Whoa, Ohmygawd, I have soooo much to say! First of all, I am so sorry it has taken me so long to update – it was all the stupid site and their stupid email alert problems…
Secondly… it is my birthday! Dudes, I am 18! Officially! As of today, 3rd December 2006, I can, by British law, drink, vote, move out, get married without parental consent, go clubbing and actually legally go on Adult Fanfiction. net. Huzzah!
Third, who has seen The Prestige? Or, more precisely, who hasn't seen The Prestige? Because seriously, it is amazing. When I went to see it (the first time…) I had no idea what to expect – all I knew was that it had Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale in it. Truthfully, I was expecting a good watch, but nothing special. But OMG, I was so wrong – it is awesome! Everyone totally has to go see it if it is still in a cinema near you. Trust me, I hate most movies because I am one of those annoying people who picks faults in everything, so if I liked it, it must be good. You all heard how much I hated Batman Begins… But Christian Bale go my seal of approval for this one!
And in this vein, the second time I went to see The Prestige, I discovered that I have been ripped off! You might know what I'm talking about here, but the second time I saw that movie, there was this trailer before it. It was for a movie coming out soon starring Leonardo DiCaprio and is about war and stuff in Africa, fuelled over this one legendary diamond.
It is called Blood Diamond.
And I so came up with that first!!! In fact, the (original, so there!) Blood Diamond has quite a big part to play in this chapter. Even freakier? The movie is a Warner Bros distribution. This fic is a Teen Titans fanfic. Teen Titans is a Warner Bros cartoon.
Creepy-much? O.o
And lastly, before I thank everyone… where are all my reviewers gone? Helloooooooooo? All my regulars? I mean, there's Quinn like bloody clockwork, and Narroch, and Poison's Ivy and YamiTai and Simmie and Raven Victoria Grayson and… but seriously…
We are only five reviews off the big triple digit! I thought we might make it there last chapter, but everyone has vanished on me… Please don't say I'm boring you! Anyway, I assume we will get there this time, soooo… Because I don't see reviews as just my personal achievement, like I said. It's like one big victory, because if you didn't review, there wouldn't be anything at all. So it is our thing, not just my thing, which is why I want you to review and be a part of this. So please review – let's hit 100!!!
Anyway thankyou to; YamiTai (it is your birthday next Sunday! I haven't forgotten, honey!!! You get another dedication, of course! And dude, you're obsessed with this freaking kid!); Quinn and His Quill (not the Status Quo! Heh heh…You think blondie guy is Seth? Iiiiinteresting…); Narroch (kyaaah! NUDGE! Mwa hahahahahaaaaaaaa!); Guardian of Azarath (yes, he needs that clock fixed… you will see his solution soon enough…); LoopyLouise123 (I like Alfred too! Who doesn't like him? He is so cool… you know, considering he is an elderly butler… And nice deduction there… :) Hold on to that thought about Bruce…); Simmie (yes, MY BLOOD DIAMOND is bad luck for Robin… Hmm, and another one who thinks there is a link between Seth and blondie…); Kami-Elf (tchyeah, I love to tease… and you love to be teased, darling, don't deny it. Would you read otherwise? I don't think so…); Raven Victoria Grayson (yes, we should all get horses. Horses are cool… although, to be honest, I don't think a horse would be much of an asset to Robin right now… And yeah, the reason that actually all of these chapters are "choppy" is because they are technically "chopped-up chapters". This chapter, the last chapter and the one that will come after this are all the one chapter in the original fic…); Poison's Ivy (yup, you're pretty smart – and smart enough to figure out that a fic without Raven in can still be good! She's not gone for long, BTW. She comes back before the others do… And no, Red X is not in Nevarmore. Neither is Slade…); Me (who is this guy? You think I'm gonna tell you? Though I might if you tell me who you are at long last…); and Super Chaos (There is PLENTY of action in this new place, believe me, my friend… as for blondie…).
Well, yeah, I think that is all for now…
There's a surprise for y'all at the end of this chapter. Or maybe not.
