Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.

A/N: Hello! Sorry for the wait, but life got crazy yet again. I thought it was a good idea to pick up a second job, so now my writing time is limited. I'm hoping to post this chapter, as well as the remaining chapters, within 1-2 weeks of each other as part of a "mega update" (which is silly because I didn't get the chance to finish everything in time for a true megaupdate). There aren't many chapters left, and I've been working on the last few all at once. I apologize for any errors, so please tell me. And enjoy!

"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand... there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold."

Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

Chapter 25: Exhaustion

When Dick awoke he found himself back in his bedroom in Wayne Manor, which had been converted in a makeshift infirmary. Sunlight streamed on him from the window on his right. One of the first things he became aware of was how tired he felt. The second thing he became aware of was a desperate need for a cigarette.

He coughed, and his whole stomach hurt. Someone had replaced his old bed with a hospital bed, and had elevated it so that he was sitting up. Pain stabbed through him as he tried to sit up straighter, and his world felt muddy. Despite this, he felt around for wounds, trying to access his condition.

Leslie had been here, and she had obviously taken care of him when he was unconscious. Several tubes ran underneath his shirt, some of them wires monitoring his vital signs. Unlike last time, he didn't care about the machines keeping him alive. For once, he was glad that an actual doctor was taking care of him.

He looked to the side and found a picture frame resting on the nightstand. Dick picked it up and looked at it. It was one of those digital picture frames that changed every few from the past five years started playing as a slideshow. Not only pictures of the Titans, but pictures from Gotham as well. Everyone had donated pictures. Starfire forcing Raven to try on a sundress at the mall. Beast Boy trying to change into a Pokémon. Cyborg coaching a football team full of kids with prosthetic limbs. Tim Drake winning some award. Dick stared at the frame and took it all in as best as he could, still trying to understand just how much he had missed while he was away.

"Do you like it?"

Bruce wheeled into the room, and the noise caused Dick to look up from the picture frame.

"Yeah, I do."

"I had the Titans assemble it for you. I even put some in. See—" he pointed to the new picture that popped up on screen. "That's me and Tim. Alfred and I went to his high school graduation. We gave him a scholarship to help pay for his college application fees. Now he has a real scholarship."

Dick set the picture frame back on the nightstand. The world had been dark and bleak for so long that it was good to see that there was still some happiness in the world. "Thank you. How long have I been out?"

"For a while. You've been in and out of it."

"What happened to me?"

"Well, first we had to get your fever under control after we got you here. You also broke a couple of ribs during your fight with Bane. Multiple contusions, a concussion, you got beat up pretty good. You won't be able to be on your feet for a few weeks."

"I probably look pretty bad. I feel like a train ran me over."

Breathing was difficult. He felt his face and noticed a tube up his nose, and he was once again on an IV drip. A thick neck brace was wrapped around his neck. He saw the world through a slight haze, and after a moment he realized that he was on a painkiller. Even if he had wanted to get up and hobble away, he couldn't.

But he didn't want to leave, at least not until the painkiller wore off. He was too tired to ask anyone to leave, and maybe he didn't want anyone to leave him alone just yet.

"I know you said you didn't want to see anyone after this was over, but I had to see you hoping you'd change your mind. Because you…" Bruce spluttered. "You did it, Dick. You saved Gotham."

Tears rolled down Bruce's face.

In his drug-induced haze, Dick thought that at first he might still be dreaming. From what he remembered, Bruce never cried. Sure, he experienced great emotion, but Dick had never seen Bruce break down completely.

Dick could barely sit up, let alone do anything to embrace Bruce. He reached out and clasped Bruce's hand. "I didn't do anything, Bruce. The Titans saved Gotham. If I didn't have help, then I'd be dead."

"I know you said that you didn't want to see me or anyone afterwards, but please reconsider."

Dick remembered shouting at Bruce about how he didn't want to see anyone after defeating Bane. How he didn't want anyone getting close to him again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Is it what you want?"

It really had been a long time since anyone had asked what he wanted. "I don't know what I want."

"It's okay that you don't know. While you figure out what you want to do, please stay here."

Dick looked out the window and saw the Titans outside on the grounds. He had yelled at Bruce, had told only him that after Bane was defeated he didn't want to see them. "They don't know that I don't want to stay here or in Jump."

"They would understand."

"I'm sorry I said it—"

"None of that matters, Dick. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to become Batman. I shouldn't have made you put yourself in danger, especially when you said no." Bruce's shoulders started shaking. "I don't know what came over me. I'm so sorry. That was the worst decision I've ever made."

"If you weren't going to save Gotham, then who else would have?" Dick reached out and touched Bruce's shoulder. "It's true, I didn't want to do it. I was right: going out there when I was already unstable didn't help anyone. But going out there forced the Titans to react. I think that if I hadn't gone, I would have never seen them again."

