Some angst in this chapter, people! Well, ish. But hey; I'm not in angsty mood or anything! Today, 3rd December, is my birthday! Whoo-hoo! So I'm here giving you all a gift to share my happiness – a brand new chapter of Asylum! So I shall expect many reviews wishing me at least happy birthday, if not actually saying that the chapter was good…

Kidding, kidding!

Dear me, where to start… You aren't actually allowed to reply to reviews in an author note anymore, but meh. It's something I've done right from the start, so I'm not about to stop now. My fan-base appears to be dissolving again, however; it would appear that my only original returning readers are Phoenix Skyborne, YamiTai and Quinn and his Quill. Where has everyone gone? Especially Yami no Kaiba – she appears to have disappeared off the face of the earth! Anyone know where she went?

As for the rest of you…

Quinn; yes, this storyline has a backbone that is NOT based just around sex! How I love prophecies…

Phoenix Skyborne; yeah, we all agree that Robin is, in BB's words, "totally flipped-out coo-coo labonza" – that's why we all love him, right? I'm ALMOST done with Changes: Nine Months More. Have you written any more? I really must put that thing on story alert…

YamiTai; glad you liked the notion of Batman being "knocked flat" by the T-car…

Rocky Wolf; your update, as promised. Keep up the good work on The Rocky/Slade Story!

MereImage; who probably won't ever come back, but thankyou! I'm glad you liked it!

Seductive Angel; well, BB's just a funny guy, right? And I guess you are a Rob/Star supporter? You know, you people are pretty rare…

Alexnandru, Narroch06, anyone else who has reviewed in the past and happens to still be reading… I still love you all!

Let's just make with the bird metaphor title, huh?

Enjoy!

Broken Wings

The only sounds he could hear were the thunderous pounding of the shower and the rhythmic thudding of his own heart, forcing his blood on its journey around his body as though nothing had changed, as he sat curled up at the bottom of the huge glass shower cubicle, naked and his head buried in his knees. The water from the showerhead rained down on him and he simply let it run off his skin and drain around him; he had turned the pressure up so high it was like being repeatedly punched in the back, not giving the soothing massage as was usually typical of a power-shower. The hot water gave him some relief though, washing his body where he ached and bled, the thick steam offering him a sense of security. The glass was clear but now appeared frosted, almost opaque; it made it difficult to breathe, but it forced him to take slow, deep breaths. The bite at his neck ached and he touched it, feeling the bruise already forming beneath his skin. His ebony hair was sleek and glossy from the water, but flat and shapeless with it, instead plastered to his head and slathered in his eyes.

His blue eyes…

He reached up to them with one hand and touched them with wet fingers, feeling the eyelashes move protectively. He hadn't taken his mask off for… how long had it been? The last time had been for Raven, a month ago maybe?... After everything concerning the Joker and his gang in Gotham City, after he had betrayed her trust, cheated on her with poor innocent Starfire, who had then fallen victim to Raven's jealous wrath; after all that, he had needed to prove to her that she could still trust him, that he was hiding nothing from her.

So he had taken off his mask for her, showed her – and only her – his eyes.

His incredible deep blue eyes.

Before that… not since he had left Gotham. A long time ago.

But it was off now, lying discarded in a heap on the bathroom floor, along with every last scrap of the apprentice outfit. It had been the first thing he had torn off and now it lay at the bottom of the pile. The last, and most important, part of the Robin identity, and he wasn't wearing it.

He wasn't Robin. As long as that mask lay fallen where he had thrown it in his broken rage, Batman's sidekick was dead. And he didn't care. Maybe he was taking the coward's way out, but he didn't want to be Robin anymore. A classic case of "Can't cope, won't cope". Robin was no longer a good person to be. Back when he was 8, 9, 10… it had been cool then; he had craved the night-time, the thrill of going down to the BatCave, putting on his bright costume with pride, adjusting the mask, checking the belt, swinging from rooftop to gothic rooftop at the side of Batman, stopping the bad guys. But back then… back then he had always had Dick Grayson to fall back on. A normal life may have been boring in comparison to that of his crime-fighting alter-ego, but at least he had had that comparison. What did he have now? For a while, as a Titan, as leader of the Titans… it had all clicked into place, gone to his head. He had liked it so much he had thrown everything else aside, sacrificed Dick Grayson to Robin, because… because Robin - a righteous crime-fighter - had seemed so much cooler than an orphaned acrobat almost-but-not-quite adopted by the richest bachelor in Gotham City.

