A:N: You all are so supportive and amazing. It's awesome and so, so appreciated.
In other news, this chapter is a tad evil and it may have you wondering "WTF?!", but I had a ton of fun writing it. Let me know what you think! Enjoy! :)
"I'm cornered in fire so break out the secrets. I hope you know that you were worth it all along. I'm tired, you're angry, and everyone looks blurry. I love you. I'm leaving; so long."
"…let me talk…"
"…serious…?!"
"…dude…c'mon…"
"The transport…"
"…five minutes!"
The chorus of voices grew louder outside the door, prodding Robin awake.
Still dizzy, his heavy eyelids fluttered open grudgingly.
The vague, blurry images that surrounded him were foreign: a bright, white landscape with splotches of dark brown. An oppressive fluorescent fixture flared above him. He winced and jerked his head to the side, trying to escape the light which burned his retinas; however, he soon found that such movement was impossible.
"What…?" he murmured, squinting.
Furrowing his brow, he realized he was seated upon something cold and hard. The chilly zing of unrelenting metal pressed into his entire backside, forcing him to sit painfully straight. He hissed and arched his spine.
What's more, there was a heavy pressure on his wrists, ankles, and neck which kept him anchored, restrained. As he shifted and stirred, the unmistakable jangle of chains chimed. Yes, now he could feel the familiar braids of iron digging into him, pinning him.
He swallowed and his Adam's Apple fought against the chain cinched around his upper throat—an industrial noose. Clenching his teeth, he gave a petulant yank against the restraints, yet they only responded with rattling laughs.
Blinking furiously, clarity reluctantly returned to his vision. The dull blobs solidified into a setting.
The room he sat in was tiny, smaller than his bedroom back at the haunt.
It was a perfect square. The concrete walls were bleached of color. The sandstone floors had a thin layer of dirt and were peppered with branching cracks. Robin was positioned behind a rough wooden table that took up half the space. Another, empty, chair sat across from him forebodingly.
He managed to rotate his head a few inches to the right and caught a glimpse of a sturdy-looking door. There was also the unmistakable red flicker of a security camera. It was nestled in the corner, whirring softly.
His steel-fortified chair had a high back and several sizeable holes poked through it. His chains weaved and looped through them, stitching him to his seat. Testing them, he wriggled and squirmed, bucked and thrashed.
The shackles only grew tighter; if he kept at it, he would strangle himself.
"Great..."
Memories came next, albeit slowly.
His head was still sore from being smashed repeatedly into the ridged metal of the storage containers. His chest stung and throbbed—burned. In fact, there wasn't an area of his body untouched by pain. He didn't need a mirror to know that he looked like hell.
The reflection couldn't be worse than how he felt.
As he recollected, ghostly voices trickled into his fogged mind.
"Who's the coward now?"
"Don't do it, Robin."
"I'm only going to say this one more time: attack!"
"SLADE! HELP ME!"
His eyes widened.
Enlightened, he remembered the crux: he had lost.
Suddenly nauseous, his stomach gave a great lurch. A rush of saltwater poured onto his tongue.
His breath became shallow, strained. His imprisoned body began to quiver as he realized what this meant.
Slade was going to kill him.
Correction: Slade was going to kill everyone.
His master's wrath would come like an inevitable storm cloud, a mighty hurricane migrating across the ocean. If Robin didn't report back soon, there was no telling what could happen. His team could be destroyed at any second.
"No…no…no!" he howled.
Suddenly, the door handle twisted. The bolt clicked and the hinge creaked.
Robin's ears pricked and he straightened, molding his brow into a fearsome glower. A rush of venom soured his expression, darkening it. His blanched eyes burned a hole through his frayed half-mask.
A bright horizon of violet and crimson encroached upon his peripheral.
With its arrival, a host of strong perfumes embraced him: incense, lavender, sandalwood, strawberry shampoo, flowers, and something else completely unidentifiable—an enthralling scent. It was alien, yet horribly familiar, to his senses.
It had a fiery, spicy quality to it, like charred cinnamon or spiked nutmeg or a bonfire of gingersnaps. Even though he could never replicate or clearly define it, he nonetheless knew it intimately.
The aroma assaulted him, whispered tormenting things to his calloused heart. It wouldn't be long before he was ensnared, captivated, by its power. Having been lost in the labyrinth of Slade's dark underworld for weeks, he was completely unprepared.
