Author's Note: I'm really interested in what you think, reader. Do Robin and Slade seem canon so far? Are the characters engaging? Does the dialogue feel natural and flowing? What do you like about this story so far? What do you not like? Let me know in a review if you desire.


Robin hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until the door slid open, revealing Slade's foreboding figure. Robin bolted upright.

"Get ready," Slade instructed him.

Obediently Robin got up and pulled on his gloves, boots, and put on his metal plates. How had he slept for so long? He wanted to kick himself for failing to come up with a plan.

"You're going to meet a client of mine tonight. Your job is to send a message."

"What message?"

"Arrive at the Diamond Parlor no later than 9 p.m. You will tell the greeter you're there to see Gary Olsen on behalf of Deathstroke, and that Gary is expecting you. He should take you to the office on the second floor. Once you're more or less alone, tell Gary that his time is up, and that he knows what he needs to do."

"That's all?" I guess the Titans won't be coming after all.

"Hmm. You might have to get a bit rough, as Gary is known to be obstinate, but I don't want to hear about any serious injury. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Oh. And an associate of mine will go with you."

"Z?"

"I said associate, not servant. You'll meet him out there. Come."

Entering the hallway, they began for the main room of the Haunt until Slade turned around, pulling something from his belt.

"You've been obedient and civil these past few days, apprentice," he said in a pleased voice, holding up Robin's domino mask. "This is for you."

Robin took it and hurriedly put it on without thanks.

Entering the room with the never-ending creaking of the gears, Robin heard a voice from the shadows. "Ah, so this is Deathstroke's apprentice," it hissed.

The man stepped forward into what little light there was. He was tall and athletically built, but not as tall or as built as Slade, and wore a uniform of gray and indigo. He had shoulder-length black hair, and within his goatee was a sneering mouth.

"'Deathstroke'?"

Slade's one eye looked down at Robin. "My alias," he clarified, then moved his gaze to his associate. "Welcome, Nightburn. I do hope your recent travels have been pleasant."

"Pleasant indeed," the man called Nightburn replied politely, looking Robin up and down with a strange smile.

Robin suddenly felt self-conscious. There was something about Nightburn he decided he didn't like.

Slade walked away momentarily. Nightburn's murky eyes settled on Robin's mask. "Quite the handsome uniform," he complimented.

"Thanks," Robin said flatly.

Slade returned with what looked like an electric drill, except a large needle protruded from the end.

"Give me your arm," Slade said.

Robin swallowed, extending his arm timidly. Normally he didn't have much problem with needles, but this one was huge. He winced as Slade punctured his skin and pushed the thing deeply into the muscle below his wrist, and then pressed a button that injected something that was even more painful. Robin resisted the urge to cry out.

Slade pulled it out, and a large drop of blood quickly streamed down his arm. Slade pulled out a large cotton ball and pressed it firmly to the area.

"What did you do?"

"Injected a small…computer. It will also function as your tracker." Robin didn't like the idea.

"And take this. I will give you instructions if needed." Robin took the earpiece, the metal "S" on it gleaming in the dim light.

The two men continued with some small talk, something about Nightburn's wife and his daughter recovering from bronchitis.

Robin was amazed. How could two horrible people—well, he assumed Nightburn was just as horrible as Slade—have normal conversations like normal people? Have families like normal people?

"And how is your son? It's been a long time since…" Nightburn trailed off.

Slade pulled away from Robin, having stopped his bleeding. Robin felt something change in Slade's demeanor.

"Do not mention my family in front of my apprentice," he boomed darkly, taking a step towards his affiliate.

"Oh… my apologies," came the quick repentant answer.

Robin's mouth dropped open, incredulous. Slade has a son? Robin didn't exactly think Slade the type of person to be a family man. Hell, no.

"Nightburn will visually record your performance and assist you if necessary," Slade said, and Robin saw Nightburn tap a small dot on his chest he presumed to be a hidden camera.

"Now, go. You have three hours."


The car ride to their destination was awkward. Nightburn kept trying to start a conversation, but Robin wasn't interested, and so answered solely in "yes" or "no".

Nightburn sighed. "We're here."

Robin emerged from the car and looked up. "Diamond Parlor" was written in neon cursive above the dark doorway, from which pounding hip-hop music reverberated, and at which a greeter stood like Slade had said. Nightshade and Robin approached the tuxedoed man.

