A/N: Hello all! Thanks for all the feedback and reviews!
Wanted to get this chapter up today because I'll be busy the rest of the week, and I just couldn't leave it unfinished that long!
Enjoy!
Chapter 30
Remnants
Slade opened his eye as the door creaked open. The man frowned, listening intently.
The figure in the doorway hadn't moved nor spoken. Wintergreen would have announced himself by now.
A cough…
Slade resisted the urge to smile as he recognized the forced sound. Robin's cough was obviously a lame attempt at waking him up without confrontation. Wintergreen must have sent the boy to rouse him from his beauty sleep.
The man was about to materialize from the bed sheets when he stopped himself. He was curious as to what the boy would do once he realized his pitiful excuse of a cough wasn't going to be effective.
Another cough…
This one was a tad bit louder, but still within the realm of hesitancy. Robin could do better. Slade inhaled deeply and released a loud, grating snore that echoed in the quiet room.
A sigh…
The man rolled over the pillow he was sleeping on as light footsteps danced over the carpet. The sound paused a few feet away from the bed. This time the chronic cough Robin had developed in the past few minutes was much louder.
The corners of Slade's mouth twitched, but the man didn't move.
A few more seconds passed before Robin's resolve suddenly vanished. The boy turned around and marched towards the door. Slade was about to rise and call off the gambit, but the boy paused, his footsteps placing him right besides Slade's desk.
Always the curious one…
There wasn't much on the desk the boy would find of interest though. A couple of files on his criminal contacts, a laptop that would take far too long to hack into, a stapler mainly used for Will's domestic needs, a picture frame…
Slade pushed himself off the bed without making a lick of noise in the quiet room. His sheets brushed over one another, creating the same amount of movement that would have occurred if he had simply rolled over in his bed. The man's eye shifted to the boy, catching the small form hovering over the simple, gray desk. In the boy's hand was perhaps the only item Slade had hoped Robin wouldn't have been interested in.
In fact, he was quite disappointed in the boy. Now was a prime opportunity to brush up on a few of Slade's contacts within the criminal network. The folders were right there on the table.
But no, Robin was too sentimental.
The man resisted the urge to sigh as he slipped off the bed silently. The noise hadn't even disturbed Robin's from his thoughts. The boy was so absorbed in the tiny picture, he still didn't hear Slade as he took a few steps forward, moving behind him.
Was he more annoyed with the boy for not hearing him or for continuing to pry into his past?
Slade couldn't decide.
"Snooping around? That's a new low for you, Robin."
The deep baritone voice shattered the boy's thoughts and with a yelp, Robin spun around, dropping the item from his hand and slamming his small body against the back of the desk. Slade deftly caught the falling item, anticipating the move. The man rose to his full height as he glanced down at the picture frame in his hand.
Robin's eyes widened behind the mask as he furiously glanced between Slade and the bed where the man had been sound asleep.
"Sl-Slade. But- You- How…I wasn't-"
Slade's gray eye narrowed. "You weren't snooping? Then pray tell what were you doing rummaging through my desk?"
"I wasn't! I just – and you – so I thought – "
Amusement licked the corners of Slade's mouth as Robin grew progressively more unsettled. The boy pressed himself away from the desk as if it had suddenly turned into magma, but when he realized that only brought himself closer to Slade, Robin backed up a few paces.
Slade stepped forward.
Robin tensed, the words dying on his lips, and Slade sighed at the involuntary movement.
Old habits die hard…
But the man supposed that scaring Robin hadn't done much to help.
He gazed at the boy, wondering just what Robin thought of him now. The boy had seen his past. The boy had seen his pains. Yet he was still here. He hadn't disappeared during Slade's brief slumber.
That had to count for something right?