He both despised and loved the heady perfume, just as he both despised and loved its owner. In the heat of battle, he could overlook her, could turn her into another faceless enemy. In private, he had no defense mechanism against her wiles. Already he could feel an unbearable thrill singing through his love-starved body.
Slade may have beat the hero out of him, but the teenage boy remained as stubborn and hormonal as ever. True love is hard, if not impossible, to break.
Starfire glided past him.
Robin stiffened and blushed, hating himself.
Wisps of her long, bright red tendrils caressed his upper arm.
He cringed. His neck was hot to the touch.
She drifted forward, seemingly oblivious to him. Her strong, tan fingers hovered mere inches from the edge of the table. Her clear nails sparkled. Ropes of leaden muscle accented her bare arms and legs. Camouflaged scars marred her bronzed skin every now and then, hinting to her bloody past.
There was little doubt of Starfire's exotic, otherworldly beauty, yet it did not detract from her impressive skill and obvious experience in battle. Indeed, it heightened her menace—the perfect face of a destroying angel.
Knowing this, Robin still could not stop himself from analyzing her. He could not control his ravenous eyes that roamed and studied every detail in each strand of hair that spilled down her back in a scarlet waterfall.
Radiant ruby was the strongest shade, painting her thick mess of locks with streaks of glossy rose; however, looking closely, one could also detect varying tones of purple and orange and pink and gold—the feathers of a phoenix. In the heat of day, her head would be a mane of incomparable flame.
She had been his own, personal sun.
Now, Starfire's oval, sunflower face was sad as she floated to the far corner of the room. She did not meet his eye, even though he stared at her like a famished dog. Indeed, Robin paid little mind to Raven, who had taken the seat across from him.
"Robin," the Empath greeted icily, trying to win his attention.
Reluctantly, Robin's hidden eyes snapped away from Starfire and focused on the witch.
Her hood was back up, masking the upper half of her facade in shadow. Everything below the nose remained exposed and he could tell by the firm set of her mouth that she was annoyed.
A bit pleased with himself, he gave her a jerk of his restricted chin in return.
"Rae," he said with a smirk.
His voice was cracked, dry—as if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand.
She frowned.
"Er, would you like some water?"
Although the question sounded polite, Robin recognized the veiled threat lurking beneath. He twitched his head side-to-side.
"No thanks," he chirped. "I'm not really in the mood to be drugged."
"We wouldn't—"
"Better safe than sorry," he snapped, cutting off her words.
"Fine," she conceded with a shrug.
She then placed her hands in her lap and stared at him intently for a few seconds.
He gazed calmly back.
Starfire watched their tense conversation from afar, her gem-like eyes darting worriedly.
Finally, Raven cleared her throat.
"We know that Slade is planning to use the thermal blaster as a portable nuclear device," she explained bluntly. "We also know that he recently stole weapons-grade plutonium, and that he hacked into the Federal government's database in an attempt to download an encrypted set of codes that would make his theoretical weapon of mass destruction a reality."
"I did all that," Robin corrected, perplexed. "Not Slade."
"And while Slade failed to secure the codes…"
"No, I failed."
Raven ignored him and spoke on. His nostrils flared.
"…we still don't know who or what his target is."
She paused and gave him weighty look.
"That's where you come in," she finished primly.
Robin flashed his teeth.
"Is it?"
"M-hm," she responded in a confident hum. "You're going to tell us everything we need to know about Slade."
Robin's laughter came out like a wheeze and ended in a haggard cough.
"And if I don't?" he challenged.
Raven took a deep breath.
In the corner, Starfire lowered her head and crossed her arms protectively—Robin's eyes swerved to her melancholy form. Her lower lip was trembling. She was trying very hard not to cry, a bad sign.
"A life sentence in solitary confinement," Raven finally said with a sigh. "The death penalty is...on the table."
"Mm," Robin replied noncomitally, still gazing at Starfire. "That doesn't sound good."
"It isn't," Raven snapped. "But if you help us, the feds are willing to deal—we can maybe even get you cleared. We know Slade's the mastermind behind all of this, not you."
Robin stayed silent, but his anger was less reserved.
"The only catch is that you have to tell me where Slade is right now or the deal's off," Raven continued with an accent of bitterness.
"Ah, an ultimatum," Robin muttered, captivated by the tear slowly trickling down Starfire's cheek. "Lucky me..."
"You're lucky that they're giving you one at all," Raven growled. "These jarheads wanted to draw and quarter you the second we took you into custody and I don't blame them. Slade's hurt a lot of people, Robin."
The bottled-up fury broke through the dam and flooded through him.
