Disclaimer: I don't own TT!
So, some dark and angsty stuff for you! I hope you're able to understand it...my English is bad, but I needed to get this out!
I'm not steeling ideas or copy them! This one shot is for all those great authors out there who made me read theire stories all night long! You are the best!
Okay, enough babbling, have some fun!^^
A broken Toy
It's dark. I like it when it is like that.
I don't like the light anymore. It hurts my eyes.
I stay in the dark.
It's warm. I like it that way.
I hate cold places. I get stiff and sleepy.
So I like it nice and warm.
It's silent. It's not always like this.
Sometimes there is a voice. Laughing and mocking.
I like the silence.
I don't like to sleep. I stay awake.
When I close my eyes HE will be back. HE will haunt me again.
I hate to fall asleep.
So I close my eyes when they turn on the light.
I pull my blanket closer when they take my arm.
I shut out all sounds, curl into myself.
And when they give me a shot to make me sleep, I pray.
Pray HE wont come!
It started a few years ago. I don't know how many. I lost track on counting them.
It started with nightmares.
Simple ones. Like you being chased around and can't get any faster. You want to scream but your voice is muffled and then you fall down endlessly. You fall and suddenly hit the ground. You wake up knowing everything was only a dream. Nothing more, nothing serious.
But mine got different after a while.
After that dust incident.
My friends saved me that time. They were able to bring me back to reality. But it wasn't for long.
HE came back. Only at night in my dreams.
HE came back to chase me, but I couldn't get faster.
HE came back to mock me, so I screamed, but there was no voice to hear.
HE came back to push me over the cliff and I fell. I fell deep, but never hit the ground.
It didn't stop. The nightmares came every night.
I told Raven about it. She tried to help me. She did her best. I knew it. She fought HIM.
But HE was too strong.
I don't blame Raven for my fate. No one did anything wrong. My friends were the last who tried to see me as a normal person. Not a freak. They tried to live with my growing insanity.
But it was for nothing.
A year. Only one year I was able to suppress HIM to stay sane.
It was exhausting. The nights were terrifying. I tried to stay awake as long as I could. HE waited for me to close my eyes, to fall asleep. To chase me, to mock me, to hurt me.
Each time it got worse.
Finally I called Bruce.
I told him what happened with the dust. What happened to me. I cried when he said I should leave my team. I couldn't be their leader anymore.
He came to pick me up the same day.
I was furious, but I didn't show it. I smiled and told my friends I would be alright. I would be back in a view days, cured and able to be their leader once again.
They trusted my words.
I never kept this promise.
Bruce. He stops by once in a while. He is the last one who hopes I will get better.
I disappointed him. Greatly.
He would never admit it but I see it in his eyes every time he sees me. Sees my frail figure, my unkept long hair and my eyes. My hollow blue eyes.
He thinks it's his fault. It isn't. How could it be his, when I was the one who couldn't stop himself from chasing a mad man in a Two-toned mask.
I wont blame him, ever.
After Bruce took me in once again, I thought I was getting better.
The nightmares weren't that sever anymore and I relaxed a bit.
It stayed like that two or three months. Not longer.
HE came back. Not in real live but in my dreams. And after a while he broke out of them.
When I was able to wake up HE was still looming over me, mocking me. HIS voice was every where. It chased me through Wane manor. Out into the grounds until I couldn't run anymore. Bruce came after me every time, carrying me back to the manor.
He suffered greatly. I know it. It hurt him to see me like that.
I was ashamed of myself. For my inability to fight HIM. To stand my ground and chase HIM away. Defeat HIM.
I couldn't. I can't.
I never will!
Bruce brought me to some experts. It was hard to explain the whole story without giving away my identity as Robin. How to explain that the man who is chasing you in your dreams, hurting you on a physical level, is your arch enemy.
Those hours were for nothing. They didn't help with anything.
They gave me drugs, which made me dizzy and a better prey for HIS torture.
I couldn't stand it any longer.
I gave up.
Alfred found me bleeding on the floor. I knife in my left hand.
He and Bruce patched me up. Took my promise I'd never do it again. I kept it. I really tried hard. Sadly not for long. I did it again.
I cut myself. Tried to drown in a pond. To suffocate, to break my neck or to jump from the roof.
Each time Al or Bruce stopped me or patched me up again.
It broke their hearts.
Alfred's literally. He had a heartattack and is bearly recovering.
Bruce wasn't able to help me. No one is.
But he doesn't stop to tell me it will be okay. I will be okay.
I never will.
They locked me away in psychiatric ward. Not as Robin. Richard Grayson is the name on my cell door.
I kind of like it here. They are nice and leave you alone. But they always give you sleeping pills or other drugs.
The nightmares are as bad as ever but HE doesn't haunt me while I'm awake anymore.
But HE's still there. Waiting behind my closed eyelids.
