Totally long chapter here; sorry! Please bear with me. It's full of action and such-like, though, so hopefully you shouldn't get too bored…
And Robin finally finds out his part in the prophecy (well, sort of…)!
Two of a Kind
The pain finally died but he still didn't dare to open his eyes, as though he thought one less sense would block out what was happening to him, what he couldn't bring himself to comprehend.
But he knew. There was no way he could shut it out, being cruelly – rigidly – held as he was. Even squeezing his eyes shut, holding his breath, trying to think of something, anything else, retaliating for all he was worth…
It couldn't shut out the pain.
The horror. The fear. The humiliation. The anger…
Because as much as he wanted to pretend that it wasn't happening, pretending only went so far.
And it was reaching its limit.
He was being raped.
Or maybe, make that past tense.
The fact that it was over didn't change anything, of course. But it was over…
And there had been no intoxicating homosexual desire there. Nothing except pure hatred, and this strong belief Slade wielded that he had to do it. For what, Robin didn't know. But he cared why Slade had done it.
Hell, he cared.
His vocabulary wasn't broad enough to fully express how much it had hurt; his only consolation was that it had seemingly hurt Slade just as much. He was clueless; Robin guessed that Slade had no idea how actual homosexual lovers went about it, not that he had any idea either. He didn't even want to think about it, and yet… it only validated his theory that Slade really, really hadn't wanted to do it.
So there had been some kind of motive behind it.
He moaned a little in pain as he felt Slade shift off him entirely, but the masked villain made no attempt to even utter a sound as he backed into the shadows. Robin was thrown back to the hard, cold floor onto his back and pinned there once again; his breath tore from his lungs in little gasps. Fright, maybe. Pain.
He finally dared to open his eyes; there was little difference, just miniscule shafts of light from the single strip-light. Already the coldness of the floor was sinking into his bare back, making him shiver a little, and it was uncomfortably hard, hurting his shoulder blades and his spine, not to mention the bump at the back of his skull. He tried to sit up but he was still being held down.
He understood why they were robots. Surely no human being would have held him, a 16 year old, little more than a child, and kept him still while he was violated so. Surely no person could be so sick as to assist homosexual rape on someone so young.
On second thought…
Well, ok, he was kidding himself here. But still, somehow… he got the feeling Slade hadn't wanted any human assistance because he didn't want anyone to know, didn't want anyone to find out. Maybe he thought if he had no witnesses then he could fool himself he hadn't really done it. He had knocked the Joker unconscious, hadn't he?...
Because Robin knew, maybe better than anyone else, that this kind of thing wasn't typical of Slade. It wasn't his style. Maybe he knew because, although he hated to admit, he and Slade were a little similar, and it wasn't his style either. Definitely not.
And throughout it all, the masks had remained in place. He still had his identity, even if he had nothing else, and the same applied to Slade. Robin himself might have spent all his waking hours trying to unravel what was behind the mask, but Slade hadn't. He didn't care who Robin really was; that much was obvious. Dick Grayson meant nothing to him. Maybe he didn't want to know who the bane of his plans actually was, better for him to remain a costumed identity.
Batman's child.
Not Bruce Wayne's child.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Robin asked finally, his voice hushed, his words bouncing off the empty walls and echoing a chorus of similarly confused and frightened Boy Wonders.
The not-so-wonderful Boy Wonder. Well, he could believe that. He knew he was stupid.
"There's nothing to say."
Slade's voice was cold, brittle, dismissive… and a little remorseful. Robin couldn't feel sorry for him; he could only hate him. But maybe not as much as he should have done. There was still the issue of why, the motive in the madness. He knew it wasn't anywhere near as simple as it seemed.
"No, there isn't."
"Be quiet."
Robin could hear him moving in the dark and knew he was pulling his clothes back on. He wished he could do the same, so he could get down to some serious vengeance. But he couldn't move an inch, even though he tried yet again in vain.
And then Slade was there, towering over his immobile, vulnerable, naked form. He was fully clothed again, cast in semi-shadow. In one hand he held a long, beautifully-crafted samurai blade that glinted in the dull, scarce light.
"Time to die, Robin."
He very slowly and deliberately moved the tip of the weapon to Robin's throat, not quite touching him, but almost.
Robin swallowed. It had never occurred to him that Slade would actually kill him. He had never made much of an effort before, and at times when he was truly capable of beating the Teen Titan to death, he usually bailed out. Maybe he wanted to extend his fun.
But not this time, it seemed.
He was going to die. He knew it, he really was going to die. He could see it in Slade's single cold grey eye that he wasn't bluffing, threatening him to see what impact it had on him. He really had every intention of killing him.
But that was the beauty of it. After all, he and Slade were so very alike… so it was easy to trump him.
"You're a coward," Robin said softly, almost tauntingly. Slade's eye narrowed slightly and he moved the edge of the sword down to Robin's stomach.
"You've got guts, I'll give you that…"
Bad pun, waaay bad…
"Yeah?" Robin allowed himself to smirk a little, but it diminished immediately as the tip of the blade came dangerously close to his midriff, almost tracing bare skin.
Slade seemed amused.
"Yeah. That you would insult me when I hold your life in my hands. I could, and would, plunge this into you right now; I might do it any second. You cannot protect yourself, you are not wearing any clothing, not that it would aid you anyway…"
"That's what I mean," Robin spat. "Are you afraid of me? Do you really need me to be completely vulnerable for you to kill me? And do you really need a sword?..."
