Wow. Err…heh, heh…I guess I probably should write romance more often. Well, I've decided to continue this, based upon all the great reviews I got in under one day. 'Tis a new record, indeed…Yeah…I promise, not all of this story will be a bunch of serious talking and flashbacks. I'm guessing that action will intervene here and there (Which is why this story is rated 'T' to be safe) and I have absolutely no doubt that Slade will make an appearance or two. So, here we go!
Chapter Two: Painful Memories
Time passed. Hours dragged into days, and days into weeks, all blended together in the same category as a measurement of progression…leading straight back to time. It was a never-ending circle, spinning forever in motion; its existence serves no purpose and yet we feel that it is essential to everything. Is it true? Or does it only seem to matter because we have nothing else to hold onto and explain the many mysteries of the world to us?
This has been a question that many have asked, though few have answered with a reason that can make sense.
…But when your mind is distracted and lost in cold dreams of the past, it, of course, makes no difference to you whether the whole planet is paused—caught in the moment—or if all its inhabitants continue to move about you, following their daily schedules. All you know is that you have moved away from Earth itself, and you sit, shivering, on your own frozen world, staring at the warm green and blue hues. You wonder if you can ever return, even though the rocket has left you here on an island, devoid of any life aside from yourself. You wonder if things can ever go back to the way they used to be, when justice was about more than just revenge…and love had no complications barring your way…
And you begin to wonder if there really are barriers blocking you, or you're just trying to find excuses from going out on a limb, taking a chance and leaping off the cliff, hoping that someone—somebody out there—will care enough to stop and catch you.
You wonder if you're worth enough to deserve saving, especially because every time you try to jump, something always makes you hesitate. And that one person is still waiting there, through sun and rain alike—they've always been waiting. Everything's up to you now…
But you're too scared.
What if that single hero has grown tired of standing there with their arms out, looking like a fool to all the others around them? What if they're finally walked away, and when you muster enough courage to jump, you find there is nothing there to prevent you from falling through the concrete and into the pits of Hell.
And then you say you've grown used to the frigid climate you; you spend time imagining how, maybe, someday, you'll eventually gather enough snow to crawl under, where you can sink into eternal sleep…
The odd thing is…it's not as if you're afraid of the possibility of Hell and the torment that awaits within it… The thing is, it's almost as if that one person is your last chance, your redemption, your guardian angel—the net that will stop you from death, even if there are higher forces at work, cutting the ropes, hoping to drag you down.
It shocks you, that you depend so heavily on one, single being…and it bothers you, to know that there others out there who will notice this dedication, this connection between the two of you.
And personally: You'd rather go face to face with the Devil himself, rather than let her be used that way.
Some could say you'd do anything to save her, to take care of her…
That's something else that disturbs you.
R-S-R-S
Eventually, Robin started to join them at the table once more, to share meals and to laugh alongside them at jokes, or makes plans for the weekend, even if they would probably be interrupted by some criminal's latest scheme.
Starfire was pleased.
She had been so concerned that, after this torturous experience, Robin might have never left his room again. The alien could not quite understand how someone could lock themselves within one, specific place for so long. Didn't the darkness appear to slowly bear down on him? Didn't the eyes of the pictures on the walls ever appear to be following Robin as he paced, back and forth, back and forth, long into the night?
When her friend had posed as the villainous character of "Red X," Starfire had entered his room, hoping to clear some of the confusion that was clouding her mind. His door had slid open, slicing through the quiet in an eerie manner, like a knife swinging down in an arc to…what? Starfire had shuddered, but moved forward all the same, trying to ignore the goosebumps that prickled up her arms and made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight.
The air in his room was cold, and yet surprisingly musty, and when she inhaled, each gasp of air was coated with dust. It made her sick to her stomach, and she had to resist coughing uncontrollably. But, after she had grown accustomed to the odd atmosphere, she set about examining the contents on a single table, which was laden various types of deadly looking weapons. She would have observed them closer, but every time she took another step, the eyes of the leering figures in the newspapers scattered about the room seemed to narrow—ever so slightly—and it was partly the reason that her hands, trembling, knocked over the hologram that revealed everything to her.
He had been so desperate, Starfire reflected miserably, picking at her tofu eggs with her fork.
"…He did not trust you…and, you did not trust us…" Starfire murmured softly, turning her head away so that her red hair fell over her face like a curtain. She could not look at Robin any longer…too many things had happened, and she didn't want to stay. Yet, she could not help thinking furiously at him: 'I trust you! I LOVE YOU! Why have you done this!'
But, perhaps it was because she had not spoken these words, that Robin had so easily fallen into Slade's grasp.
And—and—
"Star!"
Starfire's head jerked up instantly, and her emerald eyes blinked rapidly as she returned to the present. Beast Boy was leaning towards her eagerly, a knife and fork clenched in either of his hands.
"You gonna eat that?"
Starfire could not help it, and giggled happily, before pushing her plate away.
"No, Friend Beast Boy, you may have it!"
