With Slade's constant prodding and losing all hope, Robin is finally caving to it all... Has the time finally come for him to give up?
Death
"It is acceptable, a fighter who is under attack chooses to die when faced with the inevitable prospect of death. How is it any different when you are under attack by your own mind?"
Dick.
...
I know you're scared.
...
I know this is difficult to understand. But, talking will help you.
...
Dick, please.
...why?
Because I don't want to lose you.
...
Talk to me. What are you thinking?
...
Dick?
I want to die. That's what I'm thinking.
How long have you been thinking about this?
...
Dick. This is important. How long have you been thinking about dying?
...a while.
What has made you feel like you have no other options?
...everything.
That's a long list. Would you care to narrow it down for me?
Go to hell.
There's no reason for you to get angry with me. What has made you feel like you need to die?
Slade, you, the Titans, Bruce... everyone.
Has Slade been telling you that you should die?
No.
Has he been telling you that you have no other options-
No!
Then, why has he made you want to die?
...because I want him gone. I want him out of my head. He never gives me a moment's peace. He's always there.
Okay... how have I made you want to die?
...
Dick?
...same reason. You won't leave me alone.
Do you understand why I continue pestering you?
No, I don't.
Because talking about your hallucinations and everything you are feeling is going to help you. It has helped you make sense of a lot of things in the past, and I want to help you make sense of what's happening now.
Don't you get it?! Talking doesn't make a difference anymore! I still see Slade and deal with him all the time. I still hate everyone and everything! How has talking helped me?
Dick, I've told you in the past- when you take a big step forward, you sometimes have to take a few steps back.
Dr. Wilkins, I'm not getting better. I'm not improving.
I think all it is is that you've lost your hope for recovery.
...
Hope is an important thing.
...yeah right.
You don't believe in hope anymore?
...no, I don't.
You have to remember-
...why can't you just let me go?
Because I'm your doctor, Dick. If I let you die, I wouldn't be doing my job.
...your job is to make me better. I would be better if I was dead.
Robin was flying, flying, flying.
Every graceful flip through the air. The nimble grip he had on the trapeze bar.
His eyes were closed. He knew exactly what he was doing.
The sheer excitement of flight. Of doing something a normal person was not supposed to do.
He felt as though he could do anything all the way up there. Nothing could stop him.
Suddenly, a voice whispered in his ear. "Careful. You almost didn't make that last backflip."
Fear made his stomach coil. Suddenly, his muscles were not so sure of what they were doing.
Before he knew what was happening, he completed another graceful flip.
His fingers missed the trapeze bar by millimeters.
Robin was falling, falling, falling.
He heard screams from people below.
He desperately looked up at the trapeze platform. Instead of the fleeting comfort of seeing his parents, Slade stood on the platform, his one eye gleaming with delight.
Robin closed his eyes, ready for the impact. Ready to die.
He hit the ground, but he felt no bones breaking. No blood. Not at all like the painful scene he witnessed on that fateful night as a young child.
He looked up. His father was standing in front of him.
Robin, seemingly unharmed, got up and leaped towards his father, his heart racing with joy.
John Grayson moved out of Robin's reach, his expression cold.
Robin froze. He realized that something was wrong. This was no longer the free-spirited, kind man Robin knew. His face was aged, tired, gaunt, his hair overtaken by gray.
John stepped forward. "Look at what you have done to yourself."
Robin looked down at his hands.
Instead of athletic tape to aid his trapeze work, there were straps and chains covering his hands and wrists.
Instead of the lightweight, colorful circus uniform he had been wearing before, he was wearing his old, soiled pajamas from the hospital.
"You are not my son. You are not the boy I raised. You are nothing. You are dead to me." He growled.
Robin sank to his knees, his eyes desperately looking up into his father's. "Dad..." He whispered, tears threatening to break.
"Dick."
Robin's breath caught in his throat. The tall, caped man in black standing in front of him was no longer his father.
"Bruce..." He breathed.
His expression was just as cold and unforgiving as John's. "You have lost your mind, your sanity, everything to one measly villain that you could never stop. You are a pathetic failure."
Robin put his head in his hands, sobbing. "Bruce, please..." He whispered.
"Robin, don't you get it?"
Robin looked up, knowing the deep, evil voice all too well.
"No one wants you here." Slade said softly. He was not smiling mockingly. His one visible eye was full of hatred. "You have no friends. No family. Even in your dreams, your own father is disgusted by you. You are dead to everyone."
Robin was screaming.
Author's Note:
It's definitely not over, despite the finality... Please review!