As Slade's keen eye studied Robin, he saw the thoughts dwelling just beyond the boy's lips. He recognized all the echoes of chaos simmering just below the surface of normalcy. Slade supposed that were to be anticipated. He couldn't expect Robin to walk away from such a heavy conversation without hyper-analyzing every shred and lick of information. The boy was perhaps an even bigger mess than when he'd arrived at the haunt.
Slade, side-stepped Robin and returned the picture frame to the original spot on the desk, ignoring the bright face that haunted him from the confines of the glass.
The man sighed, trying to ignore the emotions pricking the back of his mind. His eye swept over the room, overlooking Robin's troubled form for a moment and huffed in frustration, as he marched over to the unmade bed. Slade sloppily pulled the sheets over the pillows. He knew if he didn't do at least that much, he would never hear the end of Wintergreen's wrath about cleaning.
"So, you're not mad?"
The mumbled question broke the mercenary out of his thoughts. The man glanced up, the folds of the sheets wrapping around his hands. Robin's words were laced with such a tentative undertone that Slade felt with a mere breeze of wind, the boy would shatter into pieces.
"Why would I be mad?" Slade asked with a frown. "Wintergreen sent you, correct?" When Robin nodded his confirmation, Slade rolled his eye muttering to himself, "Old man will never let me miss a meal."
Slade growled as the bed only looked worse from his efforts.
"I meant…" Robin trailed off, and Slade found himself looking up at the boy for the millionth time that morning. The man raised his eyebrows slightly and watched as Robin awkwardly gestured to his desk.
To the picture frame.
Another gateway to Slade's past.
"No, not mad. Disappointed actually."
The boy opened his mouth to defend himself, but Slade cut him off. "There are two folders on the desk listing some of my more recent contacts in Jump."
He watched as Robin furrowed his brows, and then the boy's face slowly cleared in understanding.
"And you gave up the perfect opportunity to gain valuable information to simply gawk at a photograph."
Slade tucked the sheets underneath the mattress in a crumpled heap.
"Sometimes you can tell more about a person from their past than from a pile of papers."
The words were so quiet, so subtle, and so innocent that Slade had almost missed them. But within the syllables were an undercurrent of strength that ebbed and flowed with the tides of life – always there just underneath the surface.
"And sometimes you don't."
Slade's voice cut through the air, ending the trail of conversation with a dead finality. Robin's eyes hovered over him, staring.
What did he see?
A murderer? A pitiful creature? A bloodthirsty, ruthless assassin? A twisted result of a science experiment gone wrong?
The man could almost feel the thoughts spitting towards him – judging him, condemning him, haunting him.
His hands moved instinctively, and within moments a pillow was sent shooting off across the room and landed smack in the middle of Robin's face, silencing the thoughts. Slade flinched at the surprising loud noise and the muffle grunt that sounded from the boy. Slade clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he admired his handiwork with the pillow.
"Did you just throw a pillow at me?" Robin's incredulous and slightly annoyed voice rang across the room.
"Learn to be prepared, Robin. Now would you like to make yourself useful or simply stand there gawking again?" Slade asked while gesturing to the other side of the bed.
Robin's eyes peered from over the fluffy ball and followed the gesture. The boy hesitantly stepped forward, the large pillow still in his hand. Instead of continuing to move, however, Robin just stood there as if his legs had suddenly been transformed into thick lead.
"Please tell me you know how to make a bed."
"I do, it's just – " Robin let out a huff of frustration.
"What now?"
The words sounded harsher than Slade had meant. Those eyes were upon him again, and the man couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.
"Robin – "
"You're just doing it wrong…"
The boy trailed off, uncertainty etched in every inch of his small form. His hands tightened around the pillow, squishing closer to his chest. The small action caused the dregs of regret to redouble inside Slade's chest.
"Did Wintergreen put you up to this?" Slade asked as his eye narrowed. He wouldn't put it beyond the older man to perpetuate the mockery of his domestic skills.
Robin shook his head.
"I wish," the boy said with a sigh. "Come on, Slade. You're not even trying."
