A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the late update. December was a crazy month! Still, I'm sorry to keep you in suspense! So, without further adieu, enjoy!~ :)

Warning: Language.

"I'm just embarrassed and comfortably numb. But failure is painful and lying is fun...Cheers to the fact that we're not dead. Swimming with the sharks, but we're still not dead yet."

"Ah!"

In the backseat of the T-Car, Raven hissed and clutched the sides of her head, fighting the new tsunami of emotions pounding against her mind. One moment, Raven had been sporting a mild migraine and the next, pain crashed into her like a battering ram.

But it wasn't her pain.

After weeks of radio silence, Robin had finally let his guard down.

Whether he realized it or not, his mental anguish pulled at her—subconsciously desperate for her presence. Taken off-guard, the Empath barely managed to hold onto the material plane. Shadowy feathers sprouted from her back, forming winged outlines, as she battled Robin's unrelenting magnetism. The whites of her eyes were bordered in sparkling black, seeping closer to the violet center. She could feel her raven soul-avatar cawing and clawing against her control, demanding freedom.

The pain was overwhelming. If the link was any indication, Robin was in a disturbing amount of distress—both mentally and physically. Something had snapped inside him.

Or, more likely, Slade was breaking him.

"Raven!" Beast Boy cried beside her, emerald eyes wide.

He put his paw on her cloak-covered shoulder. Unable to respond, she could only shake her naked head and let out a pathetic groan. She squeezed her obsidian-rimmed eyes shut and clenched her petite fingers into white-knuckled fists on her lap.

Beast Boy turned and slapped the back of the driver's seat.

"Dude, pull over!" he commanded Cyborg sharply before turning his worried gaze back to Raven.

The vibrant green changeling then pried open one of her hands and inserted his own into it, acting as a human stress-ball. Although small in size, her grip was anything but. Her fingers crushed his and he stifled a surprised, unmanly squeal.

The screech of tires, the sharp sway of the car, and Beast Boy's hand in hers helped keep her grounded in material reality. With each passing second, she could feel her will crystallizing, sharpening the divide between her and Robin.

"Azarath…" she chanted through gritted teeth. "…Metrion…Zinthos…"

A shrill honk pierced the air behind her as the T-car swerved and parked gracelessly on the side of a busy intersection.

Flashes of images flew across her mind as she concentrated: dark tunnels, Slade's mask, a disfigured hand, drops of blood on wet stones, and…

"Batman?"

"I'm sorry dad…" Robin whispered just as Slade shattered his ring finger.

His dazed apology ended in a bestial cry. Purified agony shot through his hand, drawing all attention. His spine arched and he ground his teeth together. Any attempt at yanking his hand out of Slade's unrelenting grasp only resulted in more misery.

His time with Slade had certainly built his endurance; the daily woes of his apprenticeship had taught him how to withstand an enormous amount of pain. Unfortunately, this helpful training was backfiring on him now. With each horrible pulse of anguish radiating from his fingers, he prayed for unconsciousness.

It did not come.

The edges of his vision were blurred and blackened, but the darkness never encroached further than that. His newfound durability kept him cognizant.

A steady stream of whimpers crept out of his bloodied mouth, a mix of garbled words and strangled gasps.

Unimpressed, Slade flicked away the now-useless ring finger and set his sights on the last digit.

He pinched the knuckle of Robin's pinkie.

The boy's hand was quivering, trembling, as he awaited the inevitable crack! The tremors worked their way up his arm and spread throughout his entire frame. The four other fingers on his left hand were grotesquely bent and swollen. His sweaty face was turned away as he lay flat on his belly, unable to bear the sight.

His shoulders were rising and falling rapidly as he attempted—and failed—to breathe through the pain.

An endless well of tears flooded out of him. They spilled out of the corner of his eyes, spirited across his temple, bled into his shaved hairline, and hit the cobbled ground beneath his prostrate head with faint taps. He couldn't stop crying.

He was a defective apprentice.

Slade narrowed his eye and his forearm muscles flexed, ready to break the last of Robin's fingers.

"And this little piggy…" he hummed heartlessly, squeezing the pinkie. "…went all the way home."

Crack!

