Author's Note: Phew! Finally got around to writing this chapter! Updates will be coming a little slower, unfortunately, as I will be going back to school rather soon. But in the meantime, I'll try to crank out as many chapters as I can. Here's chapter 4!
Robin only had a moment to prepare himself before the thief leapt forward, fist pulled back for a punch. Letting out a tiny squeak of terror, he dodged to the side and rolled out of harm's way, then flipped back onto his feet and whirled around.
The man's boot was flying toward his face in a powerful roundhouse kick, and it was muscle memory that saved him when he threw up his arm to block it; he had practiced the move many a time with Bruce, and was able to deflect most of the force from the blow.
He couldn't think. It was all happening too quickly to think. Instead, he let his mind go blank and let his body do the work. He knew these moves; he had practiced them day in and day out for a year now.
Face still frozen in terror, he slid forward and and curled his fingers into a fist, smoothly transitioning in a split second from blocking the man's kick to delivering a punch aimed for the abdomen. It didn't hit, but Robin was easily able to duck the thief's counterattack, then block the next, then backflip to gain some distance. When he landed, he instantly leapt off the ground in the hopes of delivering a more powerful punch, but the thief stepped aside, caught his leg, and flung him brutally through the air. Flailing madly, he somehow managed to land shakily on his feet, and some of the terror was subsiding, he couldn't quite name why. And his face had contorted into a snarl, the horrified expression he had been wearing long gone. Blood pounded through his body, and yes, this was euphoric, the very essence of feeling alive. Barely even thinking about the presence of danger in the fight, he charged forward, fists clenched tightly.
He flipped and leapt and kicked and punched, and absolutely nothing was hitting the man but very suddenly and very unexpectedly he found himself... Fighting. Actually fighting. And it wasn't just practice on a dummy or mock fights with Bruce; this was real, this was a real enemy who truly could hurt him, this was a criminal.
He was doing it. He was really, genuinely, actually fighting crime.
He felt a surge of confidence and pressed forward in his attacks, forcing the thief to move backwards. None of his blows were landing, and a ton of the thief's blows were, but that didn't matter, it really didn't, because the thrill of the fight was intoxicating, and Bruce would show up soon anyways and they would knock out the thief together; in the meantime, he just needed to keep this guy preoccupied and in one place. So even though he wasn't exactly winning, for a brief, flickering moment, Robin felt like things were really going well.
And then the man actually started to fight him.
A fist flew forward and slammed into Robin's face. He let out a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, briefly distracted from guessing the man's next move. It cost him dearly, as the next blow was an absolutely brutal kick to his abdomen that sent him flying over the roof before slamming into the ground. He tried to breathe, but air wouldn't come into his lungs for ages and ages, and then finally he was able to choke and sputter, arms curled tightly around his stomach. Gasping, he staggered to his feet, weakly stepping into a fighting stance.
The thief ran straight at him before jumping into the air, his arm cocked back in preparation for a punch. Robin's eyes widened and he quickly did a backflip, just barely missing the powerful blow. The man's punch landed instead on solid concrete, and for a moment Robin hoped that the thief had broken his hand. To his dismay, the man stood easily and simply clenched and unclenched his fist, smashed concrete tumbling off his hand in a cloud of dust; a small crater was left where the blow had landed.
Robin glanced up at his opponent fearfully. It was clear to him now that the man had been holding back before. This was another test of Robin's skill, to see if he could keep up in a more serious attack.
The boy already knew he couldn't.
"Please, stop," he tried to choke out, but the man was already moving and Robin found himself desperately trying to keep up with the rapid fire pace of the fight. Blows rained down on him, and none of them were softened. His ribs, already bruised from earlier, suffered heavily from the attack; at one point he heard a crack, and knew one of them had snapped.
He tried to distance himself from the thief, but it was hopeless; the man somehow blocked every opportunity he had for escape. And his attempts to block the attacks seemed flimsy and useless; for every one punch he managed to dodge or block, five more would land on him. At one point he tried to dodge a blow by flipping back, but the man caught his leg. This time, instead of sending him soaring through the air, the thief slammed him onto the ground.
