A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than usual. It also jumps around time wise. The confusion is intentional. For inspiration, I drew not only from the "Apprentice" episodes, but also "Aftershock." Terra is the Robin that never was and so it was deliciously fun to allude to her apprenticeship.
(Disclaimer: Tragically, I do not own the Teen Titans.)
Anyway, enough about all that. ENJOY! As always, I am intoxicated by your reviews. ;)
"Good eye, sniper. I shoot, you run. The words you scribbled on the walls, the loss of friends you didn't have. I'll call you when the time is right. Are you in or are you out, for them all to know?"
Four days earlier
"THOSE THINGS ARE INSIDE ME?! EWW!" Beast Boy screeched with garbled words.
"There inside all of us. Billions of 'em..." Cyborg's voice was dead, stunned.
"WELL DON'T JUST STAND THERE! GET 'EM OUT! GET 'EM OUT!"
"I can't," Cyborg said with a worn groan. "I need the battery that's keepin' them alive. Destroy the battery, destroy the bugs. It's the only way to kill 'em for good."
"Where can we find this energy supply?" Starfire questioned with a warrior's glint in her eye.
Cyborg gave Raven a heavy, contrite look.
The others followed his gaze. Their weighted glances fell upon her and she pulled her cloak closer. Her knees shook behind the violet folds. Her expression was crestfallen underneath the shadow of the hood. Stabs of alien grief plunged into her—Robin's doing.
"Raven," he suddenly whispered into the mind-link. "Don't leave me here alone…"
She inhaled deeply, composing herself.
"Slade," she managed to mutter. "We find him, we find the battery."
Beast Boy turned green…well, greener.
He was flat on his back, stuffed inside an MRI machine—one of several in the Tower's medical wing. Like most hospitals, the walls were sterile and white and the air had the distinct tang of disinfectant. Part of the wing was made up of a dozen private rooms that were equipped with everything from Band-Aids to beds to buzz-saws. The adjoining section was comprised of specialty quarters for MRI and X-ray testing.
Beast Boy was engulfed in an assortment of electrodes, wires, and IVs that covered his arms, chest, and the sides of his head. A rubber mouthpiece was clenched between his fangs. A radiofrequency coil was smooshed on top of his head—it had the appearance of a small, cylindrical, plastic laundry basket.
The Titans were gathered around Beast Boy, watching his feet twitch and flail as his upper body disappeared into the MRI. As the resident M.D., Cyborg was seated beside the frantic shapeshifter, peering intently into a computer screen which portrayed an enhanced image of the Titan's red blood cells and the Nanoscopic invaders.
A rack of plasma samples and a prepped microscope were situated upon a desk in the corner. Cyborg swiveled between it and the computer, perpetually checking his work.
The changeling was the last to be tested and the Titans had to almost physically restrain him. He hated hospitals and all their evils—especially needles.
Needless to say, it had been a tough day for him, but his complaints were drowned out by the discovery of the Probes.
"Why does he not unleash the full potential of this technology?" Starfire pressed. "We are at his mercy!"
"It's not about us," Raven grunted. "It's about Robin. We're just the bargaining chips."
"Excuse me, I do not understand," Starfire chirped, putting a finger to her chin and furrowing her scarlet brow. "How are we related to the 'fried' potato segments and why do they have the ability to negotiate? Is it typical for cuisine to do such a thing on Earth?"
Cyborg and Raven glanced at one another, silently debating who should answer the confused alien. Muffled, squeaky giggles emanated from the MRI as Beast Boy tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laughter.
"No, Star, she means that Slade is usin' us to control Robin," Cyborg finally explained, fighting a smile.
She took a moment to chew that over, tucking a strand of bright red hair behind her tan ear.
"The Probes are...insurance?" she suggested. "Slade threatens to destroy us unless Robin complies with his every wish?"
Raven raised her eyebrows, impressed. Cyborg nodded with a somber frown. A brief smile lit up Starfire's face, but it quickly disappeared as she let her own words sink in.
A heavy silence followed as the Titans contemplated Robin's deal. They knew that he had a reason for doing what he did, but they never imagined it would be this personal...or this poignant. Slade had crossed a line and Robin had followed him over it to ensure their safety.
They still lived and breathed because of Robin; he suffered Slade's sadism for them.
It was a profound concept to digest.
Naturally, however, the thoughtful quiet was soon broken by Beast Boy, who was still hidden inside the MRI.
"Dudes…THAT'S SO MESSED UP!"
