Author's Note: Is it just me, or did it take me forever to update? I had to be very careful with this chapter, partly because writing fight scenes and emotionally heavy scenes is hard, and partly to do my best to keep Slade in character. Also, it's important as a writer to make sure every line of dialogue has purpose and adds something to the story. In addition, as of 6-13-16, I added Interesting Facts and Insights About Lingering Demons at the end of every chapter. Just little snippets of information about particular chapters, about my writing process, or about life in general. So if you so desire, you can go back to previous chapters to read those little bits. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that little cliffhanger as much as I did. ;) So finally, a moment you've all been waiting for… Robin and Slade face off!


The papers settled on the floor. His pulse raced with adrenaline.

He began hurriedly gathering up the sheets and placing them back in the folder, as if doing so could somehow reduce the peril in which he now found himself, but he stopped when he heard Slade's cool voice.

"How nice of you to try and clean up the mess you made," he said evenly. "However, I don't quite think you realize the extent of what you've done."

Robin froze as Slade advanced towards him.

"Oh," he remarked, glancing at the papers, "I see you've gone through the miscellaneous files I haven't put away yet. Reading about the probes, I presume? I don't think—"

The eye widened suddenly.

Robin followed his gaze to the medical records still on the floor. He steeled himself, gathering his courage, and stood, leaning towards the villain.

"You blackmail me, threaten the Titans with death, assassinate people you don't even know, and so Jericho is killed," Robin said deliberately, fighting with everything he had to replace the tremor in his voice with a low, threatening tone. "It looks like what goes around comes around, doesn't it?"

Slade turned away slightly before speaking in a menacing pitch. "Robin, you have no idea how right you are."

The hook connected with Robin's temple, and he hazily noticed the room spinning as his body tumbled away, slid across the desktop, and landed hard on the floor. The computer crashed down, and a paperweight rolled by him, entrancing him as various colors swam in his eyes and then obscured his vision. The punch had been brutal, propelled by a silent fury he had never before seen in his nemesis. Though blinded, he sat up, but felt as if he was drowning in a churning sea.

"Actually, my son is alive," he boomed, pacing towards him, and then lowered his face to Robin's ominously, his voice a whispering hiss. "Unfortunately though, I might not be able to say the same for you in a few minutes."

The fierce kick sunk into Robin's abdomen, expelling all his breath and impelling him backwards with a force that thrust him out the door of the office. He pushed himself up from the concrete, struggling to inhale, his head throbbing from the first blow.

"If your son is alive…" Robin wheezed, "…then where is he?"

Before his vision could clear, a blow from above planted his face into the floor—immediately he tasted blood—and then a kick to his side tossed him away.

Robin gathered from Slade's violent response that he had hit a sore spot. And because of that, part of him felt almost… powerful. After months of utter powerlessness.

"What's wrong?" Robin coughed. "Did I strike a nerve?"

"Maybe. But not in the way you imagine."

"How should I imagine it?" he inquired purposefully, awkwardly regaining his feet.

"Let's just say that there are far worse fates than mere death that could await the Titans," he hinted. He gazed at the ceiling, scratching his chin in mock thought. "I suppose I could always sell those two girls to the gentlemen at the Diamond Parlor. What were their names? Raven and… that alien girl you're so fond of."

"Leave Raven and Starfire out of this!" Images flashed through his mind of filthy, low-life, predatory men abusing them.

"Starfire, yes. What's wrong? Did I strike a nerve?" he mocked, cocking his head at Robin. "Indeed, maybe I'll sell her."

As Robin charged, he heard the enraged yell echo throughout the Haunt before realizing it came from him. Slade ducked beneath the kick, and then countered with his own, swiping Robin off his feet. He deftly rolled away from Slade's attempt to stomp on his chest, and then rose, gritting his teeth.

"I'm well aware of how you abuse women. Of course a man who rapes ten-year-old girls isn't below trying to sell them as well," Robin snarled.

Slade straightened. "Ah, so little Z told you a bit about her past," he said in an amused voice. "Did she also tell you that she enjoyed it every single time after the first? So much so that she moans my name?"

Robin swallowed his bloody saliva, nausea twisting his stomach.

Then he saw it.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Slade crouched where Robin had rolled away and picked up the card that must have fallen out of his pocket.

"I figured that's how you got in," Slade muttered, circling Robin from a distance. "I made a mistake by letting you two spend time together. I honestly didn't think you would be foolish enough to conspire against me." He stopped, shaking his head in disapproval. "I suppose it was her idea. Using you to find information to—"

"It was mine," he asserted.

"Hmm… I suppose I'll have to punish her."

