Ooh, how I love you all, my reviewers… ahem Um, yes, anyway… Here starts the real action. Of the… you know, RobinSlade variety. No, not in that sense! Well, maybe later; but for anyone who read my random ten-liner ficlet Ultimately… it's not like that! So, to Quinn and His Quill (thanks for the reviews, and in response to your review on Ultimately… Robin is not taking drugs!); to AutumnDynasty (thanks for the info, you are very welcome for my shameless plug of Ko'100, and I'm not marrying you!); to YamiTai (Come on! This is Robin we're talking about! He seeks out traps to walk into!); to Narroch06 (I agree with you about the whole Robin-being-a-master-detective-thing – that's why I included it. And, uh… he's a "beast" if you say so…); to Phoenix Skyborne (I'd be interested to know the name of the episode if you can find it, because I have never heard Star say "Friend…" to anyone); to Alexnandru Van Gordon (hah! Busted! And thanks for the words of praise and encouragement! - But moreover… Hah! Busted!) and to Yami no Kaiba (who actually seemed more interested in Ultimately… I read your Not an Apprentice, actually, to get back at you… I liked it! I left you a review!).

So, yes; love you all! - What would I do without you?...

Enjoy this next part!

Summoning Songbirds

How I hate this book…

Robin's attention drifted from the page and he slowly and deliberately closed The Fall of the House of Usher, tossing it next to him on the couch. He yawned and ran a hand through his dark hair. So much for trying to keep awake…

He glanced up at the giant digital clock above the dark TV screen. It read 11:25pm. The other Titans had departed for bed an hour ago after watching Beast Boy's favourite movie Wicked Scary again; the shape-shifter was enamoured, but the rest of the Titans had come to the conclusion that the movie wasn't quite so wickedly scary the hundred-and-fifth time you saw it.

He had told them he would follow them up shortly, first wanting to check something in the Evidence Room. Raven, he wasn't surprised to note, wasn't speaking to him but had taken to glaring piercingly at him instead, but Cyborg, Starfire and Beast Boy all seemed to have overlooked the incident that morning and were behaving perfectly normally towards him. He had tried his best to act normal too, and had seemed to pass but they did notice that he refused to make eye contact with them. However, they had all, albeit Raven, bade him goodnight and left him to his own devices, which consisted of sitting in semi-darkness trying to immerse himself in The Fall of the House of Usher, which he was steadily hating more and more, in complete silence with the accompaniment of a cup of coffee.

That put him back years, the memory of winter nights in Gotham City, when he and Bruce would get that odd, rare night when the Bat-signal hadn't been lit and would indulge in a night in by a roaring fire, both immersed in literature from the amazing Wayne library wing. Bruce would curl up in his favourite armchair, once his father's, with a Sherlock Holmes or something by Dickens, while Robin himself would stretch out like a contented cat on the fur rug in front of the fireplace with whatever looked the most epic book in the library that night. Alfred would take the liberty of bringing tea up and would perhaps join them for a little well-earned relaxation time. And it would be like some cosy scene from a Christmas movie, where silence was golden and snow fell daintily to the ground outside.

But those days were dead now. He looked at the clock again; 11:29pm. He sighed and got up; the letter had said midnight and he intended to be on time. He knew he had to be quiet, otherwise they'd all be pounding downstairs and asking him where he was going at this time of night. And if he told them, they'd stop him, or insist that they were going with them, and the same would happen if he didn't tell them. So the only way out was to ensure that they didn't even know he was gone.

He took off his belt and checked through it; staff, birdarangs, explosive and ice discs, grappling hook… He left those things, but discarded the lock-pick and circuit terminator, knowing he wouldn't need them. Then he took out his communicator and left it on the coffee table next to the other items he didn't need; he didn't want them tracking him if they found out he was gone. Lastly he turned off the built-in tracking device in his belt in case they tried to find him that way. He didn't want to be found; he didn't want their help. Not through pride and arrogance that he thought he could do it himself, as Raven or Cyborg would have chalked it up to, but because he didn't want to be near them until he could fully come to terms with his so-called "destiny". He didn't want to give himself a chance to hurt them.

Despite what he was doing he was extremely calm as he replaced his belt around his waist, picked up his empty coffee cup and headed for the kitchen. He put it in the sink and then picked up a sheet of paper and a pen from the pad on the sideboard. He went back into the front room and in the dim light wrote across the paper two words;

I'm sorry.

So little could mean so much. He was sorry for going and not telling them about the letter. He was sorry about the dream in which he had brutally murdered them. He was sorry that he was being so dismissive towards them in fear that the dream might become reality. He was sorry for everything he had ever put them through on his behalf.

