Robin didn't know why he'd expected to sleep.
Sure, he was so tired he felt like his brain had been scooped out, and his bones replaced with cold lead bars, and his muscles ground to powder. Sure, getting in the shower felt like such an effort, he was tempted to just collapse and die instead. Sure, his leg now hurt like Satan was digging his clawed hands two knuckles deep into Robin's skin. But by the time he'd washed changed into a soft t-shirt and dropped onto the bed … of course he couldn't sleep.
Out of stubbornness, he stayed in bed regardless, wishing he could find that soft, dark, dreamless rest he'd had in Slade's safehouse.
Guilt touched the edge of his stomach, but he was too tired for it to really get its claws in. Besides, the thought of that bed with the thin, soft sheets in Slade's safehouse was somehow so much more comforting than his own bed here in the Tower.
He wasn't sure, exactly, how long his stubbornness lasted. By the time he got up, it was dark outside. He'd handed Raven that armour Slade gave him to check out. Maybe she was done with it. Pulling his uniform back on, he dug the black candle out from behind the bookshelf and shuffled to Raven's bedroom.
He'd shoved all his furniture back to make room. His fingertips were powdered white from the chalk, his knees smudged where he'd crawled over the circle a dozen times, drawing and scrubbing out and re-drawing until it matched the picture in Raven's book exactly. A lump filled his throat as he set the black candles down around the circle, but his heart drummed with anticipation.
He could still do it.
He could still save Jason.
Robin wasn't too worried about waking Raven up in the night. She seemed pretty nocturnal at the best of times; usually the first one out of her room at night if the alarm sounded. He rapped on her door, and waited for it to slide open.
She had her hood up, and looked up at him with the careful, blank expression that meant he'd caught her in the middle of meditation.
'Sorry.' Robin held out the candle. 'I brought you this back.'
Raven took it silently.
Robin hesitated. 'That armour … ?'
'Nothing magically unusual about it,' Raven said. 'I gave it to Cyborg to scan.' Her eyes narrowed. 'Where'd you get it?'
Robin shrugged. 'Anonymous fan.'
He could tell she didn't believe him for a moment. But, unlike Cyborg or Beast Boy, Raven didn't call him out on it. She just frowned, and her eyes flicked down to the candle.
'That's the last of them,' Robin promised. Then, as her frown deepened, he said quickly, 'I'll go see if Cyborg's finished the scan.'
'He's probably asleep,' Raven pointed out. Like you should be. But she didn't say it.
Robin stepped back. 'I won't disturb him. Thanks.'
For a moment, Raven looked as though she might leap out and stop him. But then she gave a short nod, mumbled a goodnight, and shut the door.
Robin read over the passage again and again. Raven's book was ancient, the leather cover crumbling, the paper brown. The writing was tiny, some long-dead scribe cramming every letter he could into the space. But Robin had practised. Hell, he'd looked up the pronunciations.
Nothing was allowed to go wrong.
Taking a deep breath, Robin knelt at the edge of the circle, and began to read.
Maybe he had slept after all. His leg certainly hurt less—more of a dull ache now than a stabbing pain. He put that down to Raven, her magic likely still working now, weaving the torn skin together.
His head felt better, too. Not perfect, but clearer. Rested. And he had enough energy to walk to Cyborg's lab without stumbling, or leaning on the walls.
As expected, the lab was empty. Cyborg was sleeping—or recharging, anyway—in his room.
Robin's boots clacked on the linoleum floor as he walked across the dark space. No point turning the lights on; he could see enough from the glow of the large screen monitor on the wall. The armour from Slade was spread out over a table below the monitor, a dozen lasers and wires and Robin couldn't guess what else connected up to the material. The read-out showed a blue loading bar, full at 100%. Beneath it, thin black letters read, SCAN COMPLETE, ZERO ANOMOLIES FOUND.
He quietly disconnected it, and gathered the armour up. Slade would be smug. But maybe this would stop the next bullet someone aimed in his direction.
At first, the words came slowly. Then, as Robin turned the page, he began to feel as though he were reciting a familiar song. His lips formed the next word, and the next, each one utterly foreign to him, and yet he didn't need to think about them at all. His tongue moved without thought.