"I said it was my idea," Robin growled, clenching his fists.

Slade waved Z's card. "You couldn't have gotten in without this. Therefore she consented to your little plan."

Robin glared at him with antipathy.

"…Unless, of course, you found some way to discover my passcode, which I highly doubt. No, Z gave you her card," he said, seemingly impressed. "Now, why would she be willing to help you? Surely she doesn't hold some ridiculous notion that you're her friend. After all, you no longer have any of those."

"Whatever she thinks or feels, it's none of your business," Robin snapped.

"Yes," he affirmed, ignoring Robin. "She will receive punishment."

"You'll have to go through me first!" he cried furiously, panic rising in his throat. Now Z is in serious trouble because of me.

"That's the plan," he replied menacingly, sauntering over to Robin.

All I can do is wear him out as much as possible so Z has a better chance at escape, he thought. Get him angry so he expends more energy.

"Why isn't your son with you? Surely he'd have been a more willing apprentice than I am."

"I imagine a mute trainee would pose insurmountable problems to an apprenticeship."

Robin paced backwards, buying time. "So why did Jericho leave? Does he hate you? It's a shame he can't express it. But I doubt—"

Slade broke into a sprint and Robin blocked the ferocious punches with his arms, but the power behind them caused him to somersault backwards. Before he could stand up from his crouch—Robin fuzzily realized that barely eating recently had rendered him weak—he heard a furious bellow and felt the kick strike his chest, launching him into the air. In a split second Slade grasped his airborne body by the legs and hurled him into the east wall. He thudded onto the floor in a heap.

"I'm sorry, what is it you were you saying?" Slade asked with mock civility.

Robin struggled to stand. "I was saying… that I doubt anyone could hate you as much as I do."

"Good." Robin sensed a smile beneath Slade's mask. "I live on hatred, on vengeance. I'm pleased to see you're finally motivated."

Robin again rose, unsteadily, clutching at the stabbing pain in his chest. No. I'm nothing like you.

"So you hated him back?" he persisted. "Is that why you slit his throat?"

Robin couldn't duck quickly enough to avoid the kick to his head. Before he could fall, a left hook propelled him the other way. It was all he could do to just block the punches. Again one connected, and Robin tumbled away. He spit blood onto the floor.

…Not going as planned…

He shook his head, fighting the dizziness, when Slade forced him prone with his heavy boot, taking Robin's left wrist in both hands.

"Is this what you want?" Slade threatened, and he pulled hard.

Robin emitted a strangled cry, and then his sudden gasp mixed with a sickening pop: dislocation.

It was when Slade then pulled even more sharply to flip Robin over onto his back that Robin saw his opportunity: from the floor, he launched a kick to the groin. Being on the floor, he couldn't muster enough force; Slade merely grunted, and grasped Robin's right ankle and twisted it outward vehemently.

Crackle.

Robin lay on the floor, overcome with the pain in his shoulder and ankle. Can't…

Slade stepped onto his left kneecap with all his weight—crunch—and then planted a stomp on Robin's pelvic bone. Robin felt a deep snap.

Robin vaguely noticed the echo; he had apparently been shrieking in agony. Then he felt the vice-like grip around his neck. Slade was crouching over him, choking him, and Robin gripped helplessly at the burly arms; he felt like his head would burst.

But then he heard someone running.

"Stop!"

Z. At last, Slade let go. Colors danced in Robin's eyes.

No! He fought to draw in a breath.

"Ah, there you are," Slade said coolly. "Please leave us; we're rather busy, as you can see."

Z skidded to a stop. Her voice was frantic. "Oh my God… Were you trying to kill him?!"

"Hmm… that could be debated."

Z knelt down beside Robin, whose throat was closing with panic. His eyes couldn't focus.

"Z!" Robin rasped, "Get out of here! Run!"

"Huh?"

Just then she shot out of his line of sight with a cry—Slade had kicked her in the head.

"Leave her alone!" Robin flipped himself over—his veins pulsed in anguish—and attempted to rise to his knees, but failed miserably, hot bolts of pain surging through his damaged body like lightning.

"Oh, Zoey," Slade sing-songed, ignoring Robin. "You'll never guess what I found in my apprentice's possession." He waved her card in the air.

Zoey? Robin saw her freeze in her attempt to stand.

"Z, I said run!" Robin cried desperately. But Z just lowered her head dejectedly.

"She won't run," Slade declared. "After all, where would she go? I'm all she has in this world. Isn't that right, Zoey?"

"Stop it," she objected softly. "Don't call me that in front of him."

