Attention! May I have your attention, please?

So, here's the gameplan: Seeing as how my school is using this week to take all these evil tests, and there is no homework being handed out, I have decided that this week shall be all about updating. That's right! Tonight is the new, "Scars of the Past." Wednesday is "Alone in the Dark." Thursday is "Catch me as I Fall," and Friday is "Immortality"! (Besides, I feel terrible for leaving all those other stories hanging for so long).

So, enjoy.

Chapter Three: Tracker

Starfire-

Dearest Friend Robin:

I miss you. We have all been quite concerned about your well-being, and sincerely hope that you are doing with your new life—

Friend Robin:

Things are difficult without you here to guide us. Jump City is quite hard to look at, and brings tears to all of our eyes. But I must not burden you with our troubles…how are you? Have you made any new friends yet? Do you still have the picture—?

Robin:

Why will you not come back? We—I—miss you dearly, and wish you had not gone. Things are not right, and will never be "right" until you should return. I cannot help but worry for you, even though you have claimed that you will be all right…COME BACK!—

Crumpled, discarded pieces of paper were scattered on the floor of the bedroom that she and Raven were sharing temporarily, and Starfire had seated herself in the midst of it all; with trembling hands, she smoothed and unfolded one letter after the other, only to smash it up into trash again.

All of them were letters that she had written—mail that would not ever be placed inside an envelope, nor ever read by another pair of eyes, other than the alien girl's. It seemed that every time she tried to pick up a pen and write to Robin, her mind became blocked, as fuzzy as the blue mold that had once dwelled in the Titans' refrigerator. She felt helpless…listless…

"Why did you go?" She demanded, her words hanging in the air. "Why did you leave us—WHY!"

At her outburst, she ripped apart her most recent note that she'd been examining, and both pieces burst into green flames.

"Robin…"

Star rested her back against the steel frame of the bunkbed, and pressed her forehead against her knees, letting out a heavy sigh. She was so tired of being left alone—her friends had purposefully been rising before dawn and heading out to work so that she would not have to suffer the constant glances they shot at her. It was nice of them, she guessed, but it made her feel isolated and severed from the rest of the world—as if she were drifting back up into the space from which she had come, and no gravity on this entire planet could hold her down.

Despite the fact that she wanted desperately to be ignored, and shoved against the backdrop, Starfire craved a sign of acknowledgment that the other three Titans knew she was still alive…

What if he had forgotten them? What if he discovered that he liked his new life so much, he wouldn't want to come back to them? What if he found another group to be with, and they didn't matter to him anymore? What if—(her stomach lurched in a way she did not recognize)—he'd found a replacement for her?

It was a strange thing to ponder, and a horrible one at that. Her emotions had been so fragile in the past three weeks, she had burst into raucous sobs if someone accidentally stepped on her toe: Starfire knew it, which is why she had been striving to build up her resolve. But at the mere idea of somebody else pushing her out of Robin's mind for all eternity, she felt tears begin running down the sides of her face.

In her mind's eye, she could see him surrounded by four other people, all laughing hysterically at a joke that had just been told. They all appeared exactly like Beast Boy, Raven, Cyborg, and herself, but they were…normal…and he liked them better…

"Why are you punishing yourself, Starfire?" Beast Boy cried, shockingly empathetic. "Please, you shouldn't be upset. He won't forget us—and it's not your fault that Slade forced him to leave—"

But it is! the Tameranean thought while her friend pleaded. The horrible truth had dawned on her: If Robin hadn't cared about them in the first place, Slade wouldn't have used them as blackmail to make Robin his apprentice…and if that had never happened, the man wouldn't have been desperate to get her leader under his thumb once more…

Stop it, she told herself. Stop right there.

She needed to do something—if she sat in this house any longer, she might burst out screaming.

Starfire stood up and adjusted her uniform properly, then ran a brush through her unruly hair, before heading for the stairs. The mirror informed her that she looked perfectly awful; her common sense told her to ignore pitiful excuses that would make her stop, and urged her onwards.