"Good evening sirs. How may I help you?"

"We're here on behalf of Deathstroke," Robin said. "We wish to see Gary Olsen. He's expecting us."

"Apologies, sirs," he said. "Follow me."

Robin followed and looked around. It was a club on the left side, a casino on the right, with cigarette smoke permeating the air. Scantily clad women were dancing beneath the blinding colored lights; men were gathered at a stage upon which a busty girl was swaying her hips side to side, shadows dancing on her naked breasts. He felt uncomfortable; he didn't belong in this kind of place.

They followed the greeter past various small rooms with sheer rose curtains, behind which Robin saw out the corner of his eye two dancers on their knees before a man who moaned on the bench. He hastily looked away.

The greeter led them to an elevator. As it hummed, Robin felt a hand brush his bottom. He started, and eyed Nightburn guardedly.

"What's the matter?" his eyes were gleaming wickedly. "Don't like it here?"

"Don't touch me again," he said in a low voice, his warning clear. Nightburn just chuckled.

They were led down a hallway to a door in front of which two guards stood.

"Gary is expecting these gentlemen," the greeter said. The guards nodded and motioned them inside.

A small, round, balding man threw up his hands in greeting. "Hey!" he welcomed them joyously. Robin noted white residue beneath his nostril and a fifty-dollar bill curled on his desk.

One of the bulky guards entered behind them. Another guard stood behind Gary. Robin stepped toward the little man's desk.

"Wait! Don't tell me…" he slurred. "…uhm… you're Slade's, right?"

No, he thought. "Yes."

"Aah," he seemed pleased, rubbing his hands together. "But you're so young!"

Robin said nothing.

"Hmm… I swear I've seen you before, though," he mused. "I don't suppose this is about the late shipment?"

"I'm here to—" Robin stopped as the man gasped dramatically.

"Robin!" he cried in amazement. "Yes, it's Robin, the leader of the Teen Titans, isn't it?"

Robin gritted his teeth.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch! Finally got sick of ordering other kids around, eh? Ready to be ordered around, I reckon. A change of sorts. Is that how it is?"

Anger simmered in his belly. Focus on the mission, he told himself. "I'm just here to deliver a message. You know what you need to do."

"Do I?" Gary clasped his hands behind his neck and looked up at the ceiling. "Hmm… you might have to spell it out for me."

"Sorry, I'm not well-versed in the criminal dialect or alphabet."

"Mm. You wouldn't be, would you?" Gary responded matter-of-factly, pouring an amber liquid into a glass filled with ice. He took a gulp and sighed. "You're no fun."

"Tell him his time is up," Slade commanded through the earpiece impatiently. "Intimidate him."

Robin leaned over the desk into Gary's face. "Your time is up," he said threateningly.

Gary smiled. "Is it, now?" His bottom teeth were gray, his gums swollen.

Robin's swift uppercut knocked the man back into his chair with such force that it tipped over onto its back. The drink spilled and the glass shattered.

The two guards made a move towards Robin and Nightburn.

"Fight," Slade directed. He must have given the same command to Nightburn as well, for Nightburn whipped out a rather large switchblade and swiped at the third guard who had entered after hearing the crash.

Robin hopped back to avoid an incoming kick from the smaller guard, whose leg he seized and threw him into the other guard. Gary had gotten up and was running towards a fire escape door.

"Go after him," Slade's voice boomed in Robin's ear.

Robin leaped over the desk, through the open door and grabbed Gary's collar, pulling him back to face him. Gary gasped as Robin slammed his back against the low railing, his torso hanging over.

"D-don't! Uh…"

"Then do what you need to do," Robin said menacingly.

"Fine! Fine!"

"Leave together via the fire escape," Slade commanded. "The car is two blocks down, straight ahead."

Robin fled, and saw Nightburn close behind him. Then he heard a gunshot clang off the metal pole to his left.

He gasped suddenly as he felt the intense acute burn of the second shot penetrate his shoulder blade. Racing away, he heard Gary's voice distantly, "Don't shoot at him, you idiot! Do you want to get me killed?!"

Robin's scapula was ablaze as his back hit the backseat of the car. The black vehicle sped away. Robin clutched his shoulder.

