A world of darkness had somehow become Richard Grayson's reality.

He floated aimlessly within the warm embrace of the nothingness, mind devoid of thought or emotion.

Nothing concerned him now.

There was no past to regret; no future to anticipate.

Even the present had faded away, like ripples on a dark pond.

Time and place had vanished into this featureless and placid void.

He welcomed the calm.

A total numbness, one of spirit, body, and mind, had descended upon him. It suffused his entire being and he felt a tranquility he doubted he had known since he was a baby. Perhaps not even since he had been in the womb.

He wondered idly if he was dead.

Had Bruce killed him?

The irony of that thought brought him a little out of his stupor. Memories began to coalesce out of the blackness. Faint apparitions of his life.

No, Bruce wouldn't do that.

Not matter the odds. No matter what horrible atrocities someone would commit. No matter how much easier it would make his life and the lives of those around him.

No matter how badly a psycho like the Joker deserved it, Bruce would not kill.

So he couldn't be dead.

"Of course you're not dead, honey."

He turned towards the source of the voice.

A man and woman stood there in the nothingness. They held each other affectionately, both dressed in gaudy uniforms of red and green, emblazoned with the words "The Flying Graysons" in yellow. The man clasped the woman gently around the waist, while the woman casually rested her head on the man's chest.

They looked so happy together, although a trace of sadness lined their faces.

It had been many long, lonely years since he had last seen them like this, but his heart leapt and the numbness vanished like so much mist before the dawn.

"Mom? Dad?" he whispered softly, as if the mere sound of his voice would somehow make them disappear.

"Hello, son," his dad said kindly, "It's good to see you again."

- - - - -

He's good.

Further analysis would have to wait as Batman shifted all of his thought process to defense and survival.

Once again, the Dark Knight barely blocked a perfect strike to his head from his opponent's broadsword. As it was, the deflected blade still managed to neatly slice off one of the points on his cowl.

He attempted a kick, masking the sudden pain from his injured leg. His foe avoided it neatly and backed off a few steps.

"I must say that I'm a little disappointed, Batman," Deathstroke commented casually, as if the two of them were engaged in some benign competition, "I expected you to be much more of a challenge."

The single eye narrowed smugly, "Then again, Robin is an apt pupil. He did more damage than I would have hoped."

"What are you talking about?" Batman demanded, throwing a few Batarangs.

Deathstroke dodged a couple, and then used his sword to slice clean through the final projectile.

"Don't be coy, Batman. It doesn't suit you," The armored man assumed a defensive stance and continued, "In fact, I really should be thanking you."

Batman carefully lowered a hand to his utility belt, mentally taking stock of what he had left. "Thanking me?"

That's right, keep talking. All you psychopaths just love the sound of your own voices.

Deathstroke gestured towards Robin's fallen form with his sword, "It was your ultimatum which drove Robin to such desperate measures."

The single eye widened, as if touched by sudden madness.

"You brought my apprentice back to me. And when you're dead, I will be the only one left worthy to be his father!"

- - - - -

"I never thought I'd see you again!"

It was the cry of a ten year old boy.

It was the voice of Richard Grayson, a young man who lost his parents to a horrible crime. An orphan would spent the next seven years becoming someone who would do everything in his power to punish those who prey upon good people and cause pain and suffering.

It was not Robin's voice, and for that, he was somehow relieved.

He buried his face into his mother's bosom, letting all of his agony and longing out in long shuddering waves. She held him tenderly, as his father gently placed his firm hands on his shoulders. Together, they surrounded him in their unconditional love.

"Now, now. It's alright," she cooed, rocking him back and forth, "Ssssssh. What's all this, Richard? There's no need for all this . . . this sadness."

"It's alright, son," his father added, squeezing his shoulders, "We know it's been hard on you, but things turned out okay in the end."

His mother lifted his head and wiped away some tears.

"We are so proud of you, Richard," she said, smiling, "You've accomplished things we could only dream of."

He lost himself within their affection for a very long time.

It was as if he could somehow make up for all those long, lonely years if he simply kept holding them. They could stay like this forever, his family reunited.

All he had to do was keep his eyes closed and never let go.

