I'm too lazy for a real author's note today...so enjoy the chapter!

The farthest thing from Slade's mind was Dick's mental health. Sure, it was there, but it wasn't front and center. Blake Johnson was dead, killed by his hand. His mind was almost at total bliss. The only thing that Slade had to concern himself with at the time was taking care of Dick's wounded shoulder, but it was hardly a problem. The bullet had gone straight through, avoiding bone and tendons. Dick had been very lucky. Slade had let it slide that he had gotten himself shot because it had been a big job and Dick had carried it out with only minor complications. The boy's shoulder would heal just fine and he would be back on his feet in no time at all. However, Slade had noticed that he was pushing his recovery to the extreme by constantly being active and working on areas that he could improve on. But Slade let it go as Dick being eager to be out on the field again.

For the first time since his mission Dick had gone out for his usual stroll around Central Park. He had only gone because Slade had requested it. For several days following the hostage situation Dick had been getting up earlier than normal and training harder than Slade had ever seen. The previous night Slade had mentioned that the boy should go to Central Park as he did before the mission, with great reluctance Dick obliged. Much to his delight when Slade had woken up the next morning Dick was gone. Just to make sure, Slade called down to the lobby and was happier than a kid in a candy store to find that his apprentice had not snuck off to the gym. He was glad Dick was taking his training seriously, but he didn't want the boy to injure himself further. With a sigh, Slade shook his head and wondered what on earth his was going to do with that boy.

Slade silently place his breakfast dishes in the sink and turned away to pour himself a glass of orange juice. Before he had a chance to open the fridge something caught his attention. An unopened bottle of Z-Quil sat as if it were waiting for something on the counter. Picking it up, Slade turned it over in his hands, examining it. The seal had yet to be broken, the over the counter drug had never been used. Apparently, Dick had stopped taking his daily dose. Slade recalled that the boy had expressed that the sleep aid did nothing for him. It appeared that Dick had decided against taking it all together. Nothing short of knocking him out would get the poor kid to sleep. Maybe they would have to switch to something stronger, like Valium.

Reaching up, Slade opened a cupboard and placed the Z-Quil inside. As he retracted his arm, his hand brushed a bottle of pain killers. Seizing it, Slade gave it a slight shake and frowned. The man unscrewed the cap and let the small pills to fall into his hand. Quickly he counted them before placing them back into the bottle. Only two were missing, the two he had given Dick the night he had returned with a mutilated shoulder. Why wouldn't the boy take more? Slade had clearly pointed out where the pain killers were kept, and he had instructed Dick to take as he needed them. Why hadn't he? Slade had been shot, many, many times. It was not a pleasant feeling. He couldn't imagine that Dick wasn't in any pain. It seemed the boy had no need for pain killers. Shaking his head, Slade put the bottle back. He'd have to talk to Dick about it later.

Continuing with his breakfast, he pulled out the carton of orange juice and poured himself a tall glass. Once again, he was interrupted, but this time it was by an annoying beep. For a moment Slade was confused, but only for a moment. Glancing down, he noticed that the watch on his wrist was announcing an incoming call from Wintergreen. Slade furrowed his brow and spared a glance at the clock that stood above the stove, which told him it wasn't even six thirty. Did Wintergreen know what time it was? Of course he did, they were in the same time zone. But why was he calling so early? With a sigh, Slade punched the button on the side of the watch that would connect them. The screen was blue for a few seconds, then it was replaced by Wintergreen's wrinkled face. To be honest, he looked tired, almost as if he had aged several years. His grey eyes, full of concern, had a faraway look to them. Slade was about to ask what was wrong, but Wintergreen spoke first.

"Where is Dick?"

Slade frowned. "If you wanted to talk to him, then why not call him?" Then a terrible, awful thought hit him. "He's not answering, is he?"

A dozen images zipped through his head, ranging from Dick lying dead in a gutter somewhere to him boarding a bus to Gotham. In an instant Slade was out of the kitchen, into the living room, and at the front door. He was ready to track down Dick where ever he was. Just as he was about to open the door, Wintergreen's urgent voice brought him back to reality. The old man insisted that Slade calm down, but he was like a volcano ready to erupt. How could Wintergreen be so calm when Dick was possibly hurt, or worse? Placing his hand on the doorknob, Slade hesitated. There was something about Wintergreen's expression that deeply unnerved him. Letting his hand drop to his side, he decided to listen to reason for a change.

"Care to explain what's going on?"