The mercenary grunted as the sheets seemed to lash out and twist underneath his hands.
"It's fine."
Robin pointed at the disaster surrounding him. "Have you even ever made a bed before?"
"Yes," the man replied with a sharp hiss at the end of the word, "And it's always a waste of time."
"No, it's not," Robin argued, "Who doesn't like a well-made bed at the end of a long day?"
"Utterly pointless."
"It starts the day off right – "
"Only to be repeated in an endless cycle of demise– "
"But that's the beauty of it right," Robin said as his eyes fiercely zoned in on the man. The length of the bed separated the two opposing forces as the silence in the room suddenly clunked between them.
"Every day you're given the choice. It's easier to walk away and forget about it, but you're given the choice to make things right."
The man frowned, gradually becoming aware that Robin wasn't talking about making beds anymore. This strand of conversation ran much deeper than domestic skills. There were remnants of Slade's past that bothered Robin, and the boy had unconsciously steered the conversation towards these thoughts. Slade wanted to back away and leave this exchange to fizzle into silence, but the man couldn't avoid those eyes that seemed to tear into every inch of his mind.
"Sometimes it's not possible to make things right," Slade said as he turned away from the intense gaze the boy threw his way.
Grant…
Adeline…
Robin didn't know everything that had happened. He didn't know the woman in the photo. The boy didn't know the full details. Slade's views of the world had been tarnished into a deep, murky decay that no amount of idealistic thought could fix.
"There isn't enough time – "
"So, make time." Robin's voice was flat, lacking the normally light tone of inflection.
"I don't think it's that simple."
"Why not?"
The question grated against Slade, causing the man to turn back around and face the boy in front of him. The two words were a challenge, voiced with the full force of justice that rested within the confines of Robin's small form.
He could be so much more…
Why couldn't the boy see the depths of his strength and the endless avenues of potential that resided beneath the layers of his powerful form? If only he would just allow Slade to train him. But what hope was there of that now? The boy probably saw him as less of a human and more of a monster now.
Slade glanced down at his hands – at the deaths of hundreds.
"Some things you can't make right," Slade replied evenly, trying to lay his thoughts to rest. He may be an all-powerful mercenary with more power over life and death than most, but Slade couldn't bring back the dead. He could not control time. The man suddenly turned to his side table and wrenched open the drawer. A large metallic object glinted in his hand, and he held it up for Robin to see.
"If I took this knife down the center of the bed and destroyed all the sheets, it would become impossible to make the bed."
If the boy was concerned about the very dangerous object Slade now held in his hand, Robin didn't show it. Instead, the small boy shrugged.
"Sure, it is. Just stitch it back up."
That damn optimism…
Everything was so simple to the boy. Black and white. Right and wrong. Yes and no. Slade's world was anything but simplistic, and Robin still had yet to understand that.
"But you don't know how to sew."
"Then learn."
"Ahh but you don't have the time to learn," Slade said as he twirled the knife in his hand. Robin's eyes moved from Slade's single, gray eye to the sharp, metallic edge of the knife's blade. The boy's eyes narrowed, taking on a similar, hard edge.
"Then you either make time or live with torn covers the rest of your life," the boy paused and hummed thoughtfully. "Which I can tell you from experience, aren't very comfortable."
Slade considered the statement as he looked down at the bed. He was half tempted to drive his knife through the sheets then and there, but he figured Wintergreen would be beyond raging mad if he did that. The man shrugged, placing the knife back down on the bedside table. He noticed the boy hadn't even flinched at the sight of the deadly weapon in his hands.
"Fair."
Slade let the word fall away as he lost interest in the conversation. He didn't feel like arguing against Robin's idealism and trying to batter the boy down. He had already begin cracking the pieces of Robin's defined view of good versus evil, and as the boy grew older, the world would finish breaking apart that shell for Slade.