The changeling cackled gleefully and began to shovel mounds of tofu eggs into his mouth. Raven, who was perched beside him, nose buried in another thick novel, managed to tear her gaze away from the printed letter to give Beast Boy a look of pitying disgust, like one might examine a cockroach you have just swatted mercilessly with a shoe, and it is lying on its back on the ground, tiny legs waving crazily as it slowly died.
He turned to look at her as well, shoving the remains of the food in her face helpfully.
"Did oo wah shome?"
Raven shook her head and, folding her book beneath her arm, drifted off to her room. Beast Boy spared a moment to glance at her in puzzlement, before he tossed the dirty dish carelessly at the sink (It bounced off one of the gigantic stacks already piled on the counter and, shocking enough, landed neatly beneath the faucet) before punching Cyborg—who was passing by with a large tray of bacon, sausage, and all other things "non—vegetarian"—in the arm, laughing: "Tag! You're it!"
The half—human, half—machine blinked in confusion, before tossing aside his food and hurtling after a snickering Beast Boy, yelling, "Man, you little pest! When I get my hands on you, you are SO dead!"
Beast Boy, wisely, ducked just as Cyborg lunged, and the older teen accidentally went crashing into Robin, who had just been ready to join the breakfast table.
"What the hell was that for?"
"Sorry, man, BB was being a pain, and he declared tag, so I ran after him, and then he ducked, and then I smashed into you, and I'm really sorry—"
But the green transformer was already off and running, shouting over his shoulder at Robin:
"Dude, you are it!"
Robin and Cyborg stared at the other boy in confusion, before laughing as well, before playing along with the game. Starfire watched, smiling from ear to ear as the boys raced around and called to each other (Or rather, Robin was calling, whereas Cyborg let loose a continuous stream of swears as Beast Boy constantly evaded him).
To her, it was good, knowing that Robin was back to being himself…and personally, she wouldn't have it any other way.
Suddenly, Robin reached out and tapped her smartly on the arm.
"Your turn, Star!" He managed to say, before speeding off. Starfire, delighted to have the chance to participate in the game, jumped out of her seat and followed her leader and team mate, barely constraining her joy. She barely even noticed that Cyborg and Beast Boy had ceased playing and were now pummeling one another over who got the remote—and she didn't even care. Robin was okay, and for once, the mood in the Tower had lifted…
And then she made the mistake of reaching out and—even though she was gentle—grabbing his arm.
For a moment, everything seemed to freeze; Starfire was still clinging to his arm, but the muscles beneath her fingers had tensed, tightened with fear. The next thing she knew, her own arm was twisted violently, making her cry out in alarm. It felt like it was about to break, it was on fire—
"Oh my God, Starfire, I'm so sorry!"
Robin released her and the alien drew away from him, cradling her injured arm with the other. Hurt and confusion shone in her green irises, as she whimpered: "Why…?"
The Boy Wonder shook his head, as if attempting to empty of it of other thoughts, before he reached out cautiously and, putting both his hands on her shoulders, helped her sink onto the couch.
"I didn't mean to, Star…" He explained in a soothing tone, sitting beside her. "I really didn't…"
"But—why?"
With a heavy sigh, Robin shifted away from her, a green gloved hand moving towards his shirt sleeve, which he pushed up slightly…
And the Tameranean gasped in horror.
Tiny, purple bruises—about the size of fingerprints—stood out against his skin, and as Starfire ran a cool palm over them in appalled awe, her friend winced slightly.
"Friend Robin, I apologize most grievously!" The alien moaned unhappily, wringing her hands. "I did not mean to exert so much of my strength into this game, and I—"
"No, Star," Robin whispered, averting his gaze from hers. "These aren't from you…"
Starfire's eyes widened in disgust.
"Robin, I—I—"
"Star, it's fine…I just…need to be alone for awhile…"
And Robin, standing once more, stalked off for his room.
R-S-R-S
Silence heightens your concentration.
There is nothing else near you to turn your thoughts off whatever track they have started down. No noises interrupt your focus as you sit, staring into black and wondering why your life has gone so horribly wrong…what you did to deserve this mental torment that destroys you…from the inside out…
Robin's masked eyes closed wearily, arms curling around his knees with his back braced against the wall. For some reason, he was so tired…all he wanted was to fall asleep—fall into a dimension of fantastic dreams and nightmares…and never, ever again wake up. Reality was merely weighing him down; it was as if thick, unbreakable chains had been wrapped around his body and every time he tried to move away, Slade would always be there to drag him back into a helpless prison—a cage that every bird fears.
Though his room provided an adequate thinking area, sometimes Robin got the irresistible urge to break down the walls, to scream just to end the ongoing silence…to lose all control, all self restraint—ever since his parents died, he always had the thirst to prove himself, to make something of himself! He wanted to be someone more than just Richard Grayson, partly the reason that he so willingly accepted the identity of "Robin, 'Boy Wonder.' "
Yet…that had never quenched his burning hunger. Being a hero was exhilarating, fighting crime and such, but it came with too many rules and restricted him so often. Eventually, he came to realize that it no longer gave him the sensation he was looking for; it was no longer a…a…
"It was a thrill, wasn't it?"
