A/N: So it's been a while. Like, a LONG while. I can't really make any excuses, I just plain lost the desire to sit alone and craft substandard tales with someone elses intellectual properties while I COULD be out doing all kinds of other things to better myself. (Since the last time we've talked I've started a career, gotten involved in and totally FUBAR'd a serious relationship, and gotten a handle on my health and fitness. Although I am still flailing blindly through this grand adventure we call life.

In terms of the story, I am disting this one off, and I'll me picking away at it VERY SLOWLY. So I appologize in advance if this bothers anyone. this is just a short little update to start things off and hopefully set the tone for the rest of the fic. Anyway, enjoy my little slice of insanity :D

Oh, Standard disclaimers apply.

Hello,

Is there anybody out there?

Just nod if you can hear me

Is there any one home?

Come on

Now

I hear you're feeling down

I can ease your pain

Get you on your feet again

Relax

I'll need some information first

Just the basic facts

Can you show me where it hurts?

There is no pain you are receding

A distant ship's smoke on the horizon

You are only coming through in waves

Your lips move

But I can't hear what you're saying

-Pink Floyd-

BI BI BI

He found himself somewhere he could not readily quantify. No words he knew could describe what his awareness perceived; time, space, distance, all was impossible to determine in this place. Though perhaps 'place' was not the best way to describe where he was, as nothing he knew of could seem so… something. Yet he was aware of it, so by definition it must exist, meaning that it was in fact somewhere.

None of the traditional senses seemed overly effective here and even the fundamental things like spatial awareness or the sense of his own body seemed entirely insignificant. Meaningless, even non-existent.

Is this what death was like?

It seemed an obvious answer, though conventional wisdom suggested that Death could only possibly be a small handful of things. He doubted this was either Heaven or Hell, as it was not pleasant, but not unpleasant either. And he certainly hadn't simply ceased to exist.

After an indeterminate length of time, he was no longer alone. He could still not quantify his surroundings or lend meaning or measure to his habitation. But something teased at his senses, tickling the very edges of his awareness. It spoke to him as through emotion, messages from his own soul. It communicated in no intelligible way but was entirely impossible to misunderstand.

Slade sat back in his chair with his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Normally Slade would never even consider going into the private residence of the Batman but his apprentice needed the proper care if he was going to recover. It was still risky, but Batman was stretched very thin with a number of troubling issues, not the least of which was the horrible condition that his adopted son was in, a condition that would have been fatal to literally every other human on earth. Batman was also dealing with an unprecedented crime wave that was triggered by the arrival of a new criminal organization, an organization who's foot soldiers could even put the hurt on the Batman. Wayne Tech was also in a recession, nothing major but enough to require his attention more than usual to reassure investors and put out fires. All of it combined into the best possible scenario to allow Slade to infiltrate the Batman's inner sanctum to tend to his Apprentice.

The boy was remarkably improved; the serum that he had already absorbed had been slowly repairing his injuries, and stumping every doctor that saw him. Slade just gave him a little bit more to help speed things along. The sooner he was healed enough to move, the sooner Slade could spirit him away. It was slow going though; it had been nearly a month since Slade had installed himself as young Richard Grayson's head physician and in that time he had pumped literal litres of serum into him, but he was still in rough shape. It was a constant battle to tease at the healing injuries so that they would continue to rebuild and repair, something that simply HAD to happen. But he had an early day, it was time to sleep.

It was all there waiting for him, all he had to do was reach out and grab it, he just couldn't figure out how to do that. So far as he could tell he had no physical body, nor could he tell exactly what he was supposed to grab onto. But it was there, right there. Wherever there was.

It tickled more insistently at his awareness, as though it were a person yelling over a loud noise; he could hear that someone was talking but he couldn't distinguish what they were saying. But it was slowly drifting louder. He could almost feel the wind in his hair and the limitless potential that was promised. If only he could grab it.

It wasn't the result that Slade had hoped for. He had been working for months, pushing even his great mind and stamina to their limits and beyond. Looking like he hadn't spent the last five months doing everything he could to manipulate the boy's wounds so that the limbs would grow back and he would be as he was. But it wasn't enough. His apprentice was beyond his further aid and it galled him. Among other things, the burns had not smoothed back to flawless skin, instead the splotches spread across his back like spider-webbed cracks in a window and wrapped tendrils around his body.

Tonight would be his last visit to Wayne Manor as the good Doctor Cox, and it would be a short visit. He only had something small that needed doing.

The car dropped him at the main gate, and it slid open silently at his approach. He stepped smartly through and made the familiar trek up to the main house. It was quiet, as always. For a reputed party boy, Bruce Wayne's home was a rather somber, if extravagant, affair.

He used the heavy brass knocker to announce his arrival, not that it was needed, and had to wait only a moment or two for the massive ornate door to be opened from within by the aging Butler, allowing him admittance.

"Hello, Alfred." Dr. Cox greeted, "How is everything tonight?"

"Quite well Doctor," Alfred Responded, "How are you?"

"I'm good old boy," He replied as Alfred took his coat and hat, "I assume that Mister Wayne is tending to another of his endless errands."

"Indeed." Alfred agreed, "You'd never know from his reputation, but his work monopolizes his time to the exclusion of almost all else."

He left that alone, "I trust there has been no change in the boy's condition." It was a statement, there was never any change in the boys condition.

"Right you are, sir." Alfred said, nearly failing to keep his voice professional.

"I'll go in and check on him." The Doctor responded.

He really only wanted to check on his apprentice and leave, but failing to comply with the niceties by which his and Alfred's relationship functioned would be catastrophic.

He entered the room and went straight for the boy, setting down his bag and taking the tools he needed to check him over one last time. The checkup was a lengthily procedure, taking nearly an hour to complete to his satisfaction. When he was done he leaned in close to the boy's mangled ear….

"I have not abandoned you Apprentice." A faraway voice cut through the blackness, momentarily breaking through the fog of his surroundings.

He was no longer victim to the horrible shift between light and dark, shocked and mauled at by the things that came with them. Now he was suspended in a place that was just as hard to quantify. If he had to put words to a description, the closest he could come would be to say that he was like a ghost, incapable of interacting with wherever he was. But was also nearly blind and deaf, so that the world came to him in fits and starts, like when you look up out of deep water.

"I have done all I can for you. Now it is up to you."

The voice was stronger this time, and different from the presence that still beckoned to him from time to time. But what did it want him to do?

Master?

The thought came unbidden and brought with it a sort of clarity, if only a very little bit. It was like he was rising slowly from the deep…