Wintergreen sighed. "You got worked up uncharacteristically quick, do you know that? I guess that lets me know you care about the boy."

Slade chose to remain silent.

"I haven't tried to phone him, so I assume that he is fine," Wintergreen explained, calming Slade's anxiousness, if only a little. "I just wanted to make sure he wasn't there. I'd rather him not be present at the moment."

He narrowed his eyes. "Please continue."

Wintergreen looked uncomfortable. "Recently I have noticed a change in Dick's behavior. He's brash, and sometime rather rude. Perhaps his anger issues have come back, sir?"

"He hasn't expressed any anger around me. In fact, Dick had been channeling his anger quite well." Slade dismissed.

"I am seriously worried about the boy, and I feel you should be too." He said. "Dick has been acting strange, and I think that it is a serious problem that needs to be addressed."

Slade's mind flashed back to the pain killers and sleep aid that Dick reused to take. Maybe something was wrong with the boy. Thinking back even further, Slade could see the slow change in Dick's behavior. It was like a snowball slowly rolling down a hill, building in size and speed, how had he missed it? He shook his head; perhaps he had missed the warning signs because he spent the most time with Dick, and had missed the gradual changes. Or maybe he was too preoccupied with his Blake Johnson situation to notice Dick's change in behavior. Was the boy crying out for help, or was he detaching himself from the world? Suddenly, Slade found himself very interested in what Wintergreen had to say. Nodding slightly, he signaled for the older man to continue.

"I have always noticed a spark about Dick, an undying flame in his eyes." Wintergreen paused for a moment in thought. "Or so I thought. When I first met him he was arrogant and cocky, and I thought there was nothing more to him. But as time went by I saw that I was wrong. Dick had a lightness about him, a funny, sarcastic, happy side. Even when he was miserable or angry he always had that spark. As of late it seems to have vanished. Slade, is he happy?"

Absentmindedly, Slade rubbed his temple. "Well, he just finished Les Miserables, and it's a pretty damn sad book."

Wintergreen just about snorted. "I'm serious, is anything bothering him?"

"Is anything bothering him? No. I don't hear him crying out in his sleep from reoccurring nightmares. I don't watch him push his food around the dinner plate, debating whether to eat or not. I don't see him train every day until he is fatigued and ready to collapse." Slade snapped. "No, I don't think anything is bothering him."

"No need to be rude."

Slade sighed. "What could have so drastically affected him?"

The old man pressed his lips into a fine line. "Sir, I believe that you are forgetting that less than a month ago he took the life of another human being."

"He wasn't ready for that."

"I agree. Perhaps that is what has been bothering the boy."

Slade shook his head slowly. "I don't know. In one of the rare moments that he had opened up, he told me that he felt guilty over the man's death, but he said that if he had not killed him that he'd still be out there on the streets; possibly molesting children, or killing parents."

"That doesn't mean he's okay."

"I know it doesn't mean that Dick is okay. I just don't think that it's what is currently bothering him."

Wintergreen was thoughtful, and he looked over his words long and hard before he continued. "I believe I may have an explanation."

Slade's single grey eye snapped up to meet Wintergreen's stone colored ones. However, the older man was no longer looking at him, but rather at something in the distance. Wintergreen seemed hesitant, as if he hadn't meant to say what he had said. Slade, on the other hand was concerned. Seldom had he seen the other man get tongue tied. It just wasn't natural. Normally Wintergreen spoke his mind, but something was different. Nodding slightly, he indicated for the other man to continue. Wintergreen pursed his lips and stared blankly at the screen. How could he put it mildly and not anger Slade? The moral of the story, he couldn't. Perhaps he could dance around the issue, but that would also make Slade angry. With a sigh, Wintergreen decided to let his words take him where they may.

"Dick has never had a stable family life." He started slowly. "His parents were taken from him at a very young age, as you know. From what I have gathered, when the boy went to live with Wayne he was left with the butler most of the time. Obviously, Dick and Wayne's relationship was on the rocky side. Even when he joined the Titans things were hectic. My word; it was a building full of unsupervised teenagers! The boy was forced to assume the role of an adult."

"So you're saying that Dick needs a family?"

"No," Wintergreen said, shaking his head. "I believe that Dick has found a family in us."

"Then what is the problem?"

"He needs a stable family. Dick, though he'd never admit it, needs a father. To me, it seems as though he had chosen you to fill the role, but he's terrified of letting you down. He's afraid of messing up where things went wrong with Wayne," Wintergreen paused. "and I think you see him like a son, in a way. This also concerns me."