And he was sorry that, despite everything, he was going to do it again.

He left it underneath his communicator and other unwanted gadgets in case one of them came down in the middle of the night, or in case…

…In case he didn't come back.

And if he did and none of them had come down, he would simply throw it away and pretend it hadn't happened.

He left the front room and made his way down to the garage, flicking on the fluorescent lights overhead. The T-car was sitting still and silent, a tool-kit lying open beside it where Cyborg had been servicing it earlier that day. The T-sub/rocket was underneath the floor, as usual, and his R-cycle…

He came to it and ran his hand over its smooth surface. His helmet was lying next to it and he reached down and picked it up, frowning slightly at it. He wasn't going to bother with it, feeling slightly reckless, but he really wasn't up for another month and a half in hospital drinking milk and being told off by Doctor Grant for trying to jump out of the window. He pulled it on, straddled the bike, put the key into the ignition and started it up, the roar of the engine bringing a smile to his face.

He could only hope that he hadn't woken his friends four floors above as he swerved out of the garage and into the night, Gotham-bound.

Twenty-five minutes later found him skidding to a halt outside the gates of Arkham Asylum. He side-grounded it and turned the engine off, setting the alarm to his belt. He pulled off his helmet and tossed it to one side, sliding off the leather saddle as he did so. He shivered a little even though it was a fairly hot night and looked up at the wrought iron gates and terrifying ornate building beyond them.

I must be mad for coming here…

He ran over the factors in his head as he pulled his grappling hook from his belt, swung it over his head and released it, feeling it catch on the gates.

He had come here at the demand of some mystery person pretending to be Batman, he was on his own with no means of communication, he had severed all means of being tracked by his concerned friends, and as highly trained as he was by Gotham's Dark Knight, he was still only 16 and yet to have a growth spurt.

Suddenly this whole escapade was starting to look like a very bad idea…

He got to the top of the gates and paused as he got his footing. He could back out now, go home, act like it had never even crossed his mind and bloody well pull himself together. Or… he could be extremely stupid, go into the asylum and find out what the deal was at the risk of his life.

Oh well…

He decided on the latter against his rational thinking and hoisted himself over the gates, untangling his grappling hook and dropping six feet to the concrete path below. He landed expertly and lightly in a catlike crouch and straightened up, putting his grappling hook away. Arkham Asylum loomed forebodingly before him, as though daring him to enter. He didn't want to; more than anything he wanted to flee. There was no other place on Earth he would least liked to have been than here, particularly without Batman at his side. Somehow, the thought that it was empty deterred him even more. If the Titans had been here he would have put on a brave face; with them as back-up he wouldn't have been afraid. But on his own he could freely admit that he was scared, and he knew the difference between bravery and stupidity. This, unfortunately, fell into the latter category.

He took out his staff and shot it out to it's full length, feeling a little comforted by it's hard, cold smoothness in his hand, and, taking a deep breath, started to make his way towards the entrance way of Arkham. He could feel his heart thudding in his ribcage and icy tendrils of fear constricting around his stomach but kept going, his mind almost numb and unthinking. At any rate he would at least find out who his mysterious Batman-impersonator was.

The heavy steel doors were slightly ajar, and stuck to one was a note intended for him. He ripped it off and read it quickly.

To Robin,

Meet me at the south wing recreational hall. Don't be late.

From Batman.

It was decorated with another crudely-drawn bat and Robin crumpled it in his hand, scowling. This person was really starting to annoy him with their ridiculous Batman impersonation. Not only was it badly executed, it wasn't fooling him in the slightest.

His fear somewhat tempered, he went into the entrance hall and found another piece of paper on the reception desk. He curiously picked it up and saw it to be a badly-drawn map of the asylum which was nevertheless useful; the south wing recreational hall was circled in red and a route from the entrance hall to his destination was clearly marked.

Another clue that it wasn't Batman he was meeting, he realised as he followed the map's directions through the asylum. Batman would allow him to find his own way to the meeting place, and would wait for him until he turned up; he certainly wouldn't leave him a map.

He came to the recreational hall and frowned, glancing around. He could see very little as it was pitch dark, but as far as he could tell it was deserted. And then it hit him, and he should have realised it before; it wasn't a meeting, but a trap.

And he had walked right into it.

He turned sharply to go back the way he had came, to escape…

A dazzlingly bright light suddenly came on from overhead, almost like a spotlight; after so long in the dark it blinded him and he put an arm over his stinging eyes to shield them. He couldn't see anything at all.

