Hey, first off, anyone noticed how much fanfictionnet has changed? It's pretty cool now, what with email alerts for people adding you to Favourites and Alerts Lists and the new feature to the profiles, where it lists how many stories you have and what categories you have written for. Nice touch, I think.

On the other hand, there's a new profanity blocker in place. It's possibly only on reviews, which is great news, since it will stop flamers from being so abusive (that's possibly why it was put in). I'm hoping it's not in stories, though. I know some people don't agree with swearing and that's fine, that's not what I meant; it's just that sometimes swearing can help with impact. I don't overuse it, personally, only using it to underline things and make them stand out. I also try to avoid it in Teen Titans fiction because it makes them sound OOC if they're swearing all the time. BUT I do use it from time to time, as I'm sure you've noticed… Plus if people have used swearing and the site is censoring the words, it gets confusing, since you don't know what it is the author was trying to say… AND it is censoring even words like "ass". An EXCELLENT weapon against flamers, though. FINALLY, ffnet.

Anyway, thankyou to: Quinn and His Quill (hope you liked your cameo role in Teen Titans: Comedy Club, dude! And 6 pages, like I said); KGDiva (you see, it censored part of your review! It wasn't even a bad word, either… I think you'll like this chapter, BTW); Guardian of Azarath (enjoy your Batman: TAS fest, my friend! And you may have figured our Noir, homie, but you ain't got this one, nyah!); Still Sketchin' (why thankyou for the donation! You have reviewed me before, I seriously recognize your pen-name. Or maybe I'm on your Favourites List? As for fight scenes, what can I say? I used to be addicted to Tekken 3, and Ling Xiaoyu was my main gal. Actually, I admit that some of the moves that Robin "uses" in my fics are taken from her. Dragonfly kick? That's Xiaoyu's move. Also, reading Buffy the Vampire Slayer novels helps a lot, too. That's my advice if you want to write a good fight scene: Tekken 3 and Buffy novels!); Crazy Insomniac (I honestly think Hell would be a better place for Slade at this point, rather than Arkham… Don't worry about Raven, BTW! She'll be fine… ish…); Me (you know perfectly well why you are annoying!And Slade… heh, you'll see…); Someone (mm hmm, I hate exams… Eleven hours of Philosophy and Ethics revision led me to write Teen Titans: Comedy Club. Which is… wacked. And I'm glad you take pride in being annoying with your pen-name, because you're good at it…); Narroch (who has, since leaving this review, vanished off the face of the Earth AGAIN. Well, here is more, but where are you? O.o); LoopyLouise123 (well, yeah, I guess you could say his life sucks. Wahey, it's about to get a whole lot worse for him!); Simmie (well, I'm out of Author Idol, but I'm still following the competition. We're on the final round now. The last one standing after this will be the overall Author Idol winner. I hope your exams went well, BTW!); Haikku (yay, you came back! Don't worry, Slade and Robin will be "resolving" their issues very soon…); Chanceless (wow, what a review! Oh dear me, no! I'm not patronizing you! It really means a lot to me that even one person reads and comments on my story, because, at the end of the day, its not like any of you guys have to. It must be because you like it, so that's really nice, so of course I would never patronize anyone who said something nice about my fic, especially not to you, m'dear, since you seem so enthusiastic:) I'm going to get everyone information on Author Idol Season Two when it starts up, so don't worry. I can't yet though, because the first competition is still going. You should totally enter, though! As for Robin, he's not QUITE at the "suburban emo kid in the oversized sweater" stage, but I like that image! And it's okay to be homosexually open-minded, dude – just remember that Robin isn't! He's a homophobe now in this, not that you can blame the poor little mite… Thanks for the really long review, Chanceless!); and TheFallenAngel67 (the battle only gets harsher, dude! Brace yourself! And yeah I guess Robin is skilled, but he was taught by Teh Batman!111!lolz!… So… yeah… Good on him).

