AN: When we last left off, Dick grabbed the chips and ran. Let's see how that worked out for him, shall we?

Dick Grayson

Norwood Public Library

Saturday, May 18th, 2013 a.k.a. Eleven days after New York

Public libraries are my favorite places on the planet. First of all, it's free, but there's places to sit, public computers, free Wi-Fi, a bakery with cheap food and cheaper coffee, and it's a quiet place to work for hours at a time. But the best part? No security. It's a public library, why would there be?

The teen section upstairs is right next to the children's section, which means that nobody even blinks at the sight of a kid sitting at a computer by himself. People come in and out, mostly families with small children and groups of high schoolers fighting over the long tables near the windows. Every so often, a lone adult comes by to browse the kids' books. Not even a single person so much as glances at me.

The computer banks gradually fill up, but there's no posted time limit and nobody comes to tell me to move.

It's been eleven days since I left New York and I'm almost done. Everything is right on schedule. The bus leaves in four hours and I've got a room reserved once I get to Charlotte; tomorrow it'll be another three-hour drive to get to the safehouse.

Bruce has dozens of safehouses across the country in case he ever needs them for anything, and the one in southern North Carolina is perfect. I won't be there long, just enough to pick up a few things, but it's perfect. It's risky, of course. It's not out of the question for Bruce to have installed security features at all his properties after I… after everything, but there isn't a better option.

And besides, he didn't touch the money in any of the other accounts he set up for each of us. Or the money I put in my (as an emergency fund that I really hoped I would never need). So it's a risk I'm willing to take. In any case, I'll get there right after the package is delivered.

The code is done. It's going to take a bit of troubleshooting to make sure it works but it's good on my end, and the modifications I made to my iPod let it piggyback off nearby networks to send data without leaving a trace. I can't do anything else until after I get to the safehouse. That means I should leave right now. Go back to the motel, eat something and just try to lay low. It's not smart to hang around in public any longer than I have to, but… I have a computer right in front of me. Internet. Free, unrestricted access to the entire web, right at my fingertips.

I could do anything right now.

I open a search bar and type "Bruce Wayne Interview Interrupted."

I shouldn't do this. It's just going to hurt.

But I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since Slade dragged me into his office. He was gloating, and why wouldn't he? Slade won. Bruce hates me. Bruce thinks I betrayed him and he's right to hate me. Especially after what happened in DC, what I did to Jason.

But there's something else that I can't get out of my head, and tiny and insignificant as it is, I can't stop thinking about it.

Slade only showed me the video once.

He dragged me into the meeting with Savage, and then he only told me about it afterwards, when I was freaked out about Savage knowing my identity and the 10-million-dollar bounty on Robin and Slade lying to them all to keep me safe. That's when Slade decided to show me the video. He only showed it once, he stopped it before it finished, and after when I fell apart, he pushed me down as far as he could, just in time to give me the iPod.

Slade wanted me to see the video.

But he didn't want me to see all of it. Or he didn't want me to see it too closely. That means there's something there worth seeing, something he doesn't want me to find. There has to be.

The video has millions of hits. That's not a surprise, and it's also probably part of why Slade kept me locked inside for so long. And it's not a surprise either that it hurts so badly to watch it, to see Bruce talk about me like a stranger, to see Batman towering over Bruce, to see Robin standing with his arms crossed over his back.

I watch it over and over, looking for every single detail I can find because there's got to be something in there that will make this all make sense.

It hurts. It hurts so bad.

Cat Grant leads the conversation, deftly steering Bruce into one heartbreaking admission of worry and pain after another. And if I was anyone else, if I didn't know that there's something that isn't right about the way Bruce is holding himself and the way he's talking about my family and me, I'd be convinced. To the rest of the world, he looks like grieving parent, heartbroken over the loss of his child and desperate for any rays of hope.

But I know better. It doesn't matter how many times I watch it, that feeling of watching a façade just gets stronger and stronger. And when the screen goes dark and Batman's low growl fills the room, it throws me for a loop every time.

Bruce and Batman together on National Television isn't an accident. Bruce set this entire thing up. No matter if it's CGI or a green screen or magic or shapeshifting or what, Bruce still decided what to have Bruce Wayne say to the camera. And even if it's not really Bruce talking to Cat, the things he's saying aren't right either. Nothing is right about it. If Bruce really wanted me back, if he really cared, he would never do this.

Even worse than maybe-fake Bruce is Robin. Me. Fake me.

I was right the first time I saw it; it's not just anyone wearing the Robin suit, it's something that looks exactly like me. It's a perfect double. And now that I've seen Jason… in the suit—I shudder. Focus. It's not Jason. Not even he looked that perfectly identical to me, even without the changes he made to the suit. Which means that it's not Jason wearing the suit…

And Slade lied.