"I suggest you hold your tongue, Robin," Slade answered icily. "Unless you wish to lose it."
"I'm not afraid of you," Robin spat back acidly. But he knew his tone betrayed his words. He was terrified, and he couldn't hide it in his current position.
"I think you are, Robin."
Robin breathed out and said nothing, almost sensing how close the tip of the weapon was to his stomach.
"I admire you, you know, Robin," Slade told him softly. Robin blinked up at him, rendered speechless for a few seconds.
"You… admire me!" He choked finally. "You admire me! Look what you've done to me! How can you even-"
"I didn't want to do it. We've been through this. And for what it's worth… as much as I loathe you, I apologise."
"Then why did you!" Robin shrieked. "Why!"
"It doesn't matter. At least, not to you."
"I think you'll find it does."
Again, Slade seemed amused.
"Well, I can understand that. But you're right… I'm being a coward by killing you this way." He threw the sword to one side, where it clattered on the hard floor several feet away.
"I owe you this much," he went on, his tone very soft and barely audible. "You're like a mirror image of me; a much younger one, of course, a weaker, more naïve version. But a mirror image nonetheless. You didn't notice too much when I removed my mask, but…we even look a little alike. At least, we did, maybe when I was your age…"
"Your eyes… eye… is grey," Robin stated. "Mine are blue."
"Well, I'm not trying to prove I'm your father or anything," Slade shrugged. "The truth stands, Robin, that we are pretty much two of a kind, not by flesh and blood, but by mind, soul and nature. We're alike, and you cannot deny it. Truth be told…" He leaned over Robin, casting the boy completely into shadow. "…I don't really want to kill you. I think it's a waste."
He straightened up and snapped his fingers.
"Release him," he ordered his mercenaries. The robots relinquished their strong grip on Robin's since-violated body and moved away from him, allowing him to sit up.
"You've got five minutes to clean yourself up and get dressed," Slade told him sharply. "Then the prophecy will be fulfilled."
He started to walk away as Robin drew his knees up to his bare chest and gazed after him, knowing he was lucky he wasn't in about fifty different pieces scattered around the room.
Shame he couldn't say the same for his clothes. He reached out and picked up the nearest scrap, a small shred of green spandex that had once been a part of his trousers. Hardly practical.
"Get dressed," Slade had ordered. Well, it was a nice idea, but…
Just looking at it made him feel like throwing up. It was difficult to comprehend what had happened between him and Slade, mostly because he didn't want to comprehend it. But it had happened, and it had been a very different experience to the one he had shared with Raven all those months ago; a candlelit rendezvous, passionate and forbidden, and they had lost themselves to the most beautiful of all sins while enshrouded upon a lagoon of black satin. But not this time; held down on a cold, hard floor by a dozen robots and homosexually raped by his arch-nemesis. For "some" reason, the lost-virginity-with-Raven experience was tipping the scales in its favour. And yet, Slade seemed pretty much unruffled…
"Do you realise what you've done?..." Robin asked softly, directing the question to Slade's retreating back.
"Unfortunately."
Slade turned back to face him, running his single grey eye over the Boy Wonder's curled-up form.
"Well?"
Robin didn't answer; he didn't have to. He simply held up the tiny scrap of green spandex. Slade looked at him for a second, then abruptly turned away and walked off into the shadows.
Robin sighed and tossed the scrap of fabric away. He found his boxer shorts a few feet away and was relieved to note that they at least, along with his boots and belt, were still pretty much intact. He ventured forward and rescued them, pulling them on and making himself a little more decent.
"You may leave now."
Robin looked up.
"Well, I would-" He began, nettled.
"Not you, idiot boy," Slade interrupted snappily. "I mean them."
The mercenaries shuffled off back to their hiding places at the sound of their master's command. Meanwhile Slade came to Robin and dropped something in front of him, something that landed with a soft thump, and judging by the muffled clattering that accompanied it, Robin realised there was a bit of metal in there too.
"Don't just stare at it," Slade snapped. "Put it on. Your five minutes are seriously dwindling."
Robin scooped Slade's "gift" off the floor and stood up, uncrumpling the folds of material.
Material that felt very familiar.
He let it fall out to full length and held it by the shoulders.
And simply stared at it.
Another apprentice outfit. The familiar black and bronze spandex and leather-combo he had been forced to wear. The one that was far too clingy, even for his liking. The one that sported an "S" for Slade in the place of an "R" for Robin. He looked down at his feet and saw the additional "accessories" that went with this delightful catwalk-inspired number; shoulder, arm, thigh and shin guards, breastplate, belt with little leather pouches, chunky boots and leather gloves.
All for additional villainous fun.
"I'm not wearing this," he deadpanned.
"Fine," Slade's voice issued from the shadows, equally flat in tone. He smirked beneath his mask. "Only one minute left. Tick tick tick…"
Robin merely continued to stare loathingly at the outfit in his hands, all the while hearing Slade continuing to softly count down the final minute with his repetitive chanting of "tick tick tick".
Something had to give. He could no more fight in his underwear than he could naked. But there was nothing else he'd rather not have worn than this. After what had just happened…
He glanced around wildly again, seeing if anything of his own costume was salvageable. No luck. He gave the apprentice outfit one last, lingering, loathing glare, then unzipped it roughly and aggressively pulled it on, hating the feeling of it against his bare skin even more than he had the first time. Of course, Slade could be watching his every movement, but he doubted it somehow; Slade seemed pretty disgusted with himself, to say the least.