But eventually, he came to a harsh, but undeniable truth.

"This isn't real, is it?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

His parents gently shook their heads.

He stepped back, suddenly ashamed of his emotion.

"This is just my subconscious, isn't it?" He angrily wiped his eyes, "I wanted to see you so badly that my mind simply conjured you up."

They didn't answer.

They didn't have to.

"But you're forgetting something very important, son," his father said simply.

"And what's that, Dad?" he said sarcastically.

"You're undergoing a crisis, Richard," his mother stated, "And you brought us here to help you through it."

"This is pointless," he muttered, looking away from them, "Talking to myself isn't going to get me anywhere."

"Don't talk to your mother that way, son," his Dad said firmly.

"But---"

"You heard me."

He sighed.

"Okay, fine. We'll try it your way."

His parents smiled.

"How, exactly, are you supposed to help me?"

"Clarity, son. We're here to give you clarity."

He blinked.

"I don't understand," he said flatly.

His mother smiled, reached out, and gently stroked his hair, the same way she had a thousand times before when he was a child.

"You've lost your way, honey. You're trying so hard to be something you don't have to be. Something you really don't want to be, if you'd just be honest with yourself."

"You don't have to be Batman," his father continued, "The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can move on with your life."

"I don't want to be Batman!" he protested.

His parents were silent, looking at him expectantly.

"I don't," he repeated, uncertainty beginning to well up within him.

"Then why are you acting just like him, Richard?" his mother asked.

- - - - -

I need to end this. There's no telling what he may have done with Barbara.

He had waited patiently for his opponent to make a mistake, carefully analyzing Deathstroke's fighting style for a weakness, or at the very least, an opening. His adversary was nearly flawless, a master of at least a dozen martial arts, and the obvious source of the lethal combinations Robin had tried on him only a few moments before.

An unusual mixture of guilt, anger, and pride washed over him when he reached that conclusion. He realized now that Robin's actions were partially his fault.

Did I indeed push him to this?

At the same time, he was disappointed that Dick would consort with such a dangerous individual merely to have a better chance to defeat him. But deep inside, he had to admire the lengths the young man had gone to in order to reach his goal.

After all, have I not done the same thing when dealing with Ras?

The sword nearly disemboweled him and brought his current situation back to the forefront of his mind.

"I'm sorry, Batman, am I boring you?"

He's a cocky one, and with good reason.

He assumed a defensive stance once again, but carefully pulled a special Batarang out of its compartment.

With my current injuries, he has a significant advantage.

He flipped the projectile open behind his back.

Time to level the playing field a bit.

He took a step back with his bad leg and pretended to stumble. To a certain extant it wasn't a ploy; the limb nearly buckled.

His opponent dove forward, sword raised high to deliver the very move he had named himself after.

Batman pitched the Batarang with a snap of the wrist.

Deathstroke's lone eye narrowed as he easily brought his blade down to intercept.

"Pathetic."

An instant later the projectile hit the sword and a massive electrical current surged through both the weapon and the man.

Batman artfully dodged to the side of his shuddering foe, landing a blow to the back of the head with an elbow, following by a perfect kidney punch.

Deathstroke staggered, and the broadsword clattered away.

Batman smiled.

"You're not the only one who can play dirty."

- - - - -

Robin stared at his parents with indignation.

"I'm nothing like him!"

His father's eyes filled with disappointment, as his mother spoke.

"You didn't tell your friends what was happening."

"It's not their fight!"

"You isolated yourself from those that care about you."

"I needed to do this on my own."

"You sought out a way to win, no matter the cost."

"I had to! He was going to shut down the team!"

"You consider yourself their leader," his father responded, "Yet you acted without them, like a lone wolf. How would Batman have done things any differently?"

For once, he had no answer.

He knew they were right.

"Richard," his mother approached him once more, taking his hands in hers, "It's not too late. You can still be your own man."

He stared into her loving eyes and began to tremble.

"How?" he asked, "I owe him so much!"

His father spoke up once more.

"It is true that Bruce Wayne took you in and trained you to become the remarkable young man you are today, but you owe him nothing more."

