"Robin."
I heard that voice—that voice so hauntingly familiar to me. The voice I knew wouldn't ever be silenced and had only hoped childishly that I would never have to hear again—that maybe, just maybe, the owner would grow tired of tormenting my friends and I and move onto some other, unfortunate kid with intent to save those in need. Maybe I was the only one—or maybe he just liked me. But he lingered here in my life like a repressive fog which tainted everyone around me and I felt like it was my fault—like there was something wrong I was doing. And the voice only reinforced that in my mind, accompanying his presence and reminding everyone—maybe just me—that as long as I was here, he was, too.
It was all about me, after all. It had always been.
"Rob-in…"
I hated that—that calm, soft tone he used with me and only me. I could notice the difference, always, no matter who; it was calm, yes, with everyone, but there was a hardness about it—the implication that he was not friendly and should not be messed with. This applied to even someone like Terra, who had briefly joined him; coolness almost as if to cover hatred and all his underlying plans possessing his tone which didn't match his words, those falsifying her position with him. But with me it was different, and even if I didn't want to believe it I knew it—Slade approached me with a much different attitude than anyone else. It was like—a softness that was real and though calculating, not necessarily cold—more than anything, friendly, welcoming. As if to say, you don't need to worry, Robin, your life is not at risk, never at risk… and I firmly believed this; I was not stupid, and I wouldn't deny even though I was embarrassed and angered by it that often he coddled me when it came to any encounter we had, as if he were fighting a toddler (but maybe he was). Because it didn't matter if we were fighting and I was going my hardest—he never was. I could feel him holding back and I knew that that had never been the case with Terra or my friends or anyone else for that matter. I knew he wasn't afraid to throw some punches my way but full out—even if I had been progressing, I knew he was stronger; experienced—could have easily ended my life. But he wouldn't. My mind was caught replaying that moment when the two of us were on the rooftop and he'd knocked me off the edge only to grab me at the last second before I fell.
He said he wasn't done with me, and I knew it didn't just apply to that fight, there and then. Because he wasn't, not now. That was why the singsong-y voice was calling, drawing me out of the unnatural sleep he'd put me in, which I was exhaustedly clinging to, like a little kid begging to sleep just five more minutes…
"Robin." I felt a hand on my face—a larger, really strong hand, but not clumsy or inexperienced. It moved slowly and deliberately, as if not to startle me, over the corner of my eye and then brushing hair away from my forehead. And even though the action was soft the feeling was invasive, personal, and I groaned, struggling between the urge to ignore it and go back asleep and the almost need to find out who or what was touching me. I should have wanted the latter—should have jumped up and faced whatever stood before me then; but however I'd gotten to sleep, it had really made me out of my element and it was quite possibly the last thing I was up to doing.
Even though the voice was prodding and intrusive, and even though then I already knew it, its owner: "Come, Robin, you must be awake for the procedure or you won't survive."
Warm yellow light, illuminating me only in the darkness that surrounded us. The sound of cogs turning and gears working, quietly in the background like white noise. My vision was blurred but I could make out the figure, wearing the cold metal suit with that mask and that one, haunting eye, staring down at me intently.
I was belted down to a table and I could feel that the instant my body lurched instinctively, not calculated; my hands bound by thick cables and my body secured tightly with straps. My body wrestled with them at once but my eyes were locked onto the figure, clearer once I had blinked and really come awake. I opened my mouth and was shrieking even before I really had time to process what was happening—only reacting when my mind recalled the image of Slade burned there when I had been hallucinating on the dust from the mask. Too similar, belted down to a table while he stood over me watching. The shriek was pure terror and it was uncontrolled—not measured with any amount of careful- or thoughtfulness.
I found almost immediately a mask placed over my mouth and nose and couldn't help inhaling the gas released by it as I screamed; a heavy led blanket placed over my entire being so that I would not break my legs or arms or rupture my organs in trying to escape the ties in such an instinctive, animal-like action. At once I was made still by it, unable to move, and my screaming was silenced by a tranquility that fell over me; my eyes drooped and my mind relaxed, again immediately. I heard vaguely Slade declare that the 'operation' would have to wait just before I fell once again into unconscious, and stayed there for what seemed like a long time.