Same Old Gotham
"Are you okay here?"
The blond guy pulled off his helmet for a third time as he killed the engine.
Robin looked around, then nodded.
"Yeah, I'll be fine…"
Actually, Gotham City didn't seem too different, just a helluva lot more run down. Some stores and restaurants were boarded-up and destroyed for good, but a lot of the darker, seedier clubs and bars were still up and running, although looking worse for wear. People in long coats – muggers, gangsters, murderers – stood around the filthy streets and smoked and drank out of brown paper bags and shot heroin.
A few differences, but pretty much Same Old Gotham.
"I'm going in here," the guy went on, thumbing at a club behind him. The neon lighting read Club Freake, although almost half of the letters were smashed or out of gas, so that it really read as lu re ke.
"But I'm afraid you can't come in with me," the guy went on. "You're too young."
Robin nodded again, not wishing to pursue him anyway.
"Well…" The guy held out his leather-gloved hand. "It was a short but sweet meeting. Nice to meet you."
"Same here." Robin shook with him, holding the Clock of Eternity in his other arm. "Thanks for the ride."
"No problem. See ya around, kid." The guy took his hand back, waved and turned to go into the club.
"Wait!" Robin called after him.
The guy turned, looking surprised.
"What?"
"You didn't tell me who you are," Robin said.
The guy grinned.
"And neither did you. Touché, huh?"
"Guess so."
"You don't need to know my name, kid," the blond guy said with a smile. "Just think of me… as a friend."
He entered the club without another word or backwards glance, leaving Robin alone once more on the cold dark street outside, clutching the Clock of Eternity.
Only the Boy Wonder didn't feel so helpless and lost any more. Ok, there was no Bruce here; he had been killed years ago. But what was that the guy had said about a superhero team? Maybe some of them were left.
He needed information before he could go any further.
And what better place to get it than in a bar, a place where broken people went to drown their sorrows and pains and problems in a dollar's worth of cheap booze. Of course, he had to be careful; he was pretty sure he didn't actually look twelve, but he certainly didn't look twenty-one either. However, this wasn't the posh end of Gotham – if that even existed anymore. This was the streets of the underworld; he'd be let into one of these bars without hesitation if they thought they could push drugs on him.
He didn't have any money on him - he had a priceless clock, but it was broken anyway – but he didn't want drugs or alcohol; he wanted to know every detail of what had happened here in those fifteen years since Slade had taken over.
He wandered along the street, looking around at the filthy bars and clubs flanking it and trying to pick one out to interrogate people in. Stripster club… no, that was no good; the guys in there would be too busy ogling half-naked women to be telling him about Superman, even if he did have them pinned to the wall by the throat. One of the many gay bars might have been a good option, but like he was going in one of those dressed in spandex.
Actually, like he was going in one of those, at all, ever.
He was spared having to choose as suddenly the doors of one of the bars burst open and two men tumbled out, extremely drunk and fighting clumsily, screeching obscene insults at each other. Robin ducked into the shadows as the two men stumbled past him, fists flailing, then caught the door with his foot and slipped inside.
He immediately wished he hadn't; the air was thick with cigarette smoke, actually murky with the amount of it, and he could barely breathe. But he pressed on, moving further and further inside the tiny bar, ducking under fights and beer glasses being thrown across the room, and stepping around some guy as he collapsed and threw up violently all over the floor.
Ok, he had this sussed out – if he went and stood by the men's bathroom, he could grab guys on their way in or out and slam them against the wall and demand information. It really did work.
If you were Batman.
Never mind; he might not have been as scary-looking as Batman, but he knew some excruciating arm twists and such like. He could torture information out of them if need be.
Unfortunately he didn't get as far as the bathrooms, as he was suddenly grasped by one of his shoulders and whipped around.
"That's a nice-lookin' clock ya got there, kid."