Yeah. Maybe Robin was a little too cool. Maybe he couldn't handle being the Boy Wonder as well as he had thought he could. He'd done well in 8 years, stayed alive - if only barely in some cases–, shut down his fair share of villains and stated his fair share of terrible puns. Maybe this was a warning sign to pack it in while he was ahead. Sign Robin's death-sentence "Dick Grayson", pack the garish costume into a cardboard box, leave it in the attic to gather dust and haul it out again in 50-odd years time to show to the grandkids.

But… what did that leave him to be?

Besides, that wasn't the entirety of what bothered him. Some of it was anger, at Slade, at Batman, at himself, at that slug Zucco for having his parents popped off in the first place. His flesh crawled at the thought that Slade had touched him – in a variety of ways – and for this reason he now found himself curled up at the bottom of the shower, letting the water cleanse his skin. He was angry at Slade for that, not for beating him up, but for kissing him, for touching him in a sexual way, for raping him… And these same reasons fuelled anger at himself for letting it happen. What the hell was wrong with him! He had freaking enjoyed it. It was sick and unnatural and terrible and wrong and he certainly hadn't been thinking straight. But he was still furious with himself. And the rape… maybe he couldn't have prevented that, but it hadn't even been necessary and that hurt him all the more, the fact that he had walked into a needless trap.

And Batman… deep down he knew it wasn't Batman's fault; the bat-eared guy was innocent, oblivious… But Batman's touch, so much like Slade's; it had frightened him, ignited a hatred towards Batman within him that mirrored his feelings for Slade. He himself was more like Slade than Batman was, but the physical similarity had been painfully obvious then more than ever. And also because Batman had thrown him head-first into this superhero lark in the first place, just an 8 year old, a helluva lot smaller and skinnier than he was even now 8 years later. Scratch the fact that he had practically clung to Bruce's leg and been dragged around Wayne Manor like a ball and chain begging to be taken on as a sidekick of some variety – come to think of it, he was sure that had happened – and it was pretty much Batman's fault. The Gotham City Social Welfare Organisation could have found him a foster home after the death of his parents without the equivalent of Bruce standing up in court and saying "Pick me! Pick me!", going home with a new "son" in tow and making him swear an oath to fight for good and justice that same night. But where would he be now, if not for Bruce, for Batman? An average kid going through high school, having insults hurled at him for his shortened title of "Dick"?

No thanks…

But if not Robin, and if not the "real" guy, Dick Grayson, then who was he? Because if, as Robin, he had to suffer the fact that he had been raped, beaten up, homosexually intrigued, blackmailed, kidnapped, trapped, almost murdered countless times, sent to alternate dimensions…

Well, maybe it was a whole lot easier to just… just cram it. He was up for a challenge; he liked challenges, being competitive and exuberantly-spirited, but if just being Robin was going to turn into such an all-out war, then screw it. He was sick of it. The superhero universe was now one superhero short.

His feelings were starting to come back to him as he sat there, being pummelled by hot, steamy water, which, despite being a little painful, was slightly refreshing. He had made his way back to Titans Tower almost mindlessly, again in disdain of his helmet, only vaguely noticing that his change of costume now spared his arms where they would be bare if wearing his own clothes from being attacked by the uncompassionate wind-chill factor. He had been calm as he had parked his bike in the garage, come up through the front room to the elevator and headed for the bathroom, his only thought that he wanted a shower to get rid of the horrible feeling all over his body, to cleanse himself from the homosexual contact. He had been in a similar state to the night before, almost as though he was in a trance, as he had fetched himself a towel from the cupboard next to Starfire's room, gone into the bathroom and locked the door.

It had been when he looked at himself in the full-length mirror that he had flipped, firstly tearing off his mask, the last part of Robin, then turning on the rest of the costume, tearing it from his body as though it was burning him, hearing it clatter and crumple on the floor. Until, finally, he wore nothing, spared himself nothing, as he confronted his reflection, his nakedness destroying any walls or illusions that had been there before.

No clothes.

No identity.

No mask.

Nothing.

But even seeing his own eyes, his mother's eyes, after all this time… It didn't suddenly heal the wounds, as maybe he had expected it to. So he had started the shower, turned up the pressure and stepped in, treating it like his normal morning shower at first, stealing Starfire's shampoo and Beast Boy's shower gel as was normal, then had sank down here and remained that way, which was where he found himself now some 10 minutes later.