"Robin."
I groaned as that soft voice penetrated my sleep yet again. There was soreness and stiffness in every part of my body, which I still could not move, even if I had wanted to; but my mind was so foggy and far-gone that I don't think I was capable of such thought. At first I didn't even try to open my eyes because they felt glued shut, and like before I just wanted to drift back to sleep and stay there, even though he would tell me I'd been sleeping this time for an hour and a half on top of however long I had before that—not that I would have seen much of anything had I done so; my eyes were as blurred as ever and made it that much harder to resist going back to sleep.
"Robin." Again that voice disturbed me like a hot poker being pressed into my stomach. It was, as it had been before, very hard to ignore, and it was becoming steadily apparent that it was not a voice I should be ignoring, because the more it called the better I could recognize it. The soft tone—the coddling, as if he was afraid to speak too harshly to me in case I might crumble or shatter like windows broken by shrill singing. Again not to say that it was not intrusive, but calculated; a voice I dreaded and dreamt about and which never left my mind.
I groaned and was tugging open my eyes—eyes again blurred by long and dreamless sleep, peaceful I guess—better than what I had had the first time, when my dreams circulated Gotham City, down to the cave where I made my oath so long ago and away from the dreary circus, to the tower in its early decay where I had come for refuge and would have never pictured to look as it did at present day. So much nostalgia it made me breathless and that sleep little more than a painful analysis of my past and my mistakes, not restful what-so-ever. A perfect storm to lead to an uncontrolled screech, built up by sleepy and ghostly, haunted memories of my unwilling high from Slade's mask-dust. So sleeping long and easily was a relief and it was probably needed, though not preferred and definitely not wanted in regards to my circumstances—waking to the eye.
It looked down at me intently, the body leaned over me interestedly, the hands clasped behind the back as always. His demeanor was calm and thoughtful and for once I didn't sense any evil plan which may or may not be circulating within his brain and shining purposefully in his eye. He was just observing, and even though I was barely awake I noticed that.
I was of course more calm than before but again the sleepy haze I lingered in made it really hard to understand much of anything that was going on—but I knew who stood over me, as a certainty. It wasn't leading to any conclusions quite yet and I didn't want it to, not necessarily, because in many ways it was easier just not to think and just to be, and as of that moment I wasn't too uncomfortable; sore, yes, dizzy, yes, but I was actually pretty comfortable where I lay and was warm—drawing me away from the cold hospital room where Slade had approached me in the darkness like a ghost and thus forth set an image of him in my mind which would never be erased though it was not technically real, along with his skull when his mask had been knocked off and he hadn't had his flesh back from Trigon yet. And many others as well but these two stand out distinctly, make me cringe. And I should have been screaming this time, too, images evoked in my head, but the drastic change of setting and the fact that I was too doped up to care just yet were making it seem pointless, impossible. I wasn't even thinking about it.
"There you are, awake, good—good morning, Robin. Are you feeling better?" Slade said easily, softly. I was dimly aware that he was fiddling with something that sounded metal and sharp on—again, judging by sound—a table to my left. But I still wasn't thinking clearly and didn't think too much of it, only focused solely on that eye and groaning in response to his question because it was all that would come out of my mouth, and it was not calculated.
"Still exhausted, I see," he mused, looking down at me with interest. "Not surprising, however. You put up quite a fight, didn't you?—but then, that's to be expected as well, because you made it very clear you would…and so did I. But I enjoy it, Robin. Things—they weren't the same with Terra. I missed the good old days, just the two of us, didn't you?"
Again, I could only groan, though being drawn further out of my sleep by his words it was becoming a little more alarmed and relevant.
"Ah what a little fool she was, what a spoiled brat. She took everything others gave her and threw it back into their faces as if she could hold a candle to the skill she was surrounded by—though not surprising, she was never the brightest bulb on the tree." My eyes were clear enough after blinking several times when I heard Terra's mentioning, and I could clearly see him holding up a needle in the light and filling it with some strange clear liquid; and that was when I woke up totally, and stared at him with wide eyes as he continued, "And now after our years of separation, Robin, I can see more than ever that you were meant to be my apprentice from the very start. I thought you would have slipped while I was away but you made me proud today in proving me wrong."