"Shit, you're hit?" Nightburn inquired breathlessly.

"I'll be alright," Robin assured him half-heartedly. He had faced enemies with bullets a few times before, but he had never been hit. The wound was on fire, and he felt the hot wetness of blood seep into the back of his uniform.

Nightburn scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. It's almost an hour back to the Haunt. I can put pressure—"

"I'm fine," he insisted through clenched teeth.

The black-haired man shrugged. "Suit yourself."


Robin wondered if he had made a mistake in not letting Nightburn put pressure on his wound as he practically staggered out of the car, dizziness marring his vision. He wondered how much blood he had lost. Or maybe it was just the pain that was making him lightheaded.

The car drove away, and Slade appeared. Robin did his best to straighten.

"Excellent work, Robin," he said, gesturing for Robin to hand him his earpiece and his utility belt, which he did. "Head to the infirmary in the east wing. Z is waiting for you."

Robin stumbled a bit down the hallway to where he saw light beaming from an open room that he assumed was the infirmary. He went in.

Z, who was seated before what looked like an operating table, looked up and stood. "There you are."

Behind her was a tray with various medical instruments. Robin lifted a brow. "You have medical experience?"

"More or less," she responded confidently. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Nonetheless, he walked in to the freezing cold room as steadily as he could.

"Where are you hit?" she asked.

"Left shoulder blade."

"Well, that's lucky," she said smoothly, coming over to Robin and removing the metal plates on his upper half. She gently touched the bloodstained uniform. "How long has it been? Since you were hit?"

"Uh… about an hour."

"Mm. Shouldn't wait that long." Z unzipped the uniform down to Robin's waist, and quietly pulled off his sleeves and pulled the garment down. "Lie on your front, arms down, please," she indicated to the table.

Robin hopped onto the table with the help of his good right arm. He rested his head on the small pillow, inhaling deeply as Z pulled on a pair of sterile gloves.

Z inspected the wound, a cold hand on his chiseled back. Robin sucked in a breath as he felt even colder metal enter his skin, probing for the bullet.

"Breathe," she said gently. "It's not that deep. Like I said, you're lucky you got hit where you did."

Robin tried to breathe deeply. "Doesn't… doesn't feel very lucky…" he managed. "Don't you have any… local anesthetic?" He almost felt childish for asking.

Z sighed. "I've been instructed not to use it."

"Instructed by Slade," he deducted.

She nodded bleakly.

"What is he, a sadist?" Robin heard the clack of the bullet in a metal dish and felt a small wave of relief.

"Could be." She delicately used sterile wipes to clean the blood off his back, and Robin winced as she suffused what he assumed was a sterilizing agent into the bullet wound. "You can sit now."

Gratefully he pushed himself into a sitting position on the table. He still felt a bit woozy. "Thanks, Z. I think—"

"We're not done yet," she interrupted.

"Oh, right. Where are your bandages?" he asked, looking around but seeing none.

"Don't need them," she replied softly, removing her gloves and gently pressing a cold hand to the injured shoulder blade.

"What—" Robin felt her hand grow hot, and the heat permeated his skin. Not the burning pain, though; this was quite pleasant.

"I guess I forgot to mention my abilities to you."

Is she healing me? Robin was disbelieving. "No way…"

"Yes way," she smiled, her golden brown eyes sparkling with pride. "Just relax."

Robin closed his eyes. The heat continued for about five minutes as he sat in silence, listening to her breathing softly, before it dissipated.

"There. All done."

He rolled his shoulders back, feeling no pain. "It doesn't hurt! I can't believe you did that. How…?"

"I don't know," she shrugged with a self-assured grin. "I've had these powers ever since I can remember."

"You'd be a great candidate for—" Robin halted himself. An honorary Teen Titan, he thought.

She looked surprised. "For what?"

"…Never mind." His voice was cross. A servant of Slade could never be a Titan.

Then another thought flashed in his mind. Well, look at yourself.

Vaguely he recognized an irate sound escaping his throat and saw the rolling tray of medical tools hit the wall. He had kicked it.

Z had paced backwards, her palms raised, eyes wide with trepidation. "What did I do?" she asked timidly.

Robin's anger dissipated. He hadn't meant to cause her any anxiety. "Nothing," he said flatly, getting up and heading towards the door.