Because yes, Jason might be Robin now, but Bruce didn't tell him to suit up the second I was gone. In fact, none of this seems like anything Bruce would do. And now that I don't have Slade looming over me and steering my emotions where he wants them, I can actually think about what that means.

Batman shouted to the entire world that Deathstroke was the one to take me away, he as good as told the entire world that Dick Grayson was Renegade. And he did it with "Robin" standing right next to him, keeping both of our identities safe in one neat strike.

Bruce would never do that. That's not how he covers his tracks. Which means that none of this was Bruce's idea.

I've scrolled the gossip columns, all the news feeds, every conspiracy forum on the light and dark webs combined, and there's one thing that never comes up.

My siblings.

Whatever the plan was, it wasn't about me. Not really. It wasn't about protecting Bruce like Slade said, or blaming me or saving face. It was about Jason and Tim and Steph and Cass and making sure that no matter what happened with me, nobody could take them away.

"What would you do?" M'gann's voice rings in my head, scared and lost and trying so hard to help even though we both knew there was nothing she could do, "If you ran?"

"I can't run," I told her, my voice shaking, "If he can't get to me, he'll go after my family. He'll hurt them or get them taken away if I ever try."

This wasn't Bruce's plan.

It was M'gann's.

That means she told them what she knew. That means she risked everything— her entire life on Earth, losing our teammates' trust, being sent back to Mars in disgrace— to help me.

This was her plan. And if Bruce went along with it, if he got Cat and other shapeshifters involved, then maybe there's a chance that…

Maybe there really was a reason Slade didn't want me to see the whole thing.

The Woods

Thursday, May 23rd, 2013

I toss the last sticks onto the stack of wood before scattering bits of dry tinder on top. My heart is like a drum beat in my ears as I reach into my bag, my hand closing around the plexiglass box. I count them one at a time, then I do it again. Twenty-eight. They're all there.

As carefully as I can, I open the box and dump all the chips on top of the pile, doing my best to scatter them so I can count them again.

And I do.

I count them two more times, then another time just to be sure. I have to be completely, 100% positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that I got them all.

Burning them is risky, but there's no better way to get rid of them. I need them destroyed. I need them to be completely useless. There has to be no risk of anyone coming under the Light's control, and no hope of the Light finding something they can still use.

I'll need to burn the box too, I can't risk there being any kind of chemical trace in it that could be reverse engineered. Paranoid, I know, but I cannot take any chances right now.

Not when everything is ready. There was trouble in Charlotte, but at least now I have a car and those creeps won't report me to anyone, not when they're bound to have at least half a dozen warrants each on their heads. I've kept an eye on the news, but there's been nothing on me. Everything since then has gone smoothly; I picked up the package at the safehouse, including the handle of Everclear and a fresh stack of bills with non-sequential serial numbers. Taking the cash hurt, mostly because it's just one more thing I've taken from Bruce. (I'll be able to tell him why soon. If everything goes right.) Everything is all ready, this is the last step.

I dump the bottle of grain alcohol on top of the wood, drizzling it around and around to soak the wood in the flammable liquid. When I'm sure it's empty, I leave the empty bottle to the side, far enough from the pile of wood that there's no chance of the fumes catching.

And with that, it's ready.

I pull a match out of the box in my pocket and light it, watching the speck of light burst to life against the dusk. Then I let it drop.

The burning match falls onto the pile and the alcohol-soaked tinder catches instantly, the fumes igniting even before the match lands.

For the first few minutes, I carefully stoke the flames, adding more branches and sticks to the inferno until the fire is raging away in the night. Soon the bonfire roars, spitting and crackling as the chips burn away into nothingness. I sit under a nearby tree, watching as closely as I can without inhaling any of the smoke. There's a risk that even a whiff of the smoke will be enough for the chips to do their damage, but it'll dissipate soon. This is why I came way into the middle of nowhere.

It's lonely out here. Not that the last few weeks haven't been lonely, too. After spending so much time with Slade, it's unsettling not to have him looming at my back or staring down at me or just… sitting across the table.

I miss him. As bad as it was spending all those weeks in isolation, at least I always knew Slade was there. Even when he was ignoring me, he was always keeping tabs on me, making sure I was doing enough to just keep myself healthy.

But it's not just knowing that someone has my back. I miss Slade's company. He always knows exactly what to do and he's always in control of the situation; I'd have given anything for that in the last two weeks of changing up my plans and desperately praying I'll be able to get through it all in time.

It's not just Slade that I miss. I miss Bruce, I miss him and Alfred and all my siblings so much it hurts to breathe. But thinking about them makes my stomach churn with guilt and shame and I hate myself more than I can deal with for what I did to them.

Watching the video again was a mistake. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and it just hurts worse the more I do. Just because I figured out it wasn't Bruce's plan doesn't make it any less painful to watch him put on an act for the cameras, to see him talk about me like he cares when there's no chance that he's not furiously angry with me for betraying him. And maybe he does care. But with everything that happened on top of what I did to Jason, maybe it's too late.

