Okay: I know I said I would post this on Monday. And I was going to too. Unfortunately, I took one day longer than I promise because just as I was finished and was going to prepare to transfer it to my USB drive, something really weird happened (I personally don't know what, because I am usually lost when it comes to technology) and I lost everything that I wrote. This chapter, which I am posting today, is what I salvaged from my memory late last night, after all the celebrations were over, and I went to my bedroom to prepare to go to sleep. I am so sorry (this is one of those times where I really hate my computer) for making you all wait…well…heh…at least it's not a month later, like what I've currently been doing to you guys…yeah…Okay, so I'm a very bad person, and I will get better at updating now. As a side note: Thank you all for the well-wishes that you included in your reviews (Asilla: Hey! Congrats on having your birthday today! Hope it's wonderful). And now, on with it.

Chapter Seven: The Old Flame Rekindled

Holocaust-

He was alive.

Holocaust exhaled sharply, as if he himself could hardly believe it, marveling at what it felt like to actually breathe again; and he could move, too. The demon flexed his fingers and shifted his legs and arms from side to side, allowing the muscles beneath his newly grown flesh to contort and ripple; his brain was operating and calculating again…and…

Holocaust clenched his fists and waited with bated breath, concentrating with all his will; and slowly, but surely, his precious fire-throwing abilities returned as his palms were filled with crackling, spirited flames.

A stray wind of night air blew past heap of junk, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the cold nipped at him; the scent of burning rubber and melting metal hit his nose, and his ears pricked to catch the noises that dogs and wild animals made, as they howled and padded through the remaining streets of Jump City—

"What the…?"

Holocaust narrowed his eyes (while, in spite of the pressing matters at hand, couldn't help but delight in the way that his mouth was working again, forming every word, every syllable that left his lips, and the way that his tongue moved to annunciate) and, carelessly waving a hand, directed the walls of fire that had been obstructing his vision to leap out of the way, allowing him to get a closer look at the rubble.

When had this happened?

The demon frowned behind his mask and thought hard…it was difficult to remember what had passed during his death. His memory was terribly foggy ever since he'd died…matter of fact, he'd even forgotten how he'd ended up deceased in the first place. It was a curious feeling, and it vexed him, partially because he got the sense that someone must have killed him—he knew only too well that he never made mistakes—and partially because he was aggravated that he'd missed the entire destruction of Jump…he'd always detested the city…

Think, he told himself firmly. Try to just focus, and think…

Slade…a partnership…the Titans…what were their names again…? Robin—wasn't he supposed to leave that one alone?—Starfire…Cyborg…Beast Boy, and…

Raven.

That infernal Goth with those insane, supernatural powers of hers was the last thing that he ever remembered; they'd been…fighting—yes, fighting in some sort of forest, or park. He'd been certain that he'd impaled her, and left her die…but something must have done wrong, because all that he knew after that was falling…and then the ocean.

Holocaust shivered at the mere thought of the rolling coastline that bordered Jump, and couldn't conjure up a worse way to die, then to drown.

So that was it then: That little witch must have discovered his weakness, and murdered him when he'd least been expecting it. Of course, she'd probably had plenty of time to strike: The fire demon's mind had been especially preoccupied that fateful night, with plotting the murder of Slade…

Well. First things first: He had to find Slade and have him fill in the blanks. Unfortunately, if that were to happen, he was going to need to wait on killing officious that officious prick…but if it meant getting even with that rotten bird-girl, he'd do anything. Even if it meant temporarily joining up with the madman again.

Holocaust sighed, and shook his head. The things he did for revenge…

So; best find where Slade was skulking about, and then—

"Hey, man, are you all right?"

The fire-thrower, bemused, turned to view two grungy men coming towards him. The one who was closer was obvious drunk, from the way his eyes lolled, and Holocaust could smell the alcohol on his breath; his friend hung back, looking petrified.