He pulled on the boots and gloves, his only comfort in thinking how they would aid him in his vengeance; how he would savour every punch, every kick…
He heard Slade approaching him yet again as he clicked the metal breastplate and limb-guards into place, the last touch being the belt. It was only as he fastened it around his waist that it hit him; why had Slade brought a spare outfit, specially fitted for Robin as the other had been, to Arkham Asylum when his plan had been to rape and kill him? Convenient?...
Yeah. A little too convenient…
"You wanted this…" Robin realised softly. "You don't want to kill me… you want me to join you, don't you? What do you want… I mean, what do you think this is? Apprentice: The Rewrite?!"
"You don't understand, Robin-" Slade started angrily.
"Oh, I understand!" Robin yelled, his own anger reaching near boiling point. "I understand that you're completely mad, thinking I would join you anyway, under normal circumstances! But this! Do you realise what you've done?! To me! To yourself?! You can't just pretend that this is just another of our inquisitively-fuelled run-ins! You had to blackmail me last time, and that was before.. before you…"
"Say it," Slade hissed dangerously. "Go on; say it."
"Before you raped me!" Robin screamed at him. "Don't you understand?! You're a rapist! I don't know why you did it, but you can't change it now; it's too late."
It's too late for you to be anything other than what you have become…
Slade didn't respond for a few seconds. He knew Robin spoke the truth, and he had no intention of denying that the Teen Titan was right. But Robin simply didn't understand.
"Robin, why can't you ever try to see it any other way but your own?" He asked eventually. Robin snorted.
"Better my way than yours."
"Are you sure?" Slade pressed. He stepped towards Robin and the boy warily backed away. Slade stopped, deciding not to push his luck for the moment; it was perfectly natural – and understandable – for Robin to be wary, a little afraid.
And angry.
"Robin, I've apologised to you, and I know that doesn't suddenly make it all better, but I suppose I owe you some form of explanation and this is the closest you are going to get to one, so listen to me."
"I don't want to hear anything you've got to say," Robin spat, clenching his fists. Slade shrugged his broad shoulders.
"That I do not doubt." Slade ran his icy gaze over Robin again, taking in his defensive stance, his clenched fists, his evenly-spread weight, the scowl set darkly on his face. He was in a perfect position to launch into an attack, but there was no way of telling when he might even think of moving.
One of the many qualities Slade admired about him, although he supposed that Robin owed that particular attribute to Batman. It was the other things, the things hidden within his mind and soul, which Slade found more interesting.
It was a real shot in the dark, but a worthy shot nonetheless. What he needed to do was expand on that "mirror-image" metaphor, make Robin see the light. Or rather, see the dark… And in a recreational hall… there was a full-length mirror.
"You don't like that outfit, do you?" Slade asked softly, already affirming the answer as negative, as he stepped towards Robin and watched him move backwards. Unwittingly towards the mirror.
"I hate it. You know I hate it." Robin's fists unclenched as Slade slowly and deliberately drove him backwards.
"Why?"
"Because it makes me look like you!" Robin spat. "And I don't want to have anything to do with you!"
Slade shrugged again.
"The outfit means nothing. What matters is that you are like me anyway."
"No I'm not." Robin bumped against something and couldn't go back any further. He started to panic as Slade closed in on him.
"You are," Slade insisted. "All you have to do is look."
He suddenly reached out and roughly grasped Robin by his shoulders, forcing him around to face the mirror he had backed up against.
"Don't," Robin said desperately, struggling in Slade's strong grip. He didn't want Slade touching him, and he didn't want another reminiscence of that dream…
"Just look, Robin," Slade said calmly.
"I don't want to!" Robin wailed. "I'm not like you! I'm not!"
"I beg to differ."
Robin calmed slightly, although his flesh still crawled at Slade's touch, and he finally looked in the reflective glass.
And he wanted to break down sobbing.
Both cast in semi-shadow, shafted light obscuring their features, dressed in similar attire, the proud master with his hands resting on the shoulders of his perfect apprentice. That's what it looked like. And that's how Slade wanted it to be. Even after everything, Slade still wanted it that way.
Robin didn't.
"Robin, I know I cannot expect you to accept me as anything other than a potential threat after what I have done to you," Slade said softly. "But all I ask for is a little cooperation. You cannot deny that we are similar; two of a kind, even. If you would allow me, I could train you, teach you everything I know. You are brilliant as it is but with the right mentor you could be so much more. Nobody is perfect, but you could be. I have no desire to kill you, even though it has been stated that you must die to sustain my success. But if instead you joined me you would have no reason to die. You would have the kind of exhilaration you crave, the adrenaline rush you thrive on. You and Terra; you could be a team together, an unstoppable force. Terra is strong, but you could be so much stronger. Last time I went about this the wrong way- I know you resented being blackmailed, but the truth is, Robin, that I truly believe that you could be transformed into the perfect weapon. I could teach you to kill with a single blow; all my technology, expertise, fighting technique, it would all be yours. And I only say this Robin, because I really do want to teach you. I originally hand-picked you to be my apprentice because I saw the potential there. I never intended for you to like me; I just want you to understand what I am offering you. You have been trained excellently by Batman, but only up to a point. I could take you all the way to the top. What you need is a key to unlock your full potential, your power; you do not have it as it is."