Final Destination

"Next time," Slade whispered, "it will be your head…"

With an enraged cry, Robin broke free of his trance and dashed full pelt at Slade once more, his entire lithe body already angled to strike a devastating blow—

He uppercut him again, twisting his arm to deliver a cracking backhand. Sending him staggering, Robin pivoted into a roundhouse, following through with his hips and spine to give it as much power as was possible. He stepped back to shift his weight, cracking his right leg up into a split kick that caught Slade in the throat. It was very painful in those tight leather pants, and he winced as he recoiled his leg, reminding himself to get back into his more-comfortable spandex ones ASAP.

Slade threw his bo staff aside – he hadn't even lifted it since smacking Robin over the head with it initially – and stepped back to recover. He massaged his neck above his steel neck-plate, his single eye narrowed and fixed on Robin.

In a weird mood of humour, Robin felt the desire to say something perky. Or a pun. A quip. Something.

But this wasn't Mad Mod he was fighting. It wasn't the Amazing Mumbo, or Johnny Rancid, or Doctor Light.

This was Slade.

And perkiness, puns and quips were three things that did not go down well with him.

Especially now that his main goal was not to bait Robin, or even corrupt him; but to kill him.

Still, it was tempting.

Slade promptly stamped on his desires-of-perkiness as easily as he had done the birdarangs as he flitted at him. Instinctively Robin spread his weight, crossing and locking his arms across his upper torso and face to protect himself from the worst of the blow.

In theory.

He realised far too late that he shouldn't have left his lower half unprotected – and with his legs apart like that to ground his weight – when Slade brought his knee up into his crotch.

For a few seconds he stood there rigid, locked in burning agony, his eyes so wide they hurt.

Then he duly doubled over and collapsed, his pained yell quavering with tears. He curled up on the floor, quivering and groaning and biting his lip to stop from crying.

That was it now. He was in no fit state to keep fighting after that. He couldn't even get his breath. All he could do was lie there curled in masculine agony and wait for his brains to be blown out.

For all his speed, all his agility, all his skill… and all Slade's skill… He had been downed by the oldest and dirtiest and commonest trick of all; a good hard whack to that area and he was down for the count.

"I admit that was low, Robin," Slade murmured. "What can I say? You've had it coming…"

Robin struggled to get up but he was in so much pain it was impossible to even straighten out.

"I hate you," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"For that?" Slade sounded surprised. "I've put you in worse pain than that, Robin. Arkham Asylum, remember? I nearly killed you then…"

Robin was in no mood to reminisce about other times Slade had beaten him up, curled up on the floor in the agony that he was. Sometimes being a guy was really not fun at all…

Slade slipped the gun from his belt again, cocking it with an almost-silent, yet terrifying click.

Getupgetupgetup… Robin's brain screamed the mantra at him over and over again. Get up before he kills you…

His crotch disagreed, however.

Screw it.

He didn't want to die. He didn't want to have his brains blown five square metres across the basement floor of Wayne Enterprises. But he couldn't do anything to remedy his imposing death sentence, because he couldn't get up. He simply could not get up.

So he moaned and writhed on the floor helplessly, curled up, one hand gripping his affliction, the other wrenching at his hair to perhaps try to balance out the pain.

And waited for his arch-nemesis to kill him.

What a way to die…

But nothing came.

And finally he managed to lift his head, grimacing against the pain still blazing in his most sensitive area. It was so bad he felt dizzy and sick with it.

Slade was still standing over him, idly twirling the gun in his right hand; not even aimed at him. Robin wanted to scream at him what he was doing; why hadn't he killed him already?! But that would be to invite death; to vocally invite it. Robin was not that stupid.

Was Slade waiting for him to recover? Why? Why didn't he just kill him? That was what he wanted, wasn't it?

"Perhaps you wonder what I am doing, dear Robin," Slade whispered silkily.

Robin gave a little grunt of pain in reply, trying again to straighten out. He failed, but it was beginning to subside.

Slightly.