Or maybe it's not. Maybe if I could just talk to him, if I could beg for forgiveness and tell him I never wanted to hurt anyone, maybe it would be enough. If this works, maybe I'll get a chance. But it hurts too much to hope, and the idea that I might be able to explain floods my lungs with terror and twists my stomach so badly I almost lose the remains of my dinner where I'm sitting. There's still so much that can go wrong even though the chips are nothing but shriveled, blackened piles of ash on a raging fire.

It's probably a few hours by the time the leaping yellow and orange flames fade into glowing red embers. The whole pile has shrunk into a burned hull, with the charred remains of the logs at the bottom. The chips are gone and the box is just a melted and twisted chunk of ruined plastic. There's nothing left for the Light to find.

I grab my water bottle and empty it on the pile, soaking the ashes and embers to make sure it can't catch again.

Then I turn and head back to the car I stole in Charlotte, feeling like the weight of the world is off my shoulders.

It's done.

I put the keys in the ignition and turn them, listening as the engine rumbles to life. Then I back out of the tiny lot, beginning the long ride back to town. Now, there's nothing to do but wait. And for Bruce to get the message. Please let him get it.

Please. This can't all have been for nothing.

Café Tropical

Thursday, June 13th, 2013 (Five weeks after New York City)

"Can you take over table six?" The waitress gestures with the nearly-empty pot of coffee in her hand, "I'm going to make more coffee."

"I can put on a new pot," I offer, glancing in the directions of the booths. The lunch rush is always crazy and today's been especially busy. Then my brain catches up to the sight of the man sitting at table six and a wave of relief crashes through me, so completely overpowering that all I can do is stand there and stare for a couple seconds. He came. He's actually here. After weeks of being on the run, and then close to a month of waiting for him here, it's finally over.

The next second, my mouth goes dry and my heartbeat skyrockets. Fear shoots through my body, twisting my stomach over on itself, and anxiety thrums through my veins with every beat. It doesn't help to remind myself that this was the plan, that this was my plan and everything is still under control. The peace offering of the chips' destruction, staying in one place while all of my instincts screamed at me to keep moving, the faint hope that he'll actually listen to me even though I betrayed him, "Actually Twyla, you know what? I think we're low on napkins, can you get a new box from the back while you're doing that?"

She nods.

"No problem! Thanks, Sam."

I watch her disappear into the back of the restaurant, my hands balling into fists while I try to take a deep breath. It's been almost three weeks since I got into town and burned the chips, and five weeks since I left New York. Since I left Slade and put my plan into action. I've been waiting for this confrontation the whole time; but just because I knew it was coming doesn't make it any easier.

He's gonna be so mad. I lied to him, I stole the chips, I disappeared out from under him—I hurt Jason. I don't have a choice. I have to see this through. Or at least, I have to try.

Every step over to the booth is the most terrifying thing I've ever done. I could still turn around, go out the back, and run for it. But I can't. I've come too far to turn back now. And no matter how hard I've tried not to let myself think about it, I've missed him. I've missed him so badly that I know for a fact it'll break me if I think about it.

I take a breath and plaster on my best customer service face, the one I've been polishing over weeks of waiting tables, and step up to the booth.

"Welcome to Café Tropical, my name's Sam and I'll be your server. Can I get you anything to start? Maybe show you the door and hopefully never see you again?" I say cheerfully, holding up a pencil to the notepad in my hand like I'm ready to take his food order.

"Cute," Slade says, "Why don't you take a seat?"

"Why don't you leave me the hell alone?" I shoot back, voice as pleasant and nonthreatening as I can make it.

"I believe I told you to sit."

The smooth, dark tone runs a shudder down my spine and I tense, hands balling into fists and feet shifting into something almost like a fighting stance. Slade raises an eyebrow.

"There's no need for that, Richard. It's been a few weeks, we have quite a bit of catching up to do," Slade says, gesturing for me to sit across from him. I look around the diner, but nobody has noticed anything unusual about the guy in the booth, "I'm sure you would prefer this discussion to stay civil, so I suggest that you do as I say."

Do as I say.

Another flinch as instinct tells me to obey the order and a lump forms in my throat that makes it hard to breathe. The tightness in my chest has nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with the effort it's taking not to immediately fall back in line and start begging for forgiveness. Slade is as dangerous and terrifying as he's ever been; a quick check for concealed weapons shows that he's armed from head to toe with enough fire power to massacre everyone in the restaurant and have bullets to spare. He came here ready for a fight and if there's any chance this will work, I have to give him what he expects.

I sit, sliding into the booth without taking my eyes off him. His eye traces over me, taking in the tension in my shoulders and the death grip I have on the notepad, the corner of his mouth pulls into something resembling a smirk.

