Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, and I make no money off this fanfiction story.
A/N: Originally written early(ish) 2009. Set during the "Apprentice" two-part episode-it was transfixingly cool and far, far too short. Read and review, pretty please!
The First Forty-Five Minutes
"Robin, it is your friend, Starfire. Please, answer. Your locator has been disconnected, you see, and we cannot locate you unless you will speak with us. So answer, please! Robin? Robin, are you there?"
Robin listened to his former teammate's earnest voice with a twisting feeling in his stomach. He had the power to destroy the communicator if he wanted to. Slade had neither dismantled it nor ordered Robin to do so, and Robin had learned within the first five of the ten minutes he'd already been here that whatever Slade didn't tell him to do, he could do. At first, he had wanted to smash the communicator to bits. He couldn't bear to hear Starfire's appeals, Beast Boy's confusion, Raven's calm advice, and Cyborg's grim leadership of the other three. When Robin couldn't be with them, it caused him pain to listen. Their voices only served to remind him of the inescapableness of his plight. But he couldn't bring himself to destroy it. Not when it was his only link to his friends.
Former friends, Slade would call them.
Robin scowled and began to prowl restlessly among the giant cogwheels and machinery in Slade's lair. Few would equate the young superhero who had burst in here with the boy who stood here now. His new apprentice's uniform, and especially the altered mask, made him look convincingly villainous. It allowed Robin complete freedom of movement, and was also lightly armored to repel small attacks. So not only did Robin have to work for Slade, not only did he have to wear his enemy's insignia on his chest, but he had to dress like Slade, too. Robin made his way to the corner of the building that was as far from Slade as possible, then paused and stared at the ceiling hungrily. Out there, beyond the ceiling and some fifty feet of bedrock, was freedom. And he was trapped in here for who knew how long.
His capture reflected irony. Robin wasn't bound or chained. He wasn't caged, imprisoned, or confined in any way. Yet the blackmail utilized against him made him worse off than a robin in a birdcage. And Robin couldn't see the means for an escape. Yet.
After a half hour had passed, he heard Slade speak.
"Robin, come here."
The voice seemed to come from nearby, although he knew that Slade was still at the opposite end of the building. Robin's eyes narrowed; he crossed to the computer screen that Slade had been studying for some time. His new metal boots tapped out seventy-nine footsteps on the floor before he finally reached the villain. Slade passively watched him approach, but when Robin got close, his arm shot out suddenly and grabbed the teenager by the arm, pulling him forward. His other hand inserted a small metal object into his apprentice's ear. Robin tensed, expecting pain to shoot through his auditory canal, but nothing happened.
"This is your new communicator," Slade told him. "It allows me to remain in contact with you, make sure you're . . .behaving yourself. Touch the button in the center, and your voice will be transmitted to me." Robin kept a bitter silence; inwardly, he was already thinking of the various ways he could evade Slade's orders when he wasn't within the man's range of vision. Slade's single visible eye was watching him shrewdly. "If you remove the communicator, lose it, deactivate it, destroy it, or tamper with it in any way . . ." Slade let his sentence hang unfinished, but his meaning was made chillingly clear as he allowed his thumb to hover over the probe activation button. Robin shot him his most venomous glare, but Slade only seemed pleased by the expression of anger.
"Now, for your new weaponry," he continued. Slade picked up an oval object and pressed the S in the center, causing two jagged arms to shoot out. "It detonates on impact," he informed him, folding the arms back in and handing it to Robin along with two extras. Next, he passed Robin a handful of small round smoke bombs. A grappling hook and drag line followed, and then an assortment of weapons that Robin hoped he would never be forced into using: a taser, a retractable dagger, and two types of pellets that reacted with water to produce gas, either knockout or toxic. He stuffed everything into the compartments of his utility belt without a word. Then Slade indicated the computer screen.
"Your first assignment will be the theft of the city's only thermal blaster." He must have noted the surprise on Robin's face, for he added, with a smirk that the former Titan could hear rather than see, "Oh, yes, Robin—you will be stealing." Typing rapidly, Slade caused a new file to appear onscreen. "This is the High Security Weapons Vault downtown. In the center of the topmost level of the complex is the thermal blaster, which is the facility's most heavily guarded weapon." He turned to Robin and folded his arms. "Enter the building; take the blaster; do not allow the guards to see you. Return to me immediately when you're finished." Robin hesitated under the pretext of awaiting further instructions. This was it. His first job as Slade's apprentice. As soon as he took this step, it was official. He would be a criminal.
"Go," Slade growled. "And do not come back without it."
Robin whirled and sprinted to the door, throwing it open. His feet pounded on the ground, carrying him eagerly away from Slade—his master. Anger, shame, and despair played through his head on an endless tape loop. He let the emotions drive him, as surely as his legs drove him forward. As he took a deep breath of temporary freedom, he promised himself that no matter how bad things looked now, he would prevail. And Slade would lose.
—The End—