Slade chuckled slightly to himself, the sound chilling. Robin shivered at the sound of it – and then winced as it caused him more pain. Being a guy sucked… not that he wanted to be the Girl Wonder. Not at all. But still, it sucked ass

"I am going to kill you of course, boy," Slade murmured; his voice had taken on a wild, high lilt, cracking at the end of every sentence as though he was constantly asking a question, when in fact he was creating them. He sounded… mad

"But I can't," he went on, his voice suddenly dropping to a hushed whisper. "I can't… not yet. The shadows have not yet told me to do so…"

Robin blinked up at him, not sure if he had heard that last part right. Had Slade really said that? Waiting for the shadows to tell him?!

Detective as he was, Robin realised that you didn't have to be the equivalent of a teenaged Sherlock Holmes to figure out that Terra was right; Slade seriously had a screw loose. Not in the same way as Bruce; truthfully, Robin had barely noticed the villain's madness until right now, when he had just said that… utterly… un-Slade-like comment… Not even Raven would say that; and at least in Raven's case, it would probably be true

Well, good on those shadows; let's hope they wait, say… half a century before they give you the "Open fire!" order…

"Can't you hear them, Robin?" Slade murmured distractedly, lowering the gun as though he had forgotten he still held it in his hand. He rocked back a little, looking at the ceiling. "They speak… they whisper of your death… they anticipate it… they wish to bathe in your blood, just as I do…"

Know what I hear? Looney asylum sirens…

He was tempted to voice that quip, more out of contempt than anything else, but didn't.

Don't. Invite. Death. You. Moron…

It would be foolish to do otherwise. If Slade was his normal, not-mad sadistic self, Robin knew he would be dead. Splattered across a 20 foot radius; blood and brains and black leather everywhere. Kablammo! Gone.

But he wasn't. Slade was a loony; Robin may have only just noticed, but Slade was a loony. It was the only reason Robin was still mercifully in the Land of the Living and he knew he should be damn well grateful for it.

"They talk to me sometimes," Slade went on, now seemingly oblivious to Robin, who was grimacing in agony as he uncurled himself; one hand still gripped his burning crotch. "They tell me of the prophecies written in the stars… they tell me that you are soon to die… My powers have granted me this…"

Robin looked at him bewilderment. What was he talking about? He didn't have any powers; that was why he had come here tonight, played right into Seth's hands. Because he had wanted powers.

And somehow Robin got the impression that these "conferences with the shadows" were a new thing that Slade had just come up with; that he only seemed to remember doing before. The man was insane; hearing voices, creating false memories which he had never experienced. And driven to this mental stated all because of an empty promise of universal power.

All because of a lie.

Again, Robin could not pity him; he could only feel hatred towards this man who had already destroyed so much – so many lives – for his own greed. But he could pity the fact of the situation; that the man, who had once been clever, articulate, scheming… everything that Robin hated yet secretly admired, had become reduced to this. It dispelled his mind beyond belief to comprehend that men of such strength – Bruce, Luthor, Slade – could be reduced to these empty, maddened shells of what they once had been; nothing more than mere corpses of greatness.

It pained him to realise that he too could become this; and, most terrifyingly of all, with little to no effort on his part.

All too often, Slade had said that Robin was destined to – eventually and inevitably – become him.

Was this what he had meant?

Was thisNightwing?

Getting to his feet was agony; his knees buckled as he straightened up and he wanted to just collapse again and huddle into a little mewling ball and let the pain wear off. But doing that would mean certain death, and he could suffer a "bit" of bruising to his sensitive area if it meant being alive to feel it.

Slade snapped to attention as he saw Robin's movement out of the corner of his eye, jerking his head to face the boy in a way that made Robin feel sick; it looked as though his neck was broken, as though he was dead… His grip on the gun tightened again and he raised it jerkily, like a puppet controlled by someone who has not yet mastered the art of it. Suddenly himself again – or so it appeared to Robin, anyway – his cold grey eye narrowed and his finger tightened suddenly on the trigger—

Robin ducked the shot by less than an inch, rolling and scraping into a low phoenix stance. His crotch positively screamed but he tried his very best to ignore it; not an easy feat, as the pain was beginning to make him feel sick despite its slight subsidation.

Slade aimed the gun at Robin again.

