Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.

A/N: I mostly wrote this for my own amusement and heavily debated with myself if I was going to post this, as I've been wanting to retire from fanfiction. But after watching the Breaking Bad finale I just had to get this plot bunny out of my head. This fic is written in the spirit of dark and gritty crime stories. All references to crime movies/ TV shows/books/comic books are intentional.

This fic will have a very different feel than other apprentice fics I've done. This means that the fic will be darker than the others (I know it's hard to imagine), and the Titans may not have POV sections, just so you know. And there will be some profanity.

Special thanks to shutupshea aka Kirokokori for creating the cover and Kryalla Orchid for suggesting the title. Update schedule and other shenangians will be at the end of the chapter.

Part 1:

Los Hombres Están Muertos

"Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father

Run for your children, for your sisters and your brothers.

Leave all your love and your longing behind

You can't carry it with you if you want to survive."

-"The Dog Days are Over," Florence and the Machine

Chapter 1: In Bruges

-SW-

Bruges, Belgium

In a desperate act of camaraderie, Slade decided buy his apprentice a drink at a local bar. The kid was old enough now, and that was what friends did.

Bruges was a nice city. Slade and Dick had hurried over the border just last night to escape the authorities, and neither of them had gotten much sleep. Today, though, Slade decided that he wouldn't bother leaving Europe. He knew that the police were still looking for them, but after last night's fiasco Slade made sure to cover their tracks extra carefully.

In earlier years Dick would have demanded to know where they were going, but now he simply didn't care, which frustrated Slade. Did he even know that he was in Bruges? Slade would have loved to come to Europe at his age, and to such a beautiful Belgian city.

Instead of spending that night inside the safe house, Slade decided that they needed to go out into the city. As most of the tourist attractions were closed by the evening, there was really nothing else for them to do than go out and have a drink. Slade needed one. Last night's contract rattled him as well as Dick, even if he did not mention it to his apprentice.

Slade bought two drinks and moved through the crowd in the bar, finally spotting his apprentice through a window. Dick stood outside of the bar in the cold, his collars upturned to keep his reddened ears warm. He didn't talk to anyone and stayed just outside the circle of light emanating from the inside of the bar, leaning against the balcony that looked out at the city skyline.

"Hey, I just remembered that it's your birthday," Slade said. "Why don't we drink to it? You're twenty-one. Now that's something to celebrate."

Slade set down Dick's glass, a tall pint of Belgian beer he was sure the kid would like. Dick turned his head to look at him, cigarette smoke curling out of the corners of his frown. To Slade's surprise, Dick dropped a lit cigarette into his glass.

"If you're going to buy me a drink, at least have the decency to get me the good stuff."

Slade held out his hand. "Give me the rest."

Without another word Dick reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"What did I tell you about smoking?" Slade demanded.

"Don't do it."

"Smoking is a destructive behavior. Don't start."

"You don't like it because it reminds you of Adeline."

To Dick's surprise, as well as Slade's, Slade found himself slapping Dick so hard that the sound caused people to turn towards them. Dick held up a reassuring hand to the onlookers, his expression never changing as he rubbed his cheek. The younger man's eyes glinted deviously, as though he knew he had hit a nerve. People eventually looked away and conversation resumed.

"Now…" Dick said slowly, "where did that come from?"

Why did Slade hit him? For disrespect, certainly, but Slade had allowed Dick to get away with smarter comments the past year. Perhaps Slade too was on edge from their botched contract the night before, and the slight against Adeline had set him off.

"I never told you that she smoked," Slade said huffily.

"You don't hide secrets as well as you think you do."

The mercenary had never intended to tell Dick about his private life before he decided to take on an apprentice, but he had accidentally slipped to Dick that he used to be married. Slade must have mentioned it when he was lecturing Dick on the dangers of romantic relationships in their line of business.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," Slade said. "You know better than to mention her."

"You're not sorry."

"How can you possibly know that?" Slade looked out to the city skyline. Though it was the first day of spring it was chilly tonight. "You're not a child, but you still need to grow up."

"You're one to talk."

Slade looked away. "Why are you acting like this? You haven't behaved like this in years." Slade lowered his voice, though it was no less venomous. "Stop acting like a child."

"You're the one who slapped me. Maybe you're the child here, Slade."

"You could leave now. You always had the chance to leave. Stop wasting my time with insults. What are you waiting for?"