The boy opened his mouth as if to say more, but hesitated. His jaw muscles tensed as if willing the slender figure to speak up and continue the conversation. For a flash, the words licked at Robin's lips before dissipating, unspoken amongst the remains of a once well-made bed.
Slade wondered if he should continue to drive the thoughts out of the boy, but Robin's form was smaller than normal. His shoulders hunched over, etched in a resigned defeat that wrapped its way around the pillow against his chest. Slade felt himself wanting to reach out and straighten the boy up, driving the determination back into the slim form. But there was an impassable wall in the form of unspoken thoughts between them, so the man simply cleared his throat and gestured to the rumpled covers.
"Lead the way then."
He watched as the boy perked up before lightly pulling back the sheet Slade had already heaved over the tops of the pillows. Robin frowned as his keen eyes traveled the length of the bed. His hands pulled back the sheet, straightening the edges. He motioned to Slade, and the man pulled the other pillow off the bed.
The boy worked from one corner to the next, tucking the sheet under and folding it with an intense precision at the corners. Slade took a few steps back as the boy passed by him like a ghost intent on diligently haunting the bed spread. The tip of Robin's tongue protruded in concentration as he studied the sheets as if he were analyzing a plan of action. His fingers moved quickly and efficiently, and Slade saw the fragments of a well-rehearsed activity bleeding through.
The mercenary leaned against the wall as he watched the boy. The man couldn't help but feel odd. There was a strange normalcy to it all as if this were simply another typical morning for the odd pair. However, within the sense of normalcy resided another feeling. The boy looked so small against the massive bed that Slade had an unreasonable urge to yank him away and smother him within his arms.
The man immediately burned the thought out of his mind, but he couldn't help but remember…
I let them die, Slade…
He remembered the way the broken boy had folded into his arms – the way the hot tears had burned his skin. Robin had such a gentleness to him and an unfathomable depth of pain – a weakness that could be exploited and used by many enemies.
As Robin finished putting the last pillow on the bed, Slade couldn't help but admire the handiwork that rivaled even Wintergreen's prowess. The sheets were crease and wrinkle free and tucked neatly into the corners of the mattress. The two pillows were propped up against the bedframe, looking light and full. Slade glanced over to Robin who stared at him with a subtle smirk at the edges of his mouth.
How had the same boy in front of him managed to strike fear into the villains of Jump?
Slade shook his head, unwilling to bear the smug look any longer. He pushed himself off the wall and moved to his desk. Such a useless skill to have, but the man had to admit, Robin made a quick and clean work of it all.
"Still pointless, but you did a good job."
"I've been trained by the best."
There was something distant written between the words.
Slade snorted as he sat down and opened his laptop. "Somehow I can't imagine Batman making a bed like this."
"No," Robin answered, shaking his head. His voice picked up a detached quality to it when he finally responded. "He was much like you when it came to anything with cleaning, Slade."
Slade pressed his finger prints against the screen and waited as the sensor scanned over them.
"So, then who trained you?"
"The best."
"Always so vague," Slade said as the sensor proceeded to scan down the length of his face. He waited patiently, then proceeded to type in a series of codes. Once the screen was unlocked, his security successfully circumvented, Slade flipped open the folders on the desk. He felt a steady gaze closely following his actions.
"Comes with the profession."
Slade hummed in acknowledgement as he flipped through the papers on the desk. As archaic as it may seem, the man liked to keep paper documents around. Much easier to destroy and much harder for an enemy to obtain. While he had a complex computer system, even Slade understood every network had flaws that could easily be extorted. Paper on the other hand was a much different matter as it could be destroyed and protected much easier than electronics.
"Wintergreen wanted you to come eat…"
The voice was behind him now – quiet, subtle, and innocent.
"Have a few things I need to do."
He felt Robin's eyes on the folders underneath his hands. The gaze practically ripped through the papers, but instead of pursuing his curiosity, the boy simply moved towards the door. Slade frowned as he noticed a haze almost seemed to follow the boy as he walked. Something was weighing the boy down, but what exactly Slade didn't know.
