Okay, this part is all fluff, and probably isn't necessary, but I really liked it and felt it was important for them. all of them. and say goodbye to Wintergreen! He doesn't really have a part in the story but after this chapter you won't see him again. Enjoy!

Dick-16/17 Jason-13 Cass-11/12 Tim-9 Damian-3

Sacrifice

12 – Much Wanted Dreams

Everything hurt. Inside and out. Hot and cold, antsy and tired, and everything blurred together. His head and stomach kept competing for who was worse off. It didn't really matter who won. Either way he lost. Voices all around him told him to relax, get up, rest, smile, play with him, get ready for practice, eat something, don't forget his coat, slow down… so many voices. He swore he saw his long dead parents at least twice, telling him to hold strong or to just let the pain take over and join them. So many voices…

How long had he been sick? Felt like days. But there was some advantage to being sick. For once he wasn't being punished or threatened for not completing something. Yes his body was in agony and he couldn't think straight, but he was in a warm, secure bed and he knew no one would make him leave it until he was well again.

Dick heard Slade and Wintergreen talking earlier, something about medicine and having to leave for a few hours. He didn't quite understand everything that was said as his ears started ringing part way through the discussion, but he knew his captor was going to be gone for a bit. If only he wasn't so weak and delirious from the infection he gained. Well, he thought it was an infection. Wintergreen said something about changes in altitude, stress, physical exertion, possibly food poisoning… either way he was sick, bed ridden even. Even if Deathstroke was going to be gone for a while and left the trigger behind, he was in no condition to search for it and escape.

Besides, he was in the middle of nowhere, maybe Mexico. Where was he going to run? He couldn't run fast enough or far enough from that man to save himself, let alone his family.

His family…

Tears ran down his face as he remembered them. He could vaguely remember talking to memories of them, hallucinations even. Damian was the one putting damp rags on his forehead while Jason sat on his stomach. Something about Tim's voice was off and Cass had run around in a pink tutu, laughing like the Joker. And a stoic Alfred painted neon orange had offered him some worms. Bruce and his parents were talking about coffins and gravestones once too. And those weren't even half of them, just the interesting ones he remembered. They were always easier to latch on to.

Lying on his back again, Dick tried to stem the flowing tears. They weren't helping his headache and he really couldn't lose any more water. He blinked a little slower, letting his vision blur a little more, only to settle on an image coming into focus next to him. "Bruce?"

"Dick!" A worn out Bruce Wayne locked eyes with his, taking him in. The man looked caught somewhere between elation and relief, and horrified worry. He swiftly came to his side, sitting on the side of the bed as a string of question came from his lips. "What happened to you? Are you alright? How are they treating you? Please! Tell me what's going on!"

The ill teen just blinked at him for a minute before smiling and laughing a little. Bruce could be such a mother hen! A couple tears rolled down his cheeks, so happy to hear his voice again. "Wow… you sound so real."

"I am real." The man placed a hand on the boy's head, trying to brush back his bangs and feel his temperature, but nothing happened. He hadn't added any weight to the bed either. As much as Dick wanted him to be real, he knew he couldn't be. But that didn't matter. Bruce came for him and he was worried. He seemed even sadder with his hand on the lad's head, pained he could do nothing.

But the teenager laughed weakly, still crying a bit. His stomach was even relaxing a little thanks to this visit. "I'm sick and in the middle of nowhere. Last time you were here, so were my parents."

Bruce sighed heavily, brushing his hand over the boy's face affectionately. "I guess so. You look like hell. Where are you? We're looking everywhere for you."

At this he burst into guilty tears, making his long time father figure lean forward in worry. He tried to reach out and hold him, but his hand passed through the boy. All he could do was watch in agony. Dick whimpered as he tried to talk. "I don't know anymore! I… I tried to keep track, but… I lost track after Mexico!"

"Mexico?" The boy nodded weakly, barely able to compose a thought. He really did try. On those rare occasions he sat in front and could see the scenery he tried to memorize what kinds of license plates went past them. The most frequently seen ones told him what state he was in, but it wasn't very often that he saw a town sign. "Through Kansas?"

"You saw it?" The mark he left in that Smallville stall, his circled R. A spark of hope filled his chest.

"I have the door with me." Bruce tried to give him a reassuring smile. "We got your note too. Dick, who took you? Who started all this? Tell me who's keeping you here."

Dick's eyes widened, terrified at the question, before a new wave of tears started. "I can't… I can't… He'll kill them! He'll kill… anyone I talk to. I can't… I don't want them hurt… he'll hurt them… he hurt her… he'll hurt them! Can't let that happen. Can't let him kill—"

"Shh…" Seeing his terror, the man put his hands on his boy's, trying to comfort him. But again his hands passed through his, causing the hallucination more pain. He couldn't help. "It's alright Dick, just calm down. No one's getting hurt here. Everything's fine. Everyone's safe."