He glared murderously at Raven.
"You just don't get it, do you?" he snarled, furious. "This was my choice, Raven. Mine. I wasn't brainwashed, I don't have Stockholm syndrome—I'm not the helpless victim you think I am. I stole the blaster and the plutonium. I hurt those people. I'm to blame for all of this!"
Starfire made a noise of complaint while Raven merely waited patiently for his speech to end.
"That's bullshit, Robin, and it's beside the point," the Empath retorted evenly. "Even if what you said was true—which it isn't—you can't deny Slade's involvement. Just tell us where he is and I promise I can get you out of here. You can come home."
His heart stirred but his mind cemented.
"I'm done talking."
Raven rolled her eyes and pushed away from the table. She knew a lost cause when she saw—felt—one.
"Fine. Have it your way. Enjoy prison."
She glanced over her shoulder and barked:
"We're leaving."
Starfire hesitated and gave her Titan teammate a pleading look.
Raven grumbled out another one of her characteristic sighs and snapped:
"You have two minutes."
Cloak fluttering, she left the room, glowering at Robin as she went.
Starfire and Robin were left alone. Old, stupid feelings began to simmer under his skin.
He shifted his gaze forward, determined not to take the bait. He counted the cracks in the wall.
1...2...3...4...5...
"R-robin?" Starfire whimpered into the awkward silence. "Please, you are my best friend. I cannot be in a world where we must fight."
She took a step forward, hand extended, but his expression was distant, cold. Her arm slowly lowered and she turned her face away. She bit her lip and stifled a snivel.
...6...7...8...9...
"If you are truly…evil," she had a hard time spitting out the infamous adjective. "Then go ahead. Do what you must..."
Her chin trembled and her throat was thick with sorrow, but the words were clear—and heartbreaking. He ground his molars, fighting his petulant heart. A bulging vein sprouted up the side of his neck and branched into his temple.
...10...11...11?
She sniffed loudly. He lost concentration.
Unable to resist, his stare drifted.
It locked onto her and he knew immediately that it was hopeless.
His very lungs betrayed him as her name exited through his clenched teeth like an exorcised ghost:
"S-starfire…" he whispered in a pained, broken hiss.
Her head snapped up.
Her bejeweled emerald irises drilled into him like a javelin.
Starfire took several steps forward, approaching him purposefully. Magnetized, he pulled harder on the restraints. The chain around his neck burrowed into his windpipe, but the discomfort didn't register.
"…but if you are not, then please!" she knelt down right beside him and put a heartfelt hand over his.
He went still as a stone, combating against—and soaking in—her warmth. She was unbearably close. An odd, strange feeling tickled his tongue. His jaw cracked under the pressure; the bones of his face popped as he pestled his teeth.
Nevertheless, his body, which had been so dead and numb and frozen, thumped with new life. The boy within whooped and cheered like a love-struck idiot.
Carefully, gently, Starfire turned his wrist over, curled her fingers around his, and squeezed. With her other hand, she reached out and stroked the side of his skeletal cheek. He recoiled, but her hand was firm and fixed.
"Come home to us…" she beseeched.
A pleasant sizzle sparked where she touched his skin, melting his icy exterior. Instinctively, he sank deeper into her palm.
It felt so...good.
She leaned closer.
Her enthralling perfume ramped up its potency, roasting him in a furnace of paralyzing spice. It crashed through his defenses and seduced his mind—dulling it, stripping it. The warning that shot through the back of his head disappeared, overwhelmed by her influence.
Mouth parted, his hard expression liquefied. He inhaled deeply and licked his lips, savoring the delicious air.
"…to me."
Her breath tickled his carved cheek.
A moan mixed with a growl rumbled out of his throat.
Starfire's lovely, sun-kissed face blocked out everything, made him forget everything.
What had she said? What did she want from him?
"H-home?" he stammered.
Happiness began to dance in her eyes. Relief flooded her countenance. She nodded at him with a dazzling smile, paralyzing him further.
His lips twitched upward in a stupid, sad grin.
Her beam widened spectacularly, dimples blazing.
Slowly, Starfire detangled her fingers from his and lifted them to the other side of his face. She cradled his head in her hands.
Slack-jawed, he was utterly hypnotized.
His neck bruised as he struggled to get closer.
Seeing what he wanted, she obliged him without complaint. Their noses almost touched. He wanted to obliterate the miniscule distance between them.
