Blood Ties

Chapter 10 -Under Pressure-

Renegade shrugged nonchalantly, hiding how much this man terrified him. "Figured as much."

"What caused your panic attack?"

Renegade blinked, surprised this was the first question. His panic momentarily forgotten. Also, didn't he just say this wasn't a therapy session? Well, actually, if he was in their position he too would ask. Answering would be a good idea, but details wouldn't be necessary. With this amount of pressure crashing back down on him, he was surprised he didn't break right then and there. C'mon Grayson, you got this, Slade wouldn't put you here if he didn't think you were capable. He talked himself out of freaking out, but his face couldn't help but redden.

He barely drew a breath when he spoke, feeling a bit breathless even though he knew he was probably close to hyperventilating. "A combination of things, triggers I guess," Renegade answered vaguely, almost mumbling, eyes lowered in an attempt to keep a lid on his internal panic. He had no idea how much he should reveal, Deathstroke literally left him flailing in the deep end, with only the advice of 'if you want to' to help.

Nightwing's stoic face didn't change. "Triggers made by Deathstroke?"

Renegade's eyebrows furrowed, that possibility never even came to mind. Deathstroke would never purposefully make him afraid of something, every fear Renegade had was his own. Deathstroke helped him much more than he ever hurt him. So why did everyone think everything wrong with him was Deathstroke's fault?

"Not really." He grunted out, a bit put off by the attack on his mentor.

"Then where are they from?"

Renegade clenched his jaw, he refused to share that information. Afraid that if he opened his mouth, the horrors would all spill out. He didn't want anyone finding out, he only trusted one man with that information and that man sold him to the heroes.

"Fine. We'll do this a different way." Nightwing growled. "Do you enjoy killing?"

Renegade didn't answer for a few seconds, still in rebellion to the first question, but then his chest expanded and he spoke. "Enjoy is... a strong word. I don't DISlike it, but enjoy seems a little too maniacal for me."

"Then let's use a different word, how about 'agree with'. Do you agree with your mentor's methods of problem solving?" Black Canary butted in. Renegade wanted to point out she was totally playing therapist but he found a better use of his vocal chords in answering her question.

"Absolutely, yes." Renegade smiled.

"So you don't condone killing?" Nightwing returned to the conversation, eyes ever set on the murderer's apprentice.

"I condone unnecessary killing. But things die, and whether it's by my hand or someone else's, they're still going to die." Renegade reasoned with a shrug.

"And what's happens when you don't agree with Deathstroke? Does he punish you?" Nightwing asked. His voice, if it were possible, became slightly softer.

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An 11 (and a half -he insisted) year old Dick jumped around a tall mercenary, clapping his hands and grinning wildly. Slade clad in his Deathstroke armor watched with a certain fear in his eye. This child's excitement about moving to a new base was startling and a little frightening to the one-eyed man.

"Alright, let's not get too excited," Deathstroke said, trying to calm the boy jumping for joy.

"Let's go! Lets go! Where is it?!" Dick yelled, running around the edge of the roof they were standing atop of, as if he could see his destination even though he lacked the knowledge to even know what it looked like.