"S-Slade," was the only thing I could manage to gasp out, and even then it took a few minutes and it was barely uttered, just a little breath I'd been holding in. As I started to shake in a rush of terror I realized that once again I was tightly strapped down onto the table, (padded at least), and that the lead blanket was still covering me so that I couldn't move a bit. Not that I was even strong enough to try. My whole body felt numb, as if the only thing I owned of me was my mind.
"Relax, Robin," Slade said immediately as he noticed I was now awake and pretty well aware of what was going on. "I have no intention of hurting you. This process will be quick and painless because I've numbed you. You won't feel a thing and I do mean that. Just relax."
Relax? How could I relax when he was coming at me with a needle, when I was helplessly strapped down to a table, when my memory was returning of how I had got there and what he had done? What I would later learn was only the night before felt so long ago and distant but at the same time felt so close and personal but still blurred and hazy, like it was all a dream; this was the night we would encounter Slade for the first time since his return thanks to Trigon. He had left us alone for a surprising chunk of time—only intercepting us once, and not even me—just Beast Boy when it came to the girl who looked an awful lot like Terra but it never came to fruition whether or not she actually was, and that frustrated and broke his heart. I didn't know what to do; I knew Slade was still out there and he had better things to do than to taunt Beast Boy over Terra—I should have been smart enough to realize that it was a warning sign, a little heads up, maybe a gentle reintroduction of his part in our weird lives. But more than anything I was trying to help Beast Boy to feel better and maybe that was what Slade wanted—me distracted. The whole team, actually, was trying to do things for him but since he saw that girl, it was never the same. He was sad and lonely and had little to do with us—a shell of his former self. I hated Terra for that—hated that she made him feel that way. And I didn't think about Slade, not much. I dragged Beast Boy around to movies and for pizza and to the mall to try to cheer him up, but I didn't think about Slade. Where was my mind then?
One evening the city was very quiet and it unnerved everybody. We always felt that when things were quiet, there was trouble cooking. We spent the majority of the night sitting in the tower waiting for something to come up; even though in recent days we'd actually captured a lot of villains and sent them to prison, we barely rested because we knew there'd be someone else; and for some reason we were scared and thrown off and wishing for the "good old days" when things were simple, just the five of us fighting crime and not having to worry about bad to good conversions or vice versa. For some reason, we were rigid and found no joy in fighting; our hearts weren't into it and it felt as though we'd gotten really soft, really bored, really tired. We were on the verge of being lazy, and thinking about that only made us depressed. So almost strangely we hoped for more crime so we didn't feel useless and displaced and out of our element. And maybe those feelings of foreboding were our own need for something to validate us. Sad, really, that our lives were virtually sitting around waiting for the same criminals to break out of jail or reappear, because that was what made us relevant to the world. Without the criminals we were nothing, but with them we were nothing new. And I guess internally I was wanting something more, something new, different, and that's where I think I got into trouble. I wanted to make Beast Boy happy and the rest of the team, too, but when I reflected on my life now and realized that all I did was sit around in the tower and wait for duty to call, now rarely, my self-esteem was quickly reduced to nothing and for once in the longest time, I wanted out—wanted away from them because I knew painfully that things could never be the same, could never have that innocent light about them.
And that's where it's really true that you have to be careful what you wish for, because I got something new that night—something familiar but strangely the kind of thing I was almost wishing would happen. Something invigorating.
Cinderblock was again on the prowl and that was the first time I thought of Slade in a while. I remembered that when Cinderblock was around Slade usually followed closely; those two being affiliated with one another. Our last encounter with him got me thinking that this was one of those villains who didn't work alone; but this time I was really remembering and thinking about Slade, as I reflected on why the hunk of rock was attacking so much. Again, a diversion, a distraction, but a warning and a soft introduction to a new reign of Slade. As if he wanted me to feel on edge and to have him on my mind constantly with subtle little dark snip-its of the past but not actually realize it at the same time; and he had achieved this, certainly. Like I was being haunted by the dust on his mask, he was there and he was real but at the same time he wasn't and there was no stopping him. It's unnerving to think about, actually—the fact that he had probably stayed away from me for all that time to make me softer, lulled into false security, and then slowly and easily work himself back into my world. I'd never see it coming—I didn't.