"No one's safe." The teen covered his eyes with his hands, hating his weakness and his tears. "Not unless I stay with him. I stay, I obey, they'll be safe. But if I stay…" Tears and sobs took over him again, gaining more worry from the espier before him.

"He's going to make me kill."

The words hung in the air between them, freezing the room. Dick would have seen the horror on Bruce's face if he didn't hold onto his eyes and head harder. "He… He wants me to be like him! He wants to make me… a… a killer! Training me… every day! Taught me… a gun… I don't want to! I want to go home!"

He let go of his head, no longer fighting his tears as he desperately looked into his adoptive father's face. "I wanna go home! Bruce you gotta get me home! You've gotta save them! He'll hurt them if I leave! He'll hurt everyone! And it'll be my fault! It's all my fault! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Dick…"

"It's all my fault. You told me not to and I did anyway. I'm sorry! Don't hate me! Please don't hate me!"

"Dick!" Desperately the man raised his voice to get his attention. "There is nothing to be sorry for! This isn't your fault!"

"But it is!" It burned inside him, the knowledge that he did this to himself. "If I hadn't shown off… If I had behaved… They wouldn't be in danger if I was good and did what you said. You were right. I was such a brat! If I just listened to you and been good, none of this would have happened! They're in danger because of me! I let you down Bruce. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry… I'm such a bad boy. A royal pain in the ass. I'm sorry Bruce… I'm sorry…"

"That's enough." Stern correction entered the man's voice, cutting off all argument like it normally did. Now he had his son's attention. They were looking straight into each other's eyes, one's softening as the other's begged for comfort and security. Dick was hurting so much, and not just because of the fever. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is or if this could have been prevented. What matters now is correcting it. You can explain your theories and doubts after I get you home. And you will come home, I swear it. We will find you and we will save you. We'll save everyone. But I need you to stay strong and calm down. Nothing can be achieved if you lose your head like this. Like Alfred keeps telling us lately, 'keep calm and carry on'."

"I rather call Batman." The automatic attempt at humor made his father smile slightly.

"Not Superman?"

"Clark is cool," he murmured, "But he's not you." The boy shifted in the bed trying to get closer to him. "You promise? You're going to save them? You'll stop him and find me? Before he makes me kill?"

"I promise, I will find you. I'll take care of everything."

"You're not mad at me?" Some comfort floated into his chest, taking away the guilt and stress he'd been feeling. It was good to hear these words.

Bruce shook his head. "I'm not mad. Just worried and concerned."

"You don't hate me?" Dick whimpered slightly, praying for the one thing that'll help him through this, at least until he could be brought home.

"Never. I love you more than you could possibly imagine. We all do, and nothing that man does is going to change that." Gently he brushed his hand over the boy's cheek, and he could almost feel it, taking comfort in the words and the contact. The darkness inside the boy lessened as he looked up lovingly at his second father. A smile returned to his lips, tears finally subsiding. "You mean the world to us, all of us. Jason's ditched school to find you, Tim started a fight because someone insulted you, and I've had to use a grapple to retrieve Damian from that alcove of his. Cass and Alfred seem to be holding it together, but you know how they are. They're better at hiding their feelings, and keeping busy. Your sister's even teaching Tim how to fight."

"Really?" Dick sunk deeper into the bed, tension leaving him as he heard the reports on his family. He didn't need to know how Bruce was handling it. Just looking at his face and seeing how much weight and sleep he lost told him enough. He fared better when Jason was hurt.

The man nodded, giving him a sad gentle smile, glad his boy was calming down. "Really. When you come back, he'll want to show you everything he's learned. May even want you to help him with his acrobatics."

"I'd like that."

"I know." He kept running a hand over his child's face in a soothing motion. "Jason's helping with the case now. Maybe he'll be able to decipher that cryptic clue you left us in Smallville. Dick, couldn't you tell us who took you? Just something to narrow down the search, to find you faster."

The lad hesitated, tensing from his slowly relaxing state. He swallowed and looked down, guilty. "I… I can't… Bruce he's evil. He's killed so many and no one's caught him and—"

"Shh…" Seeing his growing fear after calming down, his father tried to change tactics. "Okay, you don't have to tell me."

"He'll kill them if I talk," Dick murmured, trying to calm his heart again. Vaguely he could recall another time when he had a fever and Bruce had done this. He didn't leave his side until he was in the clear. "He'll press the button and that'll be the end of it."

"Button?" His boy nodded. "Have you tried taking it?"

Again he nodded and frowned. "Dislocated my shoulder one time trying. He has fakes. I'm not a good pickpocket like Jason or Selina."

