Teen Titans
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By Cyberwraith9
Red Robin: Justice
A Californian chill hung beneath a blanket of stars. Beyond the island's edge, Jump Bay murmured peacefully at high tide, and beyond that, the city stood dark and silent.
Superboy leaned back on the long, scorched, warped I-beam set alongside a campfire ring in the Titans' backyard. He watched Cyborg fill the circle of stones with wooden debris, and remarked, "These are some real nice digs you've got here. It's no Watchtower, but it has a certain rustic charm."
Cyborg hunched over the kindling and flipped his thumb tip back. A lighter extended from the open digit, which he flicked in vain to create a flame. After weeks of use without refill or repair, his lesser systems were beginning to suffer. "I didn't realize that super-comedy was part of the Kryptonian package," he grumbled.
"Here, allow me." Superboy began rubbing his thumb and forefinger vigorously. Smoke drifted from his blurring hand, until the tips of his glove glowed white hot. He pressed his hand to the kindling, which smoldered, and then sparked into an infant flame.
Begrudgingly, Cyborg grunted in gratitude, and began feeding the flame with incrementally larger pieces of detritus he had salvaged from the city. "So, you know Robin?" he asked.
Superboy grinned. "The big bad bird and me have been friends practically all my life. Granted, that doesn't mean as much when you're a little less than two, but still. I owe him a lot, which is why I'm actually debasing myself to the point of being seen in California."
"You're a real hero," Cyborg said snidely. "I'm just glad you could take the time to help out your pal in the aftermath of all this darned inconvenient tragedy."
The Teen of Tomorrow shrugged. "Hey, the world keeps on turning, right? In the last month, I've been blown up, had my aging stopped and jump-started, traveled through time, got cloned, and got adopted by one of my dads' families. You guys have it rough here, but it's a big world. Besides, from the way Robin talks about you guys, I always figured you had the sitch locked up."
Curiosity and apprehension trickled through Cyborg's circuits. "Robin told you about us?"
"We wrote and called pretty regularly up until a few months ago. I just thought he was caught up in an investigation, like the one time with that orange dude. Slate? Whatever. It wasn't until this morning, when I saw him doing some kind of firefly routine, that I thought something was seriously wrong."
Cyborg paused and stared into the fire. Then he asked, "Cloned? Seriously?"
"A clone of a clone is an ugly thing," Superboy said soberly. "And I mean that in a lot of ways."
A small box landed next to the fire, tossed carelessly by Beast Boy before he sat down next to Superboy. Raven and Starfire weren't far behind. "Dude, it's so weird that you know Robin. Who knew he was a person before he came here?" said Beast Boy.
"That's funny coming from the green kid who claws up his tent in his sleep," Raven deadpanned.
Beast Boy's ears dipped at her dig, but then sprang up at Superboy's laugh. "He was a real blast in his sidekick days. I thought Batman was gonna blow a blood vessel when he boosted the Batmobile so we could go cruising."
"No. Way." Beast Boy scoured Superboy's face for the slightest sign of duplicity and found none. "Robin's always yelled at me just for playing games on the Titan mainframe. You're not telling me he stole anything, let alone Batman's car."
"Heh. Yeah. I tell you, it's cool that he moved so far away—what's two thousand miles to the guy who flies, right? But there are times when I seriously miss Tim."
Superboy leaned forward and looked back with a reminiscent glaze in his eyes. It was several seconds' worth of ominous silence before he realized that all of the Titans were staring. Raven and Starfire had frozen in the middle of pulling cans out of the box Beast Boy had brought. Even Cyborg's ocular implant looked larger as it bathed Superboy in red incredulity.
Superboy slapped his forehead and groaned. "Oh, no. You guys didn't know his real name? Crap, he's gonna be pissed. I'm a little new to the dual identity thing."
"He told you his name?" It was the first time Starfire had spoken since Superboy's arrival, and it came in a voice too miniscule for the alien warrior. "You know him?"
He glanced about, confused. "Yeah," he said slowly. "You know his name too, right?"
Beast Boy exploded, "Dude! We waited for, like, ever for him to tell us something. We had to do this massive beach vacation before he even ponied up his first name!"
"Stupid, self-indulgent waste of time," Raven muttered of the beach trip.
"Look, guys," Superboy said, feeling self-conscious amidst the referential conversation, "I don't want to seem ungrateful for the hospitality. Really, uh…" He caught a look at the can in Starfire's hand, and said, "Baked beans really hit the spot after an all day flight. But do you guys know when Tim's gonna get back?"