And that had been that night: I was thinking about him and really remembering him, but at the same time probably not really actually expecting that Slade would show up—feeling that for some reason the time passed had made us immune. But knowing, at the same time, feeling, that like the hallucination had said, I was never alone and he was always there, always watching. Those sensations crept upon me but in keeping with this in-between state I couldn't identify them; I could only declare that I was uneasy and restless. Something was wrong; and last night had felt no different but actually worse, because something in me was going off, saying, he's closer than ever now; he's right here, watching, waiting to strike. Tonight'll be the night. My foresight was keen in that sense but sense itself, not so much. It had dulled, I think, from so much time away from criminals and the constant fight of them. My mind and my body were softer, more inept, as if so drug down by the realization of my life that they were dulled by the total feeling of uncaring removed-ness. I would learn though that I had not lost that; that when an adversary like Slade appeared I would be at top-everything—because he was what drove me and even though I don't like to admit it, I knew deep inside that without Slade I would be a wreck and I'd be worthless; without Slade, this Robin wouldn't exist. I know it. Maybe that was why I was so sensitive to him—yet unknowingly so. Maybe I was pushing him out of my mind in order to deny that truth but at the same time always having him right there, lurking over me and making me realize how much I wanted him. The truth is Slade and I had a connection and that could never be broken, no matter how many years passed;
I would always linger internally in a dream-like state where Slade and I were back in the "good-old days" he talked of, before Terra, before Raven, before everything; back when Slade and I were locked in a little box together that kept the other the only thing on the mind. We were everything to the other for the longest time; the soul, the breath, the very essence of life. We rose every morning and we did what we did for the other. And even separated I would not be able to forget something like that.
He attacked the city that night in a manner which I probably should have seen as suspicious and nonsensical, but again I really wasn't thinking—really wasn't applying all I knew about how criminals and this city worked because things just weren't the way I remembered and it seemed pointless to apply that when everything else had followed its own crazy path and totally disregarded our past. But had I been thinking I would have realized that it was obviously a trap—bait for a much larger plan than just Cinderblock causing some damage to the city. Of course it was like his role earlier when I'd first become Slade's apprentice, or the role of the non-existent detonator he'd cautioned us against and we'd so stupidly believed, in our earliest days when we didn't know anything. Now we didn't either; we'd come full circle it seemed—and I realize that maybe last night was a real rendition of the good old days I had longed for; a safety deriving from Slade's obsession with me and somehow knowing that things were still benign, harmless, soft and bright. Still in the days of our really connectedness—again, before Terra, Trigon, the works. It was just me and him and last night was like an odd nostalgic dream, one I didn't really mind having but felt chilled by, and couldn't stop thinking about. It lingered.
What Cinderblock did was simple in itself; the quiet broken by thudding on the streets, empty because people too expected a villain to appear and cause harm; and unlike the Titans they'd rather do without the trouble and just go about their lives peacefully and without having to worry whether or not they'd die the moment they stepped out of their home (or even in their home). They were living in fear and they were getting tired of it; tired of criminals and tired of the Teen Titans. They resented us because they believed criminals were drawn to us and I was slowly beginning to resent that. It was hard enough to save the city each and every day and the fact that they were giving us a hard time about it was like a slap in the face. But still, when duty called, we were there; there last night, in the narrow streets several miles from the docks where the city was the most populated, meaning real danger in Cinderblock's case. So many lives at risk; and we were really the only thing that could save them. So the five of us headed off to the city without much thought, silently, almost as though we could feel the end was near but none of us wanted to address it, face it, for fear of what it would bring. The sun was hot and red and low in the sky and the sunset might have been beautiful any other night, but for some reason I felt suffocated and scared and as though there was truly no escaping the evil in the world; I felt confused and I felt helpless but more than anything I felt certain that our time had come—that the end was near, really this time, and soon the Titans would be no more. Surrounded by that sky in that moment I honestly believed it, and was torn between wanting to go fight Cinderblock to get my mind off of it and the realization that what would happen there was no better. Again, something was wrong and I knew it.