Robin simply stared piercingly at his reflection, a conflict warring within him. The dream had predicted this, and unless he wanted to end up murdering his friends he had to stay strong and refuse. He did want to refuse; he couldn't work with Slade, not after this… But, still, he had to admit it was a little… well, tempting. Just a little. He didn't care that much for fighting expertise that he would throw away all his moral values and work for someone who had raped him. But that aside, it was a very good offer. He hated Slade more than anything, his hatred now tripled at least, but he had no doubt that the villain would train him very well indeed. It might be interesting just to see… But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. All the fighting expertise and technology in the entire cosmos wasn't worth a tainted soul. The blood of his friends.
"I'd rather die," Robin spat venomously.
Slade didn't need to be refused twice. His hands moved from Robin's shoulders faster than lightning and he sent the boy to the floor with a cracking blow.
"Then you will," Slade hissed in reply.
And Robin knew it was over; no more Mr Nice-Villain. Unless he really fought back, Slade was going to kill him. And somehow the Teen Titan got the feeling Slade wasn't going to be crying over him for long. Maybe a little over the loss of his potential "perfect apprentice", but for no other reason.
They were all the same.
Robin stood up, coming up against the mirror again, then moved at the very last second as Slade swung a powerful backfist at his face. He dived into a roll and whipped around as the harsh shattering sound of the mirror smashing met his ears. The leather glove Slade wore protected his hand from being cut to shreds as the mirror split into rippling cracks and cascaded to the floor in a shower of broken glass. They glinted patronisingly in the dim light as Slade slowly and deliberately turned to face the Boy Wonder, who stood in a tense battle stance, his fists clenched.
"That's the last time you get lucky, boy," Slade whispered dangerously. He approached slowly, languidly, but Robin knew not to take it lightly. Slade had every intention of killing him, even if he had never expressed the desire before.
Slade suddenly grounded himself and spun into a roundhouse so fast and powerful Robin couldn't even roll with it and was instead sent sprawling. He grunted a little in pain as he rolled over and scrambled to his feet, and found Slade in front of him again. He threw his arms up in a block as Slade swung at him, parrying the worst of the blow but still staggered backwards a few paces, the weight difference tipping the scale decidedly in Slade's favour, the older man being taller and heavier for obvious reasons.
Robin spread his weight and instinctively reached to the back of his belt for his staff. His fingers instead came into contact with empty leather pouches.
No birdarangs. No staff. Nothing.
He dared to look behind him and saw his belt lying at least twenty feet away, and his discarded staff a further ten feet away.
"Looking for something?"
Slade's falsely-innocent voice sounded too close for comfort and Robin looked back sharply. Slade was a few feet away from him, and was idly twirling his own BO staff in his fingers. The villain glanced lazily at his teen arch-nemesis and followed his dismayed gaze to the staff.
"Oh, this." Slade's voice disguised laughter and he held the staff out, offering it to the Teen Titan. Robin's fingers flexed, as though he was debating taking it; then he stepped backwards, away from it and its owner.
"Smart lad," Slade breathed mockingly. He adjusted his grip on the metal, then swung it with expert strength and precision and sent Robin back to the floor, where the boy was thinking about taking up permanent residence; he was certainly spending a lot of time down here. Nevertheless he rolled then flipped upright and threw all of his weight behind a punch, driving all the force and power he possessed into it. Slade caught his fist, got a grip on him and threw him against the wall, where Robin slid down in a sitting position, rubbing the back of his neck above the metal breastplate. He looked up and saw the end of the staff coming at his face and jerked his head to one side. The staff crunched against the wall where he had been a split-second before and the tip became embedded in the bad plaster-job of the wall, momentarily stuck. Robin saw his chance as Slade tried to tug it back out; he reached up, grasped the body of the staff and used it as a leverage to smash his legs out and throw Slade backwards away from him. Wasting no time he hauled himself to his feet, put one foot against the wall behind him, gripped the staff and heaved it out of the wall, a few chunks of plaster and dust coming with it. His fingers closed over it comfortably as he heard Slade get to his feet and he allowed himself the tiniest of smirks.
He darted forwards in an offensive kata taught and perfected by Batman, every movement coming as easily to him as breathing, the staff twisting dangerously and expertly in his hand.
He doubted that Slade could teach him as well as Batman had. Batman was a perfectionist and a martial arts master; a lethal combination.
He cracked Slade full-on with the width of the metal staff, breaking his defence, then twisted the angle at which he held it and jabbed it forwards and down, aligning himself behind it, almost hearing the echo of Batman telling him how to do it, demonstrating it, showing him when he got it wrong the first time how to do it properly, how to really inflict damage…
He sent Slade crunching to the floor, tightened his grip on the staff, almost hearing Batman curtly praise him… Batman never went over the top with his praises, believing it led to over-confidence and arrogance, which in turn led to certain death through cockiness. But he did it with enough warmth and grace to let you know he was pleased with you.
Yes, he sincerely doubted that Slade could prove himself a better teacher than Batman.
Slade rolled backwards and sent a snap-kick in the direction of the staff, no doubt to knock it out of Robin's possession. Robin blocked the blow on one of the metal arm-guards and swung the staff. However, this time Slade was ready for him and caught the staff before it hit him, twisting it and so twisting Robin's arm. Slade pulled him around so that the boy's back was to him, enabling him to exert more pressure on his twisted arm, now holding his wrist. Robin cried in pain but refused to let go of the staff.
