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A/N: Thank you for all the birthday wishes, both from Tumblr and FF! I had a lovely birthday weekend. No hangover. :)

I didn't intend to post this chapter so soon, but considering my workload this week I thought it best to update before diving into things. Again, I don't understand how I got this done. Maybe I can update once a week this semester. Who knows?

"People don't have archenemies."

Sherlock: "What?"

Dr. Watson: "In real life. People don't have archenemies."

Sherlock: "That sounds a bit dull. So what do people have in their real lives?"

Dr. Watson: "Friends, people they like, people they don't like, boyfriends...girlfriends..."

Sherlock: "Like I said: dull."

Sherlock. "A Study in Pink"

Chapter 18: God is in The Rain

-SW-

Never once, while I schemed this whole apprenticeship out, did I ever believe that I would have to deal with him like this. Sure, I didn't expect him to believe me so easily, but goading someone into a mental breakdown, especially someone whose trust you are trying to gain, was hard work.

"I think," Wintergreen said, "that if there is a need for an intervention, now would be a good time."

"That's exactly what I was going to do tonight, Will."

True, I said that I would leave him alone for a while, but he needed the attention. He had brooded long enough. It was early evening. Even if he wasn't done brooding his stomach would drive him to the kitchen anyway.

"Where is he?"

"I actually have no idea. I don't think he's left the premises, but I'll check the security cameras—"

"No, that's fine. I'll look for him."

It didn't take long for me to find him. I looked first in the places he was most familiar with: his room, the gym...however, I found him back in the main room. I can still recall the shock of what happened thereafter.

Dick was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Color flushed his pale cheeks. He didn't move as I walked into the room. How odd. Usually he jumped to his feet whenever I walked in. A respect thing. Or a fear thing. I don't know which.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Go away, buttface."

Something clicked. Something about the way he said those words, his posture and his complexion just seemed...wrong. I sniffed the air. Spotted something on the floor next to him. I frowned.

"Dick...are you drunk?"

He gave me the finger. Dick flung an arm over his eyes and groaned.

"Turn off the lights," he said, his words slurring slightly, "they're too loud."

This wasn't funny. Not in the least.

"Sit up."

"No."

"Don't be a child."

"The floor is comfortable."

I pulled him to a sitting position. Sometimes Grant had come home drunk, especially during his college days. I've dealt with worse. Dick would be fine.

"Just drink some water and eat something and you'll be fine in a few hours."

"I need to pee."

As he walked off, his gait uncoordinated, I turned to the kitchen. As though he had heard the commotion, Wintergreen sidled into the room, looking very confused.

"Will."

"What?"

"You didn't let him get into the wine cooler, did you?"

"I...what?"

Both of us stared at each other. Part of me wanted to burst out laughing. Who would have suspected Batman's protegee to do this? Get wasted? Not me, I can tell you.

"I didn't think it was necessary to lock it."

Well, well. Dick was breaking another rule every day. Not that I was proud of this, mind you. He would have to act more professionally in the future if he wanted to work with me.

"Check to make sure he didn't take much," I said, "I'd rather not have him vomiting all over the Haunt."

If there was one thing I had to say about him, it was that Dick was unpredictable. Sure, I could figure him out most of the time, but there were times when he completely lost it. When he did something so strange and out-of-the-blue that I couldn't even comprehend him.

However, there was nothing to do except let the alcohol wear off. I wasn't a heavy drinker myself, but I liked a drink now and then. When he came back from the bathroom Dick continued to babble, talking more to me than he ever had before.

"He'll be looking for me," Dick said, "Bruce. The Titans. They probably know who Red X is by now."

"He'll come here," I said. "If we stay here, that is."

Oftentimes I thought about leaving my base in Jump. There were plenty of other places to go, to hide away. Would that make me a coward, if I ran? No, no it wouldn't. There were times to retreat and times to attack. Even though Wayne was injured he would be in a rampage. Both Wayne and Dick were in a volatile emotional state. There was no telling what could happen if they met each other now. But I would make that decision later, when Dick was in a more sober state.