He began to protest, but his mother gently put her fingers to his lips.

"Tell me, Richard, does a child owe his parents so much that he is never to leave them and make a life of his own? Is he never to grow into an independent adult with dreams and aspirations that are his alone?"

Robin let his mother's words sink in.

And found them to be true.

"I understand."

"That's my boy!" his dad exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Good-bye, Richard," his mom whispered, kissing him on the cheek before withdrawing into the loving embrace of her husband.

"Good-bye, mom," Emotion choked his words, "Good-bye, dad."

His parents began to fade back into his memories.

He watched them until they were no more.

"I love you."

- - - - -

"I love you," Robin croaked, his voice harsh from his mentor's chokehold.

Pain washed over his body, originating from too many places to count. Pain which redoubled when he attempted to move, causing him to gasp and clench his eyes against it.

The cool wooden floor of the basketball court rested against his cheek and provided something calm for him to focus on. Gradually, the pain ebbed to a dull ache and he cracked open his eyes. One of the orbs was encrusted shut, probably from the same blood that had caked his face. But the other brought new horrors for him to behold.

Bruce was fighting Slade no more than 20 feet away, barely holding his own. In truth, he was beginning to lose. Blood loss from his calf was finally taking its toll, as the Dark Knight was pale, his movements slower.

To Bruce's credit, Slade looked a bit battle worn, fighting efficiently but quietly, with none of the cool confidence he usually processed. Still, he was winning. It was only a matter of time.

I have to get up.

Dried blood peeled away as he lifted his head and rolled onto his stomach.

But he got no further.

Get up!

Muscles reluctantly complied, but made him pay with new agony.

Robin gasped, but when he recovered his breath, he was kneeling.

His head swam. He shook it slowly to clear it.

A sudden grunt caught his attention.

Bruce was down, Slade towering over him, a bit wobbly.

"You've lived up to your reputation, Batman," Slade said slowly, winded from the battle. "I almost wish you had been in peak form when we began this exercise."

He unholstered his sidearm and pointed the pistol at his fallen foe.

"But I have always been an expedient man."

The hammer cocked.

"NOOOOO!"

Adrenalin gave him the much needed strength and the Birdarang flew true.

Slade turned, eye wide as the weapon embedded itself into his arm, causing him to drop the gun.

A second later, the Birdarang blew up, throwing the man into the stands.

Slowly, Robin stumbled over to Batman, who had managed to sit up.

"You should have been out a lot longer than that," Bruce said wryly.

Dick smiled, "Yeah, well, you raised a tough kid."

"Such a touching reunion."

A hand clamped down on Robin's neck from behind and lifted him effortlessly.

The Titan struggled to free himself, but simply didn't have the strength.

Slade casually kicked Batman in the face. The Dark Knight fell back to the hard floor and did not move.

"Batman!"

Robin twisted and punched the man in the face.

Surprisingly, he connected with flesh.

Slade's mask was gone, along with most of his armor. Burns and lacerations covered the villain's body, but that same cruel, reptilian eye still pierced the teen's soul.

For a split second, the two foes were face to face.

"Batman cannot help you now."

Robin was thrown to the ground hard, landing facedown.

Before he could crawl away, Slade straddled him, forcing the teen's left arm up behind his back, while at the same time slamming his head back down to the floor.

"I think its time you learned some discipline, Robin."

"Fuck you!"

Slade growled in anger and shoved his arm up, breaking it neatly.

Robin bit his tongue, but refused to scream.

"You will learn obedience, Robin," Slade unsheathed a dagger and rolled the quivering Titan over. Robin attempted to hit him with his right arm, but the man simply grabbed the teen's head and smashed it back into the floor.

"This is going to hurt, Robin, but it will bring us closer."

Slade grabbed the lower half of his face to hold his head still and began to lower the dagger towards the Titan's left eye.

Robin continued to struggle, words muffled by the cruel hand.

"Ssssh, Robin. It will all be over soon."

Heart racing, Robin began to despair.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

Everything seemed to turn green, and suddenly Slade was gone.

With the words "Titans! Go!" echoing around him, Richard Grayson spiraled back down into oblivion.