"Ladies and gentlemen, he's not quite Michael Flatly, but we have here with us tonight the one and only Batman's annoying sidekick, The Boy Wonder! And he's going to be dancing for us one hot little number…"

Robin turned sharply in what he thought was the direction of that all-too-familiar voice and suddenly heard something flying his way. He instinctively stepped backwards but was thrown off his feet as a flare exploded where he had been mere seconds before. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head violently, trying to get used to the bright light. He squinted up and saw a large, dark, bat-like shape land with a thud in front of him.

Batman? No, it couldn't be…

"Ta-daa!" The Joker yelled happily as he triumphantly pulled off his makeshift Batman cape, revealing his trademark purple suit. He threw the cape over Robin's head and swept into a deep, flourishing bow.

"Had you going there, right, Batboy?" He asked as Robin pulled the cape off and threw it to one side. The Boy Wonder still couldn't see too well, but this problem was remedied as the glaring spotlight suddenly went off and was replaced by two much dimmer striplights on the ceiling of the hall that gave just enough light as was practical. He blinked behind his mask several times, trying to cure the bright spots in front of his eyes. It was times like this he cursed himself for inheriting his mother's blue eyes.

"You did this?" Robin asked, frowning. Oh, it seemed logical alright, for the Joker to pretend to be Batman; he would find that funny. But it was still rather low-key for him, to say the least.

"Me and my new best friend," the Joker replied, his permanent grin broadening. Robin raised his eyebrows.

"I'm guessing it's not the Riddler," he drawled. "I bet he's not overly friendly towards you since you tried to kill him again."

The Joker shrugged nonchalantly.

"He was an idiot anyway. Him and Harley prancing over to the good side at the last minute, kissing up to Batman…"

He pretended to vomit and Robin used the distraction to struggle to his feet.

"What do you want?" He asked carefully, already knowing what the answer would be.

"Well, I'd like to kill you," the Joker said wistfully, "but unfortunately I'm in a business deal so I'll just have to settle for beating you half to death while my partner gets all the real fun. Shame, really; we definitely have some unfinished business, wouldn't you agree?"

"Mm." Robin clutched his staff tightly, only one thought going through his head;

I should have killed him. If only Batman hadn't stopped me… Now he's out and unless I take him down he's going to undoubtedly kill more people, if he doesn't kill me first…

"Tell Bats thanks, by the way, for sparing my life," the Joker went on mockingly, as though reading his mind. "Dying would have been a real bummer, and especially at your hands…"

He grinned maliciously.

"How's your little girlfriend?" He asked. "You know, the one I shot?"

"She's fine, actually," Robin responded coldly. The Joker whistled sharply.

"I'll say she's fine," he agreed, his meaning completely different to Robin's. "Why are all the good ones such a pain in the butt? Harley, Poison Ivy, your little Batgirl…"

"Her name is Raven," Robin corrected in disgust. "And how can you talk about Harley like that? You were going to kill her!"

"Yeah, it's really too bad she escaped," the Joker added in mock agreement. Robin was slightly shocked at how disdainfully the Joker spoke of Harley; she loved him.

"Never mind, there'll be other times," he sighed. He briefly turned away from Robin and the Boy Wonder came towards him; when the Joker turned back he was sent reeling by a hard crack to the jaw. He stumbled backwards several paces, clutching at his mouth and shrieking expletives. He took his hands away and revealed a stream of blood gushing from his already-crimson lips. He glared up at Robin lividly.

"You're dead, Bat-brat," he vowed. He straightened up and grinned. "By the way, I think the James Bond look suited you better than that cliché sidekick garb."

He went underneath his purple jacket and pulled three or four horrible-looking silver instruments from his belt.

"Now, Bird-boy, I have a little game we can play," he said, advancing on Robin, who stepped backwards, horrified. "It's called "Torture the whereabouts of Batsy out of his little sidekick". See, I get all these nifty little gadgets and persuade you to tell me where Batman "hangs out". Then I hand you over to my accomplice, who will kill you."

I knew I shouldn't have come…

"Now, I don't know whether it would be best to strap you down, or-"

The Joker cut himself off with a yelp as Robin hurled a birdarang with expert aim, knocking a particularly unpleasant-looking weapon out of his grey-gloved hand. Both the birdarang and the torture instrument skidded across the floor and the Joker made the mistake of watching them until they spun to a halt. He turned back just in time to see Robin somersault into the air using his staff as a leverage and arc towards him, colliding with the madman in a painful blow to the chest with his metal-heeled boots. The Joker was knocked heavily onto his back, losing all but one very sharp weapon clutched in his hand grim-death. Robin landed and retracted his staff, putting it away in his belt, and waited for the Joker to get up.