"I'm fairly certain you're in no position to tell me what to do, girl," he said grimly. He threw the card in front of her on the floor and crouched before her.

Hurriedly she tucked her card back into her pocket. Robin saw her gaze slowly meet Slade's eye. "I—I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Slade tucked her hair behind her ear in a mock gesture of affection, and Robin released a distressed cry when he heard the earsplitting slap! Z fell.

Still helplessly Robin struggled as he watched Slade grasp her by her hair and pull her up to standing. She clutched at her scalp painfully as he leaned his face in close to hers.

"Sweet girl, you're only sorry you got caught," he smiled sinisterly. He delivered a swift blow to her eye socket and then tossed her away like a rag doll, brushing the clump of hair off his arm.

"And as for you, apprentice," Slade began, striding over to Robin, "Only I may command my servants."

Robin saw stars as the punch connected with the back of his skull, and he fell to prone.

He heard Z's voice, strained and high-pitched, unlike her usual soft tone, but he couldn't make out what she was saying; it was as if he were underwater.

The water swallowed him.


Robin blocked Cyborg's lane to the hoop, ducked into defense.

"Give it up, man; you know you're only four feet tall," Cyborg taunted, twirling the ball on his finger.

"Don't worry, I'll show you how I make up for it."

Beast Boy cheered them on, and Robin saw Raven as referee roll her eyes and smirk.

Cyborg faked left and then darted right, Robin following. Cyborg shot a three-pointer—it bounced off the rim—and Robin leaped into the air and caught it before Cyborg could block him. He shot into a perfect layup: swish.

"Aw, come on!"

The pleasant chime of Starfire's laughter resounded—he loved hearing her laugh—but he could barely hear it because the air was so thick with heat; the sun bore down on his head, and he felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

But then he realized Starfire wasn't laughing; she was crying. Suddenly he was lying on his back in darkness, with Starfire leaning over him, her hand beneath his skull. Her hand was hot and wet, and pain coursed sharply throughout his body.

"Robin?" she sniffled.

No, wait… it's Z.

Robin shook himself from the dream. He lay in the backseat of a moving car, his head in her palm on her lap. Her face came into focus above him: one of her eyes was swollen shut, and tears streamed from both. His stomach twisted.

He reached up shakily with his good right arm and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. His mouth still tasted of blood. "Are you alright? Why…why are you crying?"

Gently she took his hand in her own and lowered it, but kept a soft grip on it. She looked to the ceiling and blinked away tears, her voice a whisper. "He told me I'm not welcome in his office from now on. If he wants me at all in the future, he'll let me know."

Robin swallowed the lump forming in his throat, partially from the blissful innocence of his dream—he knew he could never have that again—and partially because he knew what Slade's affections meant to her, no matter the man's reasons for… having her.

"I'm so sorry, Z."

Briefly she shook her head. "Don't be. It's not your fault. I should have tried to… keep him with me longer."

Robin coughed painfully, and gave her hand a tender squeeze. "No… I should have been out of there sooner."

The corners of her mouth twitched into a sad smile.

"Where are we going?" he managed, trying to sit up, but Z pressed him lightly back down.

"Don't try to move. You're really hurt. We're headed to Dr. Strait's former office. After we… talked, Slade insisted we take you to see an actual doctor. He doesn't have much faith in my abilities."

"Not a hospital?"

"No. I guess he doesn't trust you enough to keep your mouth shut about everything. Dr. Strait is… affiliated with Slade in some way." She breathed a tense sigh. "I seriously thought he was going to kill you."

"…should have let him."

Z's good eye widened. "What? Don't talk like that. Ever."

What would Slade do if his apprentice died? Robin thought about it for a moment, and soon decided it would be dangerous for him to die; with him dead, there would be no reason for Slade to keep the Titans alive.

Part of him felt defeated at this realization.

Do I want to die? He forced the thought away hastily, and instead focused on the heat of Z's healing touch against his skull for the remainder of the car ride.

Z and the driver, who turned out to be Slade's other servant, Wells, struggled to remove Robin from the backseat—his stomach lurched at the pain of the movement—but soon got him into Dr. Strait's office, which was an enormous room with countless pieces of medical technology, all hidden inside a mostly abandoned residential area of Jump City, encased in the shadows of the night.

Dr. Strait was a spindly man with cropped salt-and-pepper hair, a beak-like nose and probing dark eyes that made Robin feel uneasy. He must have had an allergy problem too, because he never ceased sniffling. He took full-body x-rays and performed various other tests, during which Robin drifted in and out of consciousness.