Robin looked up to find a stocky man standing in front of him, dressed in a double-breasted pinstriped suit and black fedora; nothing unusual, as even fifteen years on everyone in Gotham seemed to dress as though they were living in 1930s New York or Chicago. Still, the Boy Wonder got an uneasy feeling that this guy wasn't going to offer to buy him a drink. There were two goons flanking him, one on each side, dressed in similar attire, but they were much taller and broader.
The obvious equation; the short guy was the Big Shot, the two big guys the muscle.
"Seems an odd place to bring it, though," the man went on, dragging on the cigarette held between his first and forefinger. "You often take your clock out for a walk?"
Robin looked down at the Clock of Eternity gripped tightly in his arms.
"Oh… yeah, all the time…" He grinned at them and started to back away.
"Hey, where ya goin'?" The guy asked offishly. "Nothin' wrong with carryin' a clock 'round with ya, right boys?"
The two hulking goons shook their heads simultaneously. Okay, so he had complete control over them.
That wasn't good.
"Where you get it, kid? D'ja loot it?"
"No, it's mine." Robin continued to edge away carefully. "I'm actually bringing it in here to get my… uncle to fix it. It's broken…"
The gangster-guy's eyes followed the pendulum, a greedy expression in them.
"Don't look broken to me, kid."
"It's the chime," Robin fabricated. "The chime's bust. My uncle said he'd fix it."
"Yeah? And where is your uncle, kid? Is he here yet?"
Robin pretended to look around for someone; maybe this hadn't been his brightest idea…
"No, it doesn't look like it… maybe I should go check out the bathroom…"
He turned on his heel and started to walk away, and was grabbed by the shoulders again by one of the huge goons.
"Here kid, I'll make you an offer," the gangster-guy said briskly, extending a hand. "Chester Lambini. I happen to be a bit of an arts and antiques collector, and that's a right little beauty you've got there. I have a special fondness for clocks, you know."
He reached into the pocket of his pinstriped jacket and withdrew a crisp, folded $50 bill.
"I'll give you fifty bucks for it, son. What do you say?"
"I can't sell it to you," Robin answered, shaking his head. He would like to have been able to; the thing was sodding heavy, and it was bust anyway, but he needed it to get home. And he had technically stolen it.
Chester Lambini tutted.
"You drive a hard bargain, m'boy," he said jovially. "Ok, how about $100?" A second green bill joined the first in the palm of Chester's hand.
Again Robin shook his head.
"Look, I'd really like to, but I can't. My… uncle would go nuts."
"Just say it screwed up completely and ya threw it in the trash," Chester said dismissively. "He won't know. Come on, kid; think what ya could do with one hundred smackers. What are you kids into these days, anyway?"
Robin frowned at him.
"I'm sorry… I don't think I understand what you mean."
"Oh, you know, what drugs are your generation into? Last year it was coke, this year I hear it's heroin."
Robin blinked.
"Oh, no… I'm not into drugs or anything…"
Chester sighed.
"'Bout time you got into it then, kid. Everyone does that crap nowadays, it's like an escape from the everyday crap we have to live in, now that Slade bastard rules everything. It's ok, don't look so alarmed; I know some good dealers. So you just take my nice $100 and we'll go meet some friends of mine and they'll get you sorted. What do ya fancy? This guy I know, Jason, he's got a good heroin supply, and cocaine – very clean, you know. Of course, if you'd rather just get out of it he's got some good trippers, or Ecstasy…"
"I don't want drugs!" Robin snapped, backing away.
"Well, what do you want?" Chester asked him. "Before Slade took over, a hundred bucks couldn't have bought ya nothin'; now you can practically buy anything ya want with that kinda money. Economy's really gone downhill, stuff's so scarce that $100 is worth as much as it was 100 years ago."
"Yeah, ok, thanks for the offer," Robin said impatiently. "But I can't sell it to you."
