A/n: First things first, my usual apology. I hope you all understand. I'm sure your lives get busy, too. I transitioned jobs, moved, etc. etc. So many things have happened. But that's not what you are here for, so on with the show.

Superman grunted as Slade's fist met his face. "Kryptonite," the masked man smirked, walking towards the fallen hero. "Built into the suit. Nice touch, hmm?" Superman pulled himself to his feet as Slade approached. Slade was halted by the roar of a tiger, as a green blur leapt at him from the shadows. Slade caught the beast with a forearm to the neck, using the momentum to throw the changeling away from him.

"Audi et fecisti malum non recordaberis ampliu Richard Grayson!" Raven shouted, her eyes glowing and her hands releasing the physical energy of the spell. It rocketed towards Slade, and his eye widened momentarily as it slammed into his chest. He stumbled slightly, raising a hand to the impact site in confusion before a laugh began in his chest.

Raven lowered herself to the ground, cautiously approaching him as his laughter built. Superman also descended, coming to stand beside the sorceress as Batman, too, made his presence known once again.

"Hear and you shall not remember… that's a nice trick, witch," Slade chuckled. He straightened, slowly walking towards them. Each tensed in response, ready for the fight that was sure to follow. "There's only one problem…" He stopped several feet from them, his glare suddenly hardening in anger. "It didn't work."

Dick woke up briefly when they arrived at the Watchtower. The zeta beams announcing their arrival jarred him from his unconsciousness and he sluggishly looked around, squinting in the light and becoming tense for a moment before recognizing his surroundings. He startled when a hand touched his face.

"Shh, it's alright, Robin. We've got you. You're safe."

"Dia-Wonder Woman? I don't… where's….?" He trailed off with a stifled groan as his head throbbed.

"It's ok, Dick, we're here. Look at me for a second, darling." Dick tried to make his head obey, but it felt so heavy. Gentle hands steadied his chin, but he still winced slightly as he felt pressure on a bruise on his jaw. "Sorry, sorry." Soft fingers prised his eyelids open one at a time. His vision swam. "Uneven… he's got a concussion, pretty bad on from the looks of it. Stay awake, sweetheart."

"Di, he can't stay awake, we have to put him under," Barry said. Dick felt the man's voice rumble through his torso, which was still supporting Dick's weight. "He's got a tracker in him… we have to get it out, or that bastard will be able to come straight to him." That got Dick's attention.

"N-no, he can't come here!" he yelped, but immediately regretted it when his head gave a particularly vicious throb in response. "He can't come here… he can't know how to get here." He said quieter.

"He'll never be able to get in, Dick," Wally reassured him, from somewhere to his left… or right? Everything was spinning.

"He g-got into the house. Cameras 'll over the place." He was fading out fast. And god, would his head ever stop hurting? Getting hit by Slade was bad enough, but getting hit by Slade holding a hunk of solid metal?

"The manor?" Barry, again. Dick could only nod slightly as his stomach protested. He was going to be sick… unless he passed out first.

"Master Dick, rest now. All will be alright, in the end." Dick knew that voice, and he thought he might cry with relief if only crying wouldn't hurt so much right now.

"Alfred? What're you doi-?" he faltered as another cloud of darkness came over his vision.

"Rest, my boy." Dick had so many things he needed to tell them, so much he wanted to say, but it was a battle between his wishes and the darkness trying to pull him under.

The latter won out.

"It didn't work… damnit all, why didn't it work?" Batman slammed his fist into the table. It hadn't worked… months of planning, lives lost… and it hadn't worked. Intercepting Robin's "mission" to plant the spell and the antidote in his belt… Wintergreen slipping them to the sorceress so that she could practice… they had risked so much, had lost so much. And it hadn't worked.

With a sigh, he sank into a chair, dropping the cowl and running a hand over his face. Waiting was excruciating. Dick had been unconscious almost constantly since they had gotten him out of Gotham. Alfred had met them at the Watchtower, he had been told, had beamed up to get supplies ready for Dick's arrival, and had insisted on supervising the procedure, minor though it was, to remove the tracer from the boy's hand. But Bruce could only wait, impatiently, until his boy woke up.

"I don't know, Bruce." Clark had been seated silently through the billionaire's tirade, nursing his own wounds, minor though they were, as he recovered from his exposure to the Kryptonite in Deathstroke's suit. Bruce, too, had exchanged blows with the assassin before the man had caught him off guard and disappeared, seemingly vanishing without a trace. He had left one parting shot, however, a voice on the wind: tell Robin this will never be over. You should guard your toys more carefully, Mr. Wayne.

"What the hell did that mean? 'You should guard your toys'? I don't like it, Clark. I don't think he was only talking about Dick…" Bruce rose and resumed his pacing. He never liked sitting still, not when he was anxious. He could manage it, sure, when there was something he could do about it, research, observation, but he was, by nature, and anxious mover.

"None of us like it, Bruce. But there's nothing we can do about it right now. He's here, he's safe with us, and for now, that's all that matters. Whatever comes, next, we'll manage. We always do."