"You look healthy. It seems like you've been getting plenty of sleep."

"I got rid of a lot of stress in my life lately," I say quietly, using all my willpower to keep my voice quiet and steady, "Unfortunately, it seems like it's coming back."

"You've been busy. I heard about your run-in in Charlotte, it was quite a story. You covered your tracks well, although I saw you kept the car. Why not trade it in for a clean one? Leaving a trail is dangerous."

"I needed a car and I had one. Going through extra steps just meant more people who might remember me," I grind out through clenched teeth. Slade nods to concede the point and takes a drink from his mug.

"Good coffee," he says, leaning back casually. He looks around the diner a little too intently and terror settles in my stomach, "I can see why you like this place."

"You got me. It's the coffee."

"This place is so normal, isn't it? You never had anything like this. A small town where everyone knows everybody else, your dad works nine-to-five, and your mom has dinner on the table when you get home. You couldn't resist, could you?"

I flinch and Slade seizes it.

"The trail was nearly impossible to follow. You covered all your tracks, didn't talk to anyone, didn't leave anything behind, never stayed in one place for more than a day or two. Until you got here. It's been, what? Three and a half weeks? Almost a month?"

I stay quiet, thumbing across the sheets of the notepad as if the nervous gesture will distract Slade from his line of thought.

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"Not even a little."

"I think you got caught. You stayed in one place too long and someone started asking questions."

My free hand closes into a fist under the table, and even though he can't see it, he knows the words landed.

"Tell me, why didn't you run?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," I snap.

"I think was the woman at the motel," Slade answers for me and all the air goes out of my lungs like I was punched.

"No!" I sputter. She wasn't part of the plan. When I picked this town, it was just supposed to be for a couple days. I thought I would lay low and wait for Slade to come. I wasn't expecting the woman at the motel to care enough to say anything, let alone that she'd find people willing to help without asking too many questions. If any of them got hurt because of me… if Slade decided to trim a few loose ends as punishment for me leaving… I…I'll…

"She caught you red-handed, didn't she? But instead of turning you in, she tried to help. All it took was a few scraps of kindness and you sent all your plans up in flames. I don't blame you, she seemed lovely."

"What did you do to her?" I force out, fear making my voice hoarse. Slade snorts.

"Not a thing. She doesn't have to be a part of this, Richard. None of them do."

"I'm not going back with you," My voice shakes and now that I'm here, with Slade showing off how easy it is for him to find my weak points, there's no escaping just how dangerous this gamble is. It's not just my life on the line if I lose, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have to hold it together. Slade is still too in control, too willing to hold onto the farce, and having way too much fun toying with me.

"How many friends have you made?" Slade asks like I didn't say anything, "I know what a bleeding heart you are, I'm sure it didn't take long for you to start putting down roots."

"What do you want?"

"Enough with the hostilities, Richard. I'm just trying to have a conversation."

"Is that what you're doing?" I shoot back. Behind Slade, the waitress is trying to wave me over and I take my cue, "I have to go. I'm in the middle of my shift, but I hope you have a good lunch."

"Sit down," Slade snaps and suddenly there's a gun resting under his hand. The safety is on and his finger isn't anywhere near it, but the message is more than clear. I freeze, sitting down instinctively before I can make up my mind about what to do, "Good boy."

"Don't call me that," I growl.

"You lied to me," Slade says, "You took advantage of the privileges I gave you, you stole from me, and you broke my trust. Very well done."

I don't trust myself to say anything, so I just watch him for signs that he's about to start shooting innocents.

"How long were you planning this?" The tone of his voice leaves no room for evasion; he'll be civil as long as I play along.

"Planning what?" My voice trembles more than I want to admit, "Ending up here in this diner with you pointing a gun at me?"

"Don't lie to me."

"Leave me alone, Slade. Please. I haven't contacted anyone, I haven't called the League, and I haven't done anything to you. I just want to be left alone."

"What did you hope to accomplish?" Slade asks, ignoring me completely, "You're alone, you're clearly running out of money if you've resorted to waiting tables, and you haven't attempted to contact Wayne or any of your precious League members. You're a far better planner than that. What was the point of all this?"

"The point? The point was to get as far away from you as I could."

"Try again."

"I don't have to tell you anything."

In response, Slade palms the gun and flicks the safety off. I flinch, but don't say anything.

"Where are the chips, Richard?" Slade asks, and somehow in the last few minutes, I forgot that the chips ever existed. Absently, I wonder how long it took Slade to notice they were gone, and if he had any idea what I wanted with them. Fortunately, that's a question I can answer now.

"I destroyed them. The Light will never get their hands on them ever again."

"Oh that's old news. Luckily, your friends managed to stop the infected Leaguers before they could drag the Earth into a new Ice Age."

