A/N: Sorry for the wait! Enjoy~
Robin arrived at the specified meeting place ten minutes later.
It was an abandoned fish factory that still smelled of rotting tuna. He wrinkled his nose and sucked in a breath as he entered through the dilapidated doors. A single, cracked lightbulb illuminated the space, swaying gently in the dark. Dusty machinery and rusted, dangling hooks went in and out of shadow.
Of course Slade would choose this place to rendezvous.
Although under horrible circumstances, Robin couldn't deny that it felt wonderful to be out in the real world again. He had almost forgotten the feel of wind in his face as he grappled from building to building, or the crisp beauty of a clear night sky, or the calming white noise of murmuring pedestrians, or the sound of ocean waves sighing on the shore, or the sight of Cyborg as he…
Robin shook his head and snarled softly to himself.
The thermal blaster was heavy in his pocket, his soul.
He stopped beneath the bulb and whisked out the stolen weapon. It looked like a regular gun, except the barrel and the butt were rounder, squatter—like a shrunken canon. A faint stripe of red ran down the sides of it and curled around the trigger. It glittered ominously in the gloom.
He had never stolen anything like this before. In his youth, he had pocketed a few dollars out of Bruce's wallet when he wasn't looking, but his stern guardian had made him pay dearly for the trespass. Robin never could get away with anything with the Dark Knight around.
If Bruce saw me now…
A dizzying wave of shame threatened to ensnare him, but he forced it down.
"I had to do it…" he consoled himself aloud. "I had to do it…"
"Muttering again, are we?"
A month ago, Robin would have jumped five feet in the air at the sudden appearance of Slade. Now, however, he was used to the villain's game. He merely made a grumble of annoyance and stifled the shiver that crawled up his spine whenever his unwanted master came near.
Slade came from behind and passed Robin like a ghost, brushing past his shoulder. His gloved hand was already extended and waiting. Happy to be rid of it, Robin transferred the thermal blaster into Slade's outstretched palm. He then crossed his arms and leaned apathetically onto one foot. He gnawed on his scabbed lip.
The villain took a few seconds to study the blaster, twisting it between his fingers and bringing it close to his makeshift face. After a few seconds, he turned back to Robin. His obsidian iris twinkled with pride and Robin's shame intensified.
"Well done, apprentice," Slade drawled, his metal head haloed. "I'm pleased."
"Good for you!" Robin wanted to snap but he only gave a short nod and took to staring at his unfamiliar shoes.
He felt Slade's eye study him—roaming, searching, probing—but he kept his sheared head down and his hidden gaze fixed on his steel-tipped toes and the stained concrete.
"However," the man hissed finally. "There's always room for improvement."
Robin didn't like the sound of that. His gaze flicked upward despite himself and he wished bitterly for his old hair. It had always provided another layer in which to hide his expression.
It was if he wasn't wearing a mask at all. The moment his guised eyes connected with Slade's exposed one, he was trapped in its black waters, drowning in tar.
"While it was just thrilling to watch your performance," Slade began, pacing. "It was a bit too exciting for my tastes. Tell me, were you trying to get caught?"
"No," Robin replied morosely, unable to look away.
Slade sighed in abject disbelief.
"I think our next lesson should be 'How to Craft a Proper Lie'..."
"I'm telling the truth," the boy mumbled.
"How noble," Slade mocked, impaling Robin with his glare. "A skilled fighter you may be, but a good liar you most certainly are not, dear boy."
Robin bit the inside of his cheek and spoke no more.
"Perhaps you would like me to tell you what I saw?"
The sulky teen shrugged apathetically and Slade had to stifle the urge to strangle him.
"Let's start from the beginning shall we?" the villain spat in an acidic tone. "I've seen meth-heads take down security guards faster. What should have been an easy—and silent—assignment became a sideshow all because you pulled your punches."
Robin tore through his gums. He tasted blood on his tongue.
"And then when you finally manage to get yourself out of the mess you made," Slade continued, beginning to circle Robin like a shark. "You freeze. The Titans arrived far too late to be of any consequence. You could have escaped them easily. But instead, you fight them. If you can really call it that…"
Robin nostrils flared. Arms tightening around his chest, his hands curled into fists.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Slade snarled. "I know you wanted to see your wretched friends again. Their grip on you is…parasitic."
He came full circle and peered down at Robin with a mad glint.