Presently
"Isn't there anything else you can do?"
"Hey, do you wanna drive this thing? No? Then, keep it down."
With arms crossed, Raven huffed indignantly and glared at Cyborg who was oblivious as he typed away at the mainframe computer. A map of Jump City took up half of the screen, while the other half was a hodgepodge of security camera feeds that flicked from street corner to street corner in a continuous livestream.
Raven's eyes darted frantically as she searched the footage for a long and lean boy with a mop of jet black hair and skin the color of a new moon.
He was nowhere to be seen.
She sighed sadly and peered out the windows that made up the entire eastern wall of the lounge.
It was almost midnight.
The shops were closing but the bars were busy. Neon lights swallowed the city. They reflected violently off the wet, puddled pavement; the nighttime pedestrians appeared to be walking on blobs of brightly colored paint.
The party scene was in full swing. Tipsy boys and girls laughed raucously as they staggered and swayed from sidewalk to sidewalk. Annoyed waitresses plastered on happy faces as they served drinks and ignored harassment.
Men with gold-toothed leers conglomerated in the shadows of alleyways, waiting for suckers and sweets. They scattered like rats when police cars rolled by, but their threatening, mischievous eyes sparkled in the dark.
From Titans Tower, one could easily spot the Harvest Festival that sprawled all along the boardwalk.
The faint tune of carnival music drifted lazily across the waters; one could hear the excited screams of children—and the tired groans of their parents—as they ran helter-skelter from rollercoasters to mazes to haunted houses. The Ferris wheel was one giant knot of spinning string-lights and streamers.
An odd lump jumped into Raven's throat.
The Titans had gone to the Festival last year, but that happy memory seemed a lifetime ago. It was buried beneath a fresh mound of sorrow.
Swallowing thickly, she frowned and shifted her attention back to the map. Her impatience rejuvenated.
Numerous points of interest were marked on the map in green. The blizzard of emerald dots spread from the coastline to the undeveloped districts near the state's eastern border. Each speck suggested a possible target for Slade.
Most of them were government compounds and storage facilities with strong military connections. A few of them had access to the very codes that would give Slade his nuclear weapon.
Unbeknownst to the citizens—and hopefully Slade—Jump City was on red alert. The Titans keenly awaited the inevitable signal as they carried out their normal hero duties. It was stressful to say the least. They had to be ready to drop everything at any given notice, and they also had to prepare themselves for the trials that followed.
"So, you're su—?"
Cyborg took a deep, exasperated breath, cutting her off:
"For the last time, Rae, I'm sure."
She bit her cheek, trying to stop herself from asking yet another pointless question.
It was pathetic, but she couldn't stay holed up in her room any longer. Her sanctuary held no comfort for her.
Restless and anxious, she had to do something or, more specifically, pester someone.
Robin's mind was becoming quiet—too quiet.
It had been a day since she had last felt him and two since she had heard his mental voice. His feelings, so strong and unpredictable at first, were becoming fainter and fainter.
She tried to meditate—to focus her senses and reorient herself around him. Still, he remained unnervingly taciturn. It confirmed her worst fears.
He was fading.
His presence was there, but he made no effort to call out to her—as if he had given up. His feelings were diluted and dull. Only rarely could she hear the weak echo of him whispering her name. His voice was a breath lost on the wind, a timid tug on her cloak.
The signs did not bode well.
Even worse, the last melding of their minds had been a surprise. She hadn't expected for it to happen, hadn't planned it. Therefore, she couldn't replicate it.
Robin's distress had been so potent that it had swept Raven, literally, off her feet. Whether intentional or not, his panicking mind had summoned her to him. Such a random occurrence was hard—if not impossible—to reproduce. He had been in real, unimaginable, fear for his life.
It was akin to a deathbed confession and Raven didn't expect him to be so vulnerable to her advances again.
Then, of course, there was the fact that if Slade caught her in the act, it could ruin everything. He would never let Robin go if he suspected that the Titans had become wise to his scheme. Or, he could just kill them all. Both of these options were less than desirable.
So, they waited for the signal, for one of the green blips on the map to turn red.
Their plan was essentially the same as before except for one simple difference: instead of stopping Robin, they would rescue him.
Unfortunately, Cyborg's deal with the military was of the unbreakable variety; however, the Titans decided that their involvement with the government was now on a need-to-know basis. They would play the game, but secretly change the rules at the last minute.
The strategy was a sound one. The problem lay in the monotonous, demoralizing delay.
