun was rising in the east. Had it really been that long? He weaved in and out of traffic rather recklessly, occasionally earning a few angry honks from people he cut off.
Some of the Titans should be awake by now. Dick knew that the original Titans had broken up and moved on during the years. Cyborg was still their leader, but he knew that Starfire flitted in and out of Jump City. Sometimes, while in the main room of Slade's Haunt, he saw her characteristic streak of green light in the sky window as she passed by. Other young heroes had joined the Titans, both in this western establishment as well as the new Tower in the east. Sometimes Dick even heard the rumor that a new Robin was part of the Titans now, though apparently he operated both out of Gotham and Jump City whenever it suited him. Dick hoped that this Robin was having a better career than Dick had.
After five years the Titans still hadn't changed their hidden route to the front door: a hidden road that emerged from the water on a particular stretch of road. He drove right up to the Tower, knowing full well that the alarms would sound as soon as they realized who he was.
Slade never made me go up to the front door and attack them, Dick thought. At least he never made me do that.
He blinked as the world suddenly blurred. When he looked up at the Tower from this angle he got a sense of vertigo. Wow, that was rather high, wasn't it?
The front door slid open. One of the Titans stood in front of him. Dick squinted. He didn't recognize this Titan. Must be one of the younger ones. She wore a yellow-and-black costume he assumed was made to look like a bumblebee.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you here?"
"I could ask you the same," Dick replied. "Is Cyborg here? Or any of the original Titans?"
"You can't talk to them until you tell me why you're here."
He didn't have time for this. Well, technically, he now had all the time in the world, but Dick felt the need to make up for lost time. His voice, when he next spoke, held a desperate edge, and cracked slightly with emotion.
"Please," he said, unhooking the bag from his shoulder, "this isn't a trick or anything. They know who I am. Tell them I'm back."
He held out the bag to the girl, who looked reluctant to take it. His head spun, and he slowly became aware of a painful headache that seemed to squeeze his skull from all sides. His tongue felt dry and cracked, and his stomach nauseous. He didn't feel well at all.
"Tell them I'm sorry. So sorry. It's all over, and they don't have to worry about me anymore. No, on second thought I don't want to see them. They can have this. It's all the information they would possibly want on Slade. I'll be on my way. I don't want to be here. They probably don't want to see me. Why would they want to see me? Why…?"
Tears fell down his face as he spoke, though he was barely aware of them. He shook the bag, desperately wanting her to take it away from him. Comprehension dawned slowly on the girl's face as she realized who he was. Her wings went erect, her face scrunched into a defensive frown and her hands went to the stingers on her hips.
He dropped the bag, and the evidence spilled out all over the front porch. His headache rose to a thundering crescendo, and he couldn't take it anymore. The girl didn't have time to catch him as he collapsed, finally giving in to the awful sleep deprivation he had put himself through. As his world darkened he heard the girl call for help.
Flashing red and blue lights greeted him when he awoke. Dick was vaguely aware that he was strapped to a gurney and that an oxygen mask was strapped to his face. He lifted his head slightly and saw cop cars just outside the ambulance, where he was currently residing. A paramedic was at his side, inserting an IV carefully into Dick's arm.
"Hey," Dick said weakly, trying to sit up.
"No," the paramedic said, setting a hand on his shoulder gently. "Stay there. I'm giving you an IV because you're severely dehydrated. When was the last time you ate or drank something?"
"I don't know. What happened?"
"You collapsed in front of Titans Tower, so they called an ambulance."
The flashing lights told Dick that the cops had showed up with the ambulance. Dick knew why the cops were there. He was a criminal, so the Titans would treat him as such. It was only natural, after everything Dick had done.
"Have you ingested an excessive amount of alcohol?" The paramedic asked.
"Or any drugs besides the cigarettes we found in your pocket?"
"No, not that I know of."
"When was the last time you slept, Sir?"
