Chapter Two: Hard Reality

"How's he doing?" Starfire asked amidst the confusion. The fires were being put out and the wounded were being sent in ambulances to the hospital. The fact that Slade was on one of the stretchers was disquieting to the Teen Titans. His helmet was gone, revealing his face to the young heroes: he had a strong chin, a bold forehead, and well-groomed hair. He would have been breathtakingly handsome, were it not for the bullet lodged in his forehead or the blood spreading across his eyes and cheeks like a macabre spider web.

Cyborg looked at the comatose Slade as the paramedics hauled him into the ambulance. He shuddered when he noticed all the morphine drips and stabilizing equipment that the villain was hooked up to. "The doctors say he might make it," Cyborg said quietly. "The helmet absorbed most of the impact. But the range was point blank when Robin…." He could not finish the sentence.

Beast Boy was uncharacteristically silent. Starfire turned away, hugging herself, suddenly overcome with chills not caused by the night wind. Raven was the only one who could look upon Slade's battered body without shuddering. Emotionless, totally objective, she regarded their nemesis' pallid features with interest. "Yes, he will live," she said prophetically. "Slade is like Robin. Both are men who simply won't die until they want to."

"You shouldn't compare Rob with that creep," Cyborg said, his voice going hard. Then he looked sheepish. "Sorry, Rave. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just…you know…."

"Yes," Raven said softly, her eyes following the ambulance that drove away with Slade's body. "I know."

"So," Starfire began, only to falter. She cleared her throat and tried again. "So how is Robin doing?"

"He left soon after the paramedics came in," Cyborg reported. He had been the first to see Robin's…handiwork. There had been so much blood. Robin, cradling Slade's unconscious body, the helmeted head in his lap. Blood—Slade's blood—spilling on Robin's lap. Robin crying. Robin never cried. Cyborg shook the image from his mind, wishing that his memory core were not so damned precise. He continued, "I don't know where he went and he's not answering his comm."

"We can try calling Titan Tower," Raven said. She pressed a button on her communicator and regarded the results. "He's not responding, if he's even there." The dark-haired girl looked around and said, "There's nothing left for us to do here. We should head back."

They found Titan Tower wrapped in darkness, clutched in disarray. The lights were off, the computers powered down. Vases, paintings, access terminals all lay in shattered pieces. Fists had torn the walls and doors apart. The darkness only added a desperate edge to the violence that had descended upon Titan Tower like a whirlwind.

But the Teen Titans did not think a villain had come to their headquarters. They knew at once what had destroyed their home. His despairing cries were roaring through the halls like a haunting, vengeful, self-destructive ghost. The very sound sent terror through Beast Boy's spine and threw Cyborg's sensors into confusion. Starfire recoiled and fell to her knees, sobbing at the sound. Even Raven, so distant and in control of her emotions, felt tears well in her eyes and goosebumps crawl up her arms.

The Titans approached Robin's room warily. The cries had softened to sobs, now. Cyborg somehow found the courage to open the door. The sight within was like a nightmare given form.

Robin had always been proud of his room. He never openly bragged about it to anyone and he rarely let anyone inside because it was a room dedicated to crimefighting, to being a detective. It was not the kind of room that would have attracted any interest from innocent Starfire, dark Raven, or carefree Beast Boy and Cyborg. This had always been a room devoted to study and work. And he loved it.

The desk was always littered: gadgets that Robin was working on, repairing, or improving; clues picked up on a case; case files; notes written in Robin's hard, slanted, diligent handwriting. The desk always a good indicator of what Robin was thinking about. It was a habit he picked up from when he worked in Gotham City.

But if the desk was Robin's mind, then the walls were his memory. They were practically wallpapered in photos and newspaper clippings of the Titans' victories. One wall was layered in such mementos, but they were of when Robin was working with Batman and Batgirl back in Gotham City. Before the Titans, before Slade.

But now the desk was overturned, the clues and gadgets scattered forlornly on the floor. The walls were torn asunder, the pictures and clippings shredded. The wall of Robin's earlier days had taken the brunt of the punishment. Holes pocked the wall, evidence of a fist striking it. A chair had been thrown into it. So had a lead paperweight. Every image of Batman's face had been ripped apart.

It looked like a vision of hell.

Sitting in a corner was Robin, cloaked in that personal hell. His mask was discarded, thrown atop the remnants of Batman's visage. His cape and belt, too. He just sat there, burying his face in his hands. The tears had long since been cried out of him. He sat there, just sat there. Unmoving. Like Slade.

Beast Boy should have said something lighthearted. A joke, perhaps.

Cyborg should have offered to play video games, to relive the stress.

Starfire should have tried to comfort him.

Raven would have at least tried to talk to him, to play the role of confidant and nonjudgmental advisor.

But they didn't. None of them moved. They were out of their element, for none of them had ever dealt with a wound so close to their hearts. Never before had their mission, their responsibilities as superheroes, taken such a hard and brutal reality. They were unprepared, confused, and afraid. And eventually, they left him there, completely unable to help their friend come to terms with his grief.

The door closed. Robin didn't even notice. In his mind, he still saw Slade's eyes.