Again the campfire circle lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Superboy looked among their varying expressions. He stopped upon Cyborg's stony quiet, which broke to say, "He won't."
Beast Boy glanced at the silent Starfire. "He has some…new digs in town. Doesn't get by very often. Or at all."
"Oh. Okay." Superboy looked around a moment more, clearly embarrassed, as though he wished he had never bothered to come at all. "So where can I find him?"
"Can't you use your super-vision to find him?" Raven asked snidely.
"If I had supervision, I wouldn't have flown cross-country to camp out underneath a giant letter." Superboy's laughter and smile died quickly under Raven's withering glare. "No? Nothing? Okay. Seriously, if someone could point me in the right…"
He trailed off as the Titans stood and left one by one. Cyborg went first without saying another word. Beast Boy left last, but offered Superboy an apologetic shrug. As they walked back toward their tower, the Boy of Steel found himself alone with a morose alien and a crackling fire.
With a deep breath, he drew himself up. "Sure. Fine. So glad I could meet the great bunch of friends Tim told me all about," he called to their backs. "You guys have been terrific. Jerks."
He was about to take to the skies when Starfire's quiet voice stopped him. "You know Tim?"
Superboy paused to examine her. She stood as tall as he, which was a rarity to a teen already over the six foot mark. If he had never met her, Superboy could have painted exactly the girl before him from the collective hours of phone conversations and letters Tim had spent talking about her. Only one detail would be different in Superboy's rendition; her eyes, which Superboy had heard endlessly "shone like stars," or something equally as poetically obnoxious, were now listless and dull.
He floated back to the island and stared at her listless eyes. "He told you who he is?" she asked. Her voice broke as her eyes began to shimmer in the firelight. "He took off his mask for you? He let you…know him?"
The discomfort Superboy felt grew to extremes. "This is getting a little weird, but…yeah. Tim and I were pals. Like I said, he's my first friend, and I'm worried about him. And I'm wondering why his other friends aren't out there knocking some sense into him. Aren't you his best friend?"
Starfire looked away to hide her tears. She clenched her chest to keep the sobbing from her voice. "I will tell you where you may find him," she said.
"Thank you!" Superboy said exasperatedly.
And I pray to X'hal that he will listen to you, she added silently.
Jump City looked bleak from overhead. For the second week straight, it remained ominously dark. The whisper of the wind traveling its empty streets was the only sound to reach his sharp ears. Moonlight glinted in the open scars too numerable to count. The city looked dead.
Robin perched in the sky with his glowing gaze pointed down. He did not bob in the air or move with the wind. It was as though he stood upon a column a mile high. He had not moved in hours, and would not move until he was needed. Every sense strained, heightened with extraterrestrial might, driven by very terrestrial anger, to scour his city. Because of this, he felt and heard the air parting, and spotted his visitor well before the jacketed figure in red and blue reached him.
"Hey! Tim!" Superboy called. He reached Robin's height and floated even with him. An infectious smile lit his face as he slid his sunglasses down his nose. "Man, I was starting to think I'd never catch up to you. This is a hell of a spot you picked for yourself. Windy much?"
Not one muscle in Robin's tensed body twitched at his arrival. "Kon-El," he said plainly in greeting.
Superboy snorted. "Oh, come on. You aren't even a little surprised to see me?"
"I don't do 'surprise.' What do you want?"
"What, that's it? 'What do you want?' I came here to see you, bird brain!" Superboy's frown came quickly and disappeared quicker. "C'mon, let's ditch these clouds and go grab a slice of pie. I've got, like, a ton to tell you. These last couple of months have been crazy."
"I'm busy."
"Busy?" Superboy echoed. He looked down. The silent city looked back. "Busy with what? Is the city going to sneak out after curfew? Come on, my treat. Ma and Pa gave me an advance on my allowance. Oh! I have a ma and pa now. And an allowance. Another name, too. Crazy, huh?"
"I'm busy."
Superboy's frown lingered this time. He circled Robin, who acted as though he didn't exist. "Okay, see, this is why I came. In the last four months, I've seen you for about thirty seconds, and that was on the news. You turn red and glowy, and you can't even call? I fly out, and you can't take an hour to mooch some pie?"
Robin's eyes flicked briefly to Superboy. "I don't eat anymore," he said. Then his eyes narrowed on the landscape. He inverted and dove in a blur of motion.
The supersonic crack of Robin's exit rang in Superboy's ears. He shook them clear and followed. "Who the hell says 'no' to pie?" he muttered.
