A/N: Hello! My name is Dee, but some of you may know me as Dragon.
Anyway, enough introductions.
This is a little challenge I decided to do. My goal is to finish it, and hopefully this will help me improve as a writer.

Warning: These drabbles and oneshots will more or less consist of dub-con, non-con, character death, cannibalism, raping of fictional monsters, some OOC-ness, gore and smut. If none of these are your cup of tea, you don't have to read it.

Just to make those of you who do read this feel a little better, I will probably post some fluffy one shots in here every now and then, just to give you all a break from the horror. 8D

Word Count: 3,237.

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. I just use the characters to play.

Infectious disease

Robin sat on the toilet, in nothing but his underwear, and stared blankly at the bathtub across from him. Hands on his arms, he shivered, pressing his lips together in nervousness.

I have to look. He thought to himself. This isn't right. Nothing comes up in the tests… and I can't let them know. I can't. I won't!

Robin gulped silently, and with shaking legs he got up from the toilet and looked in the mirror, mask off, and baby blues staring back at him. But they weren't the same. No longer did they hold brightness, determination, or laughter. Instead, they were blood shot, red surrounding the blue iris's that once had the girls of Gotham swooning, red streaks marked his cheeks, crusted and dried in small pools where his eyes had sunken in.

There was something wrong with him, something terribly wrong but he just couldn't figure out what. All he knew was that he was getting worse. It was getting harder to see, everything was blurred. His hair was falling out along with his nails and teeth, his body nothing more than a bag of bones and skin. He was sick, but what it was exactly still evaded him. He tried to keep away from his team mates, gave them whatever excuse he could to stay inside of his room. He didn't want them to know…or worse, catch whatever it was he had.

No, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something like that were to happen. So, he sat and waited, writing down any new symptom that would show up, holding onto whatever fell off, and constantly researching possible explanations for what he was experiencing.

Robin thought briefly of letting Bruce know what was going on. He was his mentor after all, his guardian. The Batman would find out eventually. Either he'd be tipped off by his own teammates of his strange behavior or come and find the boy wonder dead in a pool of his own blood, rotting and bursting at the seams from bloat…

He gasped, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from sobbing. Robin couldn't help it, he was scared. Terrified and ashamed of how he was beginning to look, so unlike the young hero of Jump city. He was nothing more than a husk of his former self, and he hated it.

Looking at the communicator laying just a few inches away on the sink, his hands shook. Should he call Bruce? What would the man say? What would he think of him?

Robin grabbed the communicator, ignoring the blood that began to seep from under his fingernails. Gripping the device in his palm, his eyes moved to his reflection again and gagged. Bracing himself on the sink, he turned on the water and emptied his stomach. There wasn't much. Just digestive juices and more blood; that's all that ever seemed to come out of him, even his urine was bloody. Panting he could see how this-whatever this was, affected him. Almost all of his bottom teeth were gone, a few at the top were loosened, his gums and tongue blacked with white specks littered along the sides. And then there was that rash, red and blistering, scabbing up the side of his neck, over his collar bone and to his chest.

Vomiting…that's nothing new. He thought to himself, swallowing hard to keep whatever was left in his stomach down, rinsing out his mouth and spitting out globs of red sick. Robin opened his mouth again and whimpered. It wasn't out of pain, but fear. What had freaked him out the most was that none of it was painful. He could easily wiggle one of his loose teeth and just pluck it from his gums and not feel anything but the slight pull of it being taken out.

He jumped when the communicator rang to life and quickly looked around for something to hide his face behind. Finding a washcloth he placed it over his nose and mouth, turned off the water and flipped the communicator open with his fingers, wincing when one of his last remaining nails lifted from the bed.

"Robin?"

"Bruce…" Robin whispered his voice hoarse as he smiled behind the cloth. "What's up?" He asked, trying to sound cheerful.

Bruce took notice of that and raised a brow. "I've gotten a call from your teammates. They say you've been sick for the last few days. Is everything alright?"

Robin could hear the concern in the man's voice and bit his lip softly.

There was no use hiding it. So with a sigh he made to sit on the cool bathroom floor and removed the cloth from his face. Robin smiled bitterly when Bruce's eyes widened. Blood had started running down from his nose, pooling at his cupid's bow. Instinctively he licked his lips, and cringed at the taste.

"…Dick…."

"I know, I know. I look like shit don't I?" He asked, resting his head back against the cabinets. He was so tired…but he couldn't sleep. His body wouldn't let him. It was as if his mind wouldn't turn off. He remembered bitterly the days he would go without sleep because he didn't want to miss any sort of important information, or clue to some big case he had worked on.

Bruce cleared his throat, snapping Robin's attention back to him, but the look of sadness and worry wasn't completely wiped from his face. Even under the cowl Robin could see clearly in the Dark knights' eyes.

"What happened to you…?"

