For a moment, it sounded to Robin like the entire hospital was crashing down. He could hear it. Hear the bricks cracking and crashing over each other. Hear people screaming, running, panicking. He could hear the world ending.

But then he blinked, and the room was still there, and still quiet. And Bruce was still looking at him.

And he couldn't speak. Couldn't muster even a whisper.

'I'm going to kill him.' Bruce spoke very softly, like someone only half-awake.

Robin jolted. 'No.'

But Bruce was already turning, heading for the door. Robin kicked down his blankets and lurched out of bed—and crumpled instantly. Whatever painkillers they'd given him had leeched the strength right out of him. He felt drunk, the room spinning. The IV tugged on the back of his hand, and Robin grabbed the edge of the bed to drag himself up. Snatching the thin metal pole of the IV stand, he staggered after Bruce, catching the back of his jacket just as Bruce's hand touched the door.

'Dad, stop, don't!'

Bruce whirled, grabbing him by the shoulders. His face was grey. 'What Slade has done to you—'

'No!' Robin peeled Bruce's hands off. He could barely hear himself over his own rushing heartbeat. 'Slade hasn't done anything to me.' His legs wobbled—stupid painkillers—and Bruce caught him under the arm. 'Just listen, please, just listen to me, don't go after him, please—'

Bruce looped his arm further under Robin's. 'OK Dick, I'm not going anywhere.' He glanced at the door. 'Yet.'

'Dad.'

'OK, OK, I'm listening. Come on, get back in bed.'

Sitting back on the bed, Robin pushed his IV stand away and met Bruce's thunderous gaze.

'He's a villain,' Bruce said, instantly on the offensive.

'So is Catwoman,' Robin snapped.

'Selina and I are consenting adults—' Bruce stopped, face darkening. 'How do you know about that?'

Robin arched his eyebrow, dead pan. 'You think I never noticed you sneaking women in at night?' He snorted. 'Me and Alfred used to rate them out of ten.'

Narrowing his eyes, Bruce took a small step back. 'The fact remains that Selina and I are adults. Slade is twice your age. At least.'

Robin tried not to shrink. He ground his teeth, letting his heart pump fast, because it was easier to be angry. Angry and defensive meant the shame couldn't touch him. 'I'm seventeen. The age of consent in Gotham is sixteen.'

'We're not in Gotham,' Bruce shot back. 'The age of consent here is eighteen. Which makes Slade's actions criminal.'

Robin snorted, because as if Slade was going to care about committing one more crime on top of all the others. But he said, 'My birthday's in two weeks. You think in two weeks, I'm gonna suddenly change my mind?'

Bruce's face was like dark clouds covering a storm. 'I think if Slade truly cared about you, he could've waited two weeks.'

'I don't give a shit if Slade cares about me!' Robin slammed his hand on the edge of the bed, and hated the way the mattress absorbed the blow silently. He wanted to hit something. Really hit something. 'You think I don't know what he is? I've known Slade longer than you have!'

'He's manipulating you, and controlling you, and you can't even see it!' Bruce's hands were clenched in white fists at his hips, his face going scarlet. But behind the rage, Robin could see the look in his eyes. That wide-eyed terror Robin only ever saw when he or Jason did something stupid. When they nearly got themselves killed, and Bruce had to cover his bone-shaking terror with rage.

'Bruce only ever blows up like that when he's scared …'

Robin swallowed. He tightened his own hands into fists—they felt so naked without his gloves—and loosened them, letting out a sigh. He tried to keep his voice low and reasonable. 'Slade's never forced me to do anything, Dad.' And there it was—that rushing, sickening, tumbling feeling of shame. His stomach went so tight he might've been sick, if there was anything in him to throw up. 'He didn't hurt me, or rape me—' He voice broke off. He couldn't look up. Instead, he closed his eyes, taking a breath and forcing himself to keep talking, because if he didn't, Bruce might still rush out and hunt Slade down. And then … no Slade, no Blüdhaven, no future outside the crippling empty feeling of sitting in Titan's Tower, wondering if he'd always felt this way and just never noticed it, because he couldn't remember anything else. 'I wanted to.'

Bruce didn't move for a long moment, and although Robin didn't look up, he could feel his stare boring into the back of his neck. Then, finally, Bruce sat. Or rather, he fell into the chair at Robin's bedside, burying his face in his hands.

Slowly, finally, he lowered them, letting out a sigh. 'I didn't just mean the sex, Dick.' He grimaced, but spoke softly, sounding as though he was having to force every word with as much difficulty as Robin. 'You're telling me Slade's never made you do anything—not a single thing—that made you uncomfortable? Nothing you didn't want to do?'

Robin tensed.

The black material clenched tight in his fist. 'I am not wearing my damn apprentice clothes!'

Bruce didn't seem to notice. 'Nothing that ever forced you to be reliant on him?'