Sir. People calling him sir. What a laugh. "I don't remember."
The paramedic ticked something off on his clipboard.
"Is there something wrong with me?"
"Let's just keep you on that IV until you're properly hydrated. Get some sleep, eat some food and you'll be okay." The paramedic frowned slightly. "I also noticed several contusions and a possible concussion—"
"That doesn't surprise me," Dick replied. He looked at the police cars again, and to his surprise saw Cyborg talking to the cops. He couldn't hear what Cyborg was saying above all the noise and he couldn't read lips. "Do you know what will happen to me?"
"The Titans are sorting things out with the police," the paramedic replied. "But right now you need to sleep, eat and drink. If you feel too weak we can feed you intravenously—"
"Don't do that," Dick said at once. "Don't feed me through a tube. I don't want that."
Did he really look that bad? Nowadays he was barely aware of his own health. No matter what he did—eating healthy or exercising or whatever—he always felt exhausted. He had come to accept that that was his norm.
"All right. You do need to eat later, though. Your hunger contributed to your collapse, as well as the dehydration and sleep deprivation. You need to take better care of yourself."
Take better care of himself. He didn't even know where to begin, since all he wanted to do was…well…nothing. He laid his head back on the pillow and sighed. Eventually Dick drifted back to sleep.
Time seemed to move backwards for him in his dreams. Not in the sense that people walked backwards, or spoke spells backwards, or cackled in a bizarre manner, but how he relived his freshest memories from the past few years.
In his lucid dreaming, he remembered asking Slade before if he was happy now that Dick was killing people. When he spoke then, it was with resignation. When he spoke with Slade now, in this dream-like state, he was aware of both the past and the future, yet when he spoke it was in the present.
They were arguing. There was always an argument with Slade, even when nothing was said. When nothing was said they merely expressed their frustration in different ways, until both of them annoyed the other so much that nothing but a shouting match and a fistfight were necessary.
What had started it? Dick didn't know. Anything Slade did could spark an argument, and it didn't even matter why it had started.
The dreamlike memory seemed off, somehow, in his lucid state. The exact physical details were off; the numbers on the clocks were all different, no object seemed completely defined, yet the words spoken were exact. As he became aware that this was a dream, a memory relived in strange details, the world around him solidified.
He was back in the Haunt, in the main room, his body standing defensively in front of Slade, harsh words tumbling out of his mouth in a scream.
"You can't get away with this!" Dick shouted. "You know that in the end I won't EVER be Deathstroke. I will leave everything you've ever done in dust once you've kicked the bucket."
"What do you possibly hope to do?" Slade demanded. "What do you hope to achieve once you've left me, hmm? You'll never get employment anywhere else. You have no education besides what I've given you, no money besides what you've earned, and would you use that money to pay for an education? You can't bring that money anywhere else without bringing attention to yourself. And even then, everyone will know that you worked for me. You have no other choice but to follow my path, my profession, not unless you want to be out in the street with no connections and nothing to your name. You've killed people, Dick. Wayne won't accept that. He won't accept you. The Titans won't accept you."
But Dick had no choice! He didn't know the people he killed. While he felt sad for their deaths he didn't know those people. If they died, then so what? He felt sad for himself, certainly, but in the end he was selfish. He didn't want the Titans to die, so much that he was willing to kill other people for it, even if it hurt him.
Everything Slade said was true. Those exact words had ruminated in Dick's mind for a long time, though he had been too terrified to dwell on them too long. He knew exactly how Slade was screwing his future over, and the fact that Slade was saying it out loud was too much for Dick.
Dick took a deep breath, and said it before he became too scared to stop himself. "F-Fuck you."
There. He said it.
"What did you say?" Slade didn't even sound angry. Merely surprised that Dick had dared utter such an imprecation.
"I said fuck you."