Robin shrugged, coughed and cleaned the trickle of blood from his lips. "I don't know. It just…sort of started out of nowhere. At first, it was just a rash, a small thing on the side of my neck. I thought it was from the heat, considering the way the temperature has been. But…" He paused, absently scratching at the rash. "It got worse. The skin at my fingers started to peel, my stomach always hurt." He smirked, laughing humorlessly and pulling the bottom lid of his left eye down, showing Bruce the angry red flesh. "Then my eyes started bleeding. Guess that was the big sign that something was wrong."

Somehow, listing off all the things that started happening to him to Bruce was making the situation all the more real to him. It was then that he really realized he was fucked. He was probably going to die and infect the others with what he had. What if it got out of the Tower?

"I'm coming to get you."

"No! Don't, I can't let you come anywhere near me. I will not have this...this…thing get out."

"You're sick, Dick! I can't just let you sit and rot away like this! Look at yourself! You're literally falling apart!"

Robin smiled at that. "You don't know the half of it…" He muttered, looking away from blurred slight of Bruce's glare to the floor, a small spot of blood catching his eye. Robin thought it strange how it looked more like a red fuzzy ball than something that had dripped from his body just moments ago. He squeezed his eyes shut, the light starting to become more annoying to look at. Or was it painful…? He wanted to scratch at them, but he didn't know what it would do. Would he lose whatever was left of his nails? Would his eyes fall out if he attempted to relieve himself of the increasing persistent itch?

"Dick, I'm going to pick you up, and I'm going to help you." Bruce said, and every word the man spoke had Robin's head pounding.

"You just don't get it…" Robin said softly, squinting around the bathroom, hoping that might make the light a little less unbearable to his sensitive eyes. He saw nothing but red and the faint blurs of objects all over the room, still the light leaked through; blaring passed all the blood he couldn't seem to blink away. He could feel the blood traveling down his cheeks and he could hear Bruce telling him that he needed the help, to just take it, that he could make him better. None of it seemed to help him though. Nothing did, he had tried, god had he tried to figure out what was wrong, if there was anything he could do to alleviate the symptoms as they came, but nothing worked. He had run so many tests, taken so many samples and had done so many labs that the very image of infected blood cells had engraved itself into his memory.

"—don't know when you're just going to let go of that damn ego of yours and let me help you!"

"Enough!" He screamed pressing his hands against his ears, the communicator still clutched in his palm, his fingers covering Bruce's face. "Please…you just don't get it, do you? There is nothing," he said, finally getting up from the floor. "You can do about it!" Robin yelled, quickly taking hold of the metal cup that kept his toothbrush and throwing it at the light bulb above his head, shattering it.

Once he was surrounded in darkness he sighed, opening his eyes completely. Only the faint glow of the communicator peaking from between his fingers gave light to the room. He ground his teeth, flinching a bit when one of his front top teeth bent inward from the pressure. Bruce's voice was muffled, but he could still hear him. Unable to make out the words clearly, Robin moved his fingers from the screen. He didn't bring it to his face, afraid of the look Bruce might have on his face.

…God I feel so weak. Robin frowned deeply; his chest tight at the familiar pang in his heart caused him to gasp. "I hate this…Bruce. I'm scared…" He whispered, the quiet in the room making his words easy to hear.

"Dick…"

"I…I tried, you know. I really did. I tried to look for what could be wrong…I tried to keep a level head, looked through countless medical records and whatever else I could get my hands on, but I just kept coming up empty."

"Why didn't you come to me? You know I would've helped you—"

"I didn't want your help. I wanted to figure it out on my own. I thought—stupidly, that if things got too bad or if I was unable to come up with something that I would have enough time to call you." Robin squeezed the communicator in his hand and hesitantly brought it up to his face. "I thought that…if I couldn't do it by myself that I'd be able to get to you. What was the worst that could happen if I tried? But, I didn't know how quickly this thing would spread, I didn't know I would get so sick so fast, I didn't know that in a matter of days I would barely be able to recognize myself in the mirror-fuck, Bruce, look at me!" He sobbed, unable to keep back the wave of aguish that suddenly hit. Collapsing on the floor, he was able to keep himself up on his hands and knees, he didn't feel the broken glass crack and embed itself in his skin, and he couldn't hear the strange comforting words that came from Bruce's mouth. All he could hear was the sound of his own cries, and all he could feel was the pain, fear, and utter hopelessness break its way out from the brave façade he wore.

"There are just so many things I haven't done…so many things I wish I could—"He pressed his lips together tightly, the sickly turn of his stomach making him gag. Swallowing the bile down, he let out a breath through his nose and lay on his side, moving the communicator so Bruce could see. Robin rested his head on his extended arm, sniffing back the snot and blood that threatened to escape.

"Did you know I'm gay?" He asked his voice barely audible. "I am. I've never actually been with anyone though…but, I had hoped that when I came out to you it would've been under better circumstances." He said. He didn't bother to look up at the screen.

"…yes, I knew."

Robin smiled a bit, rubbing a rough hand over his stomach. It was then that he noticed his abs were gone, all he could feel were ribs. His flesh no longer taught with muscle but sagging and slightly bloated. He burped, cursing when the taste of copper met his tongue. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scowled when he felt the thick stickiness against his skin and rubbed it off on the bathroom rug.