Slade's grip, tight on his wrist as he went to peel the mask off. 'It's not a mask. It's a blindfold …'

'Nothing to pull you away from your friends?'

Slade drawing him in across the bed, Robin's heart racing because of course he couldn't leave the tower and live with Slade, that was ridiculous. But Slade's voice was smooth and glad. 'It's an excellent idea …'

Robin didn't speak. He couldn't. He felt like he was being eaten alive from the inside. It wasn't right. It couldn't be right. Bruce just didn't understand. He was panicking, because of course he'd panic—anyone would panic if they found out their son was sleeping with a man like Slade. He was making complicated things look way too simple.

'Slade wants what he's always wanted,' Bruce sighed, elbows on his knees, back hunched. 'He wants you, standing right there next to him, doing whatever he tells you.'

'No,' Robin croaked. 'That's not—'

'Call me Master …'

He shuddered, and broke off.

'It's just this time, Slade was smart about it,' Bruce said. 'He waited until you were vulnerable, and he gave you what you wanted so you'd feel like you owed him. And then he gave you something more, and you owed him a little more. Until you trusted him, and you started making excuses for him. Until you started thinking what he wanted was actually what you wanted.' Bruce spread his hands. 'Dick, when we spoke before, you were ready to drop your friends—your entire life—and run off with him. Can't you see how insane that is?'

The shame was gone, but that was mostly because Robin didn't feel anything anymore. He felt like paper. Like he was emptied out. The only thing worth being alive for, and it was all some manipulation tactic?

No. He didn't believe it.

Except … he kind of did.

It didn't even hurt. It should've hurt. But it was as if, deep down, he'd always known this was coming, and the sharp edges were already worn away.

Bruce sat up, shaking his head. 'You know, I expected this kind of crap from Jason, but you were always so sensible.'

It was like a punch straight to the chest. The pain returned, hard and blinding, enough for him to wish for that numbness back. Robin hunched, the breath going out of him. Perfect fucking Dick Grayson—the perfect little prodigy—fucking whore—

He couldn't stop Jason's voice in his head.

And he couldn't stop the sob that burst out of him.

He lowered his head, hands crawling up into his hair so he could bury his face in his forearms. His shoulders shook and his chest heaved, his face burning with shame. He hadn't cried like this since he was small. He'd broken bones, lost friends, seen the sky blacken the world burn—and he hadn't once cried like this.

And now he couldn't stop.

He heard Bruce shift, and hunched lower, waiting for the next blow. Whatever Bruce said, it couldn't be worse than this.

But Bruce pulled him into a hug.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' There was a note of panic in his tone. His chin moved against the top of Robin's head, and he pulled Robin close against his chest. 'I've got you. I'm sorry.'

'He was my brother,' Robin choked. 'I should have protected him. He was my brother and I let him die—'

'No, no, no, no.' Bruce loosed his grip for just a moment, as if trying to look down at him, but then only held him tighter. 'How could you blame yourself? It wasn't your fault.'

Robin curled his knees in closer, wishing he could curl up small enough to disappear. 'I should never have left Gotham.' He had to force every word out, gasping between tears. 'If I'd stayed I could've helped. I could've stopped him.'

'No—'

'I could've tried!' Robin burst. 'I could've just been there. That's what a big brother is meant to do! And instead I was miles away, eating pizza and watching TV and being useless while Jason died!'

Bruce was quiet for a long time, just holding Robin until the tears subsided. Then he rubbed Robin's back while Robin brushed tears off his face roughly, sniffing. When Robin raised his head, Bruce slowly let him go. Reaching for Robin's bedside table, Bruce picked up a box of tissues and set them gently in Robin's lap.

'Thanks,' Robin muttered. He felt drained, as if someone had stuck a needle in him and sucked the life out. His head pounded, right at the base of his skull, and just beneath his eyes. Yanking out several tissues, he cleared his face, then scrunched them into a ball.

Bruce hovered for a moment, and then sat back on his plastic chair. 'I had no idea you blamed yourself like this.'

Robin shrugged miserably.

'It's not your fault.' Bruce sighed. 'If anything, Jason would blame me.'

'He doesn't blame you,' Robin croaked, staring at his hands.

'No, I'm sure—' Bruce stopped abruptly. 'What did you say?'

Robin's hands shook in his lap. But he was already plummeting. Might as well hit the bottom. 'Jason doesn't blame you.' With an enormous effort, he raised his head and looked at Bruce. He couldn't bring his voice above a whisper. 'But he hates me.'

Bruce's face went grey. For a moment, he had no expression, none at all. And then his brow knitted, his mouth turning down in a horrified stare. 'Dick … what are you saying?'

Another sob rose in Robin's throat, and he swallowed it down. He touched his chest, fingers not quite brushing the bandages over his burn. Bruce glanced down, noticing the touch, and his eyes widened.

Robin swallowed, lowering his hand.

'The killer. It was … it's Jason.'