Slade's voice is casual and dismissive, brushing away the chips like they're some minor inconvenience and not the horrifically dangerous weapons that cost me everything. That got Red Tornado killed. That could still destroy everything Slade has ever worked for. And even though I know he's only saying it to get under my nerves, it still makes a ball of rage ignite inside my chest.

"You needed the chips gone as badly as I did. Don't pretend you didn't."

"And just why is that?"

"If the Light knew you had them the whole time, that you're the one who ruined their plans in the first place, they'd kill you. Shit, Slade, if they ever find out, we're BOTH dead."

"So now you expect me to thank you for betraying me?" And with that, Slade is officially past the line to Pissed Off as he raises the gun, "Enough of this. You have ten seconds to tell me what exactly your plan was, and if you're extremely fortunate, I might decide to leave something in one piece by the time I'm done with you."

The threat hangs in the air and he means every single word of it. I let it slide off my back anyways while I take a deep breath. Slade is done playing around and I have his complete, undivided attention; that was the whole point of this. It's time to end this before someone gets hurt.

I'm not some scared kid that made a desperate escape that was doomed from the start. I made a careful, calculated plan to get away from Deathstroke and it worked.

He's been in control the whole time I've known him; now it's my turn.

"Put the gun away, Slade."

Slade blinks, fury flashing across his face as his temper starts to boil over.

"Given your position, I'd highly recommend against pissing me off any more," He warns in a deadly hiss, fury spilling over into his voice and any other time, I would already be stammering out apologies. But not this time.

"You don't want attention," I cross my arms over my chest, leaning forward on the table and refusing to be intimidated by the barrel of the weapon that's now pointing at my face, "You could have just dragged me out the front door if you didn't care about an audience. Or you're giving me the courtesy of a chance to explain myself before dragging me back for the punishment of a lifetime. Either way, if that gun goes off, we're going to make headlines on every single news channel in the country for months."

"What makes you so sure? This is a quiet, strange little town in the middle of nowhere. Who's going to care about a stray blast?" If he wasn't so furious, Slade would sound genuinely curious.

"See that man two tables behind me?"

Slade's gaze shifts up, locking onto the man with salt-and-pepper hair and a beautifully tailored three-piece suit, sitting across from a woman in a garish pink wig who couldn't look more out of place in the sleepy diner. Slade's face hardens after a few moments when he finally recognizes the couple and connects the pieces.

"You asked why I stopped here, in this town? We can talk here. You have to actually listen to me, unless you want the national media descending on the story of the former billionaire who was held at gunpoint during breakfast. The media has been going insane over me the last few months; Buzzfeed Unsolved literally did an entire series on me. Imagine the kind of press this'll get if they can mix it with the fall of the Rose Empire."

Slade leans back, a glimmer of fury still shining in his eye.

"Put the gun away, Slade," I say, more calmly than I have any right to, "I just want to talk."

Slade stares at me for a few seconds, taking in everything I just said along with everything I didn't. He knows I'm right about the price of attention, and he must decide it's worth the trouble to hear me out. As smoothly as he pulled the gun out, he replaces the safety and stows it away in the holster beneath his jacket.

"You've taken quite a risk just to talk. Or did you think I was being facetious about your family's life being the price of an escape?"

"You said you'd kill my family if I tried to escape. This was never about escaping," I lean back in the booth to mirror Slade's posture, "The chips are gone; they'll never hurt anyone again."

Slade stares at me, one eyebrow lifted incredulously.

"You have to know that's pushing it, don't you?"

"And you have to know that if I really was trying to escape, I'd start by disabling the tracker you put in me."

Slade blinks at me. For a fraction of a second, his mouth drops open before he gets control of himself again. It takes all the willpower I have not to show anything on my face, but inside, I'm screaming in joy at having surprised Slade.

"I'd act like I don't know what you're talking about, but it would be a lie not to admit I'm impressed. How did you find out?"

"The night Wolf destroyed my phone," I say, keeping my voice steady and even with no hint of the raging storm of emotions I'm feeling, "You knew I was still at Mount Justice."

"I could have hacked into any one of the many trackers on your suit," Slade says, "Or perhaps the GPS location on your phone."

"You could've… if I was wearing my suit instead of my civvies. And Mount Justice's system scrambles all incoming and outgoing data through a series of satellites. The only way you could have known exactly where I was is if you had your own tracking beacon that operated on an independent signal. And there was a chance you'd put it on my clothes or in a piece of gear, but I could take those off or leave it behind. Besides, it wouldn't be the only thing you've ever injected me with, would it?"

"Not bad," Slade says, leaning back. His gaze never leaves my face, and for all that I just surprised him, it didn't do anything to temper the fury bubbling just underneath the surface, "Except that I had no way to know your intentions. You risked the lives of your family and your friends by leaving. How could you be sure I wouldn't leverage them to ensure your cooperation?"

"You can't get into Gotham right now," I shoot back, "Not with the whole League and all the Rogues out for your head."