"The shadows say it is time…" he hissed.

Robin darted upwards as he said it, leaping and twisting in mid-air, cracking the gun from Slade's hand with a devastating dragonfly kick. Slade gave a cry of angered pain as something in his hand snapped from the impact and the gun was sent spinning across the floor, bouncing a few times before coming to a halt quite a long way away.

Robin landed in a crouch and swung his weight upwards, driving it to a central point behind his elbow as he slammed it upwards into Slade's jaw. Another cry; and Slade staggered backwards, clutching at his jawline, as Robin collapsed to one knee to conserve himself. He was exhausted and in agony, but all in all thought he was faring pretty well; he had gotten rid of the main threat – the gun.

Now all he had to do was deal with the secondary threat – Slade himself.

Trouble was, he had no idea how this fight was going to end.

Slade straightened, clenching his fists in absolute fury. That damned boy; that wretched teenaged boy, bane of his life… Still, he had had the satisfaction of killing him once before; now it seemed that he was to be granted that pleasure once again. Fate was a kind mistress sometimes…

And Robin was surely easy pickings now. He was slowed and in masculine agony – an affliction adolescence was not kind to – and could barely stand up straight. He watched with a smile on his face beneath the mask as poor Robin forced himself to get up again, sweat glistening on his brow. The boy swayed but stood as firm as he was able, his pale face a perfect picture of defiance and determination.

Oh yes, he was going to enjoy killing him again.

Still, his hand ached beyond belief from the impact of Robin's heavy boot, and he could barely curl it into a fist.

Strike One for the Boy-freaking-Wonder.

Slade sprang forwards, his foot already in a vivid arcing motion—

Robin made a strangled crying sound as the kick collided with him square in the solar plexus, throwing him backwards to the concrete floor in a heap.

Strike Two for Slade.

The villain turned and began to lazily saunter in the direction of the gun, discarded some 20ft away. Desperately, Robin watched him, struggling to his feet again.

Pain could not slow him. Too much was at stake…

He threw himself into Slade from behind, his entire weight and momentum barrelling into his enemy and sending them both sprawling. They tumbled over and over, coming to rest in an entangled heap.

Ignoring his own pain; and Slade's expletives and grabs at him, Robin kicked free and dived for the gun. The cold metal came into his hand as he rolled over and came into a crouch.

His gloved fingers tightened over it, the weapon falling perfectly into the form of his curled hand. His finger brushed the trigger, settling comfortably in it.

His masked blue eyes narrowed.

He slowly stood.

Slade stood with equal languidness and cautiousness.

The gun aimed at his heart. At the middle of the "X" Robin had slashed there.

X marks the spot.

Slade smiled behind his mask.

"You wouldn't dare, boy," he hissed. "You haven't the nerve…"

Robin swallowed; the gun shifted slightly in his grip.

Said nothing.

Slade laughed sardonically.

"I thought not. You are weak, boy. Your desire to do good makes you weak…"

Robin's eyes narrowed; his finger twitched on the trigger.

This was what he was here for.

Kill Slade

End it.

Avenge.

But Slade was right; he couldn't squeeze the trigger.

The prophecy isn't real, he reasoned wildly, shutting his eyes for a brief second. You don't have to kill; you weren't born for this. You have a purpose beyond what you believe to be expected of you. Nothing is written in stone…

"I always respected you, Robin," Slade crooned, his tone so maddeningly mocking Robin very nearly shot him there and then. "I always admired your nobility; your determination to get the job done no matter what. Your ability to always overcome every problem that came your way…"

His eye flashed mockingly.

"Until we reach this," he whispered silkily. "What you might call "The Final Problem", hmm?"

Robin winced at that jibe; a Sherlock Holmes reference. The supposed "final" tale in which Holmes and Moriarty, unable to prevail over one another, simply died together. The final struggle that saw them fall into an eternal abyss; of both Reichenbach Falls, and of the void of their hatred for one another—

"I'm not going to die!" Robin snapped, clenching his free hand into a fist. "You are! You're going to pay for everything you've done; to Terra, to Roy, to Bruce, to the Titans, to everyone who fought against you, to this city, to the entire United States of… to the… It ends now, Slade!"

