Sick Bird.

53. Trust.

Contrary to what Batman and the others might have thought, Dick wasn't in any real danger anymore, most of the assassins had retreated once the Caped Crusader arrived, brimming with fury.

The young Grayson right now, just wanted to get back to Gotham, and he was smart enough to avoid any people along the way. The booming sirens that sounded occasionally and flashing red and blue lights that seemed to loom over the city told him that Bruce had already left. There was no way the hero would have the patience to deal with any sort of authority.

Sure enough, the soon panic died down, leaving a stream of shaken people evacuating the area. Dick watched the light crowd of pedestrians disperse as ambulances arrived and the casualties were rushed to the closest hospitals. The guilt that he already felt seemed to double under the suffocating pressure of the morbid atmosphere. From a shadowy corner, he watched silently, unseen. He didn't want to face Bruce just yet, he decided.

Hiding himself in the darkness once again, he slinked back into the alley, staying close to the walls. With fists shoved into his pockets, he let out a defeated sigh. I don't know if I want to be alone anymore.

Dick didn't doubt that Bruce would be sick with worry once he didn't find him, but he didn't want to face any of them, at least not yet. The team, his mind shifted to his friends as he wondered if they knew. Knowing his mentor, he squashed the idea before it could develop any further. Does he really think he can save me? The question washed over him like a tide wanting to take him under, and the thirteen year old fought to keep the tears at bay as he staggered about, no set destination in mind anymore. He knew Bruce did this because he wanted to protect him, but it still hurt. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand and the pain didn't even seem real.

Was he afraid? Yes, he was terrified. Dick couldn't imagine death, and he didn't want to. There had been many close calls in his career as a hero but this... This was going to happen. He was sick and there was nothing more he could do to change that.

More than ever the acrobat wished he wasn't so inquisitive, if he had carried on without being so persistent then maybe he'd still be able to smile, maybe he wouldn't know a thing when Bruce gave him the cure and everything was finally alright. But nothing is alright now, he could already feel doubt creeping up in the back of his mind. Despite knowing the reason, he felt betrayed. He should have trusted me... Why didn't he trust me.

And a little voice in his heart told him. He wouldn't care if you died.

The boy's expression twisted into one of pure agony, because he wanted to deny it, to say it wasn't true. But he couldn't help but hear the words, if he fails what happens to you?

And the pain of thinking that, yes Dick decided, was completely unbearable.

-=-

"Where is he?" Bruce snapped, almost failing to dial down the malice in his voice as he glared at Talia.

"You're asking me?" She asked with a bored tone, flicking dirt off her red polished nails. "He belongs to you."

"Talia," he warned.

Her eyes flickered up to meet his and she sighed. "Fine, I'll get my people on it."

"Deathstroke?" The hero turned to his right. "I would like all the information you have on the WP17."

The mercenary made no indication of a reply as he walked away, then put his hand up in the air, disappearing into a puff of smoke.

"How confident are you, Bruce?" The lady assassin walked to his side, placing her hand on his arm.

"I will find a cure." He said resolutely, disregarding her touch as he made his exit, the blare of police sirens growing more prominent in the stifling silence. "Just find my son." Almost hissing the words, he too disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Talia sighed, a mocking smile playing on her lips as she too walked away. "You don't know who you're messing with Bruce... And when you do, it'll be too late."

-

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