"I don't hate him." His voice, now quiet and controlled, almost suggested that he was sober. "How can I hate him? How can I hate anyone?"

Once before I told him to stop using loaded language like "hate." True hate was dangerous. Sure, I was occasionally hijacked by temporary anger, but did I hate anyone? Did I hate the Jackal for kidnapping Joey? I could have blamed it all on him, but as Addie pointed out I was just as guilty. It had been my responsibility to make sure he stayed safe. I failed. At times I hated myself more than I hated other people.

"What do you mean?"

"Oftentimes I've wondered if I really hate you. Maybe I thought I did. Maybe at one time it was true."

"But...?"

"I can't hate you. I just can't. I want to."

"Why do you want to?"

"Because you're the villain. The bad guy." He rubbed his eyes. "I don't think Batman hates anyone. He just hates injustice."

"And the Joker?"

"He's not consumed by rage. He'll never kill the Joker."

"Would he kill me?"

"Nah. Just put you in a body cast."

"Would you kill me?"

No answer.

"It's either yes or no. Not hard to answer."

Still nothing.

"You know, I don't think Wayne would appro—"

"Shut up, Slade!" he shouted suddenly. "Why do you think I'll trust you? Why? Why after everything you've done would you think I would trust you? You tricked me, made me believe that I successfully tricked you! If you knew it was me, then why did you let me make an ass of myself?" He stormed around in a parody of a circle, trying to find the words to express himself. He couldn't. So he just let his words roll out of his mouth and hoped that I would understand him. "You lie. You always lie. And you don't care what I think. No, for some reason you think that I'm the perfect person to replace your dead son. Yeah, that's it. That's totally it. Woooooooo I figured it out. Best freaking detective ever."

Good God. He wasn't out-of-control yet, but part of me wanted to smack him for mentioning Grant. Without waiting for me to say anything, he continued to rant.

"Was he your first apprentice? Did you mess up, Slade? Is that why he died? Why your wife left you?"

Maybe alcohol enhanced the detective process. Or maybe he had this all figured out already and kept it to himself. He might have been too scared before to ask me why Grant died. This though...this was getting vicious.

"Dick..." I said warningly.

Who was I kidding, threatening him wasn't going to work. Alcohol was a confidence-booster. Now that he was going he wasn't going to stop.

"You're just a failure, Slade. A mess-up. You can't do anything right without resorting to violence and manipulation! Because that's what you've done to me: manipulated me. That's the only thing you can do right!

"Then...then you lied to me about Batman. You kept telling me that Bruce didn't care about me, but he came! He was looking for me and you never told me! You're wrong, Slade! He does care. The Titans care. But I can't freaking explain why I'm back here. Everything is your fault! Everything is...everything..."

Silence, interrupted only by the churning gears, filled the room again. We stood just a few feet away from each other, Dick now in a threatening position. No, no fights. It would be unfair. Talk him out of it.

"You finished?"

His arms fell to his sides. Somehow his legs gave way underneath him as he fell to his knees. In that moment I couldn't help but pity him. It's one thing to say that he is pathetic, but quite another to watch him wallow in self-pity.

Maybe he was looking for a way to help him break down. Breakdowns, while not pleasant, were a natural part of life. Even I have had them before. Emotional instability could cause anyone to temporarily shut down. But maybe I was overestimating the effect on him. Maybe he was just pretending to be drunk.

"Crumbs," he muttered, "I'm pathetic."

There, Wilson, you did it: you successfully goaded the kid into a mental breakdown. Are you proud of yourself? Pure depression emanated from him.

Therapists try to get their patients to reach a state of catharsis. To get them to acknowledge all of the bad things that have happened in their past. Had Dick reached that stage yet? How would I know?

"You're not pathetic. Stop telling yourself that." I held out a hand. "Stand up."

When he didn't move I grabbed his arm and pulled him up. Swaying, he clutched my arm for support. All thought of him feigning drunkenness left as I smelled the alcohol on him. Part of me was disgusted to see him like this. He knew better. Then again, my sympathy overwhelmed me.

"You're right, Slade. I do need your help."

Good of him to finally acknowledge it. However, I said nothing. He was still talking.