Even before we were intercepted by Slade.
From out of nowhere Starfire was hit by one of the grenades Slade used. Imploding on impact it sent her tumbling to the ground before she even knew what hit her. And subsequently, Cyborg, Beast Boy and Raven all found themselves in the same situation, torn from the air by the immensely painful blasts. I expected the same for myself, to be thrown from my motorcycle and onto the ground while waves of pain rolled over me unrelentingly—but amazingly, that didn't happen. And after a second of waiting for the impact that never came, squinting my eyes in preparation, I opened them finally in confusion and hesitation and saw Slade standing in front of me, his arms neatly folded behind his back and looking at me with a single glinting eye. My friends all lay around him briefly stunned, groaning in pain and probably still not exactly sure what had happened, but he wasn't paying them any attention—he was fixated on me and I instantly sensed it.
"Hello, Robin," Slade said softly, the eye gleaming gently. In the low light it seemed to almost glow and it was instantly off-putting, as if Slade himself were not already. "It's been awhile, hasn't it? I hope you haven't been slacking while I was away."
"Slade." I growled it out like it was the only thing on my mind when in reality it had been literally the last thing I had been expecting (maybe at surface-level, at least) and the last thing I had really dreaded when it came to the events of that night; like I said, the idea of seeing Slade again for some odd, horrible and desperate reason actually excited me, like for instance you and your worst enemy were once again in the same city and you were just wondering what would happen next. It was kind of invigorating, and kind of pleased me for some reason—filled some void there. But maybe that was part of the game; maybe it was part of the game to make sure he knew that I had no intention to be friends with him and was angrier than ever—angry enough to kill him. Because the growl was natural, of course—natural and uncontrolled. It was what I would have done any other time I'd ever seen him because even though I felt myself needing him I detested him at the same time. And now he'd just gunned down my friends and was using that typical "patronize Robin" voice I hated so much. He was asking for it but maybe he knew that, and maybe that was part of the game, too. Maybe he liked it the way I did.
"Robin," he cooed in that soft way he always did, that patronizing, yet maybe almost caring tone of voice he used only with me. It might have made me angry and I made it seem that it had—the reflex was again natural—but in many ways it was familiar and I welcomed it, strangely. "I thought you'd be happy to see me. It's been a long time and I've missed you."
"Well I haven't missed you!" I snapped, again a lie through my teeth but it didn't matter much; the truth would have been no better, especially not around my friends, who were conscious enough then to hear it. They were already getting up and brushing themselves off; getting into fighting stance without any further hesitation, seemingly unfazed and unafraid, because I knew they hated Slade more than they feared him and they would not be pushed around; they were strong people and I knew that ever since the first time Slade messed with one of their friends (myself or Raven, or Terra, I guess also) they had adopted a coldness toward him that pushed out witty banter and focused mostly on gaining something we had really sworn ourselves against—revenge. That was how much they despised him for what he had done to us but to me mostly and I knew they had my back. The problem was, they had it a little too much for my own good.
Cyborg was instantly jumping in front of me and taking a fighting stance, his guns pointed in Slade's direction. Raven's eyes flashed red and she was already glowing with her energy—and similarly, Starfire was growling with eyes shining energetic green and glowing with her own powers. Most notably Beast Boy was now a lion and was hissing and growling, snarling and roaring at Slade, his eyes too possessed with the hatred for Slade but which I had never seen so obvious and forthcoming before that moment.
"Leave him alone!" Starfire snapped, her fists clenching with that rage as it built. "Do you feel you have not troubled him enough?"
"Trouble?" Slade mused softly and laughed. "I offer Robin no trouble, while you on the contrary have given him more than you can understand."
I saw rage rise in all of them but Beast Boy was the first to act upon it. He sprung at Slade, his green mane fluttering backwards with teeth bared and a loud, frightening roar escaping him. But Slade was too fast for him and before he even saw it coming he was thrown like a rag-doll against the side of one of the buildings where he collapsed and changed back into his normal self.