Down at the feet of the tall, torn skyscrapers, a titanic struggle raged between two men over a nondescript brown box. The children of one of the men huddled behind a battered mailbox as they watched their father grunt and swear with his fingers crinkling the cardboard. Finally, the father stumbled back with the box in tow. He clutched his prize and glared at the other man. "You get the hell away!" he yelled.
The other man's eyes glinted. He reached into his jacket and produced a cheap revolver, which he brandished at the father with the skill of a cinematic henchman. "I tried being nice," he said with an edged voice. "Now give me the box!"
The father dropped the box and stepped between his shrieking children and the gunman. Even as the gunman approached warily, his shaking revolver aimed at the father's chest, the father cried, "Don't do this. My family—"
His plea fell silent as a heavenly bolt of scarlet enveloped the gunman's hand. He screamed and fell away from the box. The remnants of his gun dripped to the ground. He wrapped himself fetal around what remained of his hand and sobbed curses.
Robin descended, his haunting mask of light glaring from his eyes. More light trickled from his fists, which wrapped into the gunman's jacket and hauled him off the ground. The gunman's pleas devolved into terror as Robin's eyes flared. "Jump City has no room for your kind," Robin growled.
Tears dribbled from the man's gaunt face. "Please," he blubbered. His hair and brows smoldered beneath Robin's glare. His tears steamed, boiling angry red streaks into his face.
"ROBIN!" Superboy landed heavily behind him, startling the victimized family. Their cries made him turn. He offered them a calming gesture, and then picked up their box. A peek inside the contested package revealed a blanket and a few canned goods. He handed the food to the grateful father, who ushered his awestruck children away with all due haste. "Robin, it's just food. Back off," said Superboy.
Robin's glare continued unabated. "He's a thief," Robin uttered of the man writhing in his grasp. Suddenly, the gunman was gone. Robin saw Superboy easing him onto the pavement several feet away.
Superboy felt his innards twist at the stump where the man's hand had been. The flesh around it looked like melted wax with bits of bone sticking out. Blisters oozed on the man's cherry red face. Gritting his teeth, Superboy looked back and said, "He's just some hungry schmuck."
Robin approached the pair in slow, measured steps. His glare narrowed on the trembling gunman. "He assaulted a family with a gun over five dollars' worth of canned peas. He's a criminal. Stand aside."
"He waved a gun at somebody because there isn't enough to go around. That makes him an idiot, not a supervillain," Superboy insisted.
"I won't ask again," Robin said.
"For God's sake, Robin," exclaimed Superboy. "This isn't Darkseid! Yes, he should go to jail. But you can't go blowing off limbs—"
Robin's blast struck his face and knocked him back several steps. Red glare clung to Superboy's vision as he reeled with the blow. He blinked hard, jostling the charred remains of his sunglasses off his nose. Astonished, he saw Robin lower his glowing palm and nod in satisfaction.
Robin bent to collect the hysterical gunman when he felt the solid impact of Superboy's shoulder in his stomach. The check knocked him high, where he caught himself and stabilized his flight. The sensation of the check rippled through his abdominals. It was the first sensation of anything he had felt in weeks.
Superboy straightened between Robin and the gunman. "You owe me a new pair of shades," he said gruffly. "Oh, and standing aside? Not gonna happen. Now, why don't we get stubby here to the paramedics, and then go and chat about—"
A stream of scarlet wrath tore Superboy across the street. He spun into the side of a building and then bounced onto the sidewalk, leaving matching craters in each. Wisps of smoke and energy trailed from his body as he rose unsteadily. His uniform remained pristine, but his treasured leather jacket hung as a carbonized scrap from one arm. "You son of a bitch," he said, looking down his arm. "That jacket was a gift."
"I know. I gave it to you," Robin reminded him.
They met in midair, driving the full might of their collective strength into the collision. Thunder rang with each blow they traded. Reds, blues, blacks, and golds chased each other in a fight that moved too fast for lesser beings to follow.
Superboy swung a two-handed punch that furrowed Robin through fresh pavement. The former Teen Wonder slammed into the base of a skyscraper under repair, which trembled as he stood. Red rage trailed behind Robin's return to the fight, where he drove his knuckles into Superboy's solar plexus, emptying his lungs of steel in a cold rush.
Gasping, Superboy caught Robin's next punch, bobbing back in midair against the pile driver force. "Give it up, Tim," Superboy wheezed. "You're strong, but I'm the one wearing the 'S.' I'm still stronger."
A fervent thought activated Superboy's wild talent, his tactile telekinesis. The invisible force blasted Robin away from Superboy like a shot. Robin streaked into a neighboring construction site, where he punched through the drum of a cement mixing truck. The drum's mouth flared red and rocked at his entry, and then fell silent and dark.