Like a child throwing a tantrum, Robin kicked his feet and cried out. The scuff of his boots echoed along with his groan. He twisted his head around and smashed his forehead into the sewer floor. His lip was curled like a snarling wolf, his eyes were welded shut, and his brow was collapsed, carved, as it fought the adversarial pain.

His nostrils flared and he tried to shift his attention to the cool, slimy ground beneath his head, counting the slick drops of perspiration and pebbles of loose gravel. It was a losing battle. The broken, little bones of his hand had Napoleon complexes and the putrid stench of the sewers muddled his concentration.

Ropes of bulging veins protruded from the side of his coiled, collared neck—raised blue branches spreading up into his stony jaw. His breath came out in sporadic snorts and growling wheezes.

Slade's eye flashed with obvious pleasure.

Robin's hand was a pile of gnarled, lank meat in Slade's calm grasp. The swelling had already begun; the skin was turning shades of sickly red and purple. Blotches of deep indigo colored his grotesquely twisted knuckles.

Even amidst the cacophony of agony, Robin had the awareness to tuck his other hand underneath his belly-flopped body. Perhaps if it was out of sight, it would be out of Slade's mind.

"Now," his master announced after a long moment. "What have we learned today?"

Mind reeling, Robin spat the first words that crawled up his windpipe.

"Actions have…" he sucked in a breath. "…consequences."

With feathery lightness, Slade twisted Robin's captured, broken pinkie and watched as the boy wonder squirmed in unabashed discomfort on the tunnel floor.

"Go on," Slade encouraged pleasantly.

Robin's teeth flashed in the dark as he ground them together, lips pulled back. It was a cruel irony that the littlest finger was causing such enormous pain and rendering him all but helpless.

"Never…disobey a…direct order!" the teenager barked at the grimy ground.

Slade made no further sound, nor did he release his painful hold. Robin bit his cheek to keep from whimpering further. His battered face was strained, screwed, as he endured Slade's slow and wicked retribution.

"This conversation is far from over, young man."

With that vague threat, Slade released his grip anticlimactically, letting Robin's arm drop.

Robin cried out in surprise as his mutilated hand crashed into the cold, wet stones. He couldn't even sense the positioning of his fingers; his hand was just one, great symphony of pain. It stung and throbbed and pulsated incessantly.

As quickly as he could manage, Robin rolled onto his side and immediately cradled his mangled hand against his stomach. His fingers looked as if they had been chewed up and spit back out—perverted, distorted, bent horrifically. The tips of his fingers pointed in opposite directions like bendy straws.

Even worse, as blood rushed back into his hand, it began to throb and pound with pregnant hurt. The pain spread like a wildfire, rippling up his arm.

"Before we head back home," Slade transitioned tactlessly, nodding at the bloodied Robin with a cold jerk of his makeshift chin. "Be a dear and fill me in as to what happened after we broke off contact. Watching the rest of your performance through the security camera feed was inadequate to say the least. It's a shame the military has yet to discover the benefits of audio for their surveillance systems..."

Although mildly worded, the request was anything but. His tone was sharp, a notch below a fanged hiss.

Slade had never really left Robin. Their short time apart was a state of mind. Ironically, the villain seemed to have eyes everywhere.

Robin swallowed thickly, buying time as he formed his words. Any slip of his tongue could mean another ruined hand. He tried to meet Slade's eye but the man's stare was too intense and he quickly dropped his gaze.

"When the, er, earpiece…fell out…" he said with a cracked voice, shifting uncomfortably as he lay on his side.

His cracked ribs bit at him. His mouth and throat were parched. Bits of gravel were stuck to his bloodied cheeks, packing his gashes with tainted dirt. There didn't seem to be an inch of skin on him that didn't sting. He took another quick, mildly dazed, peek at Slade, wondering how to phrase his explanation.

Crouched on his toes and elbows on his knees, Slade's dangling black-gloved hands curled into tight fists. His indigo eye—almost imperceptible in the darkness of the tunnel—sparkled with malice, pinning Robin beneath an invisible weight.

Robin coughed and the movement sent a stinging spike through his chest, his hand, his body. He winced, flinched, and became distracted by the pain.

"Yes?" Slade prodded, his tone clipped.

Robin bit his lip and tried to focus on speaking coherently. It was easier said than done.