Robin fuzzily noticed Z and the doctor speaking in rather stern, stubborn voices, but whatever their conflict, it seemed to be resolved by the time Dr. Strait intravenously administered some kind of strong painkiller. As the medicine spread throughout his bloodstream, Robin sighed in profound relief. Dr. Strait nodded to Z, who at last approached Robin and placed a cold hand on his right hip, her palm growing hot and slightly glowing. Glowing golden, like the late afternoon sunlight that Z so loved to drink in.

"Why didn't you tell me your real name?" Speaking was no longer so demanding with the pain easing.

Z didn't look up, focusing on her healing. "Firstly, you never asked. And secondly… well… he was the only person who called me by it, whenever we were alone. So… I guess that made it sort of… special." She then mumbled in a dejected tone, "But I suppose that's all over now."

He took everything from her. Her childhood, her innocence… even her name. Robin felt sick for her. But what if Slade was removed from her life?

"What you said before… about dreams… Being dead inside without them… Maybe you can find a new dream."

Z scoffed at the notion. "Robin, please. There's nothing for me in this life."

Robin closed his eyes, heart sinking. "There's nothing for me either. Not anymore."

Z glanced about the room briefly—Dr. Strait had left the room—and grasped Robin's arm. "Are you sure? Weren't you able to find out anything about the probes?"

"Not really. All I had time to read was 'ethyrionite nanosopic probes'. You wouldn't happen to know what 'ethyrionite' is, would you?"

"Never heard of it."

"There really… is nothing…" Robin whispered to no one in particular.

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

Then a thought occurred to him as he stared at the eye that was swollen shut. "Why don't you heal yourself?"

"It can wait. Your injuries are far worse than mine."

A moment of silence passed, and Robin could barely feel any pain anymore; rather, he felt physically euphoric. The sensation seemed very out of place—inappropriate given the situation he and Z were in. He tried to push away the uncomfortable feeling, but to no avail.

After a time, Robin cast Z a sad and puzzled glance. "Why didn't you run when I told you to?"

She exhaled, pulling her gaze away from his and staring at the wall. "It's like he said. Where would I go?"

"Don't you…uh… have any living relatives? Like maybe—"

"Please stop," she requested almost inaudibly. A hand was clasped in front of her face, her head tilted towards the floor.

Robin did his best to cling to the correct emotions—regret, depression, misery, despair—but the painkillers were winning. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought to suppress a meaningless smirk. He shifted uncomfortably, and emitted a sharp exhalation that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a pained hiss.

Z looked up. "Are you okay?"

"I… I think you guys are giving me too much pain medicine."

She lifted a brow. "'Too much'? Robin, your pelvis and right ankle are broken; your left kneecap is shattered, and your left shoulder is dislocated. Not to mention your concussion."

"It just doesn't feel right."

"Do you feel better?"

"Well… yeah."

"If you feel better, I don't see the problem. But if you really want me to, I can ask Dr. Strait to lessen up a bit on it."

"Thanks."

The glowing heat beneath Z's hand ceased and she left the room. He heard their mumbling voices, farther away than they actually were, and the air seemed thick despite the cold in the room, as if his ears were ringing. He wished it all away—every sensation, and everything that had happened.

When Z and the doctor returned, her hair briefly brushed his limp left arm as she crouched beside him. "Okay, we're going to slip your shoulder back into joint," she said. "But you should probably be put out while it's done."

He just nodded, craving the obscurity of unconsciousness.

"What is your name? Your full name?"

The corners of her mouth turned upwards slightly as she whispered it.

"Zoey Marie Gregory."

Robin tried to capture the image of her small smile and keep it in the front of his mind, hoping it might bring him a carefree dream.

Even if there's nothing left for me… I'll make sure there's something for her.

The notion was comforting before another thought occurred to him.

"Sleep tight," resounded Dr. Strait's nasal voice.

If I ever get out of here… No… I'll never get out… There's absolutely nothing I can do to help her…

Before a sense of new desolation could register, darkness consumed him once more.


Interesting Facts and Insights About Lingering Demons:

You probably didn't notice this because I made it intentionally very subtle, but Robin didn't deny Slade's declaration that he no longer had any friends. If you'll also notice, he no longer refers to the Titans as friends; rather, he refers to them just as "the Titans".

I made Robin had a pleasant dream to sort of dice up the heaviness of the rest of the content. (Writing tip: When writing dark fiction, be it fanfiction or otherwise, make sure you give your readers a break every once in a while with some lighter material or comic relief.)

Fun fact: Z's passcode is nine six three nine: "Z O E Y". Her real name. One would imagine that typing in her passcode reminds her of Slade saying her name, something that is very special to her.