It was worsened by the frightening turn in Robin's attitude. Was he hurt? Was he dying? What was Slade doing to him?
What if we've lost him for good?
The question made Raven wince. If Robin had kept up his murderous pace, his body count totaled five.
Raven clenched her fists and snorted in irritation. Why were they just standing here? Robin needed them now—had needed them for six weeks!
"Are you sure there hasn't been a sighting?" she snapped as she watched the computer monitor hungrily.
Cyborg straightened, stopped what he was doing, and turned to face her. He massaged his organic temple and pursed his lips.
"Rae, I know you're worried about him," he said in a steady, yet annoyed, tone. "But standin' around, buggin' me every ten seconds, isn't gonna help anything. You're only stressin' yourself—and me—out."
She tightened her arms but couldn't retain her menacing expression.
"He's not going to make it," she replied in a broken monotone.
Cyborg softened his coffee scowl. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. The metal of his massive, mechanical palm was cool to the touch but thrummed with vibrant electricity.
"It's going to be ok. We just have to be patient."
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
"Hey, look, I'm sorry about earlier," he apologized suddenly.
Confused, she raised an eyebrow.
"Cyborg, you have nothing to be sorry about," she said. "I should stop bothering you—"
"Not that," he interrupted. "I meant the whole, y'know, Robin issue. I just—I was tryin' to do the right thing. I should—I should've just…trusted him. He earned that and I didn't...I wasn't…"
His eyes lowered in shame as his words trailed off. A trembling frown pulled at his mouth. Understanding raced across Raven's face. She placed a forgiving hand over his.
"We all should have trusted him."
The sadness didn't leave his gaze when he peered back up at her, but he gave a thankful, relieved smile. It spread naturally across his mismatched face, gleaming like a row of stars against the backdrop of his dark skin.
She gave a wry smirk in return.
"Well, I guess I'd better check for any new—"
Shrill, blood-curdling alarms cut Cyborg's words off.
An intense sensation of dread re-entered Raven's heart.
One of the green lights on the map had switched to a bright, bloody red.
Hours earlier
"You missed a spot."
Robin's hand was submerged in a pail of pink, foamy water. From the hem to the knees, his tattered sweats were spattered with dark, crusted red. Splotches of grime and guts were smeared across his bare chest. His hands and forearms were streaked with ominous crimson.
The black gym mat was shunted to the far side of the room. The center of the space was now filled with instruments of death: lethal weapons of all stripes, a haunted gurney, and several bundles of rank leather restraints. A string of weak lights shone down on Robin as he destroyed the evidence of his most recent crime.
He could just make out the shimmery outlines of the blood puddles. They sought each other's company and coalesced into one massive, thick pool in front of him. He had been scouring away at it all morning with bleach and soap and water, but blood was sticky and stubborn.
At the sound of his master's voice, he froze and peeked over his shoulder. His heart turned to ice.
Slade waltzed calmly out of the deep shadows, smelling of putrefied smoke. Indeed, the potent odor of cremation perfumed the dank cavern air.
Defiled, soapy water spilled over the edge of the bucket as Robin's hand shook. He ground his teeth together, trying to stifle it; however, an oppressive fear was entrenched in his chest and refused to be exhumed.
Unfazed, Slade strode up to him and gestured to the polluted floor.
"Well? It's not going to clean itself."
His eye became a slit. His abusive hands twitched.
Robin whisked back around, swallowing a whimper. He squeezed the excess water from the lathered sponge and started the arduous process anew. Slade's presence loomed like certain death as he observed silently from the encroaching dark.
The boy was exhausted, but there would be no rest for the enslaved as long as the taskmaster was near.
His back pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled. Like tides against the shore, his spine undulated rhythmically as he scrubbed. It bulged from beneath his thin, stretched skin—a swaying chain of vertebrae.
His biceps ached and quivered, petitioning for rest. His neck was sore and stiff. His calloused hands were raw. Yet, he dared not show a hint of fatigue. He attacked the remaining bloodstains mercilessly.
Inch by inch, they began to recede.
Slade's threatening presence pushed him past his limits. Fat drops of perspiration streamed down his temples, back, and chest. His eyes stung as sweat invaded them. It was nearly impossible to breathe. Combating stenches of bleach and rot assaulted his senses.
The last bloody spot refused to separate from the ground. Robin groaned internally.
Needs more bleach...he concluded with a revolted frown.