Truth be told, a million and one things could be bothering the boy about their conversation, and Slade wouldn't have the slightest idea of where to begin. His gray eye followed Robin as the boy hovered in the doorway like a phantom trailing between two worlds. The man was quite sure there could very well be more than million thoughts whirling through that thick skull of his, and Slade would have no idea what Robin was thinking until the boy decided to spit it out himself. The man could only imagine what Robin thought now – now that the boy had seen his past.
He wanted to ask Robin that very question, but he stopped, because for the first instance in a very long time, Slade honestly wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
The doorway seemed to devour the boy's thin frame.
How had Robin ever managed to survive in Gotham for as long as he did? How had the villains not shredded him to pieces?
Slade sighed.
The boy's eyes, locked away behind the confines of a mask, spoke loud, echoing volumes that so few in the world would ever hear.
Robin made everything seem so simple. Have a problem? Make time to fix it. But what the boy didn't realize is that some things were unfixable. Some things were laced within the stones of time – unable to move or change.
Slade's eye flashed back to the perfectly made bed.
Torn sheets could be quite uncomfortable…
The old photograph blared in his mind. Her eyes spoke to him from the depths of the image. It had been years since he's seen her smile, heard her laugh, felt her gentle touch.
Slade suddenly had a feeling he'd been dealing with torn sheets for his entire life.
Perhaps the boy was right.
Perhaps it was time that he'd learn how to sew.
"What are you working on?"
Robin didn't know why he'd asked. Slade probably wouldn't answer his question. The man likely guarded his work even closer than his past, but when faced with the opportunity of leaving, Robin oddly found himself wanting to stay. Something dragged at him – almost as if he were walking with stones tied to his feet.
"Research."
The boy found Slade tilting the screen towards him.
"Would you like to see?"
No.
Robin hesitated.
Maybe.
"It won't suddenly turn you into a villain just to look, Robin."
The boy flinched, allowing his eyes to float around the room.
"What kind of research?"
"Why don't you come see?"
With a hesitant step forward, Robin made his way to Slade, pausing just behind the man.
Slade gestured to the code on the screen. "I've reached out to a few of my contacts in the area, trying to see if I could trace the Joker's new hideout."
Robin watched as Slade's eye scanned through the jumble of letters and numbers.
"Don't you need to decode this mess?"
Slade nodded. "Working on it."
Robin frowned as he leaned back from over Slade's shoulder.
"So, what does it say?"
A few moments passed in wordless silence, filled only by punching of keys on a keyboard.
"Not sure yet…"
Robin hovered behind Slade for a few moments before moving to the bed and resting against the edge of the frame. He stayed there listening to the clacking of the keys running over a keyboard.
Slade sure typed fast…
Some quality about the noise calmed the boy's thoughts. It reminded him of the perpetual turn of the gears in Slade's haunt, and the rhythmic beat seemed to drum along with the pounding thoughts in his brain.
Why was Slade so complicated?
The thought drowned Robin.
Why couldn't the man be a heartless villain intent on causing only evil and chaos in the world? Why did he have to be so human and so real? Why did he have a painful past that warped the very person he was?
The man eventually leaned back in his chair, thumping his hand on the desk.
"Not much news. No one had heard anything about the Joker in Jump. I'm not surprised though. I didn't expect much."
Robin frowned, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Who are these contacts you're asking?"
"Associates of mine."
Robin's eyes narrowed at the man as his hands tightened around his arms. "You mean criminals?"
Slade shrugged, and Robin felt a prickle of annoyance run through him at the casual movement.
"You might be familiar with a few of them," the man said.
"Slade," Robin growled as he pushed himself off the bedframe. "I don't want help from a bunch of criminals to find Batman – "
The boy stopped himself as the reality of what he said sunk in. He froze. Maybe Slade wouldn't even notice.