He turned to Z before leaving. "Really though… thank you." Robin disappeared into the dark hallway.


The next day, Robin left his room and headed for his morning training session, alone. It seemed walking to training without an escort and eating without supervision were all privileges he'd acquired through his obedience. Secretly he was livid with himself for not putting up more of a fight.

But I can't, he thought miserably. Not without putting the Titans in danger.

He entered the dark room without looking at her. "Morning, Z." When he switched on the lights, his heart rate quickened. It was Slade, not Z.

"Z won't be training with you in the mornings anymore," he said coolly. Somewhere inside himself Robin was a bit disappointed. He had grown accustomed to and even appreciative of her company during the past several days of his captivity.

"Today you and I will be training up there," he pointed at the criss-crossing beams above their heads. "You need to work on your balance."

Robin climbed the metal rungs built into the wall and clambered up onto the steel network; the beams were no wider than eight inches each. He was about ten feet off the ground.

The training proved to be very challenging; Robin fell from the system at least a dozen times, though it was usually on his feet. During the first half of the day, it was all Robin could do to just keep his balance and dodge Slade's barrage of attacks.

Lunch break. Robin, saturated with sweat, gulped down water from his bottle. Jasper brought his meal as usual, during which Slade left, Robin presumed, to eat by himself. After all, eating would require him to remove his mask.

The second half of the day was exactly the same, and Robin was exhausted by the time six o'clock came. And he knew that Slade wasn't even using his full strength and agility.

"That's enough for one day. Go to your room," Slade instructed.

Robin entered his room, where a lonely tray of food was waiting. He ate, showered, put on a fresh uniform, and crawled into bed.

He lost track of the days as they passed; they seemed to be blurring together. How long had it been now? A week? Two weeks? He hadn't seen Z anywhere for days. Surely my friends have realized by now that something is amiss, he thought hopefully.

When noon came around, Slade told him to rest after eating, for he had a mission that night.

"Hopefully it's something a bit more challenging than my last 'mission'," he said cynically.

Slade's left gray eye looked down at Robin. "Indeed, it is." Robin thought he sensed a smile beneath the metal mask and instantly internally recoiled, wishing he had said nothing.

"Surely your former friends will be there once you break in."

Robin swallowed.


Using the mini supercomputer, Robin hacked into the neighboring building's security and made his way to the roof. The night was beautiful; stars were sprinkled across the sky like a twinkling mist and the moon was full, providing him with enough light so that he could judge how far to leap onto the rounded tower he was targeting.

He tumbled across it, and located the square hatch in the roof that led to the room inside the top floor. He grappled down, as the ceiling was high. The only light aside from the moonlight came from his objective; the thermal blaster was encapsulated within a beam of light.

Nimbly he hurled a GE disc—another "S" disc that had both grappling and explosive capabilities—at the door to the blaster. He shielded his eyes as the explosion blasted open the container, and then waded through the smoke and rubble to pick it up.

"Good, Robin," Slade's voice rang through Robin's earpiece.

He heard distant alarmed voices: "He's stolen the thermal blaster!" "Stop him!"

Robin retreated to the outdoor walkway, which ran widely the whole way around the tower. Evading energy blasts from the guns of the guards that chased him, he sprinted out of sight and scrambled down the side of the walkway where he gripped the metal outcroppings. He heard the guards slow to a stop.

"Where'd he go?"

Robin listened as their footsteps faded away, into the building, he supposed.

Climbing back up, he scuttled in the direction the guards had come.

Just then, the Teen Titans emerged from the shadows and blocked his path.

"Freeze!" Cyborg barked.

Robin darted to the right of them, along a wide bridge-like footpath that led to… a wall. He skidded to a stop, steeled himself, and turned around to face his friends.

"That's not Slade," Beast Boy said unbelievingly. "That's—"

"Robin!" Starfire cried.

"Whoa!"

"No way!"

"Robin, why are you—" Starfire began, but Robin cut her off with a toss of an explosive disc, careful that it landed a few feet away from her. Still, the force from the blast knocked her backwards, and she landed on her side with a grunt.

Cyborg clenched his fists. "Yo—"

"What is your deal?" Beast Boy demanded.

"Not a word, Robin," Slade whispered in his ear, "They're not your friends anymore."