In the kitchen, the results of Alfred's latest visit covered the table; food of all sorts were spilling out of paper bags, and the other three's breakfast was visible on the counter. Star hesitated as she munched on a donut and smiled as she read over the British butler's handwriting: Friend Bruce had been generous enough to supply them with a current headquarters (an old home that had been up for sale, actually) on the border between Gotham and Jump while the Tower was reconstructed.

And then she was out the door, gone in a whirlwind of eagerness to engage her mind in some other activity than missing Robin…

Robin-

"Tag, you're IT! Ha, ha, I got you!"

"What? You so did not get me!"

"Yes I did!"

"Nuh-uh. Because…I'm…Cyborg, from the Teen Titans, and I can beat all of you!"

"Hey, that's not fair!"

Robin sat on bench beside the park, waiting for the bus; he'd been flipping through one of his text books to look for material on the upcoming test in Social Studies, but he'd lifted his head to watch the group of children that were playing near him, interested in their games. One of the louder boys, a kid with freckles and brown hair, stepped forward and shouted:

"Well if you're a superhero, then we all have to be superheroes…I call Beast Boy!"

"I wanna be the Batman," an African-American youth explained shyly.

"And I get to be Beast Boy," piped in a girl who seemed younger than the rest. The freckled child shook his head.

"No, YOU have to be Starfire, or Raven, or the Wonder Woman—"

"But, why?"

"You're a girl, and girls can't play boy roles. I'm going to be Beast Boy!"

"Fine," she growled under her breath. "I'll be Wonder Woman…"

"But…" A little boy with blond hair paused, frowning impudently. "I don't want to be a hero, they're boring! And anyway, you guys have to have villains to fight, if you want to be heroes!"

The small band of kids who had already chosen their roles glanced back and forth between one another.

"Okay," the one with freckles stated officially. "You can be a bad guy."

"Yes!" The blond-haired child crowed, and Robin raised an eyebrow at his triumphant behavior. It almost made him wonder…

"I get to be the Joker!"

"And I'll be Catwoman," cheered another girl with dark, curly hair.

"Me—I'll be S…?" A youngster with bright green eyes blinked, and struggled to remember the name.

"Is it…? Sl…Slade! Yeah, that's it!" A chill went down the Boy Wonder's spine at these words. Less than a second later, a child—who, remarkably enough, had black hair and blue eyes—stepped forward and proclaimed that he was "Robin."

"Freckles" cleared his throat impatiently.

"I don't think you can be Robin…I don't think he's a hero anymore…"

An argument ensued, and was continuously joined by friends of both young men, but the last words were still echoing around in Robin's brain; somewhere in the stomach region, he felt something bitter and cold sink into his navel.

"I don't think he's a hero anymore…"

Well…Robin gave an inwardly sharp—and wry sounding—laugh…wasn't that the truth? If he had ever really been a hero, he wouldn't have let Slade get to him, wouldn't have enjoyed stealing and creeping around like a common thief—would not have let the creep ruin his life. But in the end…Robin had just slunk back into the shadows, and simply prayed that he could just sink into nonexistence.

You asked for this…you agreed to it…

"Did I?" He whispered, words swept away by a brisk autumn wind into nothingness like his former alter ego.

Just because I said 'yes,' doesn't mean I ever truly wanted it.

The kid, who was almost Robin's miniature twin, had been pouting while "Richard" pondered, until Freckles had given in.

"Okay, okay, you can be Robin. But—"

"Ha, you better run, Tim!" The child who was portraying Slade shouted at the little Boy Wonder. "I'm gonna getcha!"

"Not if I've got anything to say about it," 'Wonder Woman' declared, and raced after the pair. Freckles opened his mouth

Robin, despite his urge to throw down his textbook, run, and not stop till he got back to Jump City, stayed put on the bench and merely surveyed the group at their play.