"Drop it," Slade whispered. "Drop it before I snap your arm…"
Robin gritted his teeth against the unbearable pain, feeling tears that he couldn't possibly prevent leaking from under his mask and sliding down his face.
"Drop it," Slade said again, his voice taking on an almost song-like lilt. He twisted a little harder just to justify his threat and it was all Robin could do to stop himself from screaming. He had to let go, he couldn't stand the pain, and a broken arm would not be an advantage to him…
It slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, and after a few further torturous seconds Slade let go of his arm. He kicked the Titan in the back, throwing him forwards to his knees. Robin collapsed in a crumpled heap, his breathing shallow and the pain his left arm slowly but surely dulling. He didn't understand why Slade hadn't broken his arm but he was grateful for it.
He did know one thing though, and that was that Slade was really enjoying torturing him little by little to death. He had thought he had the upper hand a few moments ago, but now he knew that Slade had been in control from the very first blow.
He hauled himself to his knees and wiped the tears from his face on the wrist of his black leather glove. He briefly glanced across the room and saw the Joker lying face down, still out for the count and completely oblivious of everything going on around him, of the sick homosexual desire and the rape and the near-corruption and now the murder-attempt…
Lucky for some…
He dragged himself to his feet and spun into a low sweep that Slade backflipped away from. Robin cartwheeled forwards, closing the gap, but was sent back the direction he had came by a high, hard kick to his chest. He heard something in his thin ribcage crack and felt staggering pain shooting through his chest as he slammed onto his back. He tried to sit up but the pain stole his breath and he fell back, trying to calm his quick, desperate breathing. He might have got off scot-free where the broken arm was concerned, but he had acquired a broken rib instead.
The pain was spreading throughout his entire chest now and he moaned in agony as he rolled over in an attempt to get to his knees. Instead he felt Slade press his foot squarely in the middle of his back, pressing down, pushing his snapped rib against the hard floor. He moved a little, a sort of half-attempt to escape from under Slade's weight, which quickly gave way to a groan. His eyes slid closed beneath behind his mask and he bit his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming. But he did little else.
Slade snorted.
"You've given up, haven't you?" He sounded incredulous. "You really do surprise me, Robin."
Slade pushed down a little harder, as though trying to see if he could get the Boy Wonder to scream, but all he got was a little groan and he seemed disappointed. He lifted his foot off the Titan and crouched down next to him, grasping a handful of his untidy raven hair.
"Get up," he ordered softly. "I'm far from finished with you."
He let the boy go and Robin complied with his order, struggling to his knees, one hand clutching at his ribcage.
"Pity your little witch friend isn't here," Slade taunted. "Terra said she can heal by taking the infliction into her own body and then banishing it. That would be interesting to see."
"You're sick," Robin spat breathlessly. Slade snorted again.
"If I cared what you think, I'd be extremely offended," he said flatly. "Unfortunately, I don't."
"Feeling's mutual," Robin informed him icily.
"Then we agree on one thing at least."
Robin staggered upright, not daring to take his hand from his broken rib, even though it didn't soothe the pain at all. Slade watched him, his head a little to one side, seemingly interested in the Teen Titan's pained actions. Robin didn't know how he knew Slade was smirking, but he just did. And he was right.
If only he could get to his utility belt, he might have an advantage. But it was too far away and he knew Slade wouldn't let him get anywhere near it. Instead he slowly and gingerly took his hand away from his ribcage, not daring to breathe too heavily to spare the pain it caused. Slade seemed highly amused.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" He asked mockingly, his voice so soft it was barely audible in the huge recreational hall. Robin didn't answer, instead trying to comply with the direct order his brain was sending him; Don't die, moron!
Seriously working on it, was his only response.
Pushing aside the burning pain in chest and the dull ache still present in his left arm he launched himself forwards into a handspring, landing in a low crouch and swinging his weight upwards into an uppercut. He successfully hit Slade, sending him staggering backwards several paces, but fresh pain burst into his right hand as it connected with the villain's mask and he recoiled it, biting back several expletives. Willing himself to ignore it he snapped a split-kick at Slade's throat but Slade roughly caught his foot and shoved him off-balance. Robin slammed to the floor, sending pain careering through his chest, but got up again, even though by this point all he really wanted to do was lie down and allow death to claim him.
He pulled his arm back and threw the strongest punch he could possibly muster; Slade avoided it, caught his arm and threw him across the recreational hall, where he tumbled over and over in his least graceful landing in months. He managed to right himself and scraped to a halt, skidding so low to the floor he was almost on his side. He scrabbled to his feet and dived at Slade in a brute-attack, slamming into the villain and bringing them both to the floor in a tangled heap. Robin, being smaller and lither, had the advantage in this scenario and managed to writhe free, making the most of the situation and diving for his belt. Slade, however, was wise to him, and snatched out and caught his ankle, tripping the boy up so that he fell flat on his face.
And his broken rib.
Robin let out a sort of half-scream, then managed to control himself as Slade released his ankle. He rolled over, took a deep breath and sat up, rolling again as Slade's fist came flying at his face. He came to his feet, straightened up and was sent on another adventure to the floor six feet away as he received a hard dragonfly kick to the chest. He crumpled, his chest feeling as though it was about to collapse, the pain of his broken rib now tripled at least… he couldn't even draw the breath to scream. He retched and choked up a mouthful of saliva and blood, wishing that Slade would stop toying with him and just kill him.