"An' nothin' I say can convince ya, kid?" Chester wheedled, slinging an arm around Robin's shoulders. "Ok, look; $100 is a lot of money for that old piece of junk that ya clearly don't want anyway. I know what you kids are like, ya like something a bit exciting, a bit more adult…"
Ok, I really don't like where this is going…
"I know Gotham's a dump now, but there's some good clubs, you know, clubs with girls. You slip 'em the right amount of money and they'll take ya into the back room and give it to ya like you never knew. Give ya the works, ya know? Ya ever heard of a masseuse? See, they-"
"Yeah, I know," Robin interrupted flatly, wriggling out of Chester's grip. "Look, I'm sorry, Mr Lambini, but I really can't sell you this clock."
Chester didn't seem to be listening anyway; his beady eyes were now fixed greedily on the glittering red jewel at Robin's neck, which he had just noticed. He reached for it, taking it into a shaking palm and closing his fingers around it.
"Kid, I'll give ya enough money to fuck every girl in this entire city three times over if ya give me this."
Robin tried to pull his necklace out of Chester's grip, but the man was clinging on to it grim-death.
"I can't sell you that either," Robin said irritably, taking hold of the chain and tugging unsuccessfully. "Someone gave it to me."
It wasn't really a lie; Seth Elliott had traded it to him, in return for that tiny silver gear.
With a final tug Robin managed to retrieve his necklace from Chester Lambini's voracious grip. Chester made a half-reach for it again, then withdrew his hand and began to fumble in his jacket pocket.
"Look, kid… name your price… anything you want… $500? No, $1000! C'mon there, kid. One thousand bucks for it…"
Chester was waving an entire fistful of green $50 bills in the Boy Wonder's face, his expression desperate. Robin simply stared at him, utterly perplexed by his behaviour.
And somehow the fact that Chester Lambini – obviously some kind of gangster, crime-lord, whatever – wanted it so desperately that he would pay $1000 for it made the Boy Wonder realise that he should under no circumstances part with it. Chester was practically drooling, his eyes fixed on Robin's chest and the blood red jewel that glittered upon the fabric of his shirt.
"No," he said flatly, pushing Chester's handful of money out of his face. "I can't sell it to you, and I can't sell you the clock either."
And I'm not selling you the knife tucked in my belt either, but you don't have to know about that…
"Kid, do ya what that thing is?" Chester snapped.
Play dumb, Grayson.
"Not exactly," Robin replied carefully. "The guy who gave it to me said it was called a "Blood Diamond" or something…"
Chester Lambini snorted in disgust.
"Not a Blood Diamond, kid," he spat. "The Blood Diamond." His grey eyes misted over slightly. "The only one in existence. I thought it was merely an urban legend of the underworld; many have searched for it, for it is worth… well, a lot of money…"
And here you are trying to rip me off for $1000…
"So?" Robin asked, putting on the typical teenager front.
"So it's wasted on a scrawny little brat like you!" Chester seethed, lunging forwards for the red diamond.
Robin sidestepped effortlessly, clutching the clock tightly.
"Well, thanks for the information," he smirked. "Guess I can get a lot more than $1000 for it then, huh?"
Chester roared in fury, making many of the equally shady people lurking around the bar smoking and drinking turn around to see what was going on – when they saw what was shaping up to be another fight they lost interest and looked away again.
"Jack! Michaelo! Grab him!" Chester screeched.
Before Robin could whip around he felt one of the goons grasp him powerfully around the shoulders. He tried to kick but couldn't reach whichever one was holding him, nor the other which stood behind.
"Get the hell off me!" He spat, gripping the Clock of Eternity extremely tightly as he saw Chester Lambini approaching.
"Hey, calm down, kiddo," Chester smiled. "We ain't gonna hurt ya. I just want the clock an' the Blood Diamond. I'm a fair man; you can still have your $1100, ok? A deal's a deal."
"It's not a deal," Robin snapped. "I didn't agree to it!" He continued to struggle unproductively. "I don't want $1100 to spend on sex and drugs and whatever else you people do!"
"Not much of an American, are you?" Chester taunted. "Sex, drugs and Rock 'n' Roll? Now, I think I'll take your precious necklace first…"
He grasped hold of it with one hand, the other going to the back of Robin's neck to unclasp it.