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner, I'm sorry I ever made you feel like I didn't want your help! I'm sorry I -" Again he gagged, unable to fight the sick that came up as he moved his head away and emptied his stomach on the floor. Sitting up suddenly, he groaned as a few of his back teeth splashed into the clumps of thick fluid and blood. But just as he opened his eyes to look at it, he whimpered. He couldn't see it, any of it, not even the light from the communicator. Everything was black, and he moved his hands in front of his face, seeing nothing but darkness.

"Dick, what's wrong? Talk to me!"

"B-Bruce…I can't see! I-"Again the wave of nausea hit, he coughed, spilling more sick onto the floor. There was nothing in his stomach, he dry heaved for a few long moments, struggling for breath every chance he got. Every cough he made had his throat burning as more chunks of blood were forced out from his lungs and stomach. Wheezing he cradled himself, startled when he heard knocks at the bathroom door.

"Robin! Dude, are you okay?" He heard Cyborg ask, his fist banging onto the door.

"I…I'm fine." He stammered, trying to make his way to the door. He cursed when his hand slipped on the vomit, causing the communicator to fall out of his grasp.

"Dick!" He heard Bruce yell. "That's it! I'm coming to get you and that is final!"

"No! Br-Batman, you can—"

"Rob, man, open the door!" Cyborg shouted the banging increasing in sound. "Please, we just want to help you!"

"I told you, I'm fine!" He cried, feeling for the door and pushing his hands against it. He knew it wouldn't do any good. If they wanted in, they would find some way to get in, even if it meant breaking the door down, they would do it. "Leave me alone, I told you I'm fine! I'm just a little sick."

"Robin," Raven piped in, her usually soft raspy voice breaking through Cyborg's knocking. "You are not fine. Your energy has been steadily becoming less present, and I can sense you're in trouble. Let us help you."

"No!" Robin screamed. "I…I won't let you see me like this." He whispered, and let his head fall against the cool metal of the door. "I will not have you exposed to this! Do you hear me? Now get away from the door! It's an order!" He said, trying his best to sound like a leader.

"Would you rather us let you die in there?" Cyborg asked, his voice booming in the small bathroom.

"Rob, let us in! We won't know what to do for you if you don't!" Beast Boy said, his own fist pounding against the door. "We don't care if you're contiguous, just let us help you! We want too! Please! We've been worried about you for days!" He could hear Starfires' voice somewhere off in the background, asking Raven what was going on. He could practically see the worry that had to be etched on her face.

It took him a second to realize that Bruce hadn't said anything, and the small beep that came from the communicator indicated that the Batman had left. Robin's lips quirked up in a bitter smile. He knew Bruce wouldn't just let things be. And he knew he team wouldn't stop until they either got him out or they forced their way in. Robin's heart was warmed by their persistence, and he knew that they cared for him; they cared enough to do anything for him, even if it meant catching whatever he had. It didn't matter to them; all they wanted was their leader, to help him, to let him know that they had his back despite the consequences.

Head bouncing slightly from Cyborg's fist hitting the door, Robin closed his eyes, and reached up for the button. He could feel the strength slipping away from his body. It was bruised and broken, crusted blood covered his mouth, cheeks, and torso, the rash on his neck and chest broke, the scab oozed some sort of liquid, he had teeth missing, his hair had fallen out in clumps…he wondered briefly if they would even still see him as their leader, or some disgusting sick thing…

Smile still on his lips he pressed the button and felt the door lift, his body falling forward and into the arms of Cyborg. Robin couldn't even feel cool steel of his friends' metal body against his skin. When the sounds of his friends' voices became muffled, he forced his eye lids open. Red had replaced the black that had blinded him, and with furrowed brows he could see their blurred faces looking down at him in panic and worry. He tried to smile, but the sound of something popping in his ears had him shaking his head to get rid of whatever was keeping him from hearing them, something warm spilling forth down his neck and onto Cyborg's arm.

Gently they laid him on the bed; he was able to get one last look at them before everything went dark again. Robin attempted to breathe in through his nose, but whined slightly when he couldn't. He could feel the thickness of blood beginning to leak from between his legs, and opened his mouth to let in air. He knew he was staining the only part of his sheets that hadn't been darkened by blood, the entire bed reeked of it, dead and hardened in some places. He wanted to move, but found it hard to even get his head up.

The pressure of hands on him, the sensation of something plastic being pushed under his tongue, and the prickling poke of a needle breaking his skin was the only thing Robin was becoming aware of. Blinded and deaf by the constant flow of gore from every orifice on his body left him unable to fathom what was going on. But he had an idea. They were trying to figure out what was wrong. As more things were stuck onto his chest, and something forced down his throat he managed to sigh somehow, choking when some of the tightness in his lungs were made clean.

With a smile he let his eyelids fall shut; too exhausted to keep them open. It was when he felt the cold start to settle in his bones and his world began to fade that his ears cleared for a moment and he was able to hear Beast boy speak.

"…Raven, what's wrong with your eyes?"