Raven was noticeably angered by this and her eyes were once again burning; lowly and in a tone that would have chilled any mortal she began to hiss her typical: "Azarath Metrion Zi-," but Slade literally would not hear a moment of it and sent his foot to her mouth, causing her to make a muffled shriek, fall backwards into a building like Beast Boy, ultimately losing her concentration as glass windows shattered around her and covered her.
"I've had enough of that little incantation, Raven," he said, and chuckled. "Hasn't the world? If Terra was good for anything it was calling things like she saw them and you really are a destructive little witch."
That shocked Cyborg out of his stunned silence caused by watching Raven be so easily taken down; he sprung at Slade, screaming, "You ain't gonna be talking about Raven that way, you little punk!" He was trying to deliver to Slade what he had to Raven, but Slade amazingly caught his foot midair and flung him effortlessly in the direction of Beast Boy, who was just getting up with a groan. Cyborg crashed into him with a scream and they both were thrown back into the building.
"A punk, eh? Better than a worthless mechanical freak of nature who'd be better off used as scrap metal," Slade said easily, watching in amusement as the two of them lay there moaning in pain, not really sure again what had hit them, their limbs tangled like two pieces of string.
Starfire actually managed to get a hit on him; she flew at him, her eyes burning green and her mouth pulled back in a snarl as she flung her fists into his back at full force and sent him flying into a nearby parked car; but Slade was not so easily defeated and was on his feet in an instant, looking at Starfire without a hint of uneasiness showing in that eye, narrowed however to show annoyance. Starfire was on her feet in a way that suggested she was about to spring upon him and tear him apart with her hands, which were hooked into claws; like someone transformed by their anger she appeared almost to be detached from what she was doing, so far removed that she could have done anything to him that would have calmed her like a monster needing to feed. She was growling loudly almost like Beast Boy had been and I could actually hear her teeth grind as she hissed out, "You. Will not. Treat my friends that way."
Slade crossed his arms and chuckled easily, obviously not threatened in any manner—again amused more than anything. "Really? And what will you do if I do? Pretend you have any strength whatsoever to stop me? I don't think so, girl. You always were the most fantasizing and stupid of them all."
At this Starfire couldn't take it; she flew at him, a blast charged in her hand that was large enough to level the city. I snapped out of it; this haze I had been in of complete shock and just a feeling of helplessness, of not knowing what to do, of feeling so unprepared, and feeling so lost and stupid created a state of frozenness in which I could only watch with wide eyes and take the actions in but could not process them far enough to understand that I should be doing something; should be out helping them and defending them. When I saw this thing she was going to throw at him combined with the look on her face I realized there was something really wrong with her—that her anger, anger at the way Slade was treating the people she cared about and anger at Slade himself, as if the mask was taunting her, had really, and I mean really, transformed her into something that was not only unlike her but also frightening and terrible, deadly—and that I had to stop it before something bad happened to her as a result—because when it came to Slade little was there a time that he'd be the one taking the damage rather than the attacker. But what was more—that thing wouldn't just hurt her, it would hurt everyone else in the city if she fired it, and I knew it without a doubt.
I screamed at her, "Starfire, no!" when I realized I couldn't move my legs which felt as if they were glued down to the pavement. And I thought it wouldn't be enough—thought that that would be the end to the Titans and everyone else in the city, and there would be nothing else but darkness and nothingness. But when I spoke, as if someone had snapped their fingers in her mind to pull her out of a trace, her eyes stopped glowing and she suddenly realized what she was about to do; she halted abruptly with a gasp and the blast dissipated in her hand. And she was looking at Slade with these wide, green eyes and her lip quivering and her body shaking—realizing where she had gone more than anyone else did in that moment and knowing what it meant. The idea frightened her and we could all see it, all felt it. But Slade did not care—chuckling he aimed a thermal blaster at her and fired, sending her flying backward with a shriek. She hit a lamppost and slumped down at its base, her head bleeding and her body bruised.