Holocaust smirked behind his mask. This was going to be fun…

The demon let loose another cackle and stretched his arms far above his head, letting power creep to the very tips of his fingers. The fire about him followed his hands, spiraling upwards in a tower of flame that seemed to surge upward into the deep blue sky. He could hear the alarmed yells coming from the two men, but it only made Holocaust laugh all the harder, as he whipped his hands down toward the ground, bringing the fiery mass down upon himself—to him, it felt as a refreshing as a spring shower—and the two workers. He listened as their pained screams filled the air, while hysterical laughter erupted from his mouth.

Raven-

"What is that?"

Raven, who'd been drifting off for quite some time now shook herself, violet eyes fluttering to clear sleep from her eyelids, before her gaze fell on Cyborg. Her friend was staring off into the distance, eyes narrowed with dark suspicion.

The Goth followed the line of his vision, till her gaze alighted on a bonfire, dancing and sparking along the horizon, the flames creating an unusual contrast of red and orange against a backdrop of overhanging black.

"Oh, that. Beast Boy and I organized the piles of trash we've been collecting over the week to be burned tonight by one of the garbage disposal teams that have been helping us out."

"Huh. It's very bright; bit big for a regular fire, also, don't you think?"

"There is a lot of junk to get rid of," Raven commented dryly. Cyborg didn't argue.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to act weird, or anything. I guess I've just been a little bit jumpy about fire, ever since…"

He trailed off, but Raven didn't need him to finish his sentence to know what he meant. Although she'd never tell any of her friends, she had never been the same either; on a few nights when Alfred came to visit, and he'd suggested building a fire in the fireplace, Raven had kept looking up, almost expecting two evil, merciless eyes to be glaring out at her from behind a veil of flickering crimson. Looking out over the empty wreckage of Jump City, and the burning trash beyond it, she couldn't help but think of Holocaust, and of the devastation and destruction he'd created…

She almost wondered what he'd been thinking, the first time they'd met him, as he'd set aflame a city block, and murdering innocent civilians…she couldn't even begin to describe how thankful she was that he was dead…nor put into words her terror if he would ever come back…

The expression on her face must have changed from apathy to one of deep loathing and distress, because a moment later, Cyborg was leaning over, a concerned frown creasing his brow.

"Rae? You okay?"

The demoness immediately got a grip on her emotions, unwilling to tell him what had been on her mind.

"I'm fine. I'm just really tired."

"Maybe…we should go to sleep?"

"Probably," she agreed eager to change the subject. "It's been a tiring week; we're all stressed, and need as much rest as we can get. Besides, it's another early morning tomorrow."

Cyborg groaned in a joking way.

"And another morning with those disgusting donuts of BB's—the ones with the soy powder?"

"Starfire seems to love them," Raven countered, as they got to their feet.

"Star thinks that a gourmet meal is moldy toast and hotdogs that have bugs crawling all over them!" Cyborg shot back. "I am a human being! I need my meat!"

The Goth let out a chuckle which she quickly covered with a series of loud coughs. It was a relief to be goofing around, since the mood was always so heavy for the four teenagers these days. Maybe once they were inside, she could get Beast Boy and Starfire to join in…they might even laugh, something they hadn't done in such a very long time…

But before she took even one more step, a roaring pain erupted in her head, and she let out a cry of agony, and fell to her knees.

"Rae? Raven, what's wrong!"

Her…her head hurt so badly, like someone was trying to break it open with a hammer…every particle of her being seemed to be burning, and her hands were so sore, like they were blistering on the spot.

—Cackling. Pitiless, cold, laughter was ringing in her ears, and horrible images were speeding through her mind, like a rapid slideshow of awful, premonitions—

"BEAST BOY! STARFIRE! GET DOWN HERE, SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH RAVEN!"

She wanted to speak, she wanted to try and tell Cyborg not to panic…but all she managed was a loud scream of anguish as she collapsed, blasted to unconsciousness by the unbearable power that ravaged her heart and mind.

Gotham City—5:28 A.M.

"Mmmph…"

Amelia Watson yawned briefly and snuggled deeper under the down covers of her hotel bed, enjoying the luxurious warmth that they provided her. She had not been pleased by how late she had stayed out last night, and how she'd wasted what could have been a perfectly wonderful couple of hours by spending her time with Wintergreen, and she intended to do whatever she wanted today—it was her way of treating herself after having to endure such horrendous company.