"But it's more than that, Robin," he said softly, stepping closer. "I think you wanted to send a message. You wanted the Titans to see you—see what you've become. And you sabotaged this entire mission in order to do just that."
Robin's jawbone ground together, popping. Was he so obvious or was Slade just that good?
"Which then begs the question: Why?" Slade rasped and the atmosphere inhaled in response. "Why would you risk my wrath, the lives of your friends, for something so meaningless? Let me guess…"
Hands behind his back, Slade put his metal chin to Robin's ear.
"You still believe you're going to be saved."
With frightening force, he backhanded his frozen apprentice. Swallowing a wounded gasp, Robin braced himself on the concrete. His shoulder socket screamed and his knees bruised as he fell. He couldn't say he wasn't used to the feeling of a swollen, bleeding cheek or the dizzying beginnings of a concussion, but he knew he certainly wasn't a fan.
"You may have exposed our partnership, boy, but the Titans still have no idea how close they are to sudden death. Shall I enlighten them?"
Breaking his vow of silence, Robin scrambled to his feet.
"No!" he cried with a little more force than necessary, holding up his hands in supplication. "No. I'm just not used to this, that's all. I've never stolen before. I got distracted. I thought I hit the guy hard enough. And on the roof—you're right. I did want to see them again. But that's all! I swear! It won't happen again!"
Seconds oozed by. Slade's eye narrowed.
"It had better not."
The villain jerked his copper-plated head, swiveled around, and began walking away. Relieved, his apprentice followed, rubbing his aching jawbone. His heart was still pounding uncomfortably in his chest as the pair stepped into deep shadow.
The putrid fragrance of decay and rot grew stronger. Robin screwed up his face. He would have to burn his clothes to get the rid of the smell.
Toward the back of the factory, Slade wrenched open an ajar manhole and motioned for Robin to jump. He obeyed and soon found himself knee-deep in old fish skeletons and blood-polluted sludge.
He covered his mouth to block out the awful stench and stifle his involuntary squeal. No wonder this place was deserted.
"I monitored your vital signs during the mission," the villain announced from above. "Elevated heartrate, adrenaline, endorphins…"
The teen grunted his response. The noncommittal sound echoed. Slade climbed down.
"You probably won't admit it, but at some level you enjoyed working for me," he continued as he joined the boy wonder.
He then locked the grate back into place, plunging them into pungent darkness.
"It was a thrill, wasn't it?"
Slade's soft tenor clanged against the defiled tunnel walls, ringing through Robin's bones. A faint, incandescent light dimly illuminated their surroundings as Slade flicked on the small flashlight that rose out of his vambrace.
He marched forward, stomping on the skeletons like a conquering warlord—snapping spines and cracking cartilage with ease.
The tunnel declined gradually, but one could easily lose their footing if they weren't being careful. Every footstep resulted in booming reverberations and thunderous crackles that rippled on for miles—the perfect security alarm. The piles of bones thinned as they walked, but the smell remained as potent as ever.
The lower they went into the bowels of the city, the colder it became.
Gooseflesh began to sprout underneath Robin's black bodysuit and his breath came out in puffs of chilled fog. He tripped every other step and, for once, he was happy for the change of shoes. The leather and steel held firm against the jutting edges of the crushed fish bones and the sharpened bits of debris.
How Slade managed to see an inch in front of his face—let alone guide them back to the haunt—remained a mystery. The miniscule amount of light they had was drowned in the smothering dark. Forced to swallow his pride, or end up falling face-first into the defiled ground, Robin closed the distance between himself and Slade.
He was not going to get lost down here and he was not going to give Slade another reason to ridicule him, he vowed.
Acting as the villain's second shadow, Robin blew out a relieved breath when a familiar set of iron doorframes appeared in the murky distance.
As he approached, Slade—without breaking stride—twisted the handle with ease, swept in, and waited for his apprentice to enter before slamming the rusted, metal portal shut. Once inside, he put his lonely eye into a security scanner that hung on the wall next to the entrance. It confirmed his identity and immediately locked down the haunt.
Bolts clicking into place ricocheted throughout the lair. Every door became reinforced with another steel layer. Any visible entryway disappeared behind a wall of shifting rock.
There had been a reason his friends had never been able to find him. He was buried alive down here—suffocated beneath the earth, hidden behind a mound of stone and metal and shadow.
Robin was back in his cage.