So I stay in the dark. Stay awake, pulling my blanket around me to keep me warm and ignore every sound. I don't want to hear HIM. I'm afraid to hear HIM when I'm awake once again.
I'm afraid HE will keep HIS promise and take me away.
To be HIS plaything, HIS toy.
The young doctor opened the door with one of his many keys. For other people it must look like a miracle for him to find the right one for a particularly keyhole.
He cracked it a bit open and peered into the dark room. A small smile flashed over his smooth features. "He is awake but try to be quiet, he's not used to loud or foreign noises." he sternly told the man behind him.
The tall man in a dark suit nodded his understanding and followed the younger one into the cell. The room was big. Bigger then the others in this facility. After awhile their eyes got used to the darkness around them and the younger one closed the thick steel door .
On the far wall opposites the door stood a single bed. It was the only furniture in the white room. There was no window only a shattered light bulb on the high ceiling.
The occupant of the cell was no where to be seen. But the doctor knew where to look.
He walked to the bed and kneeled down in front of it. He waved his quest to his side and crouched down. The tall man did the same and peered under the small bed.
At first there was only darkness. But suddenly two pale blue eyes appeared out of it. They were empty, no emotion in them but when they fell onto the doctor a small glimmer of recognition flickered to life. They ignored the unusual guest and narrowed quizzically.
The doctor smiled a bit and reached a hand under the bed.
"Come on Richard. It's Wednesday, time for your quick check!" he whispered in a cheerful voice.
The pale eyes blinked a view times before they closed and a small noise could be heard. It sounded like a yes, spoken with a voice that isn't used to talking.
The doctor and his guest stood while the patient crawled out from under the bed, a blanket around his body.
He stood on shaking legs, a small, frail figure with slouched shoulders. The doctor kept smiling and made him sit on the bed. The black haired figure griped his blanket a bit tighter and sat down. His eyes were fixed on his feet where his pale toes curled on the heated floor.
The doctor crouched in front of the younger one and extended a hand to him.
"Richard, can you give me your right hand, please?" he asked in a whisper. The other nodded once and pulled his right hand out from under blanket.
Five thin fingers, wrapped in a white bandage, appeared. The doctor nodded pleased and took them in a gentle hand. Slowly he unwrapped the bandage and brushed the long sleeved shirt up to the elbow. Bruised and bloodied skin appeared under the bandage. It was healing but looked pretty painful. The doctor examined the wound closely in the darkness, caressing the injured skin and bruised knuckles. The young man on the bed endured the procedure without a flinch or a sound. When he was finished with the wounded hand he wrapped a new bandage around it and placed it in the young mans lap. "It's going to be okay and will be healed when Mr Wayne visits. We don't want to frighten him, do we?" he smiled and patted the untidy black hair affectionately. Richard nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still fixed unto his feet.
"But the next time you will call for Pete or Harry when you are about to hit something, okay? The door isn't the best sparring partner." he joked but it was clear how serious he meant those words. The figure on the bed tensed visibly and pulled his right hand back under the blanket.
The guest, who watched the whole procedure in silence looked questioningly to the doctor. The man gave him a sad smile and stood up. "Richard was very active in all kind of sports and used to practice martial arts a lot. In some of his good moments he likes to train a bit, but often he hurts himself while hitting the door or kicking against the wall." he explained calmly, looking down onto Richard who was still on the bed. "Pete or Harry are two of our nurses who help our patients with some light sport activities."
The guest nodded and looked back to the one on the bed, not expecting two blue eyes looking back. Richard raised his head a bit and was watching the unfamiliar man with a small hint of curiosity in his hollow blue orbs. Black hair framed the pale and thin face. Pale lips were parted, his small chest rising and falling slowly. "Who...is he..." a voice rasped nearly unheard.
The doctor was surprised and a full grin flashed over his face. He stepped back, next to his guest who seemed to be nearly as surprised as him and pushed him a step forward. "This is Dr. Wilson. He is a well known psychologist and wants to learn more about your condition." the doctor explained to his patient. Richard only stared a few seconds, before he suddenly turned around and hid completely under his blanket.
His doctor sighed sadly and shook his head. "'Til tomorrow Richard." he said and motioned the other man to follow him.
Out side the cell, the door closed and locked properly, he gave the taller man a happy smile. "It's totally unusual for him to ask about a stranger. Normally he would wait a few weeks or he never seems to notice a change. It took me over a month to be recognized by him!", he grinned. Dr. Wilson gave a short nod and copied his smile.
"How long has he been here now?", he wanted to know and turned his head to look at the cell door. "Nearly four years. He came to us when he was 18. His mentor, Bruce Wayne, brought him here after Richard's sixth suicide attempt. Mr. Wayne visits him every month."
Dr. Wilson nodded again, his right hand gripping his white goatee in a contemplative manner.
