A/N: I'm on a roll tonight! Thanks for reading! :D
"Black ocean, cold and dark, I am the hungry shark, fast and merciless. But the only girl who could talk to him just couldn't swim. Tell me what's worse than this?"
"Please, let me—!"
"No, Rae."
"You don't understand! If I could just—!"
"Forget it."
Raven huffed in exacerbation.
Ever since Cyborg's revelation, she had tried her best to give Robin a stay of execution, all to no avail. She watched bitterly as the half teenager, half robot planned his strategy.
He was going to set a trap.
Whittling down the possible places where Robin would strike next, he confirmed that the boy wonder still needed one last piece for his potentially disastrous weapon. The plutonium gave the energy needed for nuclear power while the thermal blaster acted as the conduit; however, plutonium was so unstable that it still required further adjustment.
In order for the thermal blaster to house and fire radiation accurately, it required finesse. In short, it needed a particular set of codes that would fix its instability and render it usable. These codes were found only in top secret military compounds that not even the Titans had access to. It took quite a bit of arguing from Cyborg to convince the higher-ups in the federal government that the situation was dire enough to warrant action.
In the end, however, they agreed to Cyborg's demands. For once, it seemed the team had a head-start on Slade.
Raven was not as optimistic.
There was now a "shoot to kill" order on Robin's head. The Teen Titans had the luxury of peaceful restraint when battling criminals, but the United States took these kinds of threats more seriously. If there was any chance of a deranged psychopath getting his paws on a nuclear weapon, they were going to fire first and ask questions later.
The team was a split ticket: Raven and Starfire versus Cyborg and Beast Boy.
Starfire was convinced that Slade was the puppet master and that Robin was a mere pawn in his plans. Raven was not so much adamant about Robin's innocence as she was doubtful of his utter guilt. There was certainly something behind the curtain.
Beast Boy was the swing vote. He hopped on either side of the line, incapable of choosing. When around Cyborg, he agreed that Robin should be taken down—hard. Yet, in Starfire's company, he was far more pacifistic.
It wasn't as though Cyborg was wrong. He used sound logic. Someone needed to keep things in perspective. While the rest of the team mourned for their lost friend, Cyborg kept his sights on what mattered: saving lives.
His hybrid heart broke for the boy wonder—more than anyone knew—but he couldn't allow his despair to distract him from the fact that millions of people could be on the brink of destruction. The greater good had to be respected, no matter the heartbreak.
It was intensely practical…and utterly annoying.
Starfire and Raven argued that if Robin was recovered and reconverted, then the nuclear problem had a better chance of being neutralized. Cyborg—and occasionally Beast Boy—countered that even if the Titans did manage to rescue Robin and bring him back into the fold, Slade still possessed two out of the three components of Apocalypse.
As long as Robin worked for Slade, his needs would have to be subverted; he had to be stopped.
So, Cyborg and the premiere generals hammered out a plan that would take out Slade's ace in the hole. Without appearing too overt, they would relax their security by a hair at one of their bunkers, hoping to entice Slade. An ambush would be set.
If Robin came, they would spring him. Once he was subdued, the interrogations would begin. They would have to break him, if necessary; he would have to spill Slade's secrets. Then, using that information, they would raid the haunt and recover the thermal blaster and plutonium.
The only wrinkle in the entire scheme was Robin's punishment.
After alerting the proper authorities, consequences were in store for the boy wonder. Cyborg had argued with them on this point and did succeed in getting the death penalty off the table, but life in prison was still a given. If Robin was detained in his custody, he would have no choice but to hand the boy wonder over to the feds.
This is where Raven and Starfire stepped in.
They still had no idea what possessed Robin to act the way he did. He could be a victim, one in desperate need of help. How could they recover him only to lock him back up?
It wasn't right; it was injustice incarnate.
Raven begged Cyborg for one last chance at making contact with Robin before they pulled the trigger.
He wouldn't listen.
"I'm telling you—"
"Raven!" Cyborg snapped, turning away from the mainframe computer. "Enough! I know this sucks—really, really sucks—but this is where we are. So what if Robin's innocent? I can't take that chance! And neither can you!"
"This is a mistake!" she hissed. "We have no idea what could happen! Robin could be killed! Then, what? We're left with a dead friend and no Slade. If you would just let me talk to him—!"
"And just how do you plan to do that?!" he barked back, his electrical red eye flashing.
This was the tricky part. In her desperation, she hadn't worked out the details.
"I-I'm not sure," she admitted, much to her chagrin.
Cyborg snorted spitefully.
"That's great, Rae," he spat, pivoting back to the screen. "Shit, I'm sold."
"Screw you!" she snarled, hands balling into fists at her sides. "Just because—AH!"
thump!