"Honestly, Slade, it's a waiting game for me. Because that's all I can do now: wait. Wait for you to make a stupid decision. Wait for you to get killed on a contract. Because eventually, if someone doesn't murder you, then you're going to get caught. I was a hero long enough to know that. And truth be told, I don't even care if I'm arrested along with you, because I can't stand to see you getting away with this."

Dick took out another cigarette from an inside pocket and stuck it in his mouth, although he did not light it. A sudden thought struck Slade, a thought that he hadn't considered for a long while. No matter how often Slade thought of Dick as a child, he was certainly no longer one. So many times Slade had told him over and over again that Dick was his successor, and that one day he would have the skills to take over Slade's job. But even now, even when Dick was now twenty-one, Slade still treated him like an untrustworthy associate. He could no longer slap Dick around like he used to. Even hitting Dick just then was a bad idea. Dealing with a teenaged apprentice was so much different than dealing with an angry young man at his physical prime.

Perhaps it was strange to Slade because he had not expected Dick to carry his bitterness with him throughout the years. Certainly these last few years had been difficult, as Dick's emotional problems nearly brought the apprenticeship to a standstill, even after Slade knew that he had won. Most days Dick obeyed him without question. Yet there was always one word, one task, one bad day that would make him angry again. Slade had learned over the years that he could not respond with an explosion of anger of his own, and that some days Dick just had to be left alone. And, here and now, Slade did not dare rip that cigarette out of his mouth.

"Now you're just being annoying," Slade said. "Is this because of last night's contract?"

Dick threw back his head, strangled laughter escaping his mouth. "Five years later and you're still asking me that. You're a real piece of work."

Although Dick shrugged it all off, Slade could tell by Dick's tone that, yes, their last job troubled him greatly. Slade hadn't planned it that way—how could he have known what would happen?

"At least I'm asking you how you feel."

"'At least'?" Dick merely looked at him, his blank expression somehow emphasizing every tired line in his face. "You think a trip to Bruges would make me happy? Make me forget that you—"

"Everyone should visit Bruges before they die. I thought you'd like that."

The kid turned to leave. "Fuck off."

"Hey!" Slade raised his hand, as though to strike Dick again, but he stopped himself. The kid was just trying to goad him. It wasn't worth it. "Watch your mouth."

Everything about Dick—from the way his shoulders slouched to his expression of complete apathy—told Slade that nothing he said would get through to him. Not when he was in this mood. Dick leaned back, surveying Slade quickly, trying to determine if Slade would dare hit him in public again. To Slade's relief, Dick slouched and glared at him. "Fine. I will. Not like it matters."

"No, it doesn't matter," Slade said. "But when you're around me I expect respect. You know that."

"It's my twenty-first birthday and I don't even want to go out and get drunk. It's not even worth the hangover." Dick saluted him sarcastically. "I'll see you back at the apartment. I'm done."

-DG-

Safehouse

Bruges, Belgium

The safehouse in Bruges was a lot nicer than many of the others Slade had in his inventory. It actually had nice furniture and Internet. Not that Dick used the Internet anyway—his laptop and cell phone had several restrictions on them to prevent him from contacting any person he actually wanted to talk to.

For this weekend in Bruges Frannie—one of Slade's contacts—joined them. Like always, Dick didn't like spending time in the safehouse. He secretly wished that the police would burst in one day, though he didn't want to kill any policemen.

He looked over at Slade and Frannie, who were talking over drinks at the living room table. Slade had come back to the apartment a few hours after Dick did, and Slade was noticeably intoxicated. How strange—during the first years of the apprenticeship Slade never got intoxicated, but now he seemed careless. Dick didn't care. Slade took care to hide the controller whenever he did decide to become intoxicated. It was likely back in the States with Wintergreen, completely out of Dick's reach. At this point, however, the controller didn't matter, as Dick was so entrenched in this nasty business that he was beyond redemption.

"I'll be outside on the balcony," Dick said quietly. "If that's all right with you."

Slade and Frannie looked up at him, as though surprised to see him there. Frannie frowned, as though she thought it strange that Dick still asked for permission to move around the house.

"Yes, that's fine," Slade said, waving him away. "Just keep the curtains open."

Why? You afraid I'm going to jump off the ledge?

Well, there was no point arguing. It was getting late, though he didn't feel tired at all. No one had told him to go to bed, though at this point he really didn't need anyone telling him anything. He was expected to follow the habits ingrained within him during these past five years.