He had completely lost the will to fight back.
He collapsed in a quivering heap, unable to even get up onto his knees.
"And you were doing so well."
He felt Slade's shadow fall across his crumpled form and didn't even attempt to look up. Slade crouched down next to him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, hauling him painfully to his knees.
"My fun is far from over yet, Robin," Slade went on, his voice dangerous. "So I think you had better make a bit more of an effort, hmm?"
He dragged the Teen Titan right to his feet and let him go, where Robin forced himself to remain, clutching desperately at his damaged ribcage. With his other hand he wiped the rope of bloody saliva hanging from his lip and pushed his untidy ebony hair out of his eyes. He barely followed the roundhouse kick that sunk into his abdomen, throwing him backwards a further five feet. He landed in a sprawling heap and his hand brushed against something. He struggled to open his eyes and saw his utility belt mere millimetres from his fingertips. He was winded, in terrible pain, but he managed to roll over and allow his hand to close around it. He started to draw it towards him and felt something slam down hard on his hand. He heard something snap and pain shot up his arm like an electric shock. He cried out in pain but still held onto his belt, feeling uninvited tears leak from his eyes again.
"Let it go," Slade ordered calmly, pushing down harder with his heavy boot on the broken bones of Robin's right hand. Robin moaned in pain but refused to obey, even though he was starting to lose the feeling in his hand and so was unsure if he was even holding on anyway.
"Fine." Slade took this refusal as an invitation to hurt the Boy Wonder all the more and he sat heavily on Robin's back, his substantial weight crushing Robin's broken rib and weakening several others, his foot still on the Titan's hand.
Robin's eyes snapped open, his breath being forced out of his sore lungs, choking as he tried to scream in a purely reflexive action.
Slade placed his head in his hands, seemingly bored.
"Let go of the belt," he repeated, tapping his foot on Robin's injured hand with every syllable. Robin gasped in pain every time it touched until finally Slade lifted his foot off altogether and Robin's fingers relinquished their already-loose grip on the yellow utility belt.
"Good boy." Slade leaped lightly off Robin's back and kicked the belt across the room into the shadows. Then he reached down and grasped Robin by the belt he actually wore around his waist, pulling him away from the floor. Robin hung limp in his grip, his entire body heaving with every desperate breath. Slade studied him sceptically, actually disappointed by the lack of a fight Robin was putting up.
That was, until Robin suddenly jerked his broken hand downwards and threw several smoke pellets hard at the floor, where they exploded into a torrent of smoke that engulfed the pair of them, sending Slade into a coughing fit whereupon he let go of Robin's belt. Robin rolled painfully and scrambled to his feet, all the while holding his breath. Ignoring the pain shooting through his body as best he could, he fought his way out of the blinding pasture of smoke and fled, leaping over the unconscious Joker and scooping up his belt before bursting from the recreational hall into the corridor. With his good hand he held both his belt and his agonized ribcage, his injured right hand smarting with every movement he made as he tried to scrunch it into a fist.
He ran, every step taxing him to the limit, his breath coming like liquid fire into his lungs, the pain from his cracked rib threatening to split his chest in two. Still he ran, his head swimming and his vision blacking with the pain, confusion overwhelming his senses as the asylum merged into one huge maze, corridor after corridor all the same until he was sure he was running around in circles. But still, better to die running; better to kill himself than to let Slade do it.
He finally staggered into a corridor he didn't recognise and stopped running, leaning against the wall as the breathless wreck he was. The only time he had ever been in more pain was when Poison Ivy had inflicted him with poison, but that memory had soon faded. At least now he could run.
He didn't know how long it would be until Slade or one of his mercenaries found him, but knew he had to use what precious little time he had to recuperate as best he could. At least he had his belt now.
There was a single door at the end of the corridor and he painfully made his way towards it, praying that it wasn't locked. He tried it and it swung silently open; breathing a sigh of relief that was perhaps heavier than necessary, he slipped into the dark room beyond and pulled the door shut behind him. He went a little way in and let pain overwhelm him and he allowed himself to collapse, rolling onto his back and sprawling out, taking slow, deep breaths to combat the pain as best he could.
He wished more than anything that he hadn't left his communicator at the Tower. Real moment of madness, that. He wished Raven were here to ease the pain; she would do it in a heartbeat, he knew, not just for him, but for any of them. He wished they were all here, to comfort him and to help him. To count on.
But he knew whose fault that was; his own. They couldn't even track him. Which meant he had to save himself.
He lay there for at least another ten minutes, his only companions pain and darkness. But he couldn't complain; it was better than being murdered by his arch-nemesis. He was glad he had thought to grab the smoke pellets before Slade had crunched his hand. He owed that to Batman's No #1 rule; Escapism is a weapon in itself. Robin doubted that Houdini himself had anything on Batman when it came to ingenious escapes. He hated to run from Slade, but he knew Slade would have killed him had he not escaped. Because for all his fears of turning on his friends, of becoming Slade, and his thoughts that for these reasons he might be better off dead, he didn't really want to die. He certainly had no intention of slitting his wrists or poisoning himself, at any rate.