Superboy leaned on his knees, still in the air, and gulped greedily until he caught his breath. "Hate to do it, Tim," he muttered to himself, "but you need a serious—"
The cement truck exploded, pluming fire and shrapnel into the sky. From the eruption came a living bolt of red that slammed into Superboy and drove him through an entire skyscraper. The building grinded against Superboy as he felt powerful, burning arms encircle his chest and drive him hard out the building's other side.
Robin released Superboy to spin his boot heel into the Boy of Steel's lantern jaw. As Superboy tumbled away, Robin drew his hands together and unleashed a concentrated stream of his red rage. The energy struck Superboy square in his 'S' shield, hammering him through two more buildings in a path that took both combatants toward one of the relief centers of the city.
The two teens plowed through buildings and trucks until they made meteoric landfall at the edge of the relief center. The small fleet of RVs and temporary structures rattled at the crater Superboy dug sideways in the pavement. Tired, huddled masses stirred awake from their makeshift beds, where they camped to be first in line for the next day's handouts. Their bleary eyes adjusted to the dark to watch Superboy stagger out of the ground.
Superboy felt Robin's punch without ever seeing it come. Raw anger glimmered around Robin's knuckles as they crossed Superboy's nose, chest, chin, and neck. Blinded, Superboy lurched forward and swung a haymaker, only to cut the air.
"Typical Metropolis brawler," he heard Robin say. Fingertips slammed into Superboy's temples with impossible force. Superboy's world blacked out. He reeled drunkenly, and heard, "Muscle your way through every fight. No style. No strategy."
A kick to the leg knocked Superboy to his knees. Another kick rattled his skull. Desperate, Superboy spun and lunged. He felt his hands mesh with another's. As his vision cleared, Robin's strained scowl came into focus just inches beyond his nose.
"And by the way," Robin growled, as Superboy gathered another telekinetic blast, "you're not stronger than me."
Superboy howled as the bones in his hands cracked in Robin's grasp. Robin's hands and eyes blazed, irradiating Superboy with the full fury of Robin's power. His 'S' shield peeled from his chest as his uniform shredded beneath the onslaught. Then Robin gathered the energy back, packing it into fistfuls of devastation, which he hurled down into Superboy's face.
The fearful urban campers screamed at the wave of dust and light roiling from the crater. It was like the day of the Attack, concentrated and localized, and mercifully brief, but the onlookers screamed regardless. When the dust settled, they saw their new beacon of hope standing over Superboy.
Robin's eyes burned the dust from Superboy's skin as he reached into the crater and lofted the insensate teen. "This is my city, Superboy. I gave you every chance to get out of my way. You decided to aid and abet a criminal instead. Problem is, there isn't a jail around here that could actually hold you."
He looked around at the gathering crowd. The noise of the fight had attracted the denizens of the city for miles. Already, the crowd circled him completely, ten people thick, remaining well out of reach as if it would have made a difference. "Let this be a lesson to everyone," Robin announced loudly, holding Superboy high for all to see. "For anyone who thinks they can break the law, let this remind you that justice still reigns in Jump City. Let everyone know who protects you."
Brilliant red heat lit upon Robin's fingertip. He thrust it against Superboy's bare chest with purposeful precision.
Beast Boy tugged unconsciously at the sleeve of his uniform as he wandered the blackened halls of the Tower. His flashlight bobbed over uneven floors, reminding him of how much work they had left to do. A strange noise had reached Beast Boy's ears down at their campsite. He had tiptoed on mouse toes from the slumbering camp to investigate the noise's source, and now skulked through the Tower in search of the noise's source.
They had spent much of the first week evacuating the Vehicle Bay to discover that the contents therein had more or less survived the Tower's destruction. The Icarus was still trapped beneath the foundation until they could return power to its launch tunnel. It had taken everything Raven had to teleport the CUTTER to the mainland.
Beast Boy knew Raven hated acting as their ferry. Her teleportation had become a necessity; the city's first project had been to block off the Titan Tunnel Transport System. Beast Boy had offered to carry them on whaleback to alleviate her burden, but she had liked that idea even less. Lately, it seemed as though she simply liked Beast Boy less altogether.
He found the elusive rattle in the basement. A single work light lit the cavernous room, mounted on the construction scaffolding that Beast Boy climbed down to reach the crunchy floor. Cyborg worked in the yellow light on the dead, exposed power core of the Tower. The burly man-machine looked up to grunt in greeting of Beast Boy before he returned to fumbling with his tools, which sprouted from his fingers.