Soon, the two boys who were Robin and Slade had caught up with one another, and 'Slade' tackled Tim. Both of them rolled to the ground in a tussle, laughing and mock punching fighting one another. The rest of the children were too caught up in their own adventures to care much about what the others were doing. But the two young men barreled straight into a pile of leaves; Tim began thrashing and giggling, while 'Slade' sat on top of him tauntingly, but grinning as well…

"Give up, Robin," Slade's voice breathed in his ear, the words accompanied by a wicked wrench on the boy's arms. Robin let loose an involuntary cry of pain, though it was instantly transformed into a fierce yell.

"DAMN YOU!" The Boy Wonder roared, attempting to jerk himself out of the man's grasp. "You killed them! All those people, you killed them, you murdering bastard!"

He had expected for Slade to laugh, for him to taunt him in some way, but instead, the next words that came were utterly unexpected.

"No, Robin. I didn't kill them…you did."

"Andy, get off of me! I give up, I give up!" Tim was gasping for air between his fits of hysteria.

"Give up, Robin."

Andy obliged and stood up, offering Tim his hand.

"Sorry."

"You just wait until I get you!" Tim blurted, and gave Andy five seconds to fly off in another direction, before keeping up the pursuit.

Robin's attentive eyes wandered over the rest of the tiny group: Of the little ones that were trying out different, evil laughs, and Freckles, who was roaring to show what new animal he had transformed into, while the little girl who posed as Wonder Woman rolled her eyes and tapped her foot impatiently…Andy and Tim relentlessly playing their small, private game of Cat and Mouse.

They thought the whole idea of superheroes was a game, and blindly believed it to be wonderful and exciting; it was similar to the video games about war, in which it portrayed the concept of battle to be unique and thrilling—

"It was a thrill, wasn't it?"

—But they didn't even know the half of it…All preconceptions of combat were hyped up to seem fantastic, though in reality there was nothing more horrific.

On his lonely bench on the outskirts of the park, Richard Grayson felt a lump rise in his throat.

-----------------------

Bring!

Robin had barely unlocked the front door to his apartment room when the phone began ringing frantically at him; instead of picking up, he chose to ignore it and crossed the fair sized living room to discard his backpack outside his bedroom door. The place that Alfred had picked out was…nice, he guessed: The living room was the main, open space, and connected to the kitchen. Doors led off to the bedroom, the bathroom, and the hallway—however, the only thing he truly liked about it was the panel of wide windows across one of living room's walls, and the window seat that ran along it. The view overlooked a large portion of Gotham City, but if you squinted hard enough, you could just barely see the horizon of Jump.

It helped him somewhat when he was missing the Titans more than usual.

Bring!

The youth sighed and plodded over the phone to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Richard?"

Robin winced, and violently swore at himself.

"Uh…yeah? What's up, Bruce?" He tried to keep his voice light and casual, praying to God that Principal Daniels and Mr. Smith hadn't told his father the news…

"I received an interesting phone call awhile."

Damn.

"And?" Robin questioned in a bored sort of way, and made his way towards his bedroom.

"Well: I was in the middle of a meeting, when Jessica interrupted with a message from one of your teachers. A Mr. Smith?"

"What about him?" the teen persisted, remaining determinedly innocent.

"He told me you got into a fight at school…again." Bruce put particular emphasis on that last word. Robin gave a mental groan and kicked open his bedroom door; all windows in there were opened and their blinds pulled up to let in as much light as possible—for some reason, he'd had trouble sleeping in the dark these days. On the bureau beside his bed (onto which he had just collapsed) was a photograph that Star had given him; the people behind the frame waved cheerfully at him—it reminded him of a lifetime he'd had once, long ago…

Before Slade.

"Oh, yeah. That…"

"Yes, that," Bruce snapped, sounding fed up with his son's act. "What is the matter with you? Do you want to draw attention to yourself! Do you really want Slade to find you again? Why are you doing this?"