The Joker struggled to his feet and lunged clumsily at Robin in a completely mistimed punch; the Teen Titan caught his arm, overbalanced him and threw him over his shoulder. The Joker lost his last weapon as he landed and reached out for it, but Robin got there first and kicked it out of his reach.

"Sorry to disappoint you, brat," the Joker smiled, "but I have plenty more where that came from…"

Before Robin could react the Joker snatched out and grabbed his ankle, tugging him off-balance. He tumbled and then rolled, but by the time he was upright again the Joker had recovered and without warning slammed into him, knocking him to the floor. The Joker grasped a handful of his dark hair and pulled his head back; Robin felt something cold at his throat and pushed his hands against the Joker's, trying to force the weapon away, but it was difficult as the Joker was a fully-grown man and was considerably stronger.

"Enough."

They both stopped as that cold voice issued it's command and Robin felt his blood turn to ice. He would recognise that voice anywhere…

Slade.

"I said that was enough, Joker," Slade said again, coming into the light. The Joker hesitated, then relinquished his grip on the Boy Wonder, who scrabbled away from him.

"You were under strict orders not to kill him," Slade continued icily, approaching them both.

"I wasn't going to kill him," the Joker retorted.

"Both of you, get up."

Slade sounded like a teacher who had just found his two prize pupils scrapping over an IQ test; his single grey eye narrowed as he ran his cold gaze over them both. Robin and the Joker both got to the feet, the Joker not looking quite so cheerful as before.

"I don't like your tone, Sladey," the Joker said warningly.

"I don't like you," Slade snapped. "Step away from the boy. I won't be requiring your help any longer."

The Joker looked insulted.

"I thought we had a deal," he reminded the other villain dangerously. "I could torture where Batman was hiding out of him in exchange for the fulfilment of your little "prophecy". Remember?"

"I've changed my mind," Slade answered coldly. "You're not touching him. Now get away from him before I make you."

Robin couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was Slade really… protecting him? No, that couldn't be it. What was that about some prophecy? Something told him he wasn't off the hook that easy…

"You lying scum!" The Joker shrieked, brandishing his torture weapon. "We had a deal!"

"And you trusted me." Slade sounded almost pitiful. "I certainly didn't trust you. That's why I've been standing here in the shadows watching you, making sure you didn't break the bargain and kill him anyway."

"Yeah? Well…" The Joker suddenly reached and grabbed hold of Robin by the scruff of his neck, pulling him in towards him and replacing the weapon at his throat.

"What if I kill him now?" He sneered. "Then what'll you do, Bigshot? Your little prophecy will be ruined!"

Slade's eye widened slightly, then narrowed again. The Joker was grinning evilly at him, blood still pouring down his chin; it was unfortunate for Batman's nemesis that his attention wasn't instead on his teen captive.

Robin elbowed the Joker in the gut and tossed him over his shoulder once more; the madman landed in a crumpled heap at Slade's feet. Behind his mask it was impossible to read Slade's expression, but as far as Robin could tell he looked sort of impressed.

"Damn you… to hell… Batboy," the Joker spat, struggling to his knees. Robin readied himself for anything the Joker might pull as the villain hauled himself to his feet, but Slade seemed eager to join in too; with a single slicing punch to his already-injured jaw, Slade downed the Joker and knocked him unconscious. He viciously kicked him aside and turned sharply towards Robin.

"Well, Robin, here we are again," he said softly. "In less-than-perfect circumstances."

"You brought me here," Robin spat. "Why? What are you doing in Gotham?"

"Well, I could explain all that to you, I suppose," Slade reasoned, coming closer to him. "But why would I? I brought you here to… to kill you."

Robin clenched his fists.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Slade shrugged his broad shoulders and for the first time Robin noticed how similarly built he was to Batman; strong and powerful, but tall and fairly slim with it.

Not good.

"Surely you know as well as I do that sooner or later it would end this way," Slade answered.

"What? A showdown?"

Slade smirked behind his mask, his solitary grey eye glittering dangerously.

"Dear me, no… Me killing you, of course…"

Ooh, ooh, intense part now! Yay! Some typical Slade-kicks-Robin's-ass-real-good action coming up next, as well as… well, that would spoil it, wouldn't it? -

Wanna find out what happens next?

Review like the wind, people! I…

Oh, look, another tumbleweed…

And don't read Ultimately.

Really.

And to AutumnDynasty; I never said that he read "The Fall of the House of Usher" all day!