Title: Ensnared

Rating: T

Warnings: slash, noncon, minute amount of language

Disclaimer: I hate these. Just the word disclaimer should suffice.

Summary: Are you living a lie if you never know the truth?

Notes: For prompt # 44 – Double Agent at the TeenTitan_Slash community at livejournal. Any comments are appreciated.

o-x-o-x-o-x-o

The blood trickles down his face, soaking his mask. Its metallic taste seeps into his tongue, stinging and bitter. The skin itches, burns. Black and orange androids are strewn across the floor, their limbs and disembodied heads crackling from electrical discharge. He hears the flicker of the old TV across the room turn on but keeps his gaze on the floor. He hates seeing that…that monster.

He hears a dark laugh. It is almost a rumble, but not quite long enough to constitute a true growl.

That laugh, it pisses him off. A lot. He wants to pull out his switchblade and just ram it into the TV and hope it goes through to stab the person on the screen. He throws the metal case he's been holding across the room so that it slides across the slick floor. It whines as it makes its way over. He spits in its direction and his eyes follow where the blob lands on the floor, a mass of cloudy white and red, stained by blood.

There's that laugh again. "How cute." Then a gasp, desperate and soft. The sound forces him to look up. God, why did he look up? A dark figure grips a smaller one tightly, large fingers trailing across a bruised collarbone. The image is clear, but just fuzzy enough to make him imagine the rest of the scene. It's sickening. His vision wavers and he feels an old meal try to surface to his mouth. He pushes it down, only through sheer will.

"You…don't…need…to…do…this…" It's the thin one. The captive. That tiny, feeble voice makes him want to choke, the bile rising in his throat.

"Shut up," he snaps. He doesn't add the familiar nickname to the end. It would sound too…it doesn't fit here. Or maybe it fits too well.

After all, he's nothing but a kid. They're both just kids. Bound together by a noose.

On the screen, the teen's head is pulled back by his hair and the boy hisses softly. The viewer looks away.

"Well done. Continue on. We're almost there."

He's unsure of who the man is addressing, him or—.

"Go on, Robin."

The teen in the monster's hold shrieks. Banshee, banshee, one scream that pierces through sanity.

He can't take it any more. The images in his head will drive him insane. He runs off, to continue his work. Back to the Tower.

He's not a coward. He's not a coward.

The pretty alien is there to greet him when he returns. The grey light of the morning makes her look gentle, fragile. She smiles and moves a stray lock of crimson hair from her face. "Where have you been, Robin? I have been worried. Oh!" She gasps. "You are hurt."

He wants to slap her for being so kind. Instead, he brings up a hand to touch the dried blood along his forehead. "It's nothing. I had to finish up some business and fell in with some nasty goons on the way back."

The cyber boy cranes his neck and yells "You could have told us first, man! We could have gone with you."

He mutters a "sorry". Mentally, he takes notes. The one named Cyborg is busy working on some parts. He thinks other girl (Starfire?) was simply worried for his wellbeing and stayed up all night. Dark pockets mar her skin, just under her lustrous green eyes. She doesn't lie, she really has been worried. Just things to be documented for later, nothing more.

The redheaded girl smiles. "It is alright. Are you hungry? I can make you something."

"Sure." He doesn't care anymore. He just wants to hide. Actually, he wants to be discovered. He wants them to know the truth. Look at me, he wants to scream at them, look at me. But he can't. The mission isn't done yet.

"Wait a minute…did you just say okay to Starfire's cookin'? You out of your mind?"

Shit. Note: the alien girl cannot cook. He stretches and fakes a partial yawn. "Huh? I guess I'm not really awake. I'm going to my room."

"If that is what you would like, Robin." Her shoulders shrug downward, crestfallen.

He cringes at the name and hurries even faster to be away from them. The eye mask he's wearing seems to tighten, making his head (not his heart, not his heart) pain.

o-x-o-x-o-x-o

Somewhere not too far away from the T-Tower, a dark-haired boy is pressed against his captive's body tightly. The boy's eyes are drawn tight. Slade leans down and presses his mask against the teen's ear. Its iciness bites.

"That Red X boy makes a fine you, doesn't he?"

The teen says nothing.

"Isn't it touching, that he's feeding me information I already know— all for you? Do you think he really understands my plans for him? That slowly, ever so slowly, he will take your place." He hears a clink, and he knows it's orange and black mask being placed lightly on the counter next to them. Now, warm breaths spread across his earlobe. But that heat stings even more than the frigid mask. "I think it's quite considerate of me. Now your friends will never have to feel the grief of losing you. Wouldn't you agree?"

Robin can't do anything but shudder. Slade's hands trace across his bloodied chest, stop to caress an open wound. The boy yelps, and hates himself for being so weak.

His friends are trapped. Trapped in a delusional world where everything is normal, fine. They might live out the rest of their lives never knowing who it really is that commands them in battle.

Red X is trapped. Trapped in a suit and mask that will never fit him as well as the other one. He will never be able to hide in the darkness again.

Robin is trapped. Trapped in the underground of Jump City. He had never believed in hell before. But now he lives in it, the new plaything of Satan.

They are all trapped, trapped, trapped.

And Slade is giving them no outs.

o-x-o-x-o-x-o