He tossed the saturated sponge into the bucket and went to unscrew the industrial grade Clorox. Slade's leg haunted his peripheral. His heart hammered against his ribcage, deafening. His soaked and shaky fingers were useless as they tried to pry off the lid.
On his third failed attempt, Slade squatted down beside him.
Robin went completely still, not even daring to breathe. With patronizing ease, Slade plucked the bottle from the boy's petrified grip and unscrewed the cap. Immediately the nose-burning fetor of unadulterated bleach smacked into Robin's face.
Slade handed him the potent-smelling jug back, offering it in one, calm palm. His eye never swerved as it skewered the boy wonder.
Holding his breath, Robin seized the Clorox and splashed some of its chemical contents onto the floor. He then quickly set it down and dunked his aching hand back into the basin to retrieve the sponge. Slade remained glued to his side. The sparkle of his copper mask was a permanent fixture in the corner of Robin's eye.
Thankfully, it only took a few swipes of the sponge before the stain lifted and disappeared.
He patted the ground, feeling for any remnants. When there were none, he exhaled in a poorly disguised sigh of relief.
After hours on his knees, he was finally finished.
Just to be sure, he checked his work several times over, his nose almost touching the recently desecrated ground. Again, he found no residue. Indeed, even the embalming table was spotless.
Unsure what else to do, Robin decided to close up shop.
He glanced tentatively in Slade's direction, waiting for a counter command. When the villain made no protest, he discarded the sponge and re-lidded the bottle of bleach. He dried his hands on a tattered rag and then plopped into an Indian-style position, facing away from his master. His stiff legs cried in delight.
Slade's eye stalked his every movement.
Tense, deathly quiet seconds ticked by as the pair sat in silence.
Did I do something wrong? Robin panicked.
He clamped down on his lip as he resisted the urge to bite his brittle nails. Although he quailed from head to toe, he kept as still as possible—a frightened rabbit caught in the stare of a hungry predator.
"Apprentice," Slade suddenly purred. "Look at me."
Repressing bile, Robin clenched his fists into white-knuckled knots.
He turned to face Slade, wincing. There was a hellish evil lurking in the villain's glare. What secrets would Robin reveal when he peered into it?
As soon as their eyes connected, he lost any hope of courage. He actually recoiled as he gazed into the endless black of Slade's pupil. He recalled all the times it had glimmered just before his master did something dreadful. It was the herald of horror, an apocalyptic horseman.
On cue, it began to glint dangerously.
"Whom do you serve?" Slade asked, leaning forward on his toes.
The enquiry hit Robin out of nowhere, throwing him. Wasn't it obvious?
"Y-y-you, m-m-master," he stuttered, shivering.
Rooted to the spot, he could only cringe as Slade crept closer.
"You belong to me now, don't you?" the villain hissed, crawling across the concrete like a tarantula.
Robin was mystified, perplexed. That question was utterly rhetorical. Nevertheless, Slade was now within a foot of him—intent on Robin's response. He was noiseless as he skulked forward.
"Y-yes, m-master," Robin said with an enthusiastic nod, hoping his affirmation would repel Slade's advances.
The villain's eye widened profoundly, but Robin could not decipher its mysteries.
"Will you serve me and me only?"
As he spoke, Slade cut the distance between them by half. His eye was a gluttonous void that Robin couldn't withstand. He was being eaten alive.
"Yes, master," he whimpered now.
Slade's breath caressed his cheek as it exited through the metal slits. This was far too close. Robin was hurdling toward the point of no return—event horizon. Their faces were mere inches from one another. His entire line of sight was eclipsed by the split, copper-black mask.
"Will you obey my every command?"
The thrum of Slade's tenor ricocheted through his bones, hummed a wicked tune. An unadulterated terror was winding its way up his spine. The fear was drowning out reason as he stared into destruction.
"Yes, master!" he yelped as he tried to scramble backward.
Instantaneously, Slade had Robin's jaw in an icy, iron grip.
He yanked him closer, forcing him to peer directly into the eye of the Cyclops. Robin saw the shadowed shape of a cruel, grinning mouth stretching behind the slits.
Paralyzed, his body was unresponsive; his brain was a blank slate. He was a trapped fly in the spider's web.
"Will you fight at my side forever?" Slade sighed with a snake tongue.
The villain's clutch tightened painfully.
Robin didn't hear the words. There was only the prick of Slade's breath against his flesh and the pounding of his veins as they mutinied.
Still, he whispered:
"Yes, master."