He supposed that Frannie was all right. She was one of Slade's contacts from way back when, and seemed to know him well, judging from the way they chatted over tumblers filled with expensive whiskey. When Dick and Slade arrived in Europe they immediately went to her. It was too much to hope that she would help him, after all she had been through with Slade.

Dick barely looked up as the old woman opened the sliding glass door and sat next to him. "It's your birthday?"

"Yeah."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"It's your twenty-first birthday and you're stuck in here with us old farts?"

"It's not like I've been celebrating my birthday the past five years anyway. Where's Slade?"

"Brooding in his room. Not sure if he's turned in for the night. Probably not." Frannie paused, her smile twisted with amusement. "You're not even going to sneak out and get laid? You're a good-looking young man. There are lots of young Belgian ladies out there who'd love to have a piece of you."

Dick merely looked at her. They stared at each other for a good long while before he turned his attention back to the city skyline. He heard her get up from her chair, open the door, open a cabinet, and heard the chink of glasses. Dick knew long before she came what Frannie was bringing back with her.

"Have a drink?" she asked.

He glanced at the bottle. It was the forbidden stuff. The amber liquid, the expensive stuff that Dick never drank because Slade never let him.

"No thanks," Dick replied, holding up a hand. "I don't need it."

"Oh, I think you do." Frannie poured him a glass. "Take it. I insist."

Slade's words—the ones he said when Dick first met Frannie—came to mind: treat her as though she were Slade, or even Wintergreen. She was on top of the totem pole. Why the hell not? Dick took the glass and murmured a low thanks.

"Happy birthday, kid," Frannie said, clinking her glass with his. "Maybe next year you'll do something crazy."

He took a drink with her and spluttered. The stuff burned down his throat, and then settled warmly into his chest. How could people drink this stuff with a straight face?

Frannie opened a box of cigars and leaned in close to whisper. "You can have a smoke as well. He's not watching."

How much did Slade tell her about the night before? She handed him a cigarette lighter, though she took it back gently when his fingers shook too much for him to light it. Frannie lit the cigar for him and stowed the lighter away in her chest pocket once she had also lit her own.

Dick hadn't meant to start smoking, but lately he just didn't care and pinched a pack whenever he could. Smoking was strangely therapeutic, though the cigar tasted bitter. Every time Slade caught him he was punished for it, but as time went on Dick realized that he could push his limits slowly, and eventually make Slade not care so long as he did whatever he was told to do. He coughed, but after a few tries he learned not to inhale the smoke. Frannie chuckled and leaned back in her chair. "You're ok, kid."

An uncomfortable quiet crawled between them. Dick had never had a private conversation with Frannie, and he didn't know how to talk to her. Would she relate the whole conversation with Slade, or would she keep everything a secret?

"You're aware of our arrangement?" he asked quietly.

Slade liked to lie about their relationship, even to the people in his network of contacts. Unless Dick asked those contacts directly, most of the time he had no idea if they were aware that Dick had no desire to be there at all. Best to know if Frannie knew before they continued talking.

"The extortion? Sure, I know about it."

"And you don't think there's anything wrong with it?"

"Guess what, honey, I know for a fact that Slade Wilson is fifty shades of messed up. What's his business is his business, and in the end I can only advise him."

The combination of alcohol and nicotine calmed him. For the first time in months he felt relaxed, though deep down he knew that nothing was okay, and that this extraordinary calmness was only temporary. He closed his eyes as he exhaled cigar smoke, enjoying how wonderful the cold night air felt on his skin.

"I still don't want to be here."

"I know." She reached out and turned his face gently towards the light. "He hit you again."

Hearing her say that so bluntly made him wrench his head away. "That's nothing. Then again, I don't think mentors are supposed to hit their charges."

Twenty-one years old and Slade was still treating him like this. Incredible. Perhaps he needed that drink after all.

"Slade has told me many things, Dick, as has Will. I know about the contract last night. Are you really all right?"

"Why do you care how I feel?"

No one else cares how I feel. Maybe they feel pity, but none of Slade's friends would help me. Not ever. Not when they're all in this together.

"People do care, even if they don't show it." Frannie sighed. "It's hard not to feel sorry for you."

"Tell me something, Frannie, tell me something that Wintergreen can't tell me: why does Slade bother with me at all? Even when I try to follow his orders I still mess up. I can't want to do what he asks me to do, no matter how much I delude myself. I'm a terrible assassin and he knows it."