She'd been sleepily considering what kind of breakfast she intended after she slept for three or four more hours, when a man spoke coldly behind her hunched form:

"Funny. I was under the impression that Gotham Public Highschool began at 8:00 sharp, and that all teachers and affiliates were to arrive there by at least 7:00, so that they would have time to prepare for their classes. Or did I misread the rulebook?"

Amelia nearly fell off her bed in shock.

"You accursed son of a—" The rest of her foul, muttering curses were cut off, as she struggled to extract herself from the comfortable cocoon that she had made about her body. Wintergreen sat down in a nearby chair to wait and observe, looking bored and more than unhappy to be there.

"How the devil did you get in here?" Watson snapped from where she was grappling with her bed sheets on the floor. "And how long have you been there? And why are you bothering me at—"

She shot a swift glance at the digital, bedside clock.

"5:30 in the morning! What are you, a bloody insomniac? I just saw you five hours ago! What do you need now?"

Truth be told, Wintergreen himself was exhausted, but he stifled his own emotions and fixed Amelia with a withering glare.

"You're pathetic; a whining, cringing, excuse for a true criminal. I don't care what you've done in the past—how many people you've killed, how many robberies you've accomplished—but all I can say is that England's police force must have gone to seed, and its reporters desperate, if they can actually call you a dangerous villain to be reckoned with."

Amelia was looking at him as though she would have liked nothing better than to grab him by the throat and rip his head off with her bare hands. But, and Wintergreen was smug to notice this, the fragile prospect of her blackmail was still a potent threat, and somehow Amelia managed to get a hold of herself. She threw William a poisonous look, and snarled:

"I can't get dressed unless you leave."

William smirked and turned away triumphantly—

Only to feel a splitting headache hit him like a bolt of lightening. Wintergreen put a hand to his head and groaned, bracing himself against a chair in the next room.

"Anything wrong?" Amelia chirped, and he realized that she suddenly sounded extremely cheerful. It was almost as if she had…

No. Impossible. The only thing that twit could do was get a few glimpses of the future, and try to bend that to her advantage. That was it.

"I feel fine," he lied, trying not to give her anything. However, from the way that he could hear her singing loudly from the shower, he got the sinking impression that he had failed tremendously.

Robin-

The first beams of sunlight slid across his window sill, and fell through the glass to cover the floor with warm, yellow light. Outside, Gotham City awoke: Men and women kissed their spouses and children, before hurrying out the door to their cars. Traffic lined the streets, and people frequently honked at those ahead of them who were too busy chatting on their cell phones to notice the green light in front of them. Children skipped or raced down the sidewalks, their small feet crushing the leaves underfoot into powder, as they made their way along to another school day.

The blessing of ignorance, of being a normal person; something he was never going to be, if he spent a lifetime trying to learn how…

"What's wrong with you…?"

"You and Slade are…similar…"

"…Should have known you were nothing…"

Here and there lay furniture that had been turned over in the struggle, and the lights were all still off; the only illumination came from the powerful rays of the sun, as they streamed down in dusty bars across the paneled floor and his pale, weak face. Robin was still lying on the floor, blue eyes flat and devoid of emotion or liveliness, as he stared off into space…

It was amazing he wasn't dead…But, he supposed that Slade, that asshole, had told Crane to keep him alive, give him some sort of antidote or something…didn't want his precious property to be damaged in any way…

"MOM! DAD!"

There had been times…there had been times before, when Slade had organized for some sort of horrible thing to happen to him, sometimes for a purpose, to weaken him; other times, just to enjoy seeing him suffer…

But this had to be the worst thing that the man had done to him yet…

"Why…me…?" Robin wondered in a hushed voice, and instantly choked on the dryness of his throat…

A mountain that stretched on and on, up into the sky, with rain falling all around him and flattening his hair to his forehead as he climbed higher and higher…

How could he have forgotten about that…? Five more years…and the whole memory had been entirely erased from his brain…

Robin felt like crying.