Yes they are!

The Titans dashed towards him. Robin aimed for the bridge between them, and fired the thermal blaster. A dangerously hot beam hit the walkway and it exploded. He heard Beast Boy shriek, and Cyborg shout, "What are you doing!?"

The rubble smoked intensely, and Robin essentially vanished from their eyes, leaping away onto another rooftop. He took advantage of their surprise by fleeing while he could. He honestly didn't feel he had the emotional strength to fight them. At least not at the present moment.


Robin observed Slade's shadowy figure standing next to a computer screen that he assumed controlled the large screens in the enormous central room of the Haunt. It was mostly dark. He approached Slade, offering the blaster, his mouth forming a tight line.

"Excellent, Robin. I'm pleased. You're already proving to be the perfect apprentice."

"This… deal can't last forever," Robin ventured. His pent-up resentment was leaking.

"It can. And it will." The screens lit up in white, booting up. Robin turned towards them. Snow flashed, and then a video clip displayed the fake chronoton detonator collapsing in on itself.

"The Titans still have no idea that my chronoton detonator was more than a decoy," Slade said darkly.

Various video clips flashed on the screen: the Titans facing the detonator, a small gun that fired red energy blasts, propelling each Titan into the water of the sewer Robin had been in only two weeks ago.

So that's how Slade infected them with the probes, he thought.

"Now that my probes are inside their bodies… they could remain undetected for years… decades…"

The screens blanched.

"…Unless, of course, you disobey me…" Slade ambled over to Robin. "…and I decide to destroy your… former friends… with the push of a button." He held out his wrist for Robin to see the trigger.

Not 'former'! Robin had grown more than sick and tired of listening to Slade's declaration that Robin no longer had any friends. After days of hardening himself, his anger was rising in his throat again.

"Sooner or later, you'll let your guard down," he said deliberately. "I will get that controller. In the instant they're out of danger… you will pay." His heart raced.

"That sounds like a threat, young man," Slade said in a slightly raised voice, but then lowered it as he took the thermal blaster from Robin's hand and walked past him. "Quite a good threat, actually." His footsteps stopped. He was close. "Betrayal. Destruction. Revenge… We really do think alike."

Robin snapped. He leaped for Slade's arm with a mad roar and… just missed. Slade had been anticipating his retaliation, he realized in that instant; he was trying to coax him into a fight. Robin found himself dangling by his left arm, which Slade clutched tightly, twisting it back.

"I monitored your vital signs during the mission," he said calmly. "Elevated heart rate… adrenaline… endorphins…"

Robin struggled to get free, but to no avail; Slade just pulled his arm with more force until Robin thought his shoulder would come out of its socket.

"…You won't admit it, but at some level… you enjoyed stealing for me."

His throat emitted a strangled animalistic sound.

"It was a thrill, wasn't it?"

Finally he let go, letting Robin stumble forward. He massaged the offended arm.

Slade turned back to his computer interface with the thermal blaster. "You're going to keep stealing, Robin. And you're going to keep getting that thrill. And sooner or later… you will see things my way." He turned towards Robin again, having tinkered with the weapon.

"Who knows…" he began, pacing over to Robin and attaching the blaster to his right arm, "…I might even become like a father to you."

Robin blinked and bit his lip to prevent it from quivering.

I already have a father.


Interesting Facts and Insights About Lingering Demons:

I figured DC Comics fans would appreciate the inclusion of Slade's alias, Deathstroke, and the mentioning of his son. I first saw Teen Titans as a young teenager, at which time I had no idea Slade was known as anything else but Slade. I only found out about Deathstroke just this year as I began re-watching the series and conducting research out of curiosity.

Note Robin's amazement that Slade and Nightburn have 'normal' conversations like 'normal' people. Robin is still a teenager, so I supposed it made sense that he wouldn't realize that 'bad' people have 'normal' things in their lives just like 'good' people. In reality, even seemingly evil people have people or things that they care about; that's what makes villains/antagonists interesting (writing tip).

The scene with Gary Olsen was slightly inspired by a scene from the movie Road to Perdition. It deals with a family whose father (Tom Hanks) has ties to crime bosses and the like, and must escape to save his son. Excellent movie, but you should probably be at least sixteen to watch it; it's quite mature.