"Starfire!" I yelled, and ran to her, taking her into my arms. The others were recovered and now by our side instantly, all instantly trying to do whatever they could to help her, though Raven was really the only one who proved useful because she touched her chest and using her powers instantly, and to everybody's amazement, except Slade, who seemed to be amused at the little spectacle more than anything, to heal her. Starfire opened her eyes and groaned. We breathed sighs of relief, and I said instantly, helping her to sit up and supporting her body as she clutched her head lightly, "Are you okay?"
She didn't have a chance to answer before Slade's voice shattered our worlds yet again, chuckling scornfully as he watched us with a narrowed eye, "Such a foolish group. A self-centered witch, a pile of rusty scrap metal, a blubbering little whore and their little dog. Did you really think that the four of you could beat me when you seem so intent on keeping the only skilled member of your little gang out of the fight?"
I pushed Starfire into Raven's arms and stood up; I had had enough of this whole thing—how dirty and personal it had gotten. Since when had Slade been the type to taunt us with insults like these? These weren't the kind of cryptically friendly clues he often offered us or collective words of disdain—these were personal, hateful insults and I knew that he meant every word of them. That wasn't what I had wanted for the Titans and if fighting crime meant having someone treat my friends this way then I wasn't going to have it; if Slade was going to muck it up with insults then it was no longer a playful game but a heated, burning thing that would not be moved on from even if we managed to defeat him. And when it came to my friends that just wasn't going to fly; maybe I was too weak to stop that for myself, but I was not when it came to them and I would not allow myself to be.
"Take that back, you little coward. Stop hiding behind your mask and take it back," I said, in the calmest voice I could but like them I could barely control my anger—like Starfire I felt myself losing it.
"Were it not a waste of your time, Robin, I would invite you to make me. But why tire yourself over your worthless little friends? You could still be my apprentice, Robin—you'd do much better fighting these fools than fighting me." The eye looked at me, narrowed, and gleamed.
I heard myself growl, "We'll see about that," before I started to charge at him; lost in a state of hot red anger I, like Starfire, was about ready to rip his face off with my fingernails—because like everyone else he had hit a hot spot for me, just in a different way. Mentioning my apprenticeship with him had sent me off the deep-end like Slade's taunts had Starfire—and from that there was no going back. And I probably would have began to work on prying that mask right from his face had I not been held back by Cyborg and Beast Boy, reminding me vaguely of the time I'd been the Red X and had been stopped by them from chasing Slade out of the confusion. And like then I had been snarling, "Let me go! Let go!"
The two of them pulled me back over to where Starfire was now standing beside Raven, looking grimly serious as half the time they gazed at me sympathetically and the other half they eyed Slade with hatred dancing in their eyes like flames and making them shimmer and sparkle.
"Robin!" Cyborg hissed in my ear, trying to be as quiet as possible though of course Slade was listening—always was. "If you fight Slade you're gonna destroy the city! You're too emotional about this guy! You gotta let it go!"
I was, to put it frankly, in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" I screamed, not caring if Slade heard. "I'm trying to help you guys because you obviously can't help yourselves! And since when am I the only emotional one? What happened to Starfire's blast, huh? That almost destroyed the city, not me!"
And though my words were hurtful the only one fazed by them was Starfire, though I wouldn't take much notice because I was mainly focused on the two of them holding me and the girl in front of me, who quietly tried to placate me. "Robin, this is what Slade wants to happen with you. He wants to make you weak and whether you like it or not, you let him. So there's no point in you fighting."
Again, I was dismayed. And again, I barked at them loudly, not caring and not really thinking, reacting instinctively and truthfully, "I'm not the weak one! You're all weak for not trusting me! If you would give me a chance—!"
"Robin, you gotta stop!" Beast Boy cut me off, looking at me with eyes that weren't hard but which were frightened and sympathetic and saddened all at once. "Slade gets under all our skins but he really gets to you! You can't do this to yourself! We just don't want you to lose it!"