"Is that what your friends told you?" Slade's voice is a gentle mockery, digging in to the word "friends" like it disgusts him.

"No. Ra's did."

Slade pauses. It's not often I get to catch him off guard, and that's twice in the same conversation.

"When exactly did you speak to Ra's al Ghul?"

"While you were meeting with Savage, he wanted to talk. He had a lot of questions, and he also thought there were a few things I should know."

"Such as?"

"He doesn't trust you."

"That's hardly a surprise."

For a second, my brain spins. Slade has known my identity for a long, long time. But he has no idea that Ra's does too. In fact, there's so much that Slade doesn't know about Ra's it's almost funny. Ra's knows about the chips and that Slade had me steal them. He knows that Slade stole me from Batman. He's only agreeing to let Slade on the Light because he can blackmail him if he needs to. Slade would probably love to know all of that, but there's time for that later. Right now, there's only one thing that really matters.

"Ra's offered me a way out. A place on the Shadows and protection against you for me and my family."

A cruel smile twists its way onto Slade's face, something calculating and sharp in his eye.

"Based on the stunning lack of respect you've shown me and your ill-advised escape, am I to assume that you've taken him up on his offer?"

"No."

"No?" Slade repeats, looking almost curious.

"No. I told you, I came here to talk. I just had to stay ahead of you long enough to get into town but I burned the chips the day that I got here and I've just been waiting for you to catch up. I didn't think it'd take three weeks for you to finally show up."

Before Slade can say anything to that, I reach for my serving pad and scribble down a string of numbers and characters. I put it down on the table and slide it towards him and my hand barely shakes at all. He picks it up suspiciously, eye narrowing as he scans over it.

"I have eight thousand dollars in emergency accounts that Bruce can't access or trace. It's all linked to this. That's the login, see for yourself."

Slade doesn't say anything while he pulls out his phone, and there's only the quiet hum of the café in the background between us. I resist the urge to fidget, instead taking deep breaths to try and get the anxiety out of my chest. That account is all the money I have, and handing the password over means giving Slade that much more power over me. It's been too late to turn back for a while, but without any money, escape goes from difficult to impossible. When Slade logs in, his eyebrows furrow as he scans over the balances and confirms for himself that I'm telling the truth. I can't breathe while I watch him, and the look on his face is inscrutable when he places his phone face-down on the table and brings his attention back to me.

"And why are you showing this to me?"

"Because I want you to see my cards. All of them. Because I need you to know that I could've kept hiding for a long time. I have the resources to make it on my own, a personal guarantee from Ra's himself that the League of Shadows would take me in and protect me from you, and I could bring the entire Justice League down on both of us in the blink of an eye," I lean forward, gripping the pencil in my hand so tight I can feel the wood start to crack, "But I didn't. I'm here."

"So what?" Slade asks slowly, "Why bother going to all this trouble for a conversation?"

I shake my head, disbelief blooming in my chest that after all this, Slade doesn't get it. Along with the old grief and anxiety and the pure desperation to make him understand.

"Why? Because this was the only way I could ever get you to listen to me! I tried as hard as I could to be perfect, to be exactly what you expected me to be, to be the apprentice you wanted. And it didn't matter. There was nothing I could do to get you to trust me," My voice is strained and my heart starts beating faster, anxiety taking over at that fact that this. Isn't. Working.

"And do you blame me? The second I turned around you pulled quite the disappearing act."

"What else was I supposed to do?!" The words come out frantic, tears pulling at the corners of my eyes, "I was broken! I lost hours and hours and you were just gonna leave! You said you trusted me and then you told me to tranq myself! And you hit me!"

A sob rises in my chest, and my eyes are burning.

"I did everything right! I know I did, you would have told me if I didn't! I tried so fucking hard to be perfect for you and it didn't mean shit! It was just test after test and you kept throwing me in with the wolves expecting me to know exactly what stupid part I'm supposed to play. I can't do it anymore! If you're gonna break me, then break me but if you're not then you can't… you can't do that to me."

I take a ragged breath and the words keep spilling out.

"I'm done running. I'm done hiding. I'm done trying to pretend that… that this will be over someday or that it's just an act or that I can't… be this. I'm here. I'm yours. And not because I have to be, or because there's no way out or because I'm trying to make it stop hurting. If I was going to run, I would've. I would've hacked the tracker or called the League or gotten myself caught or gone to Ra's or—"

"Dick," The word stops me cold, chasing every other thought out of my head. He's never called me that before, not ever, "Why did you do this?"

I force myself to take a deep breath, but I don't even have to think about the answer.

"I hurt Jason."

"You didn't do anything to him."

"But I would've. I didn't have any control over myself, all I knew is that I was so tired and so scared and I was desperate to do something about it and that was the result. Slade, that can't happen. That can't happen ever again."