And found himself back as the orphaned acrobat, alone in the big bad world.

"Robin!"

Starfire burst into the front room from the garage, airborne and frantic. Behind her trailed Raven, her hood up and disguising her expression, and Beast Boy, stifling a yawn, his pointed ears drooping.

"Starfire, please, quit yelling…" the shape-shifter moaned. "It's 3:00am."

"But what if Robin did not come back!" Starfire cried, turning huge, frightened green eyes on Beast Boy. "What if he is still in Gotham somewhere! What if he is wandering around Jump City! We have his belt, we cannot track him and we have no idea where he went! What if he does not ever come back!"

"I gotta agree with the girl," Cyborg said grimly, joining them after locking up the garage. He turned his gaze on Raven. "Dunno why the heck you and Bats let him go running off by himself again, and in the state he was in. He's flippin' demented, that boy. He belongs in a straightjacket in a padded cell of Arkham Asylum."

Raven pulled down her hood.

"Cyborg, have a little more faith in me," she said flatly. "I entered his mind and I knew that he was going to come here. I would not have let him go if I knew he was going to throw himself off the pier or something." She snorted in disgust.

"And what about Batman!" Cyborg pressed. "He can't read minds, although lord knows how even you can read Robin's jacked-up mind, Raven."

"Batman has known Robin far longer than any of us have," Raven answered quietly. "I'm sure he knows as well as we do that Robin can be… unpredictable, but surely he must have learned something of how Robin thinks from the best part of 8 years working with him. You must remember that, although at times Robin thinks like Slade, Batman was the one who taught him to think the way he does overall. Always calculating, always planning, always working things out. Robin's mind is that of a detective and he cannot help thinking the way he does, and Batman thinks that way too. That is why Batman trusted him to come back here; because he would have done the same."

"And you're definitely sure he's here?" Cyborg probed. "You're positive?"

Raven nodded slowly.

"He's here. I can sense him, but even if I didn't have the power to do that…" She paused and pointed towards the ceiling. "If you listen hard, you can hear the shower running."

"Could be a burglar," Beast Boy muttered, stifling another yawn. Cyborg raised his eyebrows.

"Right, a dirty one, who decided to take a shower in, of all places, the city's superhero crib," he said mockingly, a vague grin on his face. "Oh, boo hoo, he might steal all the soap…"

Beast Boy finally gave way to a yawn and collapsed onto the couch. Cyborg followed his example; only Raven remained standing, while Starfire hovered several inches from the floor, the nails of her right hand pressed to her mouth and a worried expression on her pretty face.

"I think maybe I should go and see if he is alright," she said eventually.

"Starfire…"

The alien girl turned to Raven, who had addressed her, then trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Maybe you shouldn't bother him," Raven went on softly. "Not just yet."

Starfire appeared confused.

"Why? Why should he not wish to see me, or any of us? Surely he would be glad of our kindness and friendship, as he is so upset?"

Raven blinked. She knew Starfire was naïve, but it actually hadn't occurred to her that the Tamaranean would fail to understand what had happened to her Boy Wonder in Arkham Asylum. Obviously she was familiar with the concept, but Batman hadn't said it outright and therefore Starfire, having a limited understanding of English outside the formal tongue she used, didn't realise… She could explain it to her, but somehow felt that it certainly wasn't her place to, that it was extremely unfair to Robin, and also felt that she might have to go into unwanted depth to explain it to Starfire, who sometimes didn't pick things up very easily, and when Starfire did understand she might go flying upstairs to give Robin extremely unwanted comfort. The empath got the feeling that Robin just wanted to be left alone, and she, Cyborg and Beast Boy could understand that and respected it. But Starfire was extremely open with her own feelings, a custom embraced by, presumably, all Tamaraneans, and therefore felt everyone should do the same. In time, perhaps Robin would talk to them about what had happened to him, but until then, Raven knew that Starfire's bright, happy persona would be extremely unwelcome in Robin's dark aura of anger, humiliation and self-pity. Because as much as Robin liked Starfire – and he liked her very, very much indeed, Raven knew not without the tiniest pang of jealousy – the telekinetic also knew that he wouldn't appreciate her; a) clinging to him as she often did in a weird display of affection; b) asking him to "potato the couch" with her to watch some love movie that more often than not had him physically vomiting over the back of the couch, or; c) offering to make him some Pudding of Cheerfulness when typical teenage hormones kicked in and he was wandering around looking for something to break.