Robin flushed in humiliation.

"It's not my fault! That kid said that African-Americans were filthy—"

"I don't want to know what he said, and I honestly don't care. What I care about is you: I taught you better than that! You learned, when you were still very young, how to control your temper, or so I thought…"

You found out different when you learned what kind of position my aggression landed me in, the boy realized with sadness. The position of apprentice.

"…but now you're practically throwing yourself into brawls. If this keeps up, I am NOT going to bail you out next time you get in trouble. This is an issue, Dick, a problem we need to solve immediately—"

"All right!" Robin shouted into the speaker. "I get it! I'm not stupid, so I've got it!"

"Do you, Dick?" Bruce demanded with quiet disbelief. "Do you really?"

No! I'm about to go into a meltdown mode! I have got absolutely NOTHING under control—hell, I don't even know what control is anymore! I can't handle this—I'm going to drown!

"Yeah," Robin responded tightly, "I'll handle it."

Static crackled on the other end, and the teenager imagined his father rubbing his temples in irritation.

Finally:

"Other than that…little thing, how are you doing, you know, being alone and all?"

"Fine."

Except for the fact that I can't sleep at night, so I'm suffering from insomnia, and that whenever I close my eyes I seem to have nightmares.

"You're…you're sure?" Bruce was trying to make up for blowing up, but Robin didn't want anybody's sympathy at the moment.

"Yup. Positive."

"…Okay…I've got to go. Uh—" Bats tried a carefree chuckle. "—Duty calls."

"Right."

Robin punched the 'Off' button with his finger as hard as he could, and chucked the phone at the bed spread as hard as he could. He hated the fact that Bruce had the choice to go out and fight crime. ('Duty calls'? Didn't he know how badly Robin wanted to utter those words from his own lips?) He hated that he had lost everything that ever mattered to him.

Richard stood and went to the bottom of his bed, to where a trunk had been placed. His fingers, inches from the latch, paused and quivered in indecision, before he flipped the top open, staring down into the dark "pit" and its contents.

Newspaper articles jumped out at him in plain black and white, titles proclaiming the uncanny murder of a young mortician, whose neck had been broken, and of Jump City's annihilation; there were a few photographs of a man by the name of William Wintergreen from when he'd still served in the army; plus, the disk that he'd used to meet Rose, and discover more about his enemy. And last but not least…

Robin reached to the farthest corner of the trunk and pulled out the dented, metal 'S' insignia he'd had to wear now twice in a row; he even ran his hands over the cracked—yet still sleek—surface and rested the letter in his callused palm.

I hate you, more than anything else in all the world.

The teen hero's gaze roved over the shape and contours of the badge, unaware of a little, red that had clicked on at the slightest brush of his skin.

Slade-

The man was sitting in his old chair, his legs propped up on the desk in a careless sort of fashion. Wintergreen was preparing to meet with Miss Watson; so far, the first phases of his plan had run together smoothly—Watson had even encountered his apprentice on her first day at his school.

He shouldn't have been concerned.

There was no justifiable reason for his worry: Things were as perfect as they could be, and soon, he and Will would pinpoint exactly where little Richard was hiding…

—Yet something was gnawing at the back of his thoughts, and would not leave him—

…Batman's true self had been exposed at last…

—Rose is in Gotham—

…But why should he care?

A small, pulsing beep woke him from his dream like thoughts, and Slade brought his legs down to the floor. One of the computers, even if its screen had been cracked, was still functioning adequately—it now displayed the outlines of a building's blueprints, with a single tracking dot beating every time its user's heart did.

To be Continued…

Dun, dun! I think you all know what happened, if you read the first story. And, okay, I lied about the fight scene, but I have to cut this short—things to do to prepare for Halloween (booyah! I LOVE Halloween! In fact, I may even post a one-shot on that subject on the thirty-first). So, I hope you liked this, and if you are reading my other stuff, I shall see you tomorrow!

Later:

Rebel