Slade laughed his cold, cruel laugh.

"And who is going to "end" it, Robin?" He gasped. "You?!" He sniggered some more. "Your arrogance blinds you, boy. You do not know how to fire. You are a superhero…"

His laugh died and then all there was with that steel-bending gaze.

"…Superheroes don't kill."

And something in Robin quietly snapped. His entire body became cold and numb, his blue eyes seemed to burn, his mouth became dry.

He looked at the masked man before him and hatred arose within him unlike any emotion he had ever felt.

He had to—

"I'm not a superhero," he whispered. "I'm the Avenger."

His finger closed on the trigger with a sudden jerking, spasmodic movement that he barely controlled.

There was a BLAM that he barely followed; his hearing seemed to have waned considerably.

Slade did not utter a sound; his single eye widened and then there was sudden explosion of blood that splattered all over Robin.

He blinked as it splashed all up his face, but otherwise he did not move at all.

Slade collapsed and moved no more; a pool of blood quickly spread beneath him.

His single grey lifeless.

A sudden tremor overtook the Boy Wonder and the gun fell from his hand, clattering on the concrete floor.

Emotions sudden thundered throughout him in a tsunami of indescribable confusion.

His stomach heaved.

Looking wildly up, he saw the ascending metal staircase leading up a platform at the other side, with a door to in and out of the warehouse through. It looked like the one from West Side Story.

Such sentiment was forgotten to him as he made a sudden mad dash for it.

He forgot everything. Slade. Raven. Seth. The prophecy.

He just needed to get outside; breathe fresh air…

-He staggered up the last few steps and pushed down the bar and broke out into the night. The door swung shut behind him and he found himself on another metal platform, this time – from his perspective – those twisting steps leading down.

He was at the back of Wayne Enterprises. Beyond stretched the latter ruins of Gotham City.

It was raining, clouds of damp dust rising above the ruins.

Collapsing to his knees – his crotch still aching, his stomach still smarting – Robin bent over and threw up every last scrap of whatever little there was in his stomach. He retched in the aftermath of it, sickened further by the taste of bile in his throat.

Nothing more.

Shaking, he knelt up again.

He had killed someone. He was a murderer

Murderermurderermurderer…

He wiped his face, his hands coming away bloody. His front was splattered with it; his hair was matted with it.

The events of the night running right up to the "Final Problem" ran through his head; the breaking-in, the confrontation with Slade, the revealment of Slade's seer as Seth Elliott, Seth's real prophecy, Robin's true role in his plans, the truth of everything, his near death in the portal, the arrival of the Senate, his and Raven's escape, Seth's final vengeance, Robin second agonizing brush with death at Seth's hand, Raven's destruction of him once and for all, and then Slade all over again…

"The Final Problem" indeed.

He tried to puke again but there was nothing left for him to force from his body.

He looked up at the murky, polluted sky of the broken city.

Not a star in sight; nor even the moon. The murky cloud that was always there simply eclipsed them.

That much he knew.

Robin screamed.

He screamed everything; everything he felt. All that was within him. Pain and hatred and fear and anguish and confusion.

He screamed and screamed and screamed until he could scream no more.

And then, when he had collapsed on the wet metal boardwalk with the exhaustion of it, he sobbed.

"You'll catch your death."

Robin started and looked up, recognising that voice—

Batman loomed over him in full gear, the rain making the pointed ears of his cowl droop a little. His cape – sodden – was wrapped around his body.

Well, at least he recognised him.

Robin had not heard him ascend the metal staircase; but then, that was part of what made him so effectively scary.

Another tap on the metal indicated that Bruce had brought company along for the ride; tilting his head, Robin saw Lex Luthor standing on the last step, one foot on the platform. He had a tan leather trenchcoat thrown on over his untucked white shirt, loose black tie and torn trousers, and looked colder and wetter than he would have desired to be.

"Get up, Dick," Batman commanded. "You shouldn't sit out in the rain."