"I-I don't remember much after that," he stammered noncommittally. "But when I woke up, I was in a room. They had me chained to a chair and, uh…"

Robin's words trailed off as he wondered just how much Slade knew about his brief interrogation. What had he seen?

Slade's eye flashed again and he shifted forward on his toes. Robin leaned away instinctively and was rebuked severely for it. His hand caught fire again. He gasped and stiffened as still as he could.

"Spit it out!"

The temperature seemed to drop as Slade's anger boiled. His voice was a wisp—a biting, snapping wind. Gooseflesh prickled all along Robin's skin. A shiver threatened. His naked, fearful eyes darted upward and were instantly caught in the web of Slade's glare.

"They interrogated me."

The words flew out of him on their own accord—traitors.

As expected, Slade's interest was piqued. This was the crux of the matter. He had, of course, watched Robin's discourse with the Titans, but had heard nothing.

In the blink of an eye, he had Robin by the collar of his shirt. He threw the boy wonder against the tunnel wall and pinned him there. Surprised, Robin yelped, but he managed to cradle his mangled hand well enough against his belly, saving it from being squashed. His ribs, unfortunately, took the brunt of it. He wheezed and gasped as they dug into his lungs.

"What did you tell them?"

His master was an inch from his face. His black-blue eye was wild, glinting like chaotic lightning.

"N-nothing!" Robin swore, trembling.

Slade's eye narrowed. He was unconvinced.

"I didn't say anything!" Robin exclaimed with a pleading expression. "I swear! Raven offered to help me if I gave you up but I told her to fuck off! I would never betray you, master. You have to believe me!"

"And what about the alien?" Slade hissed and his hands jammed Robin harder into the slimy brick. "With her, you didn't seem nearly as hostile."

Realization hit Robin and he kicked himself for being so completely foolish. He had forgotten about Starfire. Of course Slade would read their exchange in the interrogation room with suspicion!

"I didn't say anything," he repeated huskily. "She was just a piece of tail playing good cop."

"From what I saw, she was rather effective," Slade countered.

Speaking with more confidence than he felt—and desperate to avoid more pain—Robin snapped:

"She's not the only one that can put on a show."

Slade barked a rare laugh. The rage in his eye dimmed ever so slightly. He did enjoy the sick irony of it all.

The pressure on Robin noticeably lessened as Slade pulled back an inch.

"Maybe," Slade conceded with a small, hidden smirk. "But theatrics don't explain how you managed to escape."

Robin bit his lip. This part of the story remained a mystery, even to him. He shook his head and gave a one-armed shrug.

"After Star—the alien left," he explained, his mind racing. "The chains just…came off."

Even as the words spluttered out of him, Robin knew how insane and idiotic it all sounded. He should have lied. At least then he could have had a chance of evading another round of his master's ferocious displeasure.

Indeed, the savage spark was back in Slade's eye. His fingers twitched against Robin's shoulders, curling as they readied themselves to strangle.

"Chains don't just come off, apprentice. Come now, tell me the truth. I wouldn't want to have to break your other hand."

"I'm telling the truth!" Robin cried. "They just…they just fell off! I don't know how it happened!"

"You're lying, Robin," Slade said with a singsong sneer.

"I'm not! I swear I'm not!"

Slade leaned forward.

"If you thi—" he began to threaten, but his words caught off as he caught sight of something.

His lonely eye swiveled sharply to the right of Robin's head.

A faint, barely perceptible, red dot illuminated the stone behind the boy's ear. It was the width of a thumbnail and blurred by intense shadow. Slade only noticed it because he had just been about to smash Robin's skull against the wall.

Slowly, he reached out and pressed his fingers to the base of Robin's neck and head, probing for the source of the feeble light. Robin's nervous eyes followed him, transfixed, and he winced when Slade hit upon the tender nerves of his bruised skull.

Then, a small prick of pain stabbed the nape of his neck like a particularly bad mosquito bite.

Slade's arm whipped back and his hand was no longer empty.

Clutched between his index finger and thumb was a tiny, metallic circle ringed with infinitesimal spikes. A speck of red illuminated its black surface, glowing like a new moon.

Robin's glacial-blue eyes went wide in recognition.

Slade gave a low, spine-warping chuckle.

"So, the Titans want to play."