Rubbing his eyes at the brightness, Beast Boy said, "Why are you still up?"
"I'm organizing a 'Friends of the Titans' bake sale. What's it look like?" grumbled Cyborg. He cranked a bolt on the core's housing with his ratchet (also his middle finger at the moment). The stressed bolt broke loudly. Cyborg swore and eyeballed the busted bolt. "I can't keep living off of solar cells, or I'll be in shutdown by the end of the week. We need power to do anything else around here."
"Oh." Beast Boy watched Cyborg shift his attention to a different bolt. Then he asked, "Can I help?"
Cyborg snorted. "Sure. I'll get this shielding off, and then you can figure out how to jumpstart a controlled fusion reaction without turning the island into muddy glass."
Beast Boy's expression fell. "Sorry," he muttered, and turned to leave.
With a bitter sigh, Cyborg retracted his ratchet. "Sorry, Gar," he called to Beast Boy's back. "I'm just tired, and run down, and really sick of looking at this place. It's not you." Beast Boy wandered back as Cyborg slumped against the core. His optics travelled the room, cataloguing in painstaking resolution everything he had left to fix. "Tell you what," he told Beast Boy, "you can help by taking five with me."
Beast Boy slumped next to him at once, his back squeaking against the core. They sat in amicable silence for a moment, protecting each other from the haunting silence of the tower with each other's company.
"Hey, Vic," Beast Boy said after a fashion. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah, Gar?"
Looking puzzled, Beast Boy asked, "How come we didn't help out Superdude? I know Robin's not your favorite subject," he said quickly, "but I know you're not keen on this one-man army he's running in the city. And I know you're bummed about him leaving, even if you won't admit it. Why not track him down?"
Cyborg took his time answering. He could have blown the question off, or changed the subject, knowing full well that Beast Boy would let it pass without a word. Because of that, Cyborg knew his friend deserved his honesty. "Because Tim's really screwed up right now, and I don't think any of us can help him. He took this attack harder than anybody, and now he's looking to make up for it. If he feels like he needs to work that out for himself, none of us are going to change his mind. Believe me, I know."
"But what about the people getting hurt?"
The memory of Jonny Rancid the pretzel knotted Cyborg's synthetic polymer stomach. He recalled, too, the sight of Control Freak being hooked up to a respirator as he was hauled away in an ambulance. "It doesn't sit right with me, Gar, but….maybe that's what Jump City needs." He saw Beast Boy's ears spring in shock. He was equally surprised by his own admission. "This whole mess happened because we let Slade play us. And right now, people are scared, and more worried about if they're gonna eat or not. Maybe someone needs to bust a few heads to show them that there're still people willing to protect them. If some jerks who've got it coming gotta take some lumps for it, then…maybe it's okay."
Beast Boy remained silent for a long moment. Then he murmured, "She played all of us, didn't she?" Too quickly, he morphed his scowl into a smile, and said, "Well, I'm with you, Vic. Whatever you decide, I've got your back."
Cyborg started to say something else. Then he offered a weak smile, and instead said, "Thanks."
"Now how about we take a real crack at this core? Maybe I don't know fusion, but I'm pretty handy." Beast Boy transformed into a wriggling octopus. He flapped on the floor, picking up several components of the core and waving them at Cyborg.
The hard-won laugh was halfway up Cyborg's throat when his arm beeped. He activated its communicator panel with a thought. His circuits identified the signal as a third party originating in the city. "This is Cyborg. Go ahead," he said.
"Cyborg? This is Lieutenant Smith, Jump City Police Department, Special Crimes Unit." Cyborg recognized the gruff voice at once, and remembered the contact frequency they had given the police with which to contact them. "I need you downtown now."
Where once Cyborg would have charged up the steps to answer the call, he now slouched lower, wearied by the mere thought. "Lieutenant, it's not that we don't want to help, but we're not exactly fighting-ready here. Maybe this is something you need to call your famous Red Robin for."
Smith stood by a crater at the west end's relief center. Though Robin had long since left, his crowd of onlookers remained, growing larger by the minute. They gathered around the flag pole erected on the center's administrative structure, and stared upward in collective awe. Smith stared as well, but with a heavy expression set in his wrinkles.
Superboy hung from the top of the pole by his tattered uniform. His head lolled against his chest, which was bare. Precision scorch marks had drawn into his bruised flesh the stylized silhouette of a bird. The brand stood out red and raw against his pale, waxen skin.
Numbly, Smith raised the radio to his mouth again, and answered, "I'm not sure this is something he should handle."
To Be Continued