His anger soaring, Robin shot a bolt of electricity through the huge goon holding him without even thinking about it. Whichever one it was – Jack or Michaelo – crumpled, his grip loosening. Chester gasped and stepped back, letting go of the necklace.
Robin turned and downed the other with a swift, powerful jump-kick to the side of the head, then whirled around to face Chester Lambini. The stocky man stepped back, his face white.
"Ok, no need to get mad there, son… I'm still up for negotiation…" he stammered.
"I'm not," Robin hissed, starting towards him.
It was then that the shaking gangster saw the "R" badge on his chest.
And recognised it.
"Jesus Christ, he's one of those freakin' superheroes!" He bellowed for all to hear, his face twisting.
The entire bar suddenly went silent and Robin stopped his threatening advance on Chester to look around; every single man in the bar – there were no women at all in here – was staring at him with a look of mingled disgust, horror and anger, as though he was a sewer rat that had dared to venture above the drains and into the bar.
He didn't understand – he knew that all of these people were on the wrong side of the law, so naturally they saw superheroes as their enemies. But now they were looking at him with serious fear and hatred interfused, far more than the emotion that even Batman had been able to squeeze out of them at times.
"Hey, I thought they were all dead!" Another man shouted from the bar. "Thought Slade's robots killed them all."
"They missed one, it would appear," Chester snarled. He reached out and grabbed Robin by the front of his shirt, pulling him right up close to his own face. "Let's get one thing clear, kid, in case ya haven't been paying attention to what's been going on around here. Superheroes are bad news for everyone. Sure, they used to protect the innocent and whatever, but it was those intentions that made life hell for everyone when Slade took over. He's got these robots, see, a whole freakin' army of 'em, and when Batman and Superman formed their little super-group to try and bring him down, he ordered his army to kill every single last one of 'em. And in doing so, these robots tore everything to shreds looking for them. Used to break into bars like this, see, where people were just goin' 'bout their business, and they destroyed the place lookin' for Batman or Batgirl or Superman or whoever. Lotta people got killed because of them, you know, and a lotta places got wrecked for good. Those superheroes never did no good for no-one; it was a relief when they were all eventually killed. 'Course, they couldn't fight to save us no more, but it wasn't like they were doin' much good anyway. They couldn't ever get to Slade; it was all just a losin' battle, an' a lotta people suffered for it. So, as I'm sure you can guess kid, superheroes aren't exactly popular 'round here no more. In fact, we don't want no more trouble, and we don't want to Slade sendin' out his robots to hunt for you and tear the place apart while doin' it. So, little Batboy…"
Chester reached inside his double-breasted jacket and pulled out a gun, and around the silent bar rang the sound of many more guns cocking, ready to fire.
He was going to be shot to pieces.
"…We're goin' to have to kill ya," Chester finished, pointing the barrel of his black .38 at Robin's forehead.
At least he's forgotten about the necklace…
"Enjoy Superhero Heaven, Robin…" Chester's finger slowly began to squeeze the trigger.
Robin felt the electricity coursing through his body as he flung a blade of the stuff at Chester's hand, knocking the gun clean out of his hand. The distraction enabled him to go to his belt and fling a couple of birdarangs, disarming several others. He knew he could not electrocute these people as he had done to Slade's robots – they were hardly innocent, but he was a superhero.
Superheroes didn't kill.
Going back to basics, Robin slammed every single one of his smoke pellets hard at the floor. The entire bar was immediately engulfed in the opaque cloud, causing his would-be assassins to start choking and coughing and swearing.
"CAP HIM!" Chester Lambini screamed through the smoke, bent double with the coughing fit that had taken him.
Those who still held their guns began firing everywhere, blinded by the smoke, hoping to hit their target.
He was long gone.
Crouched in the shadows of the bar's rooftop, Robin watched and waited. They would come bursting out any second, seething, searching for him, guns blazing. If he ran now they would catch him.