The second time he said he felt more confident. He had insulted Slade many times before, but Dick had always stopped short of using this kind of language, though it was mostly out of an effort to keep himself out of trouble. Slade straightened to his full height, his anger simmering as Dick's words sunk in. This was it, Slade was going to kick his butt.
"Apologize. Now."
"Why should I apologize to you?"
Slade moved to slap him, but Dick was ready. He caught Slade's wrist and managed to hold him off, his own arm shaking with effort. Slade's eye widened. He seemed to have forgotten that Dick could now hold his own. Dick eventually let go, and Slade took the opportunity to hit him.
"Don't ever say that again," Slade snapped. "I don't call you a little shit, do I?"
"I'm sure that's what you're thinking every time I don't do what you tell me to do."
The expression on Slade's face was one Dick had seen many times: an expression of complete exasperation. "Accept it, Dick: without me, you would be nothing. Without Wayne you would have been nothing. Right now you are incapable of making your own decisions. You're not in control of your emotions. That's why you're saying the things you're saying."
Slade was just as frustrated as Dick felt, though for opposing reasons. In many ways they were the same: both attempted to rationalize the others' behavior. Dick knew that Slade had family issues, as well as a number of control issues that he had worked through over the years. Slade, on the other hand, tried to make himself understand that Dick wasn't happy, tried to attribute the wrong reasons for Dick's sadness, which only exacerbated the situation. For years Dick had given in and endured, but he still couldn't stand it.
"No, Slade. I know exactly what I'm saying, because I want you to listen to me. I want to be out of this fucking life. I want you to understand…I want you to listen…I want…"
What did Dick want? He wanted the Titans to live, sure, and he didn't want anyone else to die, but what then? What did he want after this was all over? Nothing would ever go back to normal.
"You don't have a plan," Slade said softly. "It's too late for you to turn back now. Accept it, Dick."
He thought of the time he had killed someone for the first time. It had been just a little over a year ago, and he had killed around eleven people since, but he hated it. Perhaps he didn't deserve a happy ending.
"You're right," Dick said. "I don't have a plan. Maybe a long time ago I had a plan, but I don't now."
Although this memory was channeling itself through his dreams, Dick was uncomfortably self-conscious and eloquent in his self-analysis, and aware that most of his realizations would be forgotten the moment he awoke. Yet, for the moment, and even clouded with his guilt, he realized that he had been wrong, and accepted himself for it.
Slade had not changed; merely his outward behavior had changed to suit the situation. His fundamental personality had not changed, as he had not budged in his insistence that Dick was the right heir to his criminal empire.
Why did Dick do this to himself? Why did he keep going back to the belief that he could somehow make Slade listen, make him understand that what he was doing was wrong? Why did Dick delude himself into believing that Slade had changed, or continue believing that Slade could change, when the person who had changed the most was himself?
The second time he awoke in the medical bay of Titans Tower. The IV was still attached to his arm, and he was also connected to a machine that monitored his vital signs, though he felt like he wasn't in any real danger and that the machine was unnecessary. An empty glass and a pitcher of water sat on the table next to the bed.
There was no one else in the room besides him. Dick wondered if there was a Titan standing guard just outside the door. The curtains around his bed were pulled back, so he could see the whole room. It was late morning, judging by the sunlight flooding the room from one wall. The wide window gave him a sense of openness, a comforting view of Jump City from the bay. He saw clouds in the distance, which foretold a light shower that night.
The door opened. Dick glimpsed another Titan—Superboy, wasn't it?—standing guard just outside the door. Superboy held the door open as an older woman came into the room carrying a tray of food.
"Thank you, young man," the woman said to Superboy. "You don't have to come in with me. It'll be all right."
Superboy glared at Dick, as though he expected him to jump up and start attacking everyone. Hmm. Smart of Cyborg to put the Kryptonian out as a guard. It would be harder to Dick to beat the Kryptonian, who was on par with Superman's strength.
After a few seconds he recognized the woman.