"You have talent. Even I can see that, despite your past and your problems."

Dick took another long draught of his cigar. He had no idea if this was considered a good or bad cigar, but if Slade occasionally smoked these then Dick could take a guess at its quality. "From what I understand there are very few people who actually want to kill others. Most people only want the money, the benefits that come from killing people. That's what Slade wants: the money. But I don't want to kill people. I don't want money. I don't want prestige. I just want out."

Why was he telling her all of this? Dick didn't know. She was likely to relate everything he said to Slade. He knew that Wintergreen did.

He heard heavy footsteps, and then the sliding glass door sliding open. "There you are, Dick." Slade frowned. "You smell like smoke. Did you—?"

"Blame me, Slade," Frannie said. "I'm a bad influence."

Hah. It was worth smoking just to see Slade annoyed. Slade picked up the ashtray and shoved it in Dick's face. "Put it out. Now."

As Dick obeyed, Slade glanced over at Frannie as though to say, "you see? Can't trust him with anything."

"I guess you two need some time alone," Frannie said, getting up from her chair. "I'll be inside if you need anything."

Slade took Frannie's recently vacated chair. Dick drained the rest of his glass before Slade could take that away too. Slade glared at him, looking as though he wanted to reprimand him for drinking and smoking, but then his face softened.

"I know you're upset about our last contract. I'm sorry. I didn't know about the child. I already wired the money back to our client. Everything's been sorted out as best as they can be."

It wasn't the first time a child had been involved in their contracts. Sometimes the men Slade was hired to kill were also keeping children captive and, even considering Dick's predicament, were far terrible people than Slade was. At the very least Slade was a man of his word and did not hurt Dick beyond what was necessary. Slade kept his word: the Titans had not yet been murdered. Those kind of contracts really put things into perspective. Things weren't so bad for Dick as they were for other kids. Really, except for the killings, things were as okay as they could be with Slade Wilson.

"I know you're upset with me," Slade said, "and you have every right to be. But there's no need to tell me to die already."

"You and I both know that I've been thinking that for a while."

Dick had had enough of Slade's bullshit. By now he had learned to ignore most of Slade's lies and only paid attention to the orders that mattered. Although he had spat those words out of spite, he knew that Slade would punish him somehow for his disrespect.

"Why don't you try asking me what I want instead of assuming?" Dick asked.

"We've had this conversation a million times—"

"And we'll have it a million times again until you listen to me."

Their arguments, while occasionally violent, were getting increasingly less so. Dick noticed that Slade was becoming more reluctant to hurt him. He had difficulty remembering when they last tried to pound each other to pieces in a full-blown fight. Not that it mattered, since Slade could still beat the crap out of him.

"Whatever." Slade got up from his chair. "I'll leave you alone tonight. I'm angry about the child as well, just so you know. No need to be upset at me, because I didn't know."

"Fine."

"You could have gone out, you know."

"I don't care enough to go out. I'd rather drown in the canal than celebrate anything tonight."

Slade glared at him. Now Dick was pushing his limit. Any more smart comments and he would face immediate consequences.

"Good night," Slade said, rather gruffly. "I'll see you in the morning."

Slade slammed the sliding door shut so hard that Dick heard Frannie scold him. Whenever Slade knew that children were involved he organized things carefully, if he also wanted to involve Dick. In those cases Dick never killed anyone, but he saved the children. Some part of him knew that Slade organized those contracts especially for him so that, in a bizarre way, he could still call himself a hero. That what they did was for a reason, and that all of the people Slade killed deserved to die.

Dick always saved the children. Except for last night. Last night a child had died, and it was all his fault.

A/N: My new job and my volunteer work have improved my Spanish greatly, though I'm still learning and have been trying very hard to become fluent. All Spanish translations will be done by me. Feel free to correct me.

I am participating in National Novel Writing Month (feel free to add me as a buddy if you are also participating), so I hope that I will be able to write my novel and this fic. Updates will be on Tuesday nights (though November will be rough), as that falls on my day off.

Like the chapter? Hate it? Let me know in a review. I know it was a risk to have Dick smoking, but I've always imagined him to have some sort of substance abuse problem if he had to be in the apprenticeship for a long time. It won't be a big thing, as I normally don't write that kind of thing, but I guess Breaking Bad influenced me quite a bit. Please review!