Bring!

The phone rang from his bedroom where'd he left it last night, loudly and brightly, as if nothing bad had even taken place in the apartment last night. Robin wanted to throw it out the window, and be left alone…

Bring!

Somehow…somehow, by inching forward, and by slipping his fingers into a few cracks between the wooden floor, Robin dragged his body forward, even though it felt like trying to swim to the surface of an ocean with an anchor tied around his ankle.

Bring!

The teen reached his bedroom and, quickly reaching a hand up to the bureau, knocked the phone to the ground and picked up.

"H—hello?"

Was that his voice? It sounded…so broken…

"Richard? Is that you? You sound awful!"

Bruce voice flooded the receiving end, dripping with parental concern; but Robin could only wince.

"I—I'm fine."

How easily that lie slipped out! And after all he had endured last night; the Boy Wonder would have thought that he would have spilled everything instantly…except for the tiny voice in his ear, that whispered, in perfect imitation of Bruce:

"What's wrong with you…?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay…" Bruce's tone was doubtful.

"I just ate junk food last night, and I didn't get very good sleep."

"Geez! Alfred's going to murder you if he finds out."

"I know."

There was a brief silence.

"So…you should…probably get ready for school?" The words tumbled out from the Dark Knight's mouth awkwardly, and Robin almost smiled at his father trying to be...normal.

He's as bad as it as I am…otherwise I wouldn't have been found…

"Yeah; it's that time."

Another pause.

"I…I love you, Richard. I really do care about you, even if I'm sometimes harsh. You know that…don't you?"

"Of course," Robin responded emotionlessly, realizing a beat later that that was the wrong way to reply.

"Right, well…have a nice day."

"You too."

Robin hung up first and turned to stare at the wall. It was time to get started with preparing for school; he had to forget about everything that he'd suffered through…

Just like him; if he were tortured beyond belief, he'd get up the next day and pretend like nothing was wrong. He almost had to thank Slade for it; if he'd never met the man, he'd never have gotten so good at lying.

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

"…And so, Geoffrey Chaucer influenced his period with his writing, how? Come on, people, somebody?" Mr. Smith gave his class a weak, pleading smile; the group of teenagers stared back at him with boredom written all over their faces. All except for one. Robin had chosen a seat at the back of the room that day, and was staring half-mesmerized by the carvings and cracks that lined the top of his desk. He had discovered that if he found a way to keep his mind occupied with some sort of simple, mindless activity, it helped him to forget the events of last night. He had sunk into so deep a torpor, that he was almost scared out of his skin when the PTA crackled to life, and a light, British voice said over the static:

"Richard Grayson, please report to Principal Daniels' office immediately. Richard Grayson to Principal Daniels' office?"

His classmates around him exchanged mischievous glances, and there was a chorus of "ooooh," and whispers demanding that he tell them what he did this time. Robin only blinked and stared directly ahead of him at the chalkboard; he had barely even heard the announcement.

Mr. Smith, tapping his foot in impatience, cleared his throat.

"Well, Richard?"

Robin stood up, completely expressionless, and shuffled through the door and down the hallway. An odd sensation had come over him, muffling his thoughts and actions like a thick, heavy blanket; it was as if, even though he was clearly awake, he were still sleeping, and his short walk to Mr. Daniels' office was more like he was floating through one of the twisted, chaotic dreams he was prone to having the past month.

His plodding came to a stop, as he paused before the door to the office; the oak frame seemed to loom ominously over him and, sighing, Robin couldn't help wondering to himself exactly what he'd done now to get in trouble.

Best just to get this over with already…

Robin narrowed his sapphire eyes, trying to regain as much of his earlier, tough-guy attitude, before he gave the handle a vicious tug, and strode into the office.