Robin wiped his face, feeling the tears starting again.

"Bruce, I-" He started, his voice quavering.

"You killed him," Batman finished shortly. "I know."

Robin blinked through his tears.

"What? How?"

"I knew you would," Batman replied blandly. "You had to. You do what is right; that is what I taught you to do. To protect the good and uphold the law."

"But I broke the law!" Robin wailed miserably. "I murdered him!"

"And you've saved the world by doing so. Congratulations. I could not have done better myself."

Robin stared at him.

"Didn't you hear me? I murdered him! I shot him! You hate guns, you hate—"

"Robin," Lex interjected quietly from the back, "there is no-one here to prosecute you. What you have done is good. I know you don't understand that, but Bruce is right – you've just saved the world."

Robin opened his mouth to reply—

The door behind him opened again and Terra burst through it, the "murder weapon" clutched in one hand, Arsenal's bow and quiver of arrows in her other. Arsenal followed, Raven in his arms.

"Robin!"

Terra was knelt beside him in a flash, her arms going around him in a tight embrace. Her blonde hair fell like a curtain across him, separating him from the rest of the dark rainy world.

"We were so scared Slade had killed you!" She whispered frantically. "But then we—"

"I killed him, Terra!" Robin sobbed, clutching at her in utter misery.

"I know, baby. It's okay, it's really okay…"

Batman snorted and turned away, facing Lex.

"Help me back down," he said, still in that clipped tone. Lex outstretched his arm around the other man and together they slowly made their way back down the steps.

"Come!" Batman called back up to the others. "There is plenty of room in the Batmobile."

Terra and Arsenal exchanged wild looks.

"It's alright, I'm driving!" Lex shouted up wearily, as though knowing of their thoughts.

Arsenal raised his eyebrows.

"Guess Brucie decided to show up after all. Missed all the action, mind…"

"One of his weird notions, probably," Terra responded dryly. "Come on, Robin—up you get…"

Terra hauled Robin to his feet; his confidence and determination of only ten minutes before had fled him completely, leaving him a weeping wreck. Terra put her arm around his shoulders and led him down the staircase, closely followed by Arsenal precariously making his way down clutching the unconscious pregnant Raven.

"You did it, Robin," Terra whispered, giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay now, baby. You did it. It's all over now; it's over…"

Robin looked up at the sky and let the rain wash the blood from his face.

He looked back at Raven, her stomach swollen by pregnancy.

He felt the knife in his belt.

He thought of the gear; and the Clock of Eternity.

The Titans' deaths.

No, it was not over; that much was certain.

He still had a long way to go until he had reached his so-called "final destination".


Firstly, I want to apologize to all the gentlemen in the audience (I know there are three of you, I suspect there are more…) for the empathic "Ooooooh…" you no doubt felt at a certain point in this chapter.

"Mwa ha ha," says the female author.

Would Robin ever kill? Debatable question. There is Haunted to consider, where he's so psychotic he threatens his own friends, and Trouble in Tokyo, where he goes so far overboard he technically he does "kill" Saico-Tek. That would possibly leave you swaying towards a "Yes" (although I hadn't seen Trouble in Tokyo when I wrote this chapter). Moving outside of Teen Titans Animated, however, Dick Grayson is a bit stricter on the whole "Don't kill your enemies" thing. In The New Teen Titans, he admits that Starfire frightens him because she is a warrior and doesn't know where to draw the line when fighting bad guys; and there's also the more recent storyline in the monthly Nightwing series, where he sort of goes into this spiralling depression, consumed with guilt because he didn't stop Tarantula from shooting Blockbuster.

So… tough thing to consider. I debated doing it for months while I was leading up to this part in the fic. I almost didn't.

But… I did.

So… yeah. Give me your thoughts on this turn. I think it's an interesting one, if maybe not right.

Oh, and I was on a Sherlock Holmes obsessive streak while I was writing this chapter, hence the incredibly detailed reference. My one and only Sherlock Holmes one-shot, Protégé Moi, was written at the same time as this.

-RobinRocks xXx