Ok, so this is my first fan-fic, but not my first story ever. I have another story on another website, and if you're interested check my profile page. Ok, so this is just the prologue. This is a story about Robin's past, or more specifically, his family. And please note, I'm going by the cartoon, not the comic books, because I have yet to read them... (*ashamed*) so don't start yelling at me for anything you think does not fit to the real story line written by the original creators of Teen Titans. Also, I may have changed up the last name situation, so if thats confusing let me know and I'll try to make some sense of it. Now, it's time for the world to meet Robin's real family...
Disclaimer: Those crazy mad geniuses who created Teen Titans own everything but my ocs. And no, they can't have them.. yet...
It was snowing softly outside, and the chilly December breeze brought with it tiny, beautiful snowflakes. I simple black car, drove up the small mountain road, climbing the slope with eager anticipation. Inside the car sat General Slade Wilson, and his wife Grace Wilson, sitting in the passengers seat. They were smiling at each other like it was their second honeymoon, but that wasn't the case. The Wilsons were merely going to visit their favorite family vacation house; a cabin in the mountains near Olympia, Washington. Grace Wilson turned in her seat a bit, looking at the three figures in the backseat. The oldest Wilson boy, Xavier, was sitting on the left side, with an Ipod in his hands and white earplugs that didn't seem to fulfill their intended purpose, because the music coming from them could still be heard by everyone else. 9 year old Xavier's dark gold eyes drooped as he hid underneath his black hoodie, his dirty blonde, shaggy hair obscuring his face, and his grubby jeans nearly covering his red sneakers. On the opposite side of the car, his younger brother, Richard Wilson, who was only 7 and a half, was snoring softly, clutching his dark blue winter jacket closer to himself unconsciously in his sleep. His spiky, close cropped jet black hair smashed at an odd angle from slumber, and his crystal blue eyes fluttering every few times they hit a speed bump. Sitting in between the two was the youngest of the Wilson children, 5 year old Klaira. Tonight would be her 6th birthday, and she was wearing her favorite dress, pale violet with pink flowers, and a hot pink ribbon holding her obsidian black hair out of her face. She was reading a rather large book, and the cover read "Sherlock Holmes and the Hound of the Baskervilles". She was almost finished with it. 'That will be a new record. 36 chapters in 2 days' Mrs. Wilson thought to herself. She sighed contently and turned back around, watching the freshly cleared pavement that unfolded before her.
The night seemed to fly by, the family celebrating with strawberries, cheesecake, and chocolate ice cream, Klaira's favorites. They were blissfully unaware of the terrible nightmare that lay in their near future.
That night, at around 11 o' clock at night, little Klaira lay awake in her bed, restless and jittery, waiting and counting the seconds and minutes off in her head until 11:47, when she would officially be 6 years old. She has tried to sleep, but her dreams were so random, fast, and vivid, they kept her awake. She slowly crawled out of bed, slipping on her purple panda slippers, which totally clashed with her minty green nightgown, just the way she liked it. She tip-toed out of her room, not bothering to close any doors. She was shaky, and a bit cold, and every small noise alerted her even more. The shadows on the walls from the faintly glowing embers of the fireplace only made her more wary. When she finally reached the main den and family room, she curled up on the worn velvet chair, hoping the fireplace's glow would comfort her. But as soon as she closed her eyes, they shot open again, but this time, with a bright, intense white glow emanating from them. The nightmare had begun. Or, for Klaira, had finally come true.
Slade Arthur Wilson awoke to the smell of acrid smoke and the sounds of splintering wood. He bolted out of bed, waking Grace from her slumber as well. The two ran from their room, barley escaping a small explosion set off by Mr. Wilson's hunting rifle, that although unloaded, still had gunpowder in it. They raced towards the other side of the cabin, bursting through the doors of their children's rooms. Slade kicked down the door to Richard and Xavier's shared bedroom, then rushed in shouting "FIRE! There's a fire! Get outside! NOW!". He had used his General's tone, which alerted Xavier that his father was very serious. The trio proceeded to the main room, where they found an even bigger problem.
Mrs. Wilson had finally managed to open little Klaira's door, rushing into the room only to find it empty. She rushed out and proceeded downstairs, searching desperately for her little girl. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, though, her scream rang out through the house above the fire's crackles. Her daughter, her baby girl, was floating, her arms thrown out wide and her eyes glowing white with pure energy. Around her, a small hurricane wailed, and the fire raged on around it. What was she going to do?
After seeing his daughter in her current situation, Slade panicked. He dragged both Richard and Xavier outside into the snow, told them to stay there and to not panic, ironically enough, before running right back into the burning building. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Klaira again. It was probably one of the most horrifying things he'd seen since his last war. He didn't know how to save her, but before he could think of anything, the ceiling collapsed. Burning wood fell around him, and something hit his eye. He clutched it, but before he could asses the damage, something large, hot, and heavy landed on his back, and he passed out.
When he awoke, he was laying on a stretcher, his eye stinging and his arms aching almost as much as his back. With a groan, he turned his head, watching as two boys in red and yellow pajamas were loaded into a police car, where they sat waiting for whatever was to come next. Their faces were so sad and confused they made Slade's eyes well up a little with tears. He looked the other way, and saw another stretcher, this time with a black, person sized bag laying on top of it. 'No.' he thought to himself. "NO! He screamed aloud. "NOOOO!" He tried to reach for her, but a paramedic stepped up and strapped his already weak arm down to the stretcher, preparing to wheel him up onto the ambulance. His mind reeled, and before it reached sanity, it came upon a new possibility, which terrified him even more.
Richard Wilson sat in the small, neat white office, paralyzed by fear. His brother Xavier sat beside him, their uncomfortable office chairs only making things seem worse. The small TV in the back corner of the room was on, and while they waited for the Child Protective Services man to show up, they had decided to watch it. The news happened to be on, and the latest headline story only added to their dread.
"Last night, a family of five, vacationing up in the Sharlen Mountains this weekend, were the victims of a very serious and deadly fire. We don't yet know the cause for it, but we've been told its most likely a gas line or an electrical malfunction. The cabin belonged to General Slade Wilson of the U.S. Army, and his wife and children were joining him in celebrating not only a birthday, but also his last weekend with them before his next trip to Afghanistan. The fire started while the family slept, and took the lives of both the mother, Grace Amber Wilson, and the youngest child, Klaira Marrie Wilson. Gen. Wilson is currently in the hospital for his serious neck,back, and limb injuries, and he is in critical condition. The rest of the Wilson family is in mourning of their loss. Back to you, Jen..."
That did it for them. They had just about given up all hope, and that had dashed most of it. They had nothing left now.
Slade woke up slowly from his odd, dreamless sleep. Though, it hadn't been entirely dreamless. He had dreamed that his daughter had started a fire, and that his wife had died. But it had only been a dream, right?
Just then, a doctor came in. His expression was grim, and that was when Slade realized, maybe it wasn't a dream after all...
"Mr. Wilson, I'm afraid I have some bad news." He said. He seemed a bit out of focus. "You've lost the use of your right eye, and no amount of surgery can fix it. I'm sorry."
That wasn't even the worst part. Later that same day, a business man came by, and delivered the hardest blow.
"Mr. Wilson, I'm here to talk to you about the funeral preparations for your wife and daughter, and to inform you that the state of California may have to take away your sons, Xavier and Richard. They feel you are unfit to take care of them during your next mission, and unless-" He cut him off. Slade had finally hit his breaking point. He was sick and tired of it. Everything. And now that his family was gone, those who weren't literally dead seemed dead to him now, because he had failed. Once. His first, and last, failure. And he wasn't about to let it happen again.