Finally he reached for his yellow belt with his left hand and sifted through it until he came to a small penlight. He flicked it on and sat up, moaning in agony as a spasm of pain shuddered through his chest. He staggered to his feet and flicked the tiny light around the room, trying to see where he was. He gingerly stepped forwards and tripped over something, hurting his smashed hand as he saved himself from further injury. Rolling onto his knees he ran the penlight across the object he had tripped over and saw it to be a spotlight plugged into a power box. He flicked on the switch and it sprang to life, the dazzling glare blinding him as the other had done so that he had to shield his masked eyes as before. The bright beam stretched down the room, illuminating most of it quite well.
He flicked off his penlight and tossed it aside, overseeing the need for it now. Taking a deep breath he got to his feet, his left hand still clutching at his ribs, and looked around. It wasn't a cell of any kind, nor was it a recreational hall or cafeteria or anything else like that. In the wide beam of the portable spotlight he could see tall, grey metal filing cabinets lining the walls, some of them open and stuffed full of cream card folders; criminal records. Some of the open drawers were also empty and there were records scattered all over the floor where someone had ransacked them in search of something. Maybe one of the escaped criminals looking to destroy their file. At the furthest end of the room there was a large metal desk, chrome or pewter, by the look of it, with a matching metal chair, high-backed and padded with red corduroy. A blue plastic tray, which he guessed had once resided on the desk, was on the floor next to the desk, upside-down and with more files scattered around it. But a small collection of other objects took the tray's place; he could see something glinting in the bright light.
Curious, intrigued and a little suspicious, Robin made his way over to the desk and collapsed heavily and gratefully into the chair, then leaned forward and inspected his finds. The thing that demanded his attention first was a small ball, the size of a tangerine, maybe, a beautiful onyx orb that glittered in the light, all shades of purples and blues dashed through it. It rested in a deep silver cradle, beautifully crafted, with a hole in foremost middle, like some kind of keyhole or something. It was strangely entrancing, but weird and a little creepy with it. It looked like the sort of ornament you would find in Raven's bedroom. But something told him this was no ornament.
His hand reached out almost unwillingly, tracing his fingertips over the smooth contour of the orb, feeling some sort of power crackling from deep within it. Definitely no ornament. But still, it felt – and looked – familiar… somehow. He picked it up, taking it gently out of its silver cradle, feeling how heavy it was in his hand, but feeling a sort of dark energy pulsing through it, into him…
He put it down again; it was starting to creep him out Big Time. Instead he turned his attention to the other objects on the desk. One was another criminal record; he picked it up in his left hand and examined it, his eyes widening as he read it; Joker, the.
The break-in. All just a distraction. But that meant that the person who had broken into Arkham Asylum was…
Slade. Robin frowned. What would Slade have wanted with the Joker? By the sound of it, they hadn't liked each other at all, so why the partnership?...
Placing the record to one side, he turned his attention to the last object on the desk; a roll of filthy, ratty parchment, yellow and crinkled with age, tied with a piece of leather cord. His curiosity now almost overwhelming he picked it up in his good hand and painfully loosened the cord with his broken right. Once free he unrolled it, putting an elbow on it to keep it flat, and saw that there were two other pieces of paper rolled up inside it. He pushed them to one side and scanned down the parchment. He sighed heavily as he realised he couldn't read it; it was in some weird language, little symbols he didn't recognise. Not Egyptian or Greek, nor Oriental kanji…
He put the parchment on top of the Joker's file and picked up the other two pieces of paper that had been rolled up inside it. One was a page torn from a newspaper, a sensationalised account from Jump City's leading tabloid about the theft of the Orb of Azarath from Jump City Museum.
Robin's masked eyes widened as he quickly read down it, his hand reaching for the small stone ball on the desk beside him. There was a black and white picture slapped in the middle of the columns, one Robin had already seen in the file-photo when he and Beast Boy had done the inquiry a few days ago. He picked up the ball and looked at it, then looked at the picture, then back again.
Well, if that don't beat all…
He couldn't believe it. Talk about an easy case. Hell, he'd sure suffered for it; discovered a homosexual side to his personality he hadn't known was there, been raped and almost murdered, and no way was he off the hook yet, that was for sure, but this was ridiculous. Either Slade had decided to become an antiques collector – with a criminal twist – or there was a helluva lot more to this little orb than appeared.
So, Slade had broken into the museum and stolen the Orb of Azarath, and he had also bust out every single criminal in Arkham Asylum, set them loose all over Gotham and formed a brief partnership with Gotham's Most Wanted. Add the fact that he had raped and nearly murdered his teen arch-nemesis and you had a whole new party game; Pin the Crime on the Criminal.
The big question still stood though; why? What was the motive? Why the partnership with the Joker? Why the theft of this seemingly-useless little shelf ornament? Why… why the rape?
Robin folded the cutting and put it on top of the parchment, picking up the last sheaf of paper as he placed the orb back in its cradle. He cocked his head as he struggled to decipher the spidery scrawl adorning the page. Then he understood.
A translation. The first line stated that it was a translation of the "prophecy", whatever that was. He frowned. Hadn't the Joker said something about a prophecy? Right before Slade had knocked him out?...
He couldn't read it too well – the writing was atrocious – something about the apocalypse and an "Avenger", whatever the hell that was. He could also pick out "Orb of Azarath" and his suspicions were confirmed correct; the thing was definitely no ornament. According to this badly-scribed document it was a vessel of terrible power than would be unleashed and controlled by one of a Chosen Few, but such promises would only be fulfilled after the sexual tainting and subsequent death of the Avenger. The walls of its birthright Azarath would crumble and the mortal gods would be stripped of their powers and so be cast among the corpses of those whom they protected. The apocalypse would be at the command of the one who bore the orb's power.
