At least he wouldn't die.
But was it right? Was it right of him to choose this? To be placed in this position and not take the other path? How could he, as a hero and as a leader, live with his current decision? How could he not have chosen otherwise?
At least he wouldn't die.
He should've turned back. He should turn back. Now. Turn around now. But, no, time was not on his side. He was nearing his destination and it was already too late. This was a decision that would be set in stone forever. He would live with this. He would live with it for eternity.
It was the wrong choice. Robin knew this to be true, all the way down to the blood that flowed through is veins. He was so selfish. How could he call himself a hero when he'd made this monumental, life-changing decision based solely on his emotions? How was it morally right?
How?
Robin was but a human. He had made his decision based on his flawed humanity. A burst of his own fleeting emotions had made the choice for him. It was a wretched thing to do. A wretched decision. And it was the wrong one.
But he wouldn't die. He wouldn't die.
And, as Robin reached his destination and paused before entering, he remembered that he was selfish. He wiped his face and knew that his decision, if placed in the hands of any Titan other than himself, would've had a vastly different outcome. But it was his choice. He had made it of his own free will.
So, Robin looked forward as he entered. He looked forward with shame and resolution at his own decision, for he knew that the decision was final. His steps were heavy, and they rang out as he made his way forward. The walls of the room were smooth, and they shone like glass, like a mirror that refused to display his own disgusting reflection, as he made his way toward his location.
The Titans. Maybe he could say goodbye to them before. . .before—
Before he died.
The decision, Robin's own decision, to sacrifice himself and the entire population of Jump City, was neither noble nor heroic. Because Robin knew that he would rather die than live. Live as though he were already dead. Live with the knowledge of knowing. . .knowing that. . .
And so, his decision was made. The Titans would survive. He, their leader, would not. He could not live. Could not live, or even survive with such a weight on his shoulders. With such a crushing burden. And so, his choice, thrust upon him yet still one that he made willingly, was a choice of selfishness. But it was still his decision.
And as Robin made his last few steps toward the Titans, he did not find it strange that he heard no screaming or shouting. The ringing in his ears was too loud. His steps were measured, and he breathed in as looked around the final room, searching for the lever. There. The lever was there as expected. All he had to do was pull it.
Breathing in again, Robin walked over to the lever and, with shaking hands, pulled. He closed his eyes, waiting to feel Starfire's crushing embrace. To tell them of his decision and to hear Cyborg's and Beast Boy's accusatory words. To listen as Raven attempted to devise a plan that Robin himself knew wouldn't work.
It wasn't that Robin didn't fear death. The very thought of it terrified him into a paralyzed state that left him unable to speak, think, or even see. But sacrificing himself for his friends somehow made the fear a bit lighter. All the while making him hate himself for the lives he'd ended, for the path he'd chosen. Jump City's hero was but human. A human whose own guilt would've crushed him if he'd chosen differently. And so, he was selfish. Because of him, the entire population of Jump City would perish. Perish and perhaps know the true intentions of their so-called hero as they died. But the Titans would remain, and this was the one shred of hope that Robin would have to clutch desperately onto as he passed away. As he passed away and. . .
Robin opened his eyes, frowning. He had pulled the lever. The cage was now open. Where were the Titans? Nearing the edge of the platform he was on, Robin looked down, expecting to see both the glow of lava and an open, empty cage.
But it was not there. It was not there. And instead. . .it its place was. . .was. . .
No.
"Robin."
Robin turned, slowly as though not yet able to grasp what had happened.
"Your direction. West, was it not?" Slade asked, as Robin simply stared at the man, still unable to comprehend. "Toward the Titans."
"I. . .I. . .west," Robin breathed out, beginning to shake as he looked back toward the floor below where the molecular displacement bomb stood. "Where a-are. . .Titans. . ."
"Superimposing images is quite an easy task, Robin," Slade said as he stepped forward. "You should know not to trust an enemy."
Something clicked—exploded within Robin's head. He felt as though he were falling. No. Slade had. . .had tricked him. . . "No," he muttered. "I. . .the Titans."
"You are no hero, Robin," Slade said. "To sacrifice an entire city of people whom you swore to protect for the very lives of those who would rather die than watch their precious city burn. . .I believed that such an action was above you, Robin. Such selfishness."
Robin shook his head, looking back at the lever he'd just pulled. "No," he repeated. "T-the Titans. Slade, please no. Please tell me that you didn't—"
"Yes, Robin. You are correct."
The bomb. The Titans. The direction he'd chosen. He had been resolute, willing even, to make his decision. Yet it had all been for nothing. This couldn't. . .couldn't. . .
The lever he'd pulled. It'd been the wrong one. The bomb had been diffused. That meant that the Titans. . .the Titans were. . .
No. No. NO!
Robin collapsed then. He wasn't aware of the sounds he was making, didn't know the way that his body was twisting and spasming as the knowledge shattered his entire world.
"Rejoice, Robin. Jump City is saved," Slade said. "You are alive."
Robin heaved at the thought, his mouth dry yet his body still trying to drive out something, anything, as though this would lessen the burden. As though he could physically expel the pain, horror, and guilt that consumed him. He was alive. He was alive. This would not kill him, but—
But.
Everything Robin knew was over. His universe was changed. Forevermore it was altered. The sun would shine and life would continue, but he would not. He would not survive. He would simply walk, exist, and be. Life for him was not an option; not anymore.
Perhaps there would be rejoicing in the streets of Jump City. For them to know that they had survived a massacre. Yet they would not know, those humans would not know, that the very one who had saved them was already. . .
Already.
Robin looked up at Slade, despair and anguish swallowing him up as he reached out toward the man. Not to fight or condemn. Not even to blame or accuse. But simply to know. . .
To know. . .
Slade approached him then. Robin couldn't hold Slade's cruel gaze, and he looked away as the man reached down and pulled him partway off the floor. "Grieve not, Robin," Slade hissed, forcing Robin's chin up so their eyes met and stroking the side of his face almost affectionately. "You still have me."