"Or Tim at the rate he's going." That gained a short laugh, making the man smile slightly. "Never thought it'd be a useful thing to teach you before. Should have known better."

"He's fast," Dick murmured, his body relaxing again despite talking about the person he hated and feared most. "Not Flash fast, but fast. Strong too. We're using military bases and outposts, all abandoned and isolated. When we're not moving that is. We've been here a while though. Don't know when we're moving again."

"Can you make a sign so we can find you from above?"

He shook his head weakly. "He'll notice. He sees everything. I think he's psychic, like you."

Bruce couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I'm not psychic."

"Could have fooled me." The little joke made the boy smile. It was so good to see him, to hear his voice. Bruce's reassurances and gentle coaxing was exactly what he needed and wanted most. He could be stern and overly protective, but deep down the man cared more than anyone he ever knew. And just knowing that and hearing him now was enough. "You always knew when I was trying to sneak up on you."

"They're called peripherals. And you have a tendency to giggle." That won a giggle from the teen, making him shake his head. "Anything else you can tell me about him or his accomplice?"

"The other guy isn't Alfred." Dick started to blink drowsily, feeling at ease enough to let down his defenses and start to drift. His head still hurt but none of it mattered. Bruce was there and everything would be alright. "You really are psychic. How did you—"

"It's a two man job keeping you still for more than five minutes." That won him a laugh which quickly turned into a coughing fit. Again the man shifted forward to help him, but his hand passed through. He wasn't really there and it pained him. "Breathe easy. Slow and long. Don't hold it for any more than two counts. And—"

The teen snickered again as he rested back into the sweaty pillow under his head. "Mother hen. It's just some sort of altitude, stress, exertion sickness. Maybe infection, but they doubt it."

"Might be." He eyed the bandage peeking out from under Dick's shirt, frowning. "Dick, are they hurting you?"

The teen bit his mouth closed and nodded slowly. A stony threatening look appeared on the man's face, his rage barely contained as his son continued. "Mostly training accidents. He shows me different moves and when I fail to mimic them… he performs it on me. Not-Alfred just cooks and takes care of normal things. Sometimes I help."

"Training? He's training you." Dick nodded as Bruce looked over him again, looking for something. "Why?"

"He wants an apprentice. And apparently I fit the bill. And he wouldn't listen when I said to find someone else." He shifted in the bed again, one arm moving under the covers for release. It tried to hold onto the man's hand near his face but couldn't hold onto anything. Tears started to return to his eyes, aching to be held. "Bruce, when can I come home?"

"Soon Dick. Soon." A similar look came to the man's eyes. So close, but not close enough. Pain flashed in his eyes as he looked at his boy. "Dick, I've been meaning to talk to you about—"

The door not too far off opened, allowing Wintergreen entrance. It was time to change the water. Dick saw him and groaned, not really wanting any kind of interruption. "Oh no. Not you…"

Confused and caught off guard, Bruce reflexively turned to see who had just arrived, only to start fading away. Dick saw this and started screaming, loneliness filling him once again as he near leapt out of his bed reaching for where the espier was. "NO! DON'T GO! BRUCE DON'T GO! BRUCE!"

But his cries did nothing except confuse the old man coming towards him with a bowl of iced water. Before his eyes his greatest protector had vanished. Horrified he trembled and gaped at the open air, shaking as the emptiness and vulnerability returned to him, maybe worse than before. He was right there! His second father was right there in front of him and now he was gone.

All because someone had walked in.

"Richard?"

All at once everything exploded inside the boy. A fiery, vengeful glare fell on the bystander, and Dick started throwing everything in sight at him. "YOU DID THIS! YOU MADE HIM GO AWAY! BRING HIM BACK! BRING HIM BACK!"

"Richard!" Wintergreen was bombarded with pillows, an old water bowl, rags, and every throwable object within arm's length from the bed. The two bowls drenched him in seconds and he was forced to raise his arms to block the harder objects. Between his arms he could barely make out the feverish, enraged teen, still yelling at him.

"BRING HIM BACK! BRING BRUCE BACK! WHY DID YOU MAKE HIM LEAVE?! I WANT HIM BACK! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO COME IN?! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

Seeing his purpose for entering was foiled and Dick wouldn't be handled at the moment, sick or not, Wintergreen retreated back to the doorway where Slade was returning. They both saw Dick curl up face down on the bed, crying and howling for Bruce to come back. The model for misery. The two men exchanged looks as he sobbed more.

"Bruce please! Come back! Please come back! Don't leave me… Please don't leave me… I'll be good, I promise. Just come back… Don't leave me with him… Please come back, please!"

Someone grabbed his arm roughly, jerking his attention around to see who was there. Had his pleas worked? Instead of seeing who he wanted, he got the opposite. Slade gave him a stoic look, roughly holding his arm, and a needle. His eyes widened dangerously and he tried to pull away, but his burst of energy was spent and all he could do was wriggle. "No! Not you! Let me go! I won't want you! Go away! What are you doing?! AHH!"