"No. It can't," Slade agrees, "You've proved your point, Richard. I'm impressed by what you managed to accomplish on your own. But you didn't answer my question. You could be anywhere right now. Why come back to me?"

"Because you want me."

Slade doesn't say anything, but I can feel the last of the anger fading away. The intensity of his gaze burns through me and I feel vulnerable and exposed as the words keep spilling out.

"You care about me. I know you do. And I know what you've done to me, I know that you've gotten inside my head and twisted everything inside out and broke me over and over. But you still want me, no matter how fucked up I am. I know what you've done to me is bad. I know that the fact that I'm as terrified of you as I am terrified of disappointing you isn't okay, but—"

My voice cuts off as my chest constricts, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes and I can't stop the first one from falling. This part would be so much easier if it was a lie, and it doesn't help that I know it's the result of years of being manipulated and pressured and threatened and then being isolated for so long, because it's true.

"—I want you to be proud of me."

Slade is quiet for a long time, and the quiet bustling sounds of the diner fill the space between us. The bells over the door jingle, and the town's veterinarian smiles and waves at me while he walks over to meet his girlfriend at the counter. I nod at him, forcing a smile onto my face that fades to nothingness the second he looks away.

I'm going to miss this town. The last few weeks have been so good, but it was over the instant I saw Slade sitting at this table.

When Slade finally speaks, he asks me something he's never, ever asked me before.

"What do you want?"

That's a much, much harder question.

"I want to go home," My lip trembles, my face lighting up with red-hot shame and grief and I can't hold back the tears anymore, "But I can't. Bruce is never going to be able to forgive me. He's never going to want me back. Especially not after what I did to Jason. I just… I want to be safe. I want to be okay. I just—I just want someone to want me. No, I… I want…"

Suddenly, I can't stand to look Slade in the eye.

"I want you to want me. Me. Not some perfect version that never messes up and not some broken weapon that's too fucked up to think for myself. This is about you and me. It always has been. But now I'm asking you to just… let me try."

"Are you certain that's what you're asking? You could have a life here. Friends, people who care about you, a quiet, unexciting life. You're happy here."

"If everything was different, maybe. But it doesn't matter. You found me, just like you were supposed to."

"You're not listening to me," Slade leans forward, lacing his fingers together on top of the table, "You said it yourself, you have other options. None that come without a price, least of all al Ghul's. Here's my offer."

Slade pauses long enough to gesture around the diner before saying, "Stay here. You've already got the mayor's family vouching for you, and I know you've started to put down roots. Go to school, play sports, join after school clubs, keep working at this dingy little place. Be a kid and grow up into whoever you want to be."

"What's the catch?" I ask, trying to ignore the twist of anxiety at the fact that Slade knows about the people who helped me and the friends I've made.

"That's it. If you stay, this is the life you choose. No more costumes or capes or do-gooding."

For a second, all I can do is stare. Because Slade means it. He's, holy shit he's completely serious.

"Are you serious? After everything, you'd just… you'd let me stay here?"

"Richard Grayson disappears off the face of the earth, forever, and Sam the runaway gets to live a quiet, safe life."

I could stay.

It could be over.

This could be my life. I could grow up here, keep going to school and play sports or learn an instrument or new languages, apply to colleges… all of it.

It would be peaceful and normal and I could make new friends. Start over, away from Slade. Away from Ra's and Luthor and Savage and everyone else who's only ever wanted to use me. The pencil in my hand taps away against the tabletop, a nervous tick that I couldn't stop right now if I tried.

"Do I have to use a gun?"

"You need to be proficient to my standards."

"I can't kill anyone, Slade. I can't."

"No," Slade agrees, "Not until you're eighteen. And not until you're ready."

I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest. That's more than I ever thought I'd get from him. I'm not ready to kill someone; I don't think I'll ever be. But after four more years with Slade… maybe that might change.

And that's terrifying. If I go with Slade, that's where I'm going. Someday, I'll kill for him. And once I do, I'll kill again. And again. For the rest of my life.

But I think about staying here, fading into quiet obscurity and never seeing my family or my friends again. No one will ever know what happened to me. I'll be stuck in this small town. I won't be able to help anyone ever again.

My hand reaches into my jacket pocket, squeezing around the iPod tucked inside like it's going to disappear just being in Slade's presence.

And even if… even if I can't help anyone, I'm so tired of this. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder all the time. It's been so nice to be here, but I don't want to stay forever. And as terrifying as it is to face down an angry Slade, now that the fury has faded, I feel safer than I have in a long time. For the first time since I ran away from New York, I have someone watching my back again. I'm not alone.

And if I do this, I'll never be alone again.

I take a deep breath.

"No."

"No?"

"No. I… don't want that."

"Are you positive? I will not make this offer again."

I look down at the faded, coffee-stained tabletop and let the words roll around in my head for a second, but it doesn't change anything. I don't want to stay. I can't walk away now.