Robin felt like his chest had caught on fire when he landed on the broken rib, and he screamed in agony before he blacked out. It didn't last long though, and as soon as his eyes cracked open the man was on him again, raining blows down, beating him.
Killing him.
He tried to beg through cracked and bleeding lips, but he found he couldn't speak, could barely find time to breathe between the blows. He had never experienced pain like this; no amount of training down in the batcave could have prepared him for this kind of suffering.
It was just when he thought for sure that the man was going to kill him that all of a sudden the beating stopped. He lay there, gasping and bleeding and sobbing, painfully curled up in a ball and shutting his eyes tight, not believing that it was truly over. When a few long minutes passed and nothing happened, he opened his eyes and shrank back in fear at what he saw.
The thief was kneeling beside him, looking almost bored as he waited for the boy to compose himself. Letting out a few shuddering gasps, Robin slowly tried to sit up. Almost instantly the thief was pushing him back down, none too gently. The boy gasped in pain.
"Don't move," the man said shortly. "You may have internal damage."
Robin glared at him; he was bleeding, in agony, and absolutely terrified, but somehow he still couldn't contain his temper. "And whose - fault - is that?" he wheezed furiously. He got the impression that the man was smirking at him, which was furthered when the thief reached forward to ruffle his hair. He tried to recoil, but found he could barely move. So he simply lay in agony, fear, and rage as the man petted him.
"You did quite well," the thief said casually, as though they were discussing the weather. "Obviously you've got quite a ways to go until you're actually a threat to anyone, but I was impressed with your... enthusiasm, if only because you're so young. Your technique needs work; for one thing, you rely too heavily on your acrobatics instead of grounding yourself in the fight. And since you lack the muscle to land powerful blows, you should have used a weapon. But perhaps you simply haven't been trained in those yet."
Robin stared up at him in disbelief. "Are you - seriously - giving me - notes?" he snarled between gasps.
"Well you clearly need them," the man said sardonically. "Right now you're about as intimidating as a kitten."
Furious, Robin tried to jerk his head away only to have the man tighten his grip. "You - almost - beat me - to death," he hissed.
The man pulled his head up until Robin's face was level with the mask. The boy breathed heavily through his nostrils, trying not to look afraid. The man's eye glinted in amusement. "You'll live."
Robin growled and again tried to jerk away, again to no avail. The man chuckled and finally released his grip, letting Robin fall heavily to the ground. The boy groaned in pain, clenching his eyes shut. However, they instantly snapped open when he heard his name being shouted from far away. Weakly turning his head, his eyes widened when he saw Batman standing stock still on another rooftop. The dark knight stared at the scene in horror for a moment before quickly turning around and running back; Robin knew he was about to attempt the jump.
So did the thief. The man mockingly patted his head before standing up, and Robin's face contorted into a grimace. The thief brushed some dirt off of his armor and then glanced down at the broken and bleeding boy. "Well this was fun," he purred. "And don't worry; we'll be in touch... Robin." With a grace that reminded Robin of a jungle cat the man strode off, hands casually clasped behind his back, until he reached the edge of the roof and simply fell, disappearing from the boy's sight.
Robin's gaze was fixated on the spot until hands were suddenly touching him, gentle hands. He sluggishly turned his gaze toward his mentor, who was kneeling above him and touching his shoulders and face with trembling hands. "Robin..." Batman whispered, looking horrified. "Oh my god, what did he do to you?"
Out of nowhere, a thought consumed him. He had to know, it was incredibly important to know, it was the most important thing in the entire world.
In a sudden bout of strength, Robin's hand shot up and he grabbed Batman's arm, squeezing it hard. His eyes were strange and intense as he stared madly at the dark knight. "His name," the boy croaked. "What's - his name?"
Batman looked down at him with concern. "Slade. His name is Slade."
"Slade," Robin murmured, feeling instantly relieved. His hand fell back to his side. The world was going dark; Batman's face, lined with worry, began to fade. "Slade," he whispered once more, before letting the darkness consume him.