It was all Robin could do not to shudder aloud—for that would be giving Slade what he wanted—but all the same, a chill ran up his spine, and he weakened considerably. His "master" must have felt the quiet surrender from the way his apprentice's muscles relaxed beneath his grip, because a moment later the boy felt the fingertips—which had previously been digging into his arm—vanish. Nothing was holding him up anymore, and Robin stumbled forward to catch himself before he hit the ground, though he instantly recovered and spun around, watching Slade warily.
But the man had no intention of fighting…at least, not for the moment. Turning his back on his apprentice, Slade began constructing some sort of device over at his work table. For a moment, Robin thought that perhaps their discussion was over, but the next minute, Slade began speaking again, and the boy listened in spite of himself.
"You're going to keep stealing, Robin, and you're going to keep getting that thrill."
The former hero's eyes narrowed as he attempted to massage feeling back into his arm, but he did not interrupt. So this was how it was going to be: Slade was going to keep to keep forcing him to thieve until he gave in to the urge—not that he felt one at all! Or…did he?
"And sooner, or later, you will see things my way."
Slade turned, holding some sort of laser in his hands, his eye fixed upon Robin once more. The boy's hateful expression never flickered once as he stared the man down, still clutching his wrist a bit defensively.
"Who knows?" Slade added casually, advancing on his student, and, before the youth could object or resist in any manner, reached out and took his wrist.
"I might even become like a father to you."
And, with a slightly decisive click, the gun was strapped onto Robin's arm, Slade holding it for a minute longer to examine the effect, before it was released once more. Robin frowned at his newest "tool" in obvious disgust, before looking back at Slade with a odd look on his face—a mixture of anger, but also of regret and sorrow, as if he were recalling a rather miserable memory from long ago…and, in truth, he was…
"I already have a father," He muttered coldly. From somewhere above, bats fluttered from the rafters, screeching as they disappeared into the night sky.
Robin stood and began pacing fast and feverishly, holding his head tightly.
"Stop it," He ordered himself, though it barely did any good.
'How can you stop something within in you…when it's what you want to release…' hissed a seductive voice within his mind, persuasive and beguiling.
The Boy Wonder gripped his head even more viciously than before, now shaking it from side to side.
"No…I don't want it…Never…"
'You see? You are evil…or at least insane…'
"Shut up," he spat from behind gritted teeth. "I am NOT insane."
'Really? I'd think talking to yourself qualifies.'
"SHUT UP!"
'Now, now, Robin…watch that temper of yours. It's already gotten you into trouble once…and it'll do it again.'
The teen yelled out loud in frustration and pummeled the wall as if venting his anger into another invisible adversary that haunted him. He whirled about as if looking for something else to attack—and caught sight of himself in the mirror.
He was standing, not in his room, but back in Slade's lair, his sinister master behind him. And, for some reason, Robin felt as if he could not turn his eyes away from the scene, no matter how much he struggled. He couldn't yell—like his jaws were glued together…or perhaps he didn't want to yell…
Slade reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder; beneath his touch, Robin's typical, colorful uniform rippled like a foggy image disappearing, now suddenly stained orange and black, as it steadily melted into what he had worn in his role as "apprentice." All about him, the walls were breaking down, the ceiling caving in to make way for the gears that knit together in harmony, his room replaced by the vast, dark space that was where Slade dwelled.
Back under the man's grip…once more—
An evil smile spread on Robin's face.
—And he didn't care.
From somewhere in the distance, Starfire was calling to him…
"Robin! I can help you…let me help you…"
Nobody can help me, Star. Nobody.
R-S-R-S
Present Day:
Dusk descended on the city with the grace equal to a cat leaping through the air like an acrobat to land, delicately, on all four legs. Lavender and dark rose hues still lingered in the remaining clouds, glowing brilliantly even as dark swallowed the brilliant sunset. And he watched from the top of a skyscraper, surveying the spectacular sight before him.
He was crouching on the outer rim of the building—similar to the stooping form that the Batman took on as he watched over Gotham—a rakish mask placed on his face to conceal his eyes, and long black hair fluttered briefly as a gentle breeze wafted over him.
This man, once known as "Robin," went by another name, one that was much more threatening and truly struck fear into the hearts of criminals, petty and skillful alike. He was no longer the boy that craved trust among himself and his friends (for one thing, he barely had any personal connections anymore to speak of), nor the child that dreaded whether or not he was going insane (Insanity, he thought with a wry smile, is only something else for the villainous scum to whisper about). He had changed in many, many ways.
He was Nightwing…
And he didn't need to rely on anyone. Not even…not even her…
Fin.
So, still good? Is it okay that I made Robin into Nightwing? Tell me what you think, please.
Later:
Rebel-Aquarius