Better to wait in the dark.
He enclosed a green-gloved hand around his necklace, frowning. So, Gotham's underworld knew about it too, huh? Interesting; very interesting…
The doors of the bar flew open and well over fifty assorted gangsters, drug-lords and plain thieves and murderers burst out, almost all of them wielding guns. Chester Lambini was leading them, firing into the air with his .38.
"Little bastard!" He yelled furiously. "Where did he go?! When I get hold of him I'll fill him so full of lead Superman wouldn't be able to see through him!"
"Split up!" A tall black man in a white suit and fedora shouted. "We'll find him, and when we do… well, I wouldn't like to be him!"
"Someone search the roof," Chester ordered. "Don't forget, he's probably got a grappling hook of some kind in that fancy belt of his. He could be lurking up there, ready to pounce on us…"
Crud…
Robin shifted backwards as he heard the rattling of several men climbing up the rusty metal ladder to the rooftop. He had to get out of here, now. He grabbed the Clock of Eternity, holding it tightly, and, using the shadows as an illusion of invisibility, slipped across the roof and jumped off the edge to the filthy backstreet below. He landed quietly and expertly, even after such a long fall, and ducked into the shadows, becoming invisible again to anyone who would look over the edge of the roof.
"Nothin' up here!" Someone on the roof shouted. "Bastard's gone. And…"
Robin heard him lean over the edge of the roof.
"Nope, he's not down there either. Must've run off someplace."
The sound of their voices receded and Robin breathed a sigh of relief, holding the Clock of Eternity to his chest.
Safe. For now.
But in this twisted, annihilated future world, who else was going to try and kill him before he got out of here? If superheroes were as unpopular and hated as Chester had said, he was in trouble. His costume was bright and garish and easily recognisable, even though he had supposedly been dead for fifteen years. But if he'd been dead for fifteen years in this time, did that mean that his future self had not been revived from his electrocution, as he had? And yet, in another future – twenty years ahead – Starfire had met a 36 year old Nightwing? He was so confused…
Ok, if I live through this, I am so dyeing my hair blond; at least then I'll have an excuse…
The sound of clattering coming down the backstreet snapped him out of his reverie, his heart skipping a beat as he heard voices and footsteps approaching.
"Who put that Lambini guy in charge, anyway?" One of the two gangsters was muttering darkly. "Tosser; I know where I'd like to stick that damn .38 of his…"
"He said to check out the alley," the other voice said. "'Kid could still be hiding down here. It's the Batman's sidekick, right? Shouldn't be too hard to get rid of him. He ain't got no powers like Superman or nothin'…"
You wish…
It was no good; he had to attack them. If he didn't they would find him backed into the shadows and would shoot him to bits. All he had to do was stick to martial arts – that way nobody got hurt.
Well. Not much.
Well. Not killed.
Hopefully.
He set the Clock of Eternity down in the shadows to keep it safe, then leapt upwards, catching hold of a metal pipe stretching across the width of the alley and swinging himself upwards. He crouched on it, still holding it with his hands and still in the shadows. He waited until the two gangsters were just below him, and then leapt, flipping over and landing purposefully on his feet behind them.
Without waiting for them to turn around and respond he slammed a kick into the spine of one, throwing him forwards to the filthy concrete below. The second one turned, only to have his gun kicked out of his hand, followed up by a roundhouse kick to the stomach. Before he could collapse Robin grasped him by the front of his jacket and swept his feet from underneath him, sending him heavily to the ground.
The first gangster was already getting to his feet, his gun still gripped in his hand. He whipped around and squeezed a few shots in random directions, hoping to panic the attacker – that damn kid…
"That damn kid" dodged every bullet by miles, ducked under the range of the gun and swung his elbow up into the gangster's face. He felt blood spurt onto his arm and heard the crack as the guy's nose broke beneath the blow. Feeling no remorse, Robin floored him and stood back, wiping his elbow with his other gloved hand; the pair of them were on the ground, both moaning and too battered to get up again.