But how could she tell Starfire, the alien, to stay away from the person she liked most of all on Earth, and from whom she had never willingly spent more than half a day from his side?

"Starfire…" Raven sighed and twisted a strand of violet hair around a pale finger. "Look, just… I know you like Robin very much, but if you truly care about his feelings you'll leave him alone until he comes to you."

Starfire looked at Raven quizzically, her head on one side.

"I do not understand."

"I'm not asking you to understand, Starfire!" Raven snapped, her tiredness beginning to catch up with her. "Just… just leave him alone, ok? I know it sounds harsh but he probably doesn't want to see you, or any of us, right now, so do all of us a favour and don't go near him."

"But Raven, I-"

Starfire was interrupted by a crash four floors above, barely audible but distinct and heavy.

"What is he doing up there!" Beast Boy asked loudly from the couch. "Throwing things!"

"If I'm not mistaken; yes, I believe he is," Raven answered simply. Starfire flinched as another crash sounded, but Raven's expression remained deadpan.

"Right!" Cyborg snapped, getting up from the couch. "I'm getting real sick of his attitude lately. If that boy thinks he's throwin' things 'round my tower, he's got another thing comin'!"

"What're you gonna do?" Beast Boy asked worriedly, seeing that the half-robot was angry.

"Restrain him, knock him out, I dunno," Cyborg answered. "But he's gone too far now!"

He started towards the double doors of the front room. Suddenly, Raven was in front of him.

"Cyborg, please," she pleaded. "Leave him. Just let him work off his anger and he'll soon stop. If you step in he'll get worse."

"We have a gym to work off anger in!" Cyborg snapped. "He could be damaging equipment, Raven!"

"He's in his own room," Raven explained smoothly. "The only stuff he's damaging is his own."

Cyborg sighed, softening.

"That's not the point, Ray," he said. "He's still-"

"None of us can possibly understand what he is going through," Raven interrupted quietly. "And it's only just beginning. We have to allow him time to get over it. And believe me…" She looked at them each in turn, her amethyst eyes sad. "The best way to help him now is to let him help himself…"

Ugh, not the most gripping cliff-hanger ever, but hey… I don't really know what to say except that in the next chapter, Robin goes crazy. Temporarily. Guess being raped and then almost murdered, then finding out you're destined to prevent the apocalypse – summoned by your arch-nemesis, who also happens to be the very guy who raped you – will do that to ya…

You know what? I think I'll just give y'all a sneak preview of the next chapter. I mean, we're almost to the end of the fic anyway, so…

"…Finally the wall was bare and the floor around him was littered with torn photographs and newspaper. He turned away from it, almost driven by something now, his blue eyes glittering with a look that was unnatural. He made for the mess at the foot of his wardrobe, picked up a batarang at his feet and smashed the mirror with a single blow, letting broken glass cascade to the floor as the one in Arkham Asylum had done. Still clutching the weapon he reached down and snatched up the first red "R" motif shirt that came into his grasp, then went to his desk. It was littered with broken weapons and bits of circuitry and notes and more newspaper cuttings and in the middle of it all sat the polished mahogany frame housing the newspaper clipping of Bruce and himself on that warm summer's day over 8 years ago; the day Bruce had officially been awarded custody of him. He paused, running his gaze briefly over the picture, from Vicki Vale's article; then he angrily and viciously swept everything off onto the floor, hearing the glass of the frame smash as it landed amidst the rest of the crap that had resided on his desk. He collapsed into his chair, twisted his grip on the shirt and tore the batarang aggressively into it, ripping the yellow fastenings down the front and carrying on, tearing it open. He cut into it again and again, making huge rips in the red fabric and then pulling at them with his hands, tearing the garment to shreds. He pulled the red and green and yellow apart from each other at the seams, as he himself felt what was happening to him. Finally he was left with the "R" badge and he stabbed the batarang into the heart of it several times before ripping right through it and hurling it aside…"

Really, when I said "he goes crazy", what I meant was "he trashes his room". And yells at Starfire. And cries some more. Argh… you'd have to read it, really.

So that's "Tears of Tamaran"; to be posted up when I get some reviews. Love ya all if you've even read this far! Thankyou SOOOO much!

Whoo-hoo! It's my birthday! YAY!