The needle pierced his skin and fresh tears coursed down his face. The man hadn't bothered to sanitize the spot or pick one that'd hurt less. The chemicals burned as they went into his body, but at least his master had let him go, flopping back onto the bed weakly. His energy was far past spent.

Slade placed the empty syringe on a nearby table calmly. "Penicillin. Normally you would have received it in a less painful method, but considering how little you trust me, this was the only way to ensure your recovery." He looked over the exhausted teen on the bed, sweaty and crying weakly. He even hiccupped between tears like a child. The assassin shook his head as he saw the boy shake from his illness. He needed to rest.

Slowly he lifted the boy from the bed, taking the wriggling and feeble blows he gave out without batting an eye. One look over to his companion got Wintergreen to remake the bed. Slade held his apprentice to his chest, almost coddling him, in hopes to make him calm down. But like always Dick resisted his touch and pounded away weakly at his shoulder.

"Bring him back… Bring him back… Bring Bruce back…"

The assassin shook his head as he laid the boy back down on the bed, tucking him in tightly. "Must have been a pretty convincing dream."

"Hallucination I'd say."

Dick stopped moving so much, firmly tucked in the bed and shivering weakly because of his fever. He really looked weak and pathetic right then. But he'd get over this soon. Then they would continue his training. Maybe a little slower though. He already progressed a great deal since that Halloween night.

Back in Wayne Manor, Bruce led Zatanna solemnly back to her car. She looked really disappointed with herself. "I'm really sorry Bruce. I can't locate him and some kind of talisman is making it difficult to even contact him. I'm afraid tonight was a one-time deal."

The CEO shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry about Zanna. You've done more than you think."

"But he's—"

"You gave me a chance to talk to my son." He gave her a vulnerable smile, sad and thankful. She never saw that look on his face, and she knew him when he was a teenager. "I haven't heard from him in well over two months. And just seeing him again…" He closed his eyes, mentally chiding himself. "I shouldn't have looked away. Maybe I could have—"

"You would only have heard his voice." She sighed heavily, tightening her coat around her. "That's the nature of the spell. You didn't see or hear anything other than him and what he was directly touching. As soon as Dick's attention shifted from you to whoever came in, the spell was bound to break. It was only your strong connection with him that made it possible to communicate in the first place.

"Bruce," Zatanna looked into her old friend's eyes, conveying her sympathies, "I'm really sorry you saw him in that state, but it's also the easiest to reach someone. And a downside is—"

"He's not likely to remember, I know." Bruce ran a hand through his hair, stressed beyond belief. "There was only a slim chance this would have worked either way. But Dick needed to see me just as much as I needed to see him. I just wish…"

"Everyone wishes for more time with the ones they love." Her eyes conveyed how much more time she wanted with her own parents. Currently she was searching for her father, one of Bruce's old teachers. This stop over at his place was mutually beneficial. The detective had given her a solid lead as payment for this. "Are you sure this has helped? You may have scarred him further."

He gave her a sad hint of a smile, nodding once. "Very. I have leads now, and I will find him."

"I hope so." She ducked into her car, ready to go. "When he comes back, I want to meet your boy wonder. Hard to believe you've had eight years with him and I've never seen him."

Bruce smirked, a promise in his eyes. "I'll throw a party. Be careful driving."

The woman smiled and nodded, revving up her engine. "Peels llew thginot Ecurb."

"What?"

"Nothing. Later Bruce." And like that the woman was gone. Bruce watched her go for a while, seeing a good friend from his past leaving him. Her spell gave him much to think about, much more to consider, but most of all it gave her hope. Getting her a lead for Zatara took a couple days, but if it gave him fifteen minutes with his son, it was worth it.

Besides, he had much more to go on now, and he would find him.

A/N: Yay for a Zatanna cameo. and her spell is to get Bruce to actually rest that night. Fun times. I'm thinking of rewriting that scene later but oh well. the discussion gave Bruce more search parameters, but it will still be a while before they find him. Closer now though. Sad thing is, Dick won't remember this conversation. Fevers and hallucinations will do that to a person. Slade does have a talisman to stop magic users from finding them, guessing that Bruce might use one to find Dick one day. Covers all his bases. also has some kind of anti-psychic field to block them as well. So thorough.

Still, I love this scene! Dick has a total meltdown and no one can do a thing to help! Bruce does what he can and it calms him down until the spell's broken. Had wintergreen not come in, they would have talked for a bit longer and then Dick would have passed out, thinking it was the best dream ever. But... must feed the sadist within.

Starting tomorrow things will speed up. also starting tomorrow I go back to school. Wish me luck!