"Then, what am I, Robin?"
Well damn.
The silky-smooth voice wormed its way into his mind. Robin opened his mouth then stopped. Had he really just excluded Slade from that group? The boy could practically feel his insides melting as he replayed his statement over and over again within the depths of his mind. He abruptly turned away from the searing eye. He felt his body quiver under the mountain of thoughts crushing down around him, leeching into his mind.
"I don't know…after…"
After all you've said…I don't know…
He felt the man's presence behind him. Slade's omnipotent eye gazed at him, tearing through his defenses and piercing straight into his heart. Robin tried to walk away – to leave this conversation to rot away, but the room held him in place as if he were caught in the jaws of a shark with little chance of escape.
The boy pulled his arms tighter around himself as a thought rose above all others. His heart thundered as the question seemed to creep into the air, unwanted but unstoppable.
"Who is the woman in the photo?"
The question was like ice in the room.
A long pause seeped its way between them.
"One of the best."
The syllables were short, clipped and sharp. Robin felt them cut through the air and slice through the walls around them.
"Always so vague."
"Comes with the profession."
A hand was on his shoulder again. That hand was always there it seemed, reminding him of how far they'd come in only a few days.
Because you would have been the perfect apprentice...
"I've told you quite a bit about my past, Robin," Slade said in the echoes of the space. "Let me keep this."
So, have I…you know more about me than my team…
"Was she your wife?"
The boy didn't know what had possessed him to ask, but his mouth had a will of its own. His hollow words held a deep eeriness to them as if possessed by death itself. A chill of adrenaline raced through him, because deep inside, Robin knew he was right.
The long silence was enough of an answer. The hand on his shoulder tightened suddenly, and Robin found that his breath caught in his throat, refusing to fill his lungs. This time the silence that passed between them was heavy, suffocating, and drenched with the raw pains of a distant past.
"How'd you guess?"
Robin recognized the pain in Slade's tone. It was the same pain that radiated from Robin's voice when he thought of his parents.
The boy closed his eyes as he searched through his mind for the words he needed. The boy wasn't really surprised by the revelation. He had deducted the woman must have had been of some importance to Slade to be in a frame on his desk, and if Slade had mentioned a son then it had been likely the photo was one of his significant other.
"Because if she had been anyone else, you would have told me who it was."
The hand slipped off his shoulder.
Perhaps she was dead…
"Fair."
The word was flat and heavy, landing at Robin's feet with a thud.
"What happened?"
He didn't know why he asked. Slade wouldn't answer, but he kept pushing. Some intense force possessed him to keep digging and to keep unearthing the truth.
"Come on, Robin. Wintergreen is probably – "
"Slade."
There was something in the tone that stopped the man mid-sentence.
Robin felt an emotion wallow in his throat as he remembered the woman's eyes within the photograph. They had been so bright – so full of life and love and so like how Slade had looked before the experiment. That's what had stopped him. That's what had made him pause beside the man's desk. Robin stared at the wall, examining the massive hole the two had created in their earlier scuffle. He felt his mind being pulled forward into the abyss.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for what they did to you."
While Slade may have chosen to become a mercenary, he hadn't chosen to become a human with superior healing abilities or intelligence. He hadn't chosen to lose his son. He hadn't chosen to end up in the same broken place Robin had been trapped within.
"I don't need pity."
The words cut across the room with a sharp edge, but Robin was already numb to the bite. He could sense the man's walls being thrown up behind him, but the boy didn't care. He found himself immune to the warning etched between the words as a small piece of need – of wanting – drove him forward.
"You didn't deserve it."
"Robin – "
"That's why I can't think of you as a criminal."
"I chose to be this – "
The man's voice roared within the tiny space.
Robin whirled around, finding a violence suddenly thrown into his voice.
"You chose to hide behind a mask."