Her exhales were tropical. Her eyes were in full bloom. Her lips were rosy petals, perfectly curved and open. Her wild, bird-of-paradise hair tumbled down her amazon shoulders and framed her golden face—the epitome of Persephone.
He had lived in eternal winter too long. He wanted the sun; he wanted springtime.
She was so close, he could almost taste her. Their heartbeats were almost in sync.
Suddenly, Starfire's expression became serious. The flower closed.
"But you must tell us, Robin," she sighed and his mouth watered. "Where is Slade?"
The bubble popped.
An icy bucket embittered his sultry senses. Thick, black storm clouds blotted out the sky. Freezing sleet burst forth and pelted him. The northern winds returned with a vengeance.
Robin's expression crystalized into permafrost.
He clamped his foolish mouth shut and snarled. Starfire's eyes widened and wilted into despair.
"You're wasting your breath," he spat cruelly, turning away.
Her hands dropped to his shoulders.
"Robin…" she said with a voice full of hurt. "Wh—?"
"Get the hell away from me, alien!"
Wolfish, he lunged at her.
Gasping, she flinched and stumbled backward.
The seasons separated.
"I-I do not…I do not...understand…"
He chuckled lowly, apathetically, and twisted the knife.
"You never did."
She began to weep, covering her mouth.
A hinge squealed simultaenously, cutting off Starfire's sobs.
"He's not worth it, Star," a gentle monotone—Raven—encouraged. "C'mon, time's up. Let's go."
Shoulders shaking, Starfire glided briskly out the open door, hiding her swollen eyes. She didn't say another word; she couldn't stand the sight of him.
Raven sighed and spoke no more.
The door slammed shut and the bolt clicked with finality.
As it echoed, the anger leeched out of Robin's face, replaced by agony. He hung his head.
For a moment, it had all seemed possible.
Then, he remembered that what his former friends envisioned was only a fantasy and nothing more. He could never return to Titans Tower. It was no longer his home.
No one double-crossed Slade and lived to tell the tale. As soon as Starfire said that horrid name, the spell she had worked on him vanished.
Slade would know that his apprentice had betrayed him, he always knew. His unholy, Cyclops eye was eternal, immortal, omnipresent. There would be nowhere to hide. It followed Robin like a curse.
He couldn't risk Slade's vengeance, couldn't risk his family's safety, no matter how enticing the dream seemed.
If he was caught...
In his mind, he saw his team splayed and broken, bloody and disfigured—piled over one another in a grotesque burial mound.
No, it would be worse than that.
There wouldn't be a trace of them left.
Then, Robin would truly be all alone.
He saw himself trapped in the dark with Slade, forever. His master's punishment didn't end with the Titans' deaths. No, he would make the boy wonder suffer horror after horror until the end of his long life.
He would string Robin up. He would tear his body apart, piece by piece. There would be no relief, no rest.
Years of hellish torment awaited him.
And Robin would have nothing—not even his memories—to cling to. His friends would be wiped from his mind like a bad dream. They would die true deaths and be erased from existence.
Who would Robin be then?
"...truly evil..."
He felt it already, a wicked presence lurking in the corners of his soul. It sifted and paced, waiting for him to wander deeper into darkness. The fact that his friends continued to live, with or without him, was the only thing holding it at bay.
To save the Titans, he had to break their hearts. To save himself, he had to remain Slade's loyal apprentice.
It was a rotten lot, but it was his.
He couldn't let foolish love corrupt reality.
He leaned his head against the back of the chair and blew out a long, weighty breath, suddenly exhausted.
It was unusually quiet.
He had expected some GJ Joe to come in next, determined to pound the information out of him. Yet, Robin couldn't even hear the buzz of a fly or detect the murmur of secretive whispers humming from behind the locked door.
Maybe this was their strategy? Were they trying to give him a taste of what was to come—a precursor to solitary confinement?
Mulling over these questions, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting.
He muttered a few choice expletives and gave another useless yank on the cuffs wrapped around his wrists.
Something inexplicable happened then.
The chains loosened.
Pitching forward, he raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
The restraint on his neck did not stop him as he moved.
It slid from his throat and collapsed into a bundle on his lap.
Freedom came like a thief in the night.
He lifted his arms and kicked his feet.
The weight of the cuffs disappeared.
He jumped up from the steel chair.
The fetters clattered loudly to the ground.
That was when he noticed an even greater surprise:
The fools hadn't stripped him of his utility belt—nor had they removed the explosive hidden within it.
The security camera swiveled in his direction, but it was too late.
The wall was blown to smithereens just as the sirens began to wail.