"You're sane," he said, "undeniably sane...or am I the one who's crazy? But guess what? I feel sorry for you, Slade. My God, I feel sorry for you."

Alcohol has a tendency to release suppressed thoughts. It eradicates the barrier between the mouth and the conscience. If he didn't drink himself silly he would never say these things to me. While I needed him to sympathize with me, I wasn't the one who needed sympathy at the moment.

"I'm not the one you should be sorry for."

"What do you mean?"

"I..." How should I word this? "I'm sorry I pushed you this far, Dick."

"Me? You feel sorry for me?"

He blinked. Confusion spread across his face. I never apologized. At least, not often.

"Alfred wouldn't approve," Dick said, "at times he can be scarier than Bruce, you know..."

Was he going to talk about Batman now? In other circumstances I would have encouraged it but he didn't need a life-changing conversation right now.

"You should drink some water," I said. "Don't worry about Batman right now."

"No..."

"It'll make you feel better. Trust me."

"Ok."

If I were truly a villain, I would try all other means to make Dick see sense. Use force. Blackmail. Drugs. But true villainy requires true skill—persuasion and doubt will do more damage than anything else. Torture can only go so far. It may seem strange to hear this from me, but kindness can go a long way.

There were other ways to show that I was sorry.

We walked down the long hallways, away from the cold, intimidating main room. He couldn't walk straight. After a while I got annoyed and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Where are we going?" he mumbled.

I opened a door and led him inside. This was the closest thing to a living room I had. I didn't have a library like Wintergreen, but this was where I retreated when I wasn't working. As I moved across the room Dick sat down on the couch.

"I have to admit that I didn't expect you to get drunk," I said as I looked through the shelves. "But I won't judge you."

Familiar theme music suddenly blasted from the surround-sound speakers, causing Dick to start.

He peered at the television screen. "Is this...Clash of the Planets?"

"Indeed it is."

I sat down in another armchair and turned up the volume. Even though he said nothing I could tell that he was having some difficulty watching the screen. Eyes unfocused. Constant fidgeting. I didn't have to be a detective to figure that out.

"Beast Boy loves this show." He yawned. "Bit annoying, sometimes." He looked at me. "Why are we watching this?"

"Do we have to have a reason?"

"I guess...I guess not."

If he knew the real reason he might call me a lonely old man. Maybe I was. At this point it didn't matter anymore. My boys, like so many others, grew up watching Clash of the Planets. The show was a cult classic. Everyone liked it. Who didn't like it? Even as a young man Grant still held his affection for the show, up until the day he died.

After Grant's death I almost shut down. True, Grant's death was the tipping point for me. Joey's accident—which wasn't much of an accident—was the first thing that splintered my family. Although Addie gained custody of the kids Grant ran away. Even though he was our son I was much closer to him than Joey. He was practically a carbon copy of me, except that he was a bit more emotionally-charged than I was. I dismissed it as a by-product of youth. It would go away with time, I assumed.

He lived with me for a while. Trained with me in my trade, as some sons do. Exceptionally talented, as a father I am obliged to say. But even without my paternal lenses in the way Grant was still an exceptional young man.

But sometimes exceptional people have a habit of getting themselves killed.

The credits rolled across the screen. I glanced to the side. Dick had fallen asleep. Curled into a loose ball, his head cradled in his folded arms, he looked a lot more peaceful than he had of late. Depending on how much he drank he may or may not have a headache tomorrow morning.

After laying a blanket on top of him, I left the room. He would be out for the rest of the night. There was no point in moving him.

Show him that I was human. Everyone knew Clash of the Planets. Despite our obvious differences there were still things that tied us all together. Culture. Society. Maybe it was a stretch, maybe not.

Or maybe we were not so different after all.

-TT-

Rain pattered against the roof when I awoke the next morning.

Unlike some people, I liked the rain. Nice change from the constant sunshine. The first thing I did was make sure that Batman and the Titans were out of commission. Judging from the cameras I put in Titans Tower the explosion at the JCPD had hurt Wayne.

Even with his injuries he'll keep trying to find us, I thought.