"I'm sure."

"Alright. Then for all intents and purposes, you are my employee. You'll continue to be paid for your work and I will not monitor nor track you except in an emergency or for the sake of a job. I will not place any restrictions on you or your activities outside of training or active missions. In exchange, I expect your complete cooperation, loyalty, and respect. You will do as I say and failure to do so will be punished."

My head snaps up at the last word.

"Slade—"

He cuts me off before I can get any further.

"If I understand you correctly, you organized this meeting so that we could speak on equal footing. You told me you chose to come back to me, and this was just a demonstration of the fact that you could slip away at any time. You say that you are choosing to be at my side and I have no reason not to believe you."

Slade picks up the mug of coffee and swirls it, looking down at the liquid inside.

"Except that I know you," he says before taking a sip and putting the mug back down on the table. When he looks up at me again, my heart stops. The expression on his face isn't suspicious, but there's a mixture of something fond and amused and a little disappointed, like he can't believe I actually expected him to fall for it. It feels almost like being six years old and trying to convince my dad that I don't know where the cookies went even though there's chocolate all over my face. Except this is a million times more dangerous; I risked everything on this gamble and if it doesn't work… "I know how deep that hero complex of yours runs and I know firsthand how willing you are to sacrifice yourself. You tell me that I should trust you after you've gone and shown me just how hard you've worked to hide your true hand. If anything, this has proved just how unwise it is to place my full and complete trust in you. But… I'm going to trust you anyways."

Before the relief hits, Slade continues.

"That being said, if you ever attempt to turn on me again…" Slade puts his hand on my wrist and squeezes gently. It could be threatening and it probably should be, but after so long by myself, it just feels like a comfort. In a quiet voice that's warm and firm and solid, Slade promises, "There are no more chances, Richard."

Wally West

West Household

Saturday, June 22nd, 2013

Wally closed the front door, stomping his shoes on the mat to shake off the mud and wet leaves.

"Hi mom!" He called into the house.

"A package came for you!" His mom called back, "I left it on the table!"

Wally found the package sitting innocently on the kitchen table and he frowned. He hadn't ordered anything, and he didn't recognize the address on the shipping label. He grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer and cut through the packing tape before pulling out layers of foam and crumpled brown packing paper surrounding a second, smaller box.

Sitting inside that was a brand-new iPhone and a note.

Wally picked it up, his stomach churning with anxiety; there'd been too many surprises lately, and none of them good. The note was hand written on the back of an order form for an iPhone, delivered to an address in North Carolina that he didn't recognize.

But it only took a second to recognize the writing as Dick's.

His heartbeat raced, jumping hundreds of beats every second as he read, "I'm so sorry for everything. This is the best I could do. It's a one-way only link from my iPod, so I won't know if you get any of my messages and everything will get wiped at midnight. Please don't let anyone know about this; he'll kill me if he finds out. I hope this helps. Please stay safe and tell everyone I miss them."

Wally scrambled for the iPhone, turning it on to find a standard phone layout. Only none of the apps would open when he tried to click on them. He scrolled through the pages filled with apps, trying to figure out why none of them would open, when he got an idea. He clicked on an app and held it until they all started shaking. But unlike his phone, none of the apps gave him the option to delete them. Except for a plain icon on the second screen, the green one labelled "Math Tips," He pressed the home button to make sure he didn't accidentally delete it, then he opened the app.

Instead of anything related to math, the whole screen filled with words. Wally scanned through it, reading lists of names and brief details in confusion until it dawned on him what he was looking at. It was a case file, detailing an attack from a few months ago on the head of a Blüdhaven crime family that took out twelve of his men.

Wally remembered hearing something about it in the news, but the League had written it off as a gang war or a failed coup; something that was definitely bad but much more suited for the Feds to handle. But if this was what he thought it was… Dick had found a way to get in contact and tell them about Deathstroke's activities.

Wally grabbed his communicator, took about a dozen pictures of the screen, and then called Batman.

AN: Support your local libraries, kids! They're an important safe haven for children on the run from deadly mercenaries. Also they have books!

You might have noticed in previous chapters, whenever Dick thought about his plan, there were a few steps conveniently left out. But if you're curious, here it is.

The plan:

Step 1: Make Slade think he's breaking before he actually does

Step 2: Gain Slade's trust

Step 3: Do whatever it takes to get Slade to let him outside unsupervised

Step 4: Find a way to pass intel to Bruce the League

Step 5: Don't get caught

I'm sure it'll turn out well for everyone.

Coming up, we'll see how the Team is handling things, how the Wayne family is dealing with Cluemaster's impeding release from prison, and there might even be some answers on what Slade's been up to for the last 5 weeks.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave me a comment! I absolutely love hearing from you all and I've been dying to get to this chapter! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it!