"Leslie," he said in a choked voice. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you with Bruce?"
Leslie Thompson, Bruce Wayne's personal doctor, set down the tray of food on the bedside table. She looked exactly as he remembered her, but, perhaps, with a few more lines of worry on her face.
"Bruce wanted me to come out here to help you," Leslie said, grasping his hand warmly. "Once he heard that you were here he asked me to fly out. He thought a familiar face would help you."
"Help with what?" Dick demanded.
Leslie was the one who would have treated Bruce after Bane broke his back. Dick's life wasn't even in danger—so why would she fly all the way out here just to be with Dick?
"Getting your life back together," Leslie said quietly.
She moved the tray in front of him and poured him a glass of water. She set some other things on the nightstand as well: nicotine patches and special gum to help wean people off cigarettes. Oh. He looked away from the nightstand and watched Leslie instead. As she waited for him to start eating Leslie began tinkering with the medical equipment.
"I brought some food up for you. The paramedic told me that you haven't eaten in a few days and drank very little water. Is this true?"
"Yes."
"Why haven't you eaten?"
"Because I feel sick to my stomach every time I try."
It was easier to talk to Leslie than he thought possible. He wanted to stay silent, but he knew that he couldn't. He had to tell someone what happened, or else they would continue treating him like a criminal.
Well, I do deserve it.
"The Titans told me what happened five years ago, as well as Bruce." Leslie looked at him sadly. "And before I ask anything else, the Titans want to know if Slade will attack Titans Tower."
"No," Dick replied in a low voice. "Slade won't come after them ever again. He won't come after me either. It's all over, Leslie. I murdered him."
He started shaking again.
"I see," Leslie said in a low voice, "when did this happen?"
"Two days ago."
"And you haven't slept or eaten since then?"
"Hardly."
Wow, he hadn't even been aware that he hadn't eaten anything. Now he felt hunger gnawing at his stomach, and the bowl of chicken soup, bread and a glass of water suddenly seemed a feast. But at the same time he felt as though he would vomit if he started eating again…
"Dick," Leslie said quietly, "You're going to be okay."
Okay, okay. Everything was going to be okay.
"You've grown up," Leslie said, laying a hand on his cheek. "Everyone back in Gotham will be so surprised at how handsome you are now. Everyone will be happy to see you."
Dick was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to hug her, but he didn't move. It had been a long time since he had hugged anyone, and now seemed a foreign concept to him. He felt like he didn't deserve a hug after all he had done. Leslie seemed to sense his reluctance and, thankfully, didn't press him. She drew her hand away and looked away from him.
"Here's a communicator, if you would like to talk to Bruce," Leslie said, setting a Bat communicator on the nightstand. "He would like to talk to you, when you're ready."
"Will you tell him what I've done?"
"Would you like me to tell him? Or do you want to tell him yourself?"
He had to admit his wrongdoing, just like a child. In that moment Leslie sounded like Wintergreen, just after Dick confessed that he had done something wrong and was frightened of what Slade would do. "I don't know."
Dick didn't deserve any of this. Leslie should be back in Gotham taking care of Bruce. And who was there now to take care of him? What had happened to Batman now? Who was protecting Gotham? Did another JLA take over the mantle in lieu of Bruce and Dick's absence?
"Everything will be all right in time, Dick," Leslie said softly. "The pain will pass. Your friends will come in later today. Right now I want you to eat, drink lots of water and get plenty of rest. Take a shower and change clothes. Once you do that you'll feel a lot better. I promise."
"Okay." He looked around the room and, for some reason, felt disgusted. He didn't want to be in Titans Tower. He didn't want to have to confront anyone about his past. At least not soon. He had intended to go away after dropping off the evidence to one of the Titans. He certainly didn't want to stay in the medical bay for too long. "Can you close the curtains so I can sleep?"
Leslie smiled before she closed the hospital curtains around him, once again leaving him alone with his thoughts.