"Ten months, Clark! He had my kid for ten months! He hurt him, he-god, he-" Clark had risen from his seat, and made his way to his distraught friend.

"And he will pay for it, Bruce. You have my word, and that of the entire League. We'll find him, and we will stop him." Bruce nodded, his jaw taught.

A red blur announced Barry's arrival. "Bats, he's waking up." Bruce was immediately moving towards the door at that. A hand on his arm halted him, and, irritated, he looked at the Flash.

"What?" he growled. He had to see his son.

"There's something else…" Barry hesitated. "He was in your house… Deathstroke. Dick said that somehow, he had been in your house. Kid damn near panicked. I don't know what he did, Bruce, but I'm guessing it's not good."

"Clark, can you-" Batman never finished the thought, but the Man of Steel understood.

"I'm on it. Go be with your son." With that, Superman left for Wayne Manor, and Batman went, for once, to do exactly as he had been told.

Dick awoke to lights that were far too bright, feeling like his limbs were made of lead, and the smell of chamomile tea.

With a herculean effort, really far more effort than it should have taken, he pushed himself upright, and fell back against his pillows. He was in a hospital bed, but he recognized the room as one of the infirmaries of the Watchtower. His mind felt fuzzy, and he felt on edge, until his gaze drifted left.

Alfred. Holding a cup of tea. Dick let out a half sob, half laugh at the sight.

"Alfred?" he croaked. His throat felt rough, and sore. He swallowed with a wince. "You're here? You're really here?" His voice shook slightly.

"Oh, my boy," Alfred rose to his feet, reseating himself on the edge of the bed, opening his arms to Dick. Dick didn't need anymore invitation than that, and, as quickly as his aching body would allow, threw himself into the butler's arms.

Alfred gently stroked the back of the boy's head as he held him, wary of the large and tender bump left from a blow to the head. The butler blinked away angry tears as he thought of what else the boy may have been through? What else had that monster done to their boy?

He felt Dick relax in his arms, and pulled away slightly.

"Now then," he said, his tone light, but no nonsense, and easily recognizable to the young man before him. "Routine check." That brought a small smile to the boy's face, but it didn't quite reach the young master's eyes, as it once had.

Alfred held up a finger, moving it slowly back and forth, his own eyes locked firmly onto Dick's. He held up three fingers, and Dick said as much. The same for two and five. He gently opened the boy's eyes a bit wider, and shone a small penlight into them.

"You'll live, I think," he said gently, putting away the light, and gently taking the young man's face into his own hands. "Now, onto these," he said, referring, of course, to the bruises marring the skin.

"Didn't they do all of this when they-" Dick trailed off, lifting his bandaged hand slightly in explanation.

"They did a once over, yes," Alfred said, pausing his ministrations for a moment. "But getting the tracker out was first priority. I'd like to do my own check up, if you don't mind." Dick shook his head slightly, letting the older man continue his fussing, just like he had done when Dick was 9.

The man clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he took in the marks covering the young face. A split lip, a black eye, swollen and tender to the touch, he was sure. Bruises on both sides of his face, though remarkably darker on the right side, and with a cut in the center, sure signs of one or more backhanded strikes. The bump on the back of his head. And, most disturbingly, a smattering of small, dark bruises around his chin… finger grip marks.

"I will not say I am pleased, as I can assure you, I most certainly am not. However, nothing seems to be too serious. The physical marks should heal up nicely."

Dick nodded, stretching his sore shoulders, extending his arms in front of him. Alfred, ever mindful, noticed the boy pale when he saw his black and orange covered arms.

"I daresay," he spoke before Dick even opened his mouth, "that a change of clothes is in order." He held out the small bundle of clothing that he had brought from the manor. The clothes were old, and the boy had grown taller in his time away, his too, too long time away, so Alfred was sure to grab shirts and sweatpants that would both be comfortable to recover in, but also had been far too large on Dick when he had first worn them.

He helped Dick to stand up, gently removing the IVs and various monitors from his ward, and insisted, despite protests, upon helping him dress.

"Master Dick, you have been through quite an ordeal. I will not have you falling over on my watch. Master Bruce would have my head if I allowed anything further to happen to you."

Oddly, the boy's face fell slightly at the mention of his surrogate father, but Alfred didn't mention it. There would be time later.

He turned his back as the boy changed his pants, keeping near enough that he could assist if necessary, and bracing himself should the acrobat suddenly require his assistance. Slowly, however, Dick managed on his own.

Alfred turned to face him to help with his shirt, and froze. "My god, child... oh, dear boy."

Dick had his back to Alfred as he tugged off the uniform shirt he had been wearing. Alfred had turned just in time to see the boy's back. Gently, with a shaking hand, he brought his fingertips to the scars criss-crossing the skin. He was outraged to see two still healing welt, the skin closed, but red and puckered, obviously painful. Alfred floundered for words.

"Child, what-"

"What the hell happened?" came an angry voice from the doorway.