The first thing that struck him was how quiet and empty it was. Sometimes, there were other teachers gathered around a few plastic chairs in the front corner, sipping coffee and chatting about how uppity their students could be; on other occasions, when Mr. Daniels needed to relax from the staggering amount of stress he was under, he would slip in a CD of classical music (Robin had heard the music start up many times, right after he'd left the office to return to class—he believed it was a recording of 'The Four Seasons,' by Vivaldi). It was always nice to hear the violins hum to life, and be joined moments later by other musical accompaniment. But now, the only noise was the obnoxious ticking of the clock above the door. He'd also noticed that Principal Daniels' office was still darkened, as if he hadn't yet arrived.

The mousy secretary from yesterday was there, true, but other than that…he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. With a small frown, Robin approached the woman's desk.

"Um," he began, and cleared his throat. "There was a message over the PTA system that said Mr. Daniels wanted me to—"

"Yes, Richard Grayson," she said, cutting him off, and Robin was taken aback to hear that she no longer sounded timid, but confident and cold in tone. "I've been expecting you. Have a seat."

Robin obeyed, sinking into the chair across from her desk and feeling extremely uncomfortable. Ms. Halverson's replacement hadn't bothered to break away from filing papers and look up at him once, and, aside from the brief command that she'd given him, had said nothing, nor done anything to truly acknowledge his presence. It didn't help ease his worries.

Finally, Robin found himself blurting out:

"Is Mr. Daniels going to be here soon? I—I am missing class."

Personally, he couldn't have cared less if he was missing Mr. Smith's English class, but he'd been intending to get her attention somehow. The secretary, like he'd expected, sat up straight, setting aside a humongous stack of documents and fixed him with a beady stare. The next words out of her mouth, though, surprised him.

"Mr. Daniels is not going to be here for several more hours," she informed him. "He called this morning to say that he will be—" Here she smiled, and Robin wasn't sure that he liked it.

"—Detained."

Well that was weird.

"So…if he's not here yet…" Robin muttered, trying to make sense of it. "Why am I—?"

"Because," the woman said calmly, even as she pulled a gun out from under the desk and aimed it directly at his face, "you and I are going to have a very serious talk. I want you to listen carefully, and if you try to move, or call for help, I will blow your brains out."

Robin, who'd been skeptical, noticed the silencer on the gun, stiffened and shut his mouth. It wasn't as if he were afraid—he'd had a gun pointed at him on many occasions when he'd been a hero in Jump and Gotham—but rather, he knew that people with guns tended to be jittery, and even the slightest movement would set them off, resulting in catastrophe. So he said, as quietly and serenely as he could:

"What do you want with me? I haven't got any money or anything you might be interest—"

The lady cut him off with a loud snort, as if she couldn't believe how stupid his comment was.

"I don't want your money, or any of that nonsense. And to be honest, I could care less about you. I'm only a representative for someone who is very interested in you…"

It was as though he'd been caught in a shower of ice, as the heaviness of her words fell on him like an anvil; Robin's fists locked onto the armrests of his chair, and he gritted his teeth to hold back a shudder.

"You know who I'm talking about," she went on softly. "Don't you?"

Robin swallowed with difficulty, and stared at his shoelaces.

"I know you're no ordinary kid," the secretary explained. "I don't know what's so special about you, either…"

The Boy Wonder still wouldn't look at her.

"I'm not going to shoot you," she snapped, and a wry smile crossed Robin's otherwise stony face at her words. He'd figured out this morning that Slade didn't want him dead—if she was indeed, working for Slade, and he had very little doubt she wasn't—after he'd woken and discovered that Crane's gas had not poisoned him, or made him lose his mind. Slade wanted something else of him. Something much, much worse…

"I'm not going to turn you into him either."

That made him jump, and Robin jerked his head up, regarding the woman warily, but also half-hoping that she meant what she said, and that she wasn't just screwing with him. Much to his relief, he saw that there were small creases around her lips that showed she was hiding a smile—even if it wasn't entirely a pleasant one—behind her gruff demeanor.

The Boy Wonder couldn't help himself.

"Why?" He whispered faintly.

"One, it isn't in my orders. I think there are other things planned for you."

Oh. That didn't sound very good.

"And two, I will do anything to make the task of nabbing you as difficult as I can for that jackass."