"Raven?"
The malice was gone from Cyborg's voice as he flipped around. Raven had collapsed. Her eyes were completely black. They sparkled like obsidian stones. Shadowy ravens flitted about her. Their smoky wings left starlit trails in the twilight air. Faint caws chimed softly from an unknown source. The tickle of magic wafted against Cyborg's dark chocolate cheek.
She was as still as a corpse. Her onyx stare was faraway, unseeing. Her violet cloak and hair fluttered in an invisible breeze. She began to float. Her toes grazed the ground. Her head dangled. Her fingers twitched as if playing an instrument.
Her raven avatars started to encircle her in an aggressive, protective flock. Tendrils of midnight black slithered out of her skin and disappeared through the roof.
"Rae?" Cyborg pondered dumbly and then, gaining his wits: "TITANS!"
"Kill him."
As soon as Slade put Robin's worst fear into words, the teen lost feeling in his legs. His knees shook like trees in a hurricane as he peered down at the man that he would be forced to kill. He looked so…so…normal.
He had the body of a father: a little pudge in the midsection, trim legs, wiry arms, patches of dark brown chest hair...and a thick, gold band on his ring finger. His khakis spoke of Little League, of carpool, of nine-to-five workdays. He wept softly as Robin studied him. He wondered how many children this man had, how long he'd been married to his wife, what he had done to upset the masked psychopath standing before him.
"What did he do?" Robin whispered.
Slade's loosened his grip on his shoulder. He stepped forward, sliding up behind the cowering man. With a flourish of his wrist, the black sack was removed, revealing the identity beneath.
With an odd sense of relief, Robin did not recognize him.
He was not handsome, but he wasn't ugly either. It was hard to tell, what with the grotesquely broken nose, fat lip, and swollen-shut eye. The thinning hair on his head matched the wiry ones on his chest. His eyes were of similar color with sparks of green flicked through the brown. He had a smear of stubble on his bloodied cheeks.
He's been here for days, Robin concluded. Maybe longer.
"It doesn't matter, apprentice," Slade responded coldly.
He then clamped onto the man's hair and wrenched. With a pathetic cry, the poor soul's neck was bent backward, his throat exposed and inviting. The chains around his wrists jingled and pealed as they smacked into the concrete. His Adam's Apple bobbed like a yo-yo. His big, heavy-lidded eyes were filled with disgusting fright. Concussed, he muttered incoherent supplications.
"What matters is that your master just gave you a direct order," Slade concluded, remorseless. "Kill. Him. Now."
Robin's tongue tingled. His face felt as if he had just been riding side-saddle on a jet. The numbness in his legs was creeping up into his hips. His stomach twisted.
He was going to vomit.
His flesh turned green, the shade of Beast Boy. He saw double, through a tunnel, upside down—vertigo.
"I-I-I can't…" he choked, swallowing bile.
Before Slade could stop him, he bolted for the door. Past experience told him that this was the worst possible idea. He ignored it and ran anyway. He was flying, not fighting. He heard a toe-curling hiss sound behind him as he twisted the handle.
The door was unlocked.
Euphoria and adrenaline made his hands shake horribly but he managed to throw the door open. Slade's footsteps were fast approaching. He leapt into the pitch-black hallway and slammed the door shut behind him.
He ran.
Blind, he somehow managed to stay on his feet as he dashed to the right, toward the atrium. Their journey here had been a straight shot, luckily. Where he went after he reached the end of the tunnel was still a mystery. He didn't care, he couldn't. His bare heels bruised against the hard, cobbled ground. His breath was hitched and loud.
Slade was stronger, but he was faster—and he had a ten second jump.
The sound of metal crashing against stone echoed up and down the cavern.
FLY. FLY. FLY. FLY! His blood screamed, wailed.
A small sparkle of light appeared on the horizon. He knew there was nowhere to go once he lost the anonymity of the dark. Everything buzzed, saltwater splashed up his esophagus. The rush of fear flowing through his entire being was indescribable. It was like every cell was simultaneously imploding. He became an earthquake; he could feel the tectonic plates of his skeleton crashing together.
As he sprinted into the light, he didn't stop.
CLIMB! His brain cried.
Without breaking stride, he charged up the shallow steps that skirted the northern wall. He catapulted off the final step and his hands snagged the catwalk's edge. He swung onto the platform. Another metal plateau rose up above him. He hopped onto the iron banister and leapfrogged to the next tier.
Conquering that, he was out of catwalks. The entrance was locked. There was no way he could hack it.
He looked up and saw pipes zigzagging up to the ceiling.