"His schizophrenia started when he was 16. He started to hear a voice, only in his dreams but soon this voice got a body and hunted him in his wake. Richard's tormentor, he calls him Slade, is a very aggressive person. It's a very uncommon case of schizophrenia where the voice is that violent. We were able to stop most of Richards hallucinations, but this Slade still haunts him in his dreams. He avoids sleeping longer than an hour."the young doctor went on. A sad expression on his face. "There are times he is catatonic, not able to move, followed by a very intense episode of violent temper..."
„...where he hurts himself. I see. A very interesting case indeed. I would love to get to know him better." Dr. Wilson grinned enthusiastically. The younger one grinned back and turned to walk down the hall.
"We would love to welcome you in our team and Richards reaction towards you was a good sign. Maybe you will be able to reach him." he smiled over his shoulder.
Dr. Wilson gave a short laugh and followed him down the hall.
I don't know why but this man... I know him somehow. His built, his walk, even his smell. I know it from somewhere.
So I asked...but his name, Wilson, never heard it.
But those eyes. They were grey. Two of them, where I normally see only one. I don't get it, but there is this feeling I should know this guy.
I should be afraid of him.
Three weeks later.
Dr. Wilson strode down the dark and empty hall, his white lab coat fluttered behind him.
It was late at night. Every patient on this floor was sedated or too exhausted to be awake. The staff had a breake and would only come in case of an emergency. The perfect time to make a visit.
It wasn't like he hadn't seen his patient in all those weeks. He visited him every day to study the young man. He never said a word and neither did the other one. But today he thought it would be time. Time to get him back.
A stopped a few feet in front of a cell door and rubbed his right eye. It itched. He sighed and pulled the glass out of the socket. None of his new colleges had really noticed his fake eye and when then they didn't try to talk to him about it. No one knew who he really was and what he was about to do. He grinned and took a white patch out of his jeans pocket. After he placed the small patch over his empty eye he took the last steps to the door.
Without a knock he opened it with a key and threw it wide open. Small rays of moonlight flooded into the dark cell from the hallway. It was enough light to see the small figure on the bed, covered with blankets. The man was certainly not asleep but his doctor was sure he wouldn't move an inch. Richard Grayson was catatonic again. Not unusual for a patient with schizophrenia. But his case was special. Normally those poor people were stuck with one, or two of the symptoms. Like voices who were whispering all kind of insults or critic, or emotionless, pared with a lack of socialism, or a case of catatonic and wild and destructive temper fits. But this poor man, laying in his bed had nearly everything.
No therapy would help him for a long time, his doctor was sure. His case was too special. His schizophrenia was mostly caused through a combination of traumatic events in his childhood, a good portion of paranoia and a foreign drug, no body knew about. The drug had been the major trigger. So the first thing one had to do to cure him was to get rid of the drug, which was still in the young man's system. And since they didn't know about the drug, which was, unlike others, a permanent affect on ones brain, you would never be able to help him.
But he knew. He knew about the drug and it's effect. It was his invention after all. He had the antidote and the rest could be cured in it's own time.
HE would be his again. His toy.
Dr. Wilson reached into his coat pocket and pulled a phial with a clear liquid and syringe out of it. Slowly he made his way to his patient's bed.
The thin man laid there motionless. His eyes were half open and fixed onto the ceiling. Every muscle in his body was tensed up and stiff. It must be very painful to be that stiff. This could last for hours until one was able to move again.
The man smirked. How fortunate. Trapped in this state the young man wasn't able to do anything against him. Oh, he loved it when his prey struggled but in this case he enjoyed a submissive and a dutiful patient. It was easier, for both of them.
The younger one couldn't fight him and he needn't hurt him, more then he had to.
Without a word he pushed the blankets down to the young mans hips. His patient's eyelids fluttered nervously and blue orbs searched for the disturber. Once they found the older male they shot open, focusing on the syringe.
Dr. Wilson gave him an encouraging smile while he disinfected the younger one's arm.
He drew up the syringe with the clear liquid and held it up so his patient could see it. The blue eyes were wide with panic.
"It will help you." the tall man whispered. It was the first time he spoke and the younger one knew who he was and he was frightened.
"It'll help you Robin!" Dr. Wilson smirked and pushed the needle into a blue vein on the others arm.
Richard would have screamed if he was able to.
He would scream for help. He would scream because it hurt. He would scream because his nightmare was real. HE was back. HE was back to haunt him, to mock him, to play with him.
SLADE was back.
YAY!
Huff, it took me some time... but here it is, my first TT-ff!
Hope you liked it!
Criticism and correction would be wonderful. I really need help with my English! My teacher is too stupid and unable to translate or explain anything properly! Mostly it's me who has to explain the class what the text is about...I feel like a walking dictionary...but I doesn't help me with my writing skills! So, I hope you have some mercy with me!
Thank you al lot for reading and don't forget to subscribe!