"I'm no better than Slade," Bruce said. "Making you do what I wanted—"

"No one will ever be worse than Slade," Dick snapped. "But thank you for saying it."

"You shouldn't forgive me for that. Alfred was right: it was unforgivable. It was cruel."

"Please, don't worry about it. I agreed too easily."

"Easily?"

"Yes. I should've said no. I should've called the Titans."

"I agree. Will you stay?"

"Until I get better. Then I think I'll leave."

"Do you want me to contact Mr. Haley for you?"

"No, that's all right."

"Do you want to be alone?"

"I don't know." Dick thought briefly. "Being alone hasn't done me any good so far."

If the Titans hadn't gone after him, then Dick wouldn't have been able to defeat Bane.

"Well, we're all going to be here for you," Bruce said. "The Titans want to stay for a week or so, just to help us clean up Gotham."

"Ok." Dick looked at Bruce. "A lot happened in forty-eight hours. I need time to process it all. I'd like some time for myself."

"I understand. I'll be downstairs if you need anything. You have a call button."

"Ok."

Dick was glad that Bruce was leaving him alone for a while. He didn't feel like talking, and even if he wanted to talk there was nothing to talk about.

All of the villains breaking out of Arkham. Bane. Slade coming back from the dead. His situation had changed so swiftly that he didn't know what to do. So Dick did the only thing he could do, and slept.

By the time Bruce wheeled back downstairs the Titans had gotten back from patrol. They sat in the living room, completely exhausted and sprawled all over his nice couches. The only one standing was Cyborg, who stood up when Bruce entered the room.

"How is everything?" Bruce asked.

"Things could be better, but the Arkham villains are under control."

"Thank you for everything," Bruce said.

"You should have asked us in the first place, or the Titans East at least."

"I know. You're capable, I know that." Even though the Titans were all adults now, Bruce still thought of them as teenagers. One of the disadvantages of getting old, he supposed. He couldn't let go of the past quite as easily as he used to. "Things were just happening so fast I didn't know what to do."

"Is Dick OK?" Beast Boy asked. "He didn't look so good—"

"His fever broke last night," Bruce replied. "He won't be able to move for a while, and that's going to frustrate him. So if you can stay longer, then I think that would help him."

Being in a wheelchair frustrated Bruce, but he was learning to live with it. If anything, Bruce only wished that he was on his feet long enough to protect Dick from Bane.

He didn't tell the Titans what Dick had shouted at him, about not wanting to see the Titans after Bane was defeated. Bruce had a sneaking suspicion that Dick didn't mean it, and their presence would help him regardless of his decision.

"He wants to see Slade again, you know," Cyborg said. "He said that he had unfinished business with him."

"There will always be unfinished business between those two." Bruce sighed heavily. "He's twenty-one. Once he's recovered I can't make him do anything. He's already proven that if he wants to do something, then he'll do it."

Bruce had reviewed the video footage from the last fight with Bane and spoke with the Titans. Slade had definitely come back to protect Dick. As crazy as this all was, maybe Slade did have some twisted good in him. "I'll talk with him about that, though. I don't want him near Slade, but if Dick feels that he needs to wrap things up, then I'll help him do that."

And by that I mean get someone to help him take Slade down.

Gruff and laconic as Bruce may be, he once again felt that he didn't deserve the help he had received from the Titans after forcing Dick to become Batman. There was nothing romantic about it, something that didn't have to happen, something that would haunt Bruce forever. He was certain that the Titans were silently judging him for it, but were too nice to say anything.

"There is nothing I can possibly do to repay you for your assistance," Bruce said.

"Sure there is," Raven said. "Take care of Dick when we're not here. He doesn't just need us, he needs you too."

Their communicators bleeped.

"Oh man, are you kidding me?" Beast Boy asked, letting his head fall back on the couch. "We just got back!"

"Come on, BB, get off your lazy butt!" Cyborg shoved him off the couch. "Titans, go!"

It took a few seconds for the Titans to re-assemble themselves, but when they did they flew out the door. As the door closed, and he heard the T-Car rumble away, Bruce allowed himself a small smile.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Bruce was in this wheelchair now. Even with everything that happened, he no longer had an excuse to leave Dick home alone anymore. Maybe it was ten years too late, but it was an improvement.

The Titans were the next generation of heroes, and eventually he had to let them and others take his place. He couldn't be Batman forever. He had become irritated with the Titans when they first started because they were children. Batman began because Bruce didn't want problems for the next generation, and seeing them fight forced him to work harder. But they would continue the good fight, and perhaps inspiring them to do so was enough.

