Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.
Robin's eyes snapped open. His brain took a split-second to shift into gear – the room was dark. The red numerals of his alarm clock glowed softly: one-thirty. The sheets were cool on his legs, but there was a dull heat in his underarms and his stomach. He realized with some surprise that his breath came heavily.
Slade? The question came from somewhere in his mind. No, he decided. There was nothing wrong. The Tower's security system would have awoken him. He listened for a moment. All was quiet. There could be no intruder. Still, he was awake – why?
He was still thinking when the clock's one-fifty-three faded gently into nothingness and sleep took him away.
"Four o'clock," said a quiet, familiar voice. Robin jumped back to consciousness. This time, something was definitely wrong. Someone was here – in his room – on his bed. He shifted, or would have, but something held him. He rolled his wrists upward, feeling with fingertips at the mass that held him in place. There was a warm lump on either side of his torso. Something bony pressed into his chest. Something else pressed his cheek.
A tenth of a second had passed, and his eyes finally focused, giving him more data to work with. His fingers, he saw, had felt a leg on each side – warm, lithe, athletic. The source of the bony pressure in his chest was obvious now. Shoulders, draped loosely, were near his, and a pale collarbone was just visible. He felt breath on his upper lip and finally looked straight ahead at the white-gray face and purple eyes and red crystal.
"Raven – "
"Four o'clock, Robin."
And he glanced slightly to the side, because something, he remembered, had pressed his right cheek – but it was no part of Raven; it had felt hard and artificial. His eyes widened.
"Do you know where your teammates are?" Raven's upper lip curled slightly; in anyone else, it might have turned into a smile. A hand protruded from the dark cloak around her form, and in the hand was a shaft – silver, engraved with intricate vines – and attached to the shaft was a slim, feminine blade that just made a depression in the skin of Robin's cheek.
His mind raced. Seconds passed.
"What?"
"I asked you," said Raven, "do you know where your teammates are?" She leaned closer. "Have you seen them?"
"Let me just –" his arms were under her knees. He pushed slightly – and the pressure at his cheek became a sting, just for an instant, and red came out in one fat, bloated droplet. It lay quivering on the blade.
"I wouldn't do anything rash, Robin." The purple eyes, sharp but blank, filled his field of vision. He was dimly aware that his hands hurt. They tingled. He licked his lips. They were suddenly dry and cracked. His mind, long since pushed into overdrive, couldn't resolve the situation. More information was needed.
"What are you doing?"
"You don't like me, Robin. None of you do." The half-daemon paused. "I know that much. You think I'm dangerous. You think it's a matter of time before I make a mistake. Just a matter of time before I lose control and turn your precious city to rubble."
His breath came in gasps. Cold dampness pooled at his neck and the small of his back.
"What?"
"You won't deny it. You can't. I know you think of it." The point of the blade traced a lazy pattern – across the cheek, near the nose, playing daintily with the eye that blinked with sweat – never drawing blood, but saying, Here I am. "I can't feel. My emotions cause destruction. You know this much."
He grunted what she took to be an affirmative.
"Then we must ask," she continued, "isn't there an easier way? You must have thought of it, too."
Another grunt, and more blinking.
"I've seen it as well, in your mind – in all your minds. There I am. I'm on the bathroom floor, and the blood pools in an interesting way, doesn't it? It follows the pattern of the tile. And you never have to worry about me again, because I can't cause you any more harm. Right?"
He stared. Words didn't come.
"You know," she said, almost conversationally, "there is another way. You don't realize it – not consciously – but there are two possibilities. There are two ways to resolve our little dilemma. Two scenarios where I never harm you ever again."
The blade turned slightly, and his strained eyes made out dry, red-brown streaks on its side. The half daemon leaned in. Her breath was quick and shallow.
"You're the last one," she whispered. "You won't have to worry about me. You won't have to worry about anything."