The relentless Knight of Gotham. One day that determination was going to get him killed. Not as if I cared. Perhaps crushing his spirit would be a better way to kill the Batman, though. Gutting the drive to fight justice out of him was a challenge indeed.

As I walked back out to refill my coffee mug I caught sight of Dick slouching to the kitchen.

I knew that walk anywhere: the lovely hangover. Oh, he knew. The boy shuffled his way towards me, his head hung low. He looked a real mess. Hair not combed. Clothes crumpled. Looked like he didn't even bother to change his clothes, so he still reeked of alcohol. Did he remember our conversation from the night before?

"Good morning. You sleep well?"

He grunted.

"I didn't quite hear that."

"Morning."

"You care to explain why you got yourself intoxicated last night?"

"Sorry."

He didn't have an explanation. I expect that he had been sober enough last night to remember everything he told me.

"It's fine. Do you need anything? Do you have a headache?"

"No."

"Did you vomit this morning?"

"I'm fine."

Not very talkative today, was he? Did his pride prevent him from admitting that he felt awful? Wintergreen would let me know if he wasn't feeling well.

"You can't mope around all day."

"I guess not."

"So what do you plan to do now?"

"I dunno. Didn't think that far ahead."

"So make a plan."

"It hurts to think."

Dick didn't know what to do with himself. His friends wouldn't trust him. Wayne wouldn't trust him. And as he told me the night before, I was no better as a mentor.

"That is your fault," I said.

"I know."

We stood there awkwardly. I turned back towards the counter and poured another cup of coffee and handed it to him. After he sipped it he grimaced and shut his eyes tightly.

"Ok, fine. Give me your drugs."

Smirking, I pulled open a drawer and took out a bottle of ibuprofen. He took a couple pills with his coffee.

"Did I do anything stupid?"

"No. You were fine. Just a little talkative."

He drank his coffee to stop from talking. Once he was done he murmured something incoherent and walked away from the kitchen. As I put the mugs away I heard him open the door leading up to the roof. Curious, I followed.

He left the door open. Rain pattered and soaked him as he walked through it. Just a normal winter shower. Typical for a Californian city. He turned his head towards the sky. I stayed behind in the shelter of the doorway. Dark clouds pregnant with rain rolled over Jump City. He stepped tentatively into the rain.

Lifting up his hands, he cupped them to catch rainwater. Once water filled his hands he splashed his face. He scrubbed his face, as though trying to wash out the stink of alcohol. His eyes snapped open. The cold water must have done more to wake him up than the coffee.

"Get inside," I called out.

Dick made no indication that he had heard me. He should have. I was only ten feet away. Instead he moved quickly towards the edge of the roof, almost breaking into a run.

"Hey!"

I wasn't worried so much about him running away, but more about him hurting himself. Suicide was unlikely but still...I didn't want him getting any ideas.

He was perched on the edge of the rooftop, mindless of the rain. The paternal instinct in me screamed at him to get off. Get down, boy, I don't want to wipe your brains from the sidewalk. Instead of trying to pull him away from the edge I stopped. If he really was considering jumping, then I didn't want to do anything to provoke him.

A few seconds later I realized that he wasn't going to jump. He gazed out upon the city through the misty haze as though wondering what it would be like to rule it.

"It's all clear to me now..." he said softly. "Everything..."

"What's clear to you?"

"I know what I need to do. That's all."

Stepping away from the edge of the rooftop, he suddenly smiled to himself. His smile didn't fade as he looked up at me. Startled, I watched him practically skip back inside the Haunt. Although I understood that something had changed, that something was different about him, it was still strange to believe that this was all my doing. Then again, this was what I had been planning to do all along.

There was no turning back for him now.

"God is in the rain."

-Evie, V for Vendetta

A/N: I'm sorry for the Sherlock spam! I'm still spazzing out over the Reinchenbach Fall! These past two months have been all about the sleuths and amateur detectives! (Like Tintin! I've always been a fan and I loved the movie!). Hence the references here :D.

There's no stopping me from putting in ALL the Sherlock Holmes references!

Review!