A hand suddenly wrenched him forward, and with a cry, Robin found himself being heaved up and dragged face to face with a dark, swirling orb. Slade's hand tightened around his shirt, yanking the small boy until he was inches away from a furious face.
The boy's hand shook. His heart pounded in his chest. Sweat dripped from his forehead to the floor. But even under the seething pressure from the ravenous form, Robin's voice didn't falter. The strength hardened his words as he gazed steadily into Slade's eye.
Robin's hands slipped under his mask, shaking. The fabric slipped under his grip, but he willed his fingers to close around the smooth edge. He willed them to keep moving and slowly but surely, he felt the sticky material peel away from his face. The domino mask soundlessly fluttered to the floor.
"Like I did."
The grip on his shirt, loosened, and Robin's feet skimmed the top of the floor. The sheer anger within Slade's gray eye, dissipated as if the mask had taken the emotion with it.
"I don't need pity."
The words tasted bitter, but their edges had been softened.
Robin shook his head.
"This isn't pity."
A note of softness caved into the boy's young voice.
"This is understanding."
Robin blinked, his blue eyes, unbridled by the confines of a mask, stared at Slade.
"From one human being to another."
Slade said nothing. His hand slipped away as he turned around, placing Robin behind him and shielding himself from the boy's piercing, blue eyes.
Robin watched as the man paced away, feeling his entire body rooted to the ground as if frozen by time itself. He felt bare and vulnerable, exposing the deepest layer of himself to his enemy. But if Slade had managed to drag up the depths of his past and lay his soul bare in front of Robin, the boy could do the same.
The man hovered in front of him, a dark specter looming in the room.
"I could snap your neck in seconds."
Slade's voice was detached and cold.
Robin didn't blink.
"I know."
"Destroy the Titans without hesitation and kill everyone you care about."
The man clenched his fists together.
The boy didn't move.
"I know."
Something within Robin's voice cracked, but he pressed on, willing himself to fight through the walls Slade threw up and willing himself not to be afraid.
"But you won't, Slade. You've changed," Robin said as he gazed at the towering figure before him.
"So have you."
A wave of emotions racketed the boy's body.
"I know, but is that such a bad thing?"
The words sounded foreign to Robin's ears, but as they tumbled from his mouth he realized that they were a truth he had been avoiding. He had the course of a few days, Robin had noticed his mindset shifting, but as much as it scared him, the boy had begun to realize that perhaps it wasn't such a terrible thing.
"I'm too old to change."
The familiar tang of bitterness was back. It hung onto the statement, dripping down and pooling at the man's feet.
Robin shook his head as his eyes landed on the photo just beyond Slade's reach. While the world might not be as black and white as the boy had originally thought, people still could decide how to live and what to do. There was always a choice within the layers of gray that existed in society.
"You're never too old to make a choice."
"What are you asking me to decide?" Slade asked, spinning around as annoyance craved its way into the edges of his tone.
Robin gazed at him for a few moments before allowing his blue eyes to drop to the floor.
"I don't know I just – "
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Wish things could be different."
And that was what had been plaguing Robin's mind since the pair's odd conversation. When faced with the reality within the desire, the boy felt himself shrinking away.
"We can't change the past."
We…
The words were cold. He recognized the coldness in the words as it was the same icy barrier Bruce had used against him so many times before. Abruptly, Robin felt himself wanting to be anywhere but in the room with this man. He felt stuck, trapped within a reality that no longer held any appeal to him.
"Do you trust me?"
Slade's voice sounded very far away, but the man felt even farther.
Robin stared at the domino mask on the floor as a numbness spread over him. The answer was there on the floor, looking up at him. He stared at it, a silent reminder of his choice – his decision.
"Yes."
We can't change the past.
Blue eyes blinked as a gray eye turned away.
I know…
But sometimes Robin wished he could.
A/N: I wanted the ending to feel a little...hmm...raw I guess for this chapter. Lemme know what you think!
UNTIL NEXT TIME. Have a great rest of your week!