Wonder if our home insurance covers that? Must get Cy to check…
There was one catch, however; apart from the demand for the Avenger to pretty much pop it, a key was needed to unlock the orb's power. He frowned again and looked briefly at it, taking in with more detail this time the hole in the front of the cradle. A keyhole had crossed his mind…
He reached out and his left hand enclosed around the whole thing, the metal cradle freezing to the touch even through the black leather glove on his hand. He brought it close to his face, examining it, trying to ignore the weird feeling it seemed to send throughout his entire body, as though that dark power it possessed was attracted to his soul like an opposite charge and was being pulled into him against his will. His frown deepened as he looked very closely at the "keyhole"; it was diamond-shaped, but when he looked deeper he could see that it was prism-like, 3D, almost like a real cut diamond was supposed to fit into it. Odd shape for a "key", needless to say.
He put the Orb of Azarath down, not wishing to pick it up again, and turned his attention back to the prophecy. It puzzled him, to say the least; what the hell was Slade doing with it? Did it involve him? Why did he have the Orb of Azarath? And what was this… well, fairytale all about? Because, yeah, ok, he'd seen some pretty weird stuff in his short life of 16 years; he knew for sure aliens existed because he'd nothing short of made out with one, he'd come up against some real freaks of nature, he'd almost died every way imaginable, he'd been kicked around at a prom for stealing some spider-guy's girlfriend, who come to think of it probably wasn't human either – her father was a moth for petesakes – and he himself was the ex-sidekick of a guy who dressed like a giant bat. "Normal childhood" just wasn't on his résumé, but this…
This was straight out of the chronicles of classical Greek mythology. Orbs, mortal gods and the apocalypse? All in one day?
I think not…
The closest thing he'd ever seen to a god was the fat cartoon on Beast Boy's "Happy Buddha Tofu Chips". Maybe stormy brothers Thunder and Lightning came a close second, but this was just stupid. Elaborated, he guessed; heavily elaborated.
But still, he knew that the stolen orb was trouble with a capital "T". Even just looking at it, there was something about it he didn't like; and rightly so, as rotten as it sounded, if it had anything to do with Raven. Things that involved Raven were usually bad news. She'd almost murdered Poison Ivy – and Batman – without even realising. Of course, Robin himself had been on the verge of killing the Joker not even a month before, but it wasn't the same; he hadn't blown up an entire garden with it. And then, of course, there had been that stormy night where Raven had been "Wickedly Scared" and had proceeded to make everyone else feel the same by unintentionally turning Titans Tower into a Hammer House of Horror, with only the absence of Christopher Lee dampening the otherwise-perfect atmosphere.
Sooo… what to do? He could take the orb with him, analyse it, ask Raven about it, find out what the deal was with it. He could hand it over to Batman, but what with the break-out here at Arkham he felt that poor Ol' Bats had quite enough to be going on with at the moment. He could go straight to Gotham P.D from here and give it to Commissioner Gordon, who would doubtlessly put detectives Montoya and that moron Bullock on the case; maybe not the best option, and the orb had been stolen from Jump City Museum, anyway. It wasn't really Gordon's – or Batman's – responsibility. He could take it to Jump P.D, but from experience he knew them to be incompetent and unprofessional, nowhere near Gotham's standards. He could return it to the museum, where he would hear the last of it; no doubt it would be discreetly moved to a different location. Metropolis, maybe.
No. He knew it wasn't really his place to be so choosy in his options, but none of them were right, exempt maybe the first one. But in the state he was in, would he even be able to get out of here at all, never mind in the possession of a stolen all-powerful orb?
See, this is why they invented those nifty communicators…
He looked back at the yellowed sheaf of paper, frowning at the symbols he couldn't recognise, and somehow felt that he should. Not through an irritated sense that he couldn't work it out, but something else, like it had been a language that had once spilled from his lips he had since forgotten. But it wasn't even real, surely? It was unlike any other language he had ever seen, like something invented by a little kid in math class as a way of communicating with their friends…
A code?... Yes, maybe… It shouldn't have mattered, not when he had read the translation, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something more contained within the original text, some kind of clue that would help to unravel this whole weird, unbelievable scenario. Maybe the entire thing was metaphoric, and the real meaning was like some kind of riddle, seemingly one thing but another entirely?... Surely that would make sense; there were no mortal gods that he knew of…
"Having fun?"
Robin's head jerked up, his heart sinking…
There, leaning in the doorway, a horrible malicious glitter present in his single eye, was Slade.
Slade beating Robin to within an inch of his life? Oh, so we're back to normal now… Um, hope that kind of explains the translation thing… sort of… And yes, Robin does talk to himself a lot in my fics. Originally it was an incarnation of mine called "The Darker Mind" but I just ditched the name because it was annoying referring to it like that all the time. Basically, my Robin is a bit of a psycho, talking to himself and such like…
Although… judging by Haunted, the actual animated version isn't far behind that assumption…
Not to worry, new chapter/s up soon, as long as you continue to tell me what you all think!
Titans again in the next chapter! And Batman! He's back! And Robin and Slade and blahblahblah…
Sorry it was so long…