Without another thought, he got a running start and vaulted off the handrail. He managed to grab hold of the surprisingly sturdy pipe. He then swung from line to line, inching toward the top. With dizzying shock, he realized there was a massive fan twirling in the far corner, tucked away behind shadow and industry.
The massive cogs below were disappearing as he shimmied and scrambled and soared. An idiotic hope was trilling through his heart. He didn't hear anything; his ears were clogged with adrenaline-induced desperation. He never once slipped. He never once questioned his footing or grip.
The ominous, whirring fan was just ahead, ten yards. He saw the pipe he would need to swing off from to reach it, saw himself escaping through the miracle hole in the wall; however, as he made his way to the final obstacle, he realized his grave error.
The blades of the fan moved too fast. He would never make it past. Mind reeling, he straddled the pipe he was on and tried to formulate an idea. He needed to disable the fan. If he had had any of his usual tools on him, this would have been a cinch. Hell, even a chunk of rock would have served his purposes.
He couldn't dismantle anything this high in the air. He couldn't go back down.
He was well and truly stuck.
Naturally, that was when logic reappeared.
He was at least six stories up, maybe more. The gusts from the fan whistled in his ears and surged unnervingly through his hair. He swayed on the pipe and prayed it would hold his weight.
He had nothing but the sweat of his brow and the skin on his back—plus a pair of pants. He even considered stripping and throwing them into the fan, but the material was too light. The fabric would be shredded like tissue paper.
Then, he recognized an even worse mistake.
He gasped and lifted a hand to his neck.
The collar.
Slade could shock him right now and Robin would be helpless as he toppled from the towering pipe and free-fell. Or, his master could invoke the more sinister power of the shackles, taking over Robin's body and simply guiding him down without a fuss.
So why hadn't he?
Suddenly, he heard the very thing he had been dreading.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
Eyes wide with horror, he glanced down and saw a silver-lined body cavorting through the gloom thirty feet down. It was gaining fast.
Slade was going to catch him.
The panic returned. His brain beat against his skull. His heart tried to flee from his ribcage. He did not blame it.
HELP! HELP! HELP!
A sigh sounded on the air. He whipped his head around. Was Slade already upon him?
A blur of starry black filtered through the fan. It swarmed around him like a fog and sunk into his skin.
"Robin," Raven sang in his head. "Don't be afraid. I'm here to help."
Too paralyzed with confusion and fear, he had no defense against her magic. Her witchcraft talons dug into his mind, sank their teeth into him. She tied their consciousnesses together—an indestructible bond. He howled at her to stop, but she had already pushed him out.
He barely managed to grab hold of the pipe, clinging to it with all his strength to keep himself upright. Like a fast-moving shadow, she danced along the walls of his subconscious, gathering all his secrets.
"Oh, no…" she whispered, her ethereal voice aghast as she witnessed his memories. "…Robin…Slade…he…I'm so sorry."
It was overwhelming—the pain. It was almost too much for her, but she refused to leave without absorbing every last detail that could save his life. She didn't process the images that sprang across his stream of consciousness. She merely catalogued.
"Robin, where are you? I don't see…"
He gritted his teeth.
"I don't know," he responded, defeated and strained. "Below ground. Near the water. Slade always—"
"Ah, I see it now," she finished. "He changes the meeting places. Never lets you get your bearings or sense of direction. Smart."
"Raven, you can't save me," he told her, desperate. "I'll never be free. I shouldn't be free."
"That's bullshit!" she snapped at him, incensed.
"You don't know…you don't understand...what I've done…"
"Actually, I know exactly what you've done and that's still bullshit."
"He's going to make me kill, Raven!" he screeched, trying to wrestle control back. "Did you see that?! He's going to make me kill!"
"We'll get you out of there, Robin! Please, just hold—!"
"There you are."
"Is that…?"
"RAVEN GO NOW!"
"I won't leave you!"
"HE'LL DESTROY YOU! HE'LL KILL EVERYONE! GO!"
"I won't—"
"Did you really think you could escape, bird?" Slade's voice was calm, but a merciless anger coursed beneath the surface. "I think those wings are in need of clipping."
"RAVEN PLEASE!" he begged as Slade crouched on the pipe directly behind him, ready to spring. "BEFORE HE SEES YOU WERE HERE!"
"We will save you," she promised after a hesitant pause.
"Ready or not, here I come."
Robin could tell she was trying not to weep. Her monotone voice was thick with oncoming tears. Raven never cried; he had never seen her cry, couldn't imagine it in his mind's eye. The sound was unbearable.
"Go," he commanded sadly. "That's an order."
Her presence lifted. He watched the moonlit smoke dissipate into the air without a trace. He closed his eyes. The pipe rattled beneath him.
His lids were still shut bravely when Slade wrapped a hand around his throat.