Robin's mouth fell open. He'd never known anyone who'd worked for Slade that would have had the guts to refer to him in a disrespectful way; he'd always assumed that they were too afraid that he'd kill them, or torture them to insanity. And here this woman was, shooting her mouth off when any henchmen of the masked man could overhear her and report back to their master.

"So," he said slowly, completely confused. "If you hate Slade so bad, why are you helping him?"

It was a stupid question, mostly because he knew how Slade worked. Robin had hated his guts with all of his soul, and yet he'd become his apprentice because of the blackmail against him. But the false secretary blinked, and frowned.

"Who's Slade? I was talking about Wintergreen—?"

"Who the heck is Wintergreen? Aren't you helping Slade?"

"The only one I've ever talked to is Mr. William Wintergreen, and he plays messenger between me and his 'anonymous employer.' Now: Maybe he's Slade, but all I know—"

William Wintergreen. Of course; Slade's staff sergeant. Robin remembered reading the mysterious Wintergreen's biography on Cyborg's disk. Wintergreen wasn't just an old buddy from the army, but an accomplice to Slade, when the man had still been the mercenary Deathstroke. No doubt his nemesis had enlisted the help of one of his oldest and most trusted allies to help capture him this time around.

That was two people he had to watch out for now.

Joy.

"I know who you're talking about," Robin interrupted the woman's babbling explanations. The secretary sighed and shoved several loose strands of hair off her forehead with her free hand.

"Thank goodness. For a second, I thought I'd gotten the wrong kid..."

"So…are you a bounty hunter, or a mercenary, or…a criminal?" Robin pressed, trying to take advantage of her lapse in attention. The woman glared at him, and aimed the gun again.

"None of your business, you little snot. Back to business: This…employer of mine wanted to make it clear that he is…interested in your future."

I'm sure he is, Robin thought bitterly.

"He's willing to make you a proposition."

"Yeah?" the boy demanded edgily. "And what's that?"

"He says that he will leave you alone for the rest of your life."

Robin was so shocked that he let out a burst of raucously derisive laughter. Slade—promising to let him go? Right, sure.

"Liar," he gasped out. "If you were really working for Slade, or getting instructions from him through Wintergreen, you'd know that he'd never be willing to leave me alone."

Robin stood, even though the gun was still on him, and, turning on his heel, crossed to the door. He had just laid his palm on the handle when the British woman spoke again.

"However…"

She paused, as if to confirm that she had his total attention, before proceeding.

"He also said that if he were to leave you alone, it would mean you would continue to live a normal life, and he would resume his…normal business."

So while Robin finished the remainder of his years up at highschool, Slade would go on being the scumbag that he always was. Big deal, right?

"He said..." the woman hesitated, and bit her bottom lip as she tried to remember. "…That though you would be free of him, it would not exclude others from your deal."

Automatically, Robin thought of the picture that Starfire had given him, with him waving for the camera alongside the other Titans. They would be the first ones that Slade would target, before he moved on to Jump City—whenever it was reconstructed, that is. And who knew? Perhaps he'd even find out about Bruce and Alfred. Robin knew that his enemy, if ever he were to discover Batman's alter ego, would murder his father and elderly friend in a heartbeat.

He felt his shoulders slump, and his hand slipped from the brass handle. If he was going to pose as a normal teenager, and slink back behind the protection of obscurity that society provided, there would be no way for him to be able to fight beside Bruce, or protect his friends.

As usual, Slade had him trapped in a corner, with only one way out.

"Did he offer any other options?" The Boy Wonder asked hollowly.

The secretary shrugged and only said:

"He said you would know."

He certainly did.

The secretary was watching him with questions in her eyes, as if hoping he would explain some of the madness to her; Robin inhaled shakily and turned to glare at her in determination.

"You tell him," he growled, "that he already knows the answer."

And he stormed out of the office.

Amelia stared after him until the door swung shut, and left her behind at her desk, before she raised an eyebrow and murmured under her breath:

"Be careful…"

To be Continued…

Yeah; not one of my best chapters, but at least I updated (yawns widely). Well, please read and review. I gotta go—next chapter, another somewhat new character enters the playing field!

Later—

Rebel