Slade glared at his watch. "Will, what are you getting at?"

He hesitated. "I think you may be trying to replace Grant with Dick."

The mercenary's anger was slowly rising. "That's absurd."

Wintergreen either did not catch, or ignored the hind of anger laced into his smooth voice. He continued. "Dick is his own person; he cannot be compared to Grant. He is insecure, you need to let him know you are proud. Take some weight off of his shoulders. Despite what you and he may think, he is still just a kid. He is under far too much strain. Remember when he first came into our lives? He had terrible ulcers from the stress he was under. That could easily happen again. Now he has the weight of taking a life added to everything else. Dick could very well lose his mind."

"Stop."

"Sir, I believe that something needs to be done. Talk to him. Take him to a Yankees game or something."

"I said stop!" Slade snapped. "Dick can never compare to my son. He will never be what Grant is-was to me. Dick's father died eight years ago, he will never find someone to replace him." Slade made a move to end the call, but Wintergreen stopped him.

"Please, promise me something."

"What?" Slade demanded.

"Don't blame this conversation on him."

Dick's breath came out in short ragged gasps as he glided along a bend in the stone foot path and rounded up on his fourth mile mark. His feet slapped against the pavement and crunched down upon any leaf that had been unfortunate enough to be where his feet fell. Bounding alone the path, Dick gritted his teeth against the pain that had been blossoming in his shoulder for the duration of his run. Held tightly to his body by a sling, his arm bounced against his chest, only adding to the ever growing pain. Dick had tried to ignore it, but it was almost too much for him to bear. Almost. A few black spots danced before his unfocused eyes, but it was nothing. He had dealt with worse problems. Dick pushed himself a little harder, and he began to move a little faster. The voice in the back of his head, the one that wasn't Robin, often piped up to tell him he was pushing his body too far. Most of the time Dick ignored it, he loved proving it wrong.

Robin had been strangely quiet, not that Dick was complaining. For a while he felt like the annoying voice was gone for good, despite it only being forty-eight hours from the last time he had heard from him- it. However, every once in a great while Robin would stir. Though he would never speak, he would always make enough commotion to let Dick know he was still there. Most of the time, the little bird announced his presence by putting conflicting thoughts in Dick's head. All of them were thoughts that the boy had not pondered on for a very long time. Thoughts such as: Could he really trust Slade? The answer was obvious, of course he could. He and Slade had proven each other's loyalty countless times. Normally, Dick would punish Robin with a hundred crunches, but he wasn't sure how much of a punishment it really was, for both he and Robin worked away their problems by working out. In fact, that was the only time Robin stayed silent, when he was working out, that is.

The August day was considerably cooler than any day of the month previous, but that didn't mean it wasn't hot. A single cloud hung in the sky, unaccompanied by any others. It was wispy and light like freshly spooled cotton candy. The sky was a light blue, for the sun had barely risen from the east. It was still early, but already the park was crowded by busy people who lived ordinary lives and had no interest in the young boy who was coming up on his fourth mile. There were a few other runners, but non as hard core as Dick. Most of them were college students out for a leisurely jug with their iPods in their ears, and their pony tails swaying in their wake. Dick had nothing to listen to but the gentle sounds of birds chirping and his own thoughts. Both were on the annoying side.

Would Slade be angry that he was out running? Dick doubted it. Slade had merely suggested that he go to Central Park, and even then he hadn't specifically said what he wanted Dick to do while he was there. It wasn't like Slade could have known about Benjamin Steiner either… Right? Dick had never talked about the old man, but Slade seemed to just know things in the same creepy way that Batman did. Shivering a little, the acrobat idly wondered if it was a skill that people grew into or acquired after becoming a father. But still, it didn't seem possible that Slade knew about Benjamin. So what if he did? It didn't really make a difference. Besides, Slade trusted him, so it was okay for him to talk to other people, right? What did he think Dick even did with all his time spent at Central Park?

Suddenly, Dick was struck with a terrible feeling. It started in the pit of his stomach, but quickly spread to his chest. It felt like a rope had been tied around his heart and was doing all in its power to restrict its beat. Slowing down, Dick came into a jog, then stopped all together. Hunching over, he squeezed his eyes shut and placed his good hand to his knee cap. Dick's air came in short pants, and he was having an incredibly hard time catching his breath. The memory of Leroy hit him like a ten ton truck. The older boy's eyes flashed through his mind, and Dick was overcome with the urge to vomit. Benjamin, like Leroy, knew far too much for his own good. Dick mentally scolded himself; if he had been wearing a mask Benjamin might not have recognized him, and he might not have been in that mess. Slowly, he shook his head. No, even if he had worn a mask Benjamin would still have been knee deep in his problems. Dick had made the same mistake.