I opened my mouth to speak but Cyborg added in, silencing me as he put a hand on my shoulder, "We do trust you, man, but you gotta sit this one out. You're not yourself when it comes to Slade and we just don't want anything to happen. But we got this covered. We can take him." Beast Boy nodded at this, and Raven chimed in quickly as if to keep me from speaking any further so that I wouldn't be able to protest, "You'd be better off going to fight Cinderblock. He's still out there and people are getting hurt, and someone has to go. It might as well be you."
Cyborg and Beast Boy nodded and when I looked to Starfire I saw that she was nodding, if reluctantly and sadly. And I have to say I was feeling a little more than just patronized; I was feeling betrayed and diminished, controlled and unimportant. For the first time in a long time I wanted to grab their shoulders and shake them and say how stupid are you? if not just blatantly attack them. In a word I was infuriated and a part of me, one stronger and more dominant than the others in my decision making, had suddenly decided that if they wanted so badly to fight Slade alone and lose then fine; if they were so confident in their abilities then they could just deal with him and I wouldn't worry about it either way. In fact I just didn't care as I was ripping myself out of their grip and heading to my motorcycle; for the smallest instant, I hated every last one of them and would have preferred Slade to win—as if I'd been slapped so hard by their hand of betrayal that my whole presence of thinking had shifted. And maybe it had—because for a fraction of a second I didn't care if I never saw them again.
And that, ultimately, was my biggest mistake.
"Fine," I remember hissing as I got on the seat and started the engine. "Go ahead and fight him but don't bother me when he's beating you into the dirt."
They were stunned and speechless, in disbelief, shock, probably betrayal, but I didn't care (I would have noticed Starfire's face in particular, with wide eyes that looked as if they were a window into her soul, portraying a broken heart)—and I was about to demonstrate that by driving off when Slade said easily, the eye twinkling gently, "Don't worry, Robin—I will have them taken care of and I will see you soon enough. We will talk then."
I didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer and rode away past him, and he didn't stop me.
"Strange how a smart boy like you would surround themselves with such foolish people," Slade said now, cleaning my neck with a cotton ball soaked in some solution of what I didn't know. I would have squirmed if I could but still weighed down by the blanket, I could only twist my head away from his hand, of course accomplishing nothing and making my neck stiff and in pain. Noticing Slade pulled another leather strap out from beneath the table and put it across my forehead, and another over my chin so I couldn't move my head around any longer, making me cry out in frustration and clench my teeth, feeling helpless and on the verge of tears for the first time in what felt like forever. I felt my eyes water as Slade lifted my mask off my eyes and then calmly wiped away the tears with the backs of his fingers, even when I tried to keep them shut so that he would not be able to see my face in its entirety; but he seemed not to pay much regard to it and soon resumed cleaning a spot on my neck which I was becoming increasingly aware a needle would be inserted. As he did so, he commented, "It's odd how often I've noticed you'd be better off without them. It seems their stupidity has no bounds. Why would I let you wander off when you are the object of my intentions?"
I would learn later when I arrived at the site of Cinderblock's rampage that the Slade they had been fighting was actually a robot—just another decoy, set to lure me away from them. Slade had been waiting at the docks and had made himself present after I had destroyed Cinderblock in my rage still burning at how I'd just been betrayed. His plan was simple and it should have been obvious—Slade knew that we expected him to show up whenever Cinderblock was present and he knew they weren't keen on letting me be alone with Slade like they were my parents; he knew that if he made them think Slade was taken care of, I would be okay and they wouldn't worry about splitting up. And I don't think I was surprised, actually, when I saw him standing there, watching me with that narrowed glinting eye—I wasn't surprised that Slade had one-uped us again and that we had totally fallen prey to his trap. I should have been, but I wasn't.
"Such fools—poor Robin, relax," he said, and wiped my eyes again, gently, surprisingly so, in this controlled, delicate way that I would never have expected out of someone like Slade who only seemed to know harshness. "I promise this will not hurt. It's just a little injection and you won't feel a thing."
"What are you going to do?" was all I managed to say—even though there was so much I wanted to say, so many thoughts whirling around my head like a tornado.
"Simple." He lifted the needle and tapped it gently with one finger while the eye gleamed and glistened in the low light, staring at me intently. "An antidote, Robin. I'm going to make you mine again."