And the words … echoed.
It was like another voice, chanting with him. A voice right behind him—as if sitting with their lips almost touching the back of his head.
His hands shook, but he didn't turn. Once the spell started, he mustn't stop. He knew that much. Don't break the circle, and don't stop chanting.
It seemed like a wisp of smoke at first. Just the faintest, palest shape, twisting in the middle of the circle. Then, slowly, it grew. The smoke spread and stretched, and became the shape of a person, standing, their feet just hovering over the chalk.
Goose bumps prickled up Robin's arms, but his heart was pounding in the best possible way, like he was running a marathon and winning. The longer he chanted, the louder the voice behind him grew, and the stronger the shape in the chalk circle. His face smoothed, and Robin recognised that hard jaw, those deep-set eyes.
Jason.
He didn't even need to look at the book anymore. Breathless, he chanted, the words coming up from out of his chest, as if they'd been buried there his whole life, waiting for this moment. For this chance to save his brother.
And then the door opened.
His brain barely even registered 'Raven'—just a scream, long and sharp and horrified, and then the void-black whirlwind that tore through his room. He leaped to his feet with a cry as the candle flames sputtered out, and Jason's eyes locked with his for one second before he too was blown away.
Raven stormed across the chalk circle, smearing the lines as she marched toward Robin. Her voice echoed against the walls, louder by far than the voice speaking behind Robin's head—the voice that was now gone, fled just like Jason's ghost.
'What've you done?' Raven screamed, and it took Robin a moment to even realise she was now speaking English, her voice hoarse and fast and panicked. 'Robin, are you insane! What've you done?'
'I was bringing Jason back!' Robin lurched a step forward, fire bursting through him. He grabbed Raven by the arms, and she winced. He tightened his grip. He wanted to crush her. 'And you chased him away!'
For a moment, she was still. Then Robin felt the tension in her body ease under his hands.
She looked down. 'That wasn't Jason.'
'I saw him.'
'But you can't see like I can.' Raven blinked, lifting her gaze. For just a moment, her two eyes became four, blazing crimson, each scalding right through his skin. Robin flinched, letting her go, and her eyes went dark again. 'Worse things than the dead can come through a gateway like that.' She swept a hand out, gesturing at the smudged chalk. Her brow knitted, and her shoulders sagged. 'It wasn't Jason. I'm sorry, Robin.'
In his room, Robin carefully buckled the armour on over his costume. It fitted perfectly, moulded to his body, and moved easily when he twisted. He tried a few kicks and spins, and—yeah, it was heavy, a little bit, and it felt weird to be so padded up. But it felt good, too.
His communicator beeped. Straightening, Robin flicked it open. The name JOHN SMITH flashed on the screen. Robin glanced at the closed door, then stepped a little further back before he hit the answer button.
'Slade?'
'How's your leg?' On the screen, Slade's eye had that thin, tilted look that meant he was grinning.
Robin arched an eyebrow. 'Great. I'm thinking about getting shot every day.'
'I have another lead,' Slade said. 'This one shouldn't be so … strenuous. But if you need more time to recover …'
'I'm ready,' Robin said quickly. 'Whereabouts? The old place?'
'Crawling with Falcone's lackeys.' Slade rolled his eye. 'The safehouse is better. Wear plain clothes. I'll bring your uniform.'
Robin gritted his teeth. I have to wear that again? But before he could complain, Slade hung up. Growling in frustration, Robin tossed the communicator on the bed and tore through his wardrobe.
The Titans just didn't do plain clothes, or secret identities. He had next to nothing. He finally managed to drag a pair of dark jeans and red hoodie on over his uniform. He hesitated at removing his mask … but if anyone pulled him aside …
Sighing, he stashed the mask in his belt, hiding it under his hoodie. In its place, he slipped on a pair of black Ray-Bans, an old gift from Bruce. Sure, he'd look stupid wearing them in the dark, but it was better than nothing.
He stuffed the armour in a rucksack, and slipped out of his room—and didn't notice Raven peeking out her bedroom door.