Standing up straight, Dick eyed the bench that served as his forth mile marker, then sprinted in the opposite direction. People gave him strange looks as he darted past with a look of desperation on his face. His arm flopped against his chest and a dull moan escaped him as his shoulder exploded in a white hot fury. His rapidly growing raven hair plastered itself onto his forehead by means of sweat, and made it rather difficult for him to see. A few pigeons were gathered at the side of the path, pecking at something on the ground. They didn't bother to move as Dick ran by, instead they stayed and trusted that he would not stomp on them. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and then down his spine, and the black spots increased ever so slightly. The heat was starting to get to him. Dick stumbled over his own two feet, and continued down the path.

Dick caught sight of a familiar tree line, and his mind went blank. Unfortunately his feet continued to work, and he tripped. His palms skidded across the pavement in a vain attempt to keep his face from hitting the ground. Flesh was torn, and blood was spilled, luckily his hands and knees took most of the damage. That, however, did not excuse the fact that he had torn his arm free of his sling to catch himself. Pain exploded in his shoulder, enough that he thought he may have blacked out for a few seconds. When he came to, he took stock. There was a minor strawberry rub on his chin, and his knees and palms were bloody, but it seemed that his shoulder was the worst off, and it was already numbing itself. Stupid, he was a stupid worthless bag of bones. He was just a waste of space. Slade would have scoffed at his clumsiness. He hardly ever tripped, normally he was quick and light on his feet. Where did the stumble come from all of a sudden? With an aggravated growl, Dick clenched his teeth together. He'd have to fix that clumsiness problem, along with everything else. Then, and only then, would he allow himself to be called Slade's apprentice. He was far from perfect, and he had a long way to go.

With heavy footfalls, Dick managed to reach the trees. Pressing his back against one, he slumped to the ground. He tilted his head back until the bark rubbed uncomfortably against his scalp, he deserved the pain. A sob escaped him, and before he knew it he was unable to control each new one that bubbled from his mouth. The tears that flowed from his tired blue eyes were cool compared to the hot summer air. Dick wasn't quite sure why he was crying. He didn't know if it was because of the pain he was in, or if it was because he was a total disappointment. His shoulder flared up in pain once again, and with gritted teeth he managed to grab his sling and shove his arm back into it.

Tears continued to roll down his face as he climbed to his aching feet, but his sobbing was under control for the most part. Dick steadied himself against the tree, and watched as the world danced the Nutcracker Suite before his eyes. Swallowing some stray bile, he took a shaky step forward and nearly collapsed. Setting his eyes straight forward, Dick clenched his jaw and took another step, and then another. If Dick was anything, he was determined. Though it had run through his mind many times, he wasn't sure what he would find beyond the trees. Would the whole NYC Police Department be waiting for him? Would Benjamin have gone to the police? Would Sarah? Dick wiped a stray tear away and felt his heart skip a beat. Would Benjamin betray him like that? He wasn't sure, but there was one thing he did know. He had created far too many loose ends for himself. He had already made the mistake of getting ordinary people mixed up into his screwed up life. Right then and there, Dick swore to himself that Benjamin would be his last mistake.

Breaking through the trees, he was slightly surprised to find the scene unchanged from the last time he had been there. Several water fowl floated on the glassy surface of the pond. Dick's eyes skimmed over the area, and finally they rested on the old man sitting on the bench. Benjamin sat with his back resting against the finished wood, and a coffee sat in the empty seat beside him. Dick could see that he was absentmindedly thumbing through a newspaper, the same way Wintergreen would in the early hours of the morning. Once again the raven haired boy was reminded of how much he missed the simple days. Benjamin didn't appear to be aware of him standing there in the trees, so Dick decided to get a little closer. Finally, Benjamin looked up from his paper. Dick was not expecting the old man to be happy to see him. He expected to see hatred behind Benjamin's blue eyes, but the man just smiled.

"Hey, Dickie John," he said lightly. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you again."