Once Dick awoke people were constantly at his side. Someone was always with him, although they disguised their presence with meals or things he needed to do. Alfred was with him most of the time, though he too said nothing. He asked Dick if he wanted anything, and then set up a chair to read a book. Beast Boy, assuming the form of a kitten, sat curled up at the end of his bed. He never said anything, and quietly left when Dick wasn't paying attention, so light that Dick didn't even notice that the weight was gone.

Slowly, as Dick's health improved, he realized that everyone else had agreed that someone always had to be with him. It was their constant presence, more than anything, that made him realize a deep, dark thought.

I wanted to die.

Dick stared at the ceiling. He hadn't even thought about it, had not verbalized these dangerous thoughts before now. Not until Raven had mentioned did he realize that, yes, that was exactly how he felt. First he stole cigarettes, and then all those times he had gone on missions with Slade…he had felt those impulses: throwing himself in front of a bomb to save a child, considering jumping from the Belfry without his hookshot, willing to throw himself in a time bubble with Bane…

If things had gone the way Dick had planned, he wouldn't have survived.

He couldn't move much, and mostly slept. With so much idle time, he couldn't help but think about Slade. Where he was and what he was doing. During his waking moments he felt a great weight lifted—and felt another settle on his shoulders.

He had exchanged one weight for another. Slade was gone, and his absence had left a weight greater than anything Dick had experienced before. He no longer had to answer to him, no longer had to fight for him, no longer had to worry about him. But now an even greater weight rested upon his chest, and it was that of learning how to cope with everything that had happened to him. Before he had suppressed any emotion he did feel for his own safety, and he had learned to ignore everything. Now he couldn't ignore it, and if he continued to do so his own health would suffer.

He wasn't his usual self, and he knew it. He had never said out loud that he had wanted to die because he didn't know it himself, but everyone else knew it by his actions. They had realized it before he had, and for that he was grateful.

Slade was surprised to see Adeline waiting for him as he approached the warehouse just outside of Gotham. She leaned against her car, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Are you here to stop me?" Slade asked.

"No." Adeline stepped around and popped open the car trunk. "I'm here to give you something."

Slade peered into the trunk. Jackal lay there, his arms and legs tied together. Adeline's fingers tapped impatiently against her car.

"I didn't think you'd approve," Slade said. "Least of all help me."

"I don't care. This needs to end." Adeline's nose wrinkled with disgust. "He threatened my family again. He needs to be eliminated."

"Then let's get him inside before anyone notices."

Slade grabbed Jackal and dragged him out of the car. Was this right? Not at all. This wasn't a straight-up contract; they were committing murder.

Killing Jackal wasn't going to make everything better. In a way, Slade had to thank Dick: without all of this brouhaha, Slade would have never gotten the chance to get his revenge.

Slade dragged Jackal into the warehouse, which had already been prepared a few hours before, Adeline following closely at his heels. He dumped Jackal onto the floor covered with plastic.

"I'm not giving you permission to murder, if that's what you're thinking," Adeline said. "If killing Jackal will bring you some peace of mind, then do it. He's a terrorist who needs to be stopped anyway."

"Why do you care?" Slade turned to face her. "You don't have to see this."

"I just want to be sure that this is it."

"What do you mean by that?"

Adeline looked at him. "I still can't believe what you've done. I don't understand why you felt the need to terrorize children."

"I told you that I cared about him."

"Cared about him. How could you have when you didn't even care about your own son? Did you think he was crippled? You never bothered to work with him, never bothered to learn sign language, never bothered to communicate with him. Was it just easier to find someone else who was more perfect?"

"I'm not going to answer that," Slade replied. "Anything I say won't be good enough for you. Nothing I ever did was good enough for you."

"I don't care if it's not good enough for me. I don't matter, but the children do."

"I did what was best for all of them."

"If you go after that boy again I will kill you," Adeline said. "Don't impose your suffering on others."

"Whoever said that I was?"

Adeline huffed. "Just shoot him."

Slade took out a gun and motioned for Adeline to do the same. "You want him dead as much as I do."

"I'd like to say that he ripped our family apart," Adeline said, taking her gun out. "But that won't be true. He's the reason I found out about you, but I won't ever forget that you're the real problem."

"Are you gonna shoot me after he's dead?"

"Maybe."

"Good luck with that. I'm Lazarus now, raised from the dead."

"Shut up."

Both of them raised their guns. Their shots echoed faintly, the noise deadening as the bullets ripped through Jackal's flesh. This retribution was cold, silent, and simple. His blood wouldn't wash away all of the rage Slade felt, all of the sorrow that this man had caused. Slade's problems lay deeper than Jackal, to a decision to work as a mercenary.

Perhaps an end to the apprenticeship was for the best. Slade no longer felt an urge to craft a schedule, a lesson plan, or figure out how to deal with an unruly teenager. Dick had his own life to live, and now that he was an adult there was nothing more he could teach him, not unless Dick wanted to be taught.

Slade would, to his own surprise, go on with his life.