He didn't have long to get out of here; the first man's gunshots would attract the others and they'd follow the direction of the noise right to him. Two he could take down ok; fifty-two was a completely different story.
He scooped up the Clock of Eternity and slipped into the comforting darkness of a side-alley leading off from the one he was down now. Already he could hear gunshots approaching behind him, hear voices and exclamations of "Bloody hell! What did he do to them?" and knew they would be fanning out, searching for him like a rat in a barn.
He came out in another street, almost as filthy and garbage-strewn as the alley he had just emerged from. He needed somewhere to hide, somewhere they would never even think of looking.
Somewhere safe, and somewhere quiet, where he could think.
He pulled out his grappling hook and escalated himself onto a rooftop. He could still hear the voices, coming closer by the second, and the shots; probably shooting at rats if they made a sound, thinking it was him. He broke into a run, leaping from rooftop to rooftop easily and effortlessly and fearlessly.
Putting distance between himself and the gangsters.
And then, from the rooftop on which he stood elevated above the broken, battered city he had once called home, he saw it; his refuge.
Gotham City Cathedral.
It was broken, abandoned, its once-glorious stained-glass windows smashed in and boarded up. Ivy crawled up the sides, strangling it, and moss grew so thickly across it that it looked almost green, instead of the splendid white it had once been. The doorway was also boarded up with plank after heavy plank, and there were obscene graffitied messages scrawled up the parts of wall that were not being suffocated by the parasitic moss. The gravestones and crypts scattered around the churchyard were almost all broken or cracked, some even dug up, with bits of broken coffins scattered, rotting, across the overgrown grass.
It had never looked so wonderful to him.
He leapt the next few buildings across blocks towards the cathedral, diving down to the street from a fairly low roof and almost landing on top of some guy in a long black coat that looked as though it had seen better days, painstakingly fixing a needle. His sleeve was rolled up in anticipation and as Robin apologised and backed away he could see the thick, purple needle tracks. The guy barely acknowledged him, gazing blearily at him for a second or two, as though he thought he was imagining this dark-haired boy in Technicolor clothes clutching a clock, who seemed to have just fallen out of the sky. Either way, he didn't seem too perplexed, and went back to his heroin.
Chester Lambini had been right about the drugs situation at least.
Speaking of Chester Lambini, Robin could hear the distinctive sound of the gangster's .38 sounding, distant but getting closer by the second.
Great; someone else hell-bent on killing me…
He ran to the cathedral, getting quite short of breath by now, and hurried up the cracked stone steps to the boarded-up doorway. Through gaps in the rotten boards he could see thick black chain locking the doors, so that he would not be able to get in even if he could manage to prise the boards off.
Trying not to panic as the guns came closer and closer, he went back down the steps and around the side of the cathedral, out of sight in the wilderness of the churchyard. The tall stain glass windows stretched from the ceiling to the floor, but these were not as well boarded up as the doorway had been, plus the glass of the windows was missing – there were several large gaps between boards.
But none quite big enough for him to squeeze through.
He found a small one near the ground, however, which he shoved the Clock of Eternity through into the abandoned church, freeing up his hands.
Now all he needed to do was get in after it – easier said than done.
Eventually he managed to find a board that looked as though it was rotted right through and grasped it with both hands. Pulling it off still proved difficult, and he had to place one foot against the wall and really heave at it with all his strength; at last it gave way and he was thrown backwards to the nettles and grass and thistles below, the board on top of him. He shoved it off and got to his feet to inspect the damage – even after pulling a whole board off the gap he had created was still quite small, only adding a few inches to the gap already there between the layers of rotten boards.
Another shot sounded, nearer than ever, and he knew he didn't have time to go pulling off another board. He grasped hold of the edge of the boards and hauled himself up, squirming through the gap. It was a very tight squeeze, and at one point he thought he had gotten stuck, but he managed to wriggle through finally and fell head-first to the stone floor about a metre below him. He landed in a crumpled heap, battered and sore from hitting the floor, and tired from running and then the effort required to actually get through that gap.