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but his word froze in his throat when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Beside Benjamin, tied to the park bench was a fully grown German Shepard. The dog eyed him with big brown orbs, and rose onto all fours to greet him. His bushy tail rocked back and forth like a metronome counting off a beat. The dog's tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he panted in the heat. As he saw Dick approach, his front legs lifted off of the ground slightly. His leash, however, tugged him back, not allowing him to run to the boy. At further inspection, Dick found gray hairs around the dog's muzzle, and he decided it was an old dog with the energy of a pup. Dick's steps faltered and he found himself hesitant to move any further. Benjamin motioned for him to come and sit down, but Dick ignored the gesture. It was much too close to the dog for his liking.

"Something wrong, Dickie John?"

His eyes never left the dog. "I'm not really found of animals of the canine variety…"

"He won't hurt you." Benjamin assured. "Corporal, down."

Corporal sat down on his hind legs, but still kept an eye on the boy. Stiffly, Dick closed the distance between him and Benjamin. Taking a seat next to the old man, he tried to scoot as far away from the dog as he possibly could, but it was of no use. Corporal could still reach him if he wanted. Dick's mind flashed back to the attack, the bloodied corpses of Maxx and Roxy, then his eyes studied Corporal in front of him. The dog was watchful like the two Rotties, but there was an undeniable playfulness in his eyes. Despite that fact, Dick was still on edge. His stomach became full of butterflies when he realized his was unarmed, and that he had nothing to protect himself with besides his bare hands.

"He ain't going to hurt you," Benjamin repeated, patting Corporal on the head. "He's just playful, but let me tell you. He's mellowed in his old age, and wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I'm still not a fan of dogs." Dick mumbled, bitterly.

The old man's crystal blue eyes swept over him. "I knew you hurt your shoulder, and let me say, I was mighty awful scared when that sniper popped you a good one. But what happened to the rest of you?"

Dick stared blankly at his bloody hands. "I tripped."

"Now, just the other night I saw you doing all kinds of flips and twists. It was pretty graceful to me; do you honestly think I would believe The Flying Ninja fell?"

Dick smiled a bit at that, but it shriveled and died like a wilted flower. "I was stupid, careless."

Benjamin had a feeling he was not talking about just tripping. "Don't say that."

"I was!" he insisted. "I wasn't paying attention, and I messed up! I'm stupid and worthless! Why would anyone want me?"

Benjamin laid a gentle hand on the distraught boy's back. "Because you are an intelligent young man with a great level of talent."

Dick pulled away. "I'm a walking mistake and a waste of space, that's what I am."

"Oh, Dickie John," Benjamin sighed. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it, debating on what to say. How much could he say without putting Benjamin in more danger? Nothing, he could say absolutely nothing. No matter what he said, someone would be in danger. Whether it be Benjamin's safety, or his and Slade's life in New York, which he still wasn't sure if it was safe. Looking away Dick decided that the best option for everybody was for him to stay quiet. For a moment he stared into open space, but a stinging sensation brought him back to reality. His eyes flickered to his free hand, and he was filled with terror. Apparently Corporal had sauntered over to Dick without him being aware, and he had begun to lick the scraps on his hand. Dick flinched away, and Corporal actually looked hurt, as if dogs could feel. The German Shepard rested his heavy head on Dick's thigh, and let his pointy ears lay flat against his brown head.

"Get!" Dick all but screamed. "Get away!"

"Stop that, Corporal." Benjamin scolded. "He doesn't like you."

The dog, however, didn't listen. He kept his massive head rested on Dick's leg. He whimpered slightly, and cast his almond colored eyes onto Dick. The dog was just dying for attention. Dick wanted to move, to get away from the dog. Unfortunately there was nowhere for him to go besides off the bench, and that would alert Corporal. Benjamin grabbed a banana nut muffin out of his paper bag and offered it to the boy, who gazed at it as if it were a strange alien. With slow calculated movements, he reached out and accepted it with a nervous smile. All the while, Corporal watched the exchange, licking his chops. The dog, as scary as he was, was really quite magnificent. He had a golden brown coat that reached all the way to the tips of his paws. He had an even darker brown spot that sloped from his forehead and down his back. It even stretched to his tail, which began to wag when he noticed Dick was staring at him.

"I-I'm ashamed of what I did." Dick mumbled.

Benjamin nodded slightly. "I can forgive you for your actions."

"-but I'm not ashamed in the way that you'd think."

The old man's mouth closed, and he gave Dick a look he had never seen before. It was a mixture of sympathy and confusion. Dick wasn't sure what to do about it, so he continued. "I'm not ashamed of why I did it, or even the fact that I did it. I'm ashamed of how I did it. I was stupid, sloppy. I've only been shot once before, but this, this is ridiculous! I have never made such a careless mistake in my life!"

"Did your dad put you up to this?" Benjamin finally asked.

"No," Dick said. "No, this was my own plan, and I still jacked it up." He paused for a moment, and his voice took on a grave tone that made Corporal's ears perk up. "He's not my father, and I highly suggest you forget about him for your own good."

"Look, Dickie John, you're a good kid. I think you're just messed up in some bad stuff right now. You've just lost your way-,"

"No!" Dick snapped. "I've found my way. For once I'm not lost, or confused about who I am. I know it may not seem it, but what I am doing is right. No, I don't want to hurt anybody, but I will if I have to. It's as simple as that."

Benjamin sighed. "If that's what you feel. No one but you can decide what road you take. You've been pointed in two different directions, and you have chosen your path. I'm not going to elaborate or judge further. You are a good kid, and I trust in the chose you've made."

Dick felt his lips begin to tremble. "Thank you, Ben."

"I just want to know one thing, and like you said to me, you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"What is it?" Dick asked uneasily.

"Have you ever murdered anyone?"

"No."

"What?"

"I've never murdered anyone."

That was it. There was no room for discussion. Dick had left none. With a sigh the young boy lifted the muffin to his mouth and took a small bite. Squinting against the sunlight, he watched the ducks swim. It was a lovely day. It really was. Unfortunately, autumn was right around the corner. Dick hated the cold, which was part of the reason he moved to Jump. Sure it got chilly there, but never cold. Lost in his own little world, in a distant galaxy, Dick did not notice Corporal eyeing up his muffin. A surprised yelp escaped from his mouth when the dog bounced up and snatched the food from his hand. Benjamin swatted at him, and he backed away with his tail between his legs. Looking to Dick as if he expected support, Corporal sat next to him and gave a pitiful whimper.

"That ain't your damn food, you mangy mutt." Benjamin reprimanded, standing up and untying his leash. "I'm sorry, Dickie John. He thinks everyone loves him."

"It's okay." Dick said, unsurely. He made sure that Benjamin had a good hold on the dog's leash.

"I hate to just up and leave, but I've got to head on out. I need to swing by my apartment and drop Corporal off before work."

Dick nodded stiffly, a little traumatized by the fact that Corporal's teeth had been so close to his hand. The dog's tongue bobbed up and down as his tail wagged. He stared greedily at Dick, as if he expected him to play. It was kind of cute, but Dick wasn't fooled in the least. He saw dogs for what they really were. They were animals, beasts, not cute, cuddly pets. Benjamin moved closer to Dick, which allowed Corporal to move closer. The acrobat wanted to tell them to stay away, but he didn't have the heart to. Instead he bit his lip and remained silent. Benjamin placed his wrinkled hand on Dick's shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze full of unspoken words. For a moment the boy didn't see Benjamin at all, but a flash of Alfred, and a little bit of Wintergreen.

"I'll always be here, Dickie John." Benjamin said. "Whenever you need me I'll be waiting right here. Even if you're just lonely come and see me. I know you say you're not alone, but I'm not entirely sure if I believe you. Forget about what the fairy tales say, you can't win a war with one man. It's a team effort. Boy, Dickie John, you're not just trying to win a war, you're trying to take on the whole world by yourself. I know, even though you deny it, that you have a lot of conflicting thoughts."

I'll say. Robin added, helpfully, but Dick ignored him.

"I know you're confused, but I'll try to help you to the best of my ability." He paused and gave Dick's shoulder another gentle squeeze. "I'll always be here for you when you need me."

Dick believed him, but he later wished he hadn't. Benjamin had been lying, even if he himself didn't know it. All good things must come to an end, and it seemed like every good thing came to an end for Dick. But, in that moment he was completely content. Benjamin was right; Slade didn't regret making him his apprentice, didn't he? Dick was suddenly so at ease that he really didn't care. Corporal trotted forward and again rested his head on Dick's thigh. Without thinking, he raised his hand and gently scratched the German Shepard behind the ears.

Maybe he wouldn't be okay, but maybe he was tough, and he'd try anyway.

Not gonna lie, I teared up a teeny bit at the last bit of the chapter...damn you, Charlie. Hope you guys enjoyed, see ya next chapter!