Slightly dizzy, he looked up. The church was almost completely dark, except for…
Robin froze.
Candles…
Two thick church candles were burning at either end of the cracked marble altar table, illuminating the whole church extremely weakly with their glow.
Burning candles that implied there was someone else here too – he could only hope that this other person – or people, he supposed - didn't want to kill him too…
He hoped it wasn't some weird cult, like the one Raven's mother Arella Roth had been lured into.
Robin staggered to his feet and went to look for the Clock of Eternity with the aid of the scarce, flickering light. He retrieved it fairly quickly, then decided to have a look around. They would never find him in here; they wouldn't even dream of looking in here. It was too tightly boarded up, abandoned too long ago…
And yet candles burned. In one way, he was glad; he wouldn't have liked it to be completely dark, particularly since he had accidentally blown up his torch. Trouble was, it was a signal of another's presence, and everyone Robin had met since turning up in this future world hadn't been especially friendly towards him.
He heard the gunshots outside fading further and further away and breathed a sigh of relief. They had walked right past him, without even realising it…
Towards the back of the church he found a stone baptismal font filled with water. It didn't look especially clean, but he was terribly thirsty from running and hiding; he put down the clock and pulled off his gloves, cupping them together to satisfy his thirst.
He was enjoying it until he realised that it was holy water and almost choked on it. He was in no way religious, but while living at Gotham's Rectorial Orphanage, St Jude's, he had learnt the customs of the Christian religion.
Drinking holy water was a sin.
So sue me…
Still, he felt bad for it, and backed away. He wouldn't have drank it if he had known…
He left the clock where it was and pulled on his gloves as he wandered down the aisle, probably the way many brides had on their wedding days, but this cathedral was no longer set for a wedding. The wooden seats were broken and rotting, there were huge cracks in the stone floor and chunks missing out of it too, as though someone had been at it with a sledgehammer. The red carpet of the altar was torn and filthy, the stairs to the choir box completely smashed up. At the other side of the altar was another flight of stairs, leading up to the organ. These seemed to be in ok condition, and the organ towered high above the rest of the church. There were statues of saints, the Virgin Mary and so on, and a gruesome depiction of the Crucifixion of Christ painted on the far wall. At the very top of the church, behind the altar table, was another wall painting, this one of the Virgin Mary with many angels around her.
He found himself drawn to that, making his way up onto the altar and around the crumbling marble table towards it. It was a huge painting, and beautifully and skilfully done, portraying the Virgin Mary dressed in blue, her stomach beneath the material swollen by pregnancy. One slim hand was on her stomach, the other in the air, a pair of white doves resting on her first finger. She had a halo, and long dark hair falling over her shoulders, and around her many angels swarmed, reaching for her in what he supposed was protection, but in fact to him it appeared more like they were smothering her. What interested him the most was the single tear running down her pale face from her right eye, yet she appeared to be smiling slightly.
There was something about her that reminded him of Raven, and her present condition.
Well, aside from the fact that she was dead.
But he was going to fix that; he vowed that he would. He would not let this horrific future become real in his own time.
Once he got back there.
Somehow.
He reached up a hand to touch the shining tear painted on her face, standing right on tiptoes to reach it…
"Having fun?"
A cold voice from behind him suddenly rang out through the whole cathedral. Robin froze, his fingertips centimetres from the Virgin's carefully painted face. He started to lower it again-
"No, don't move."
A woman's voice. It sounded slightly familiar, but he couldn't think why.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," the woman ordered. "I'm not having you pull any of your fancy guns on me…" She laughed slightly, but there was no humour in it. "Guess he finally found me, huh? Well, you're not going to go running back to him to tell him…"
Robin blinked; not only did he not know who this woman was, he also didn't have the faintest inkling of what she was talking about.
But she obviously assumed he did.
"Hands where I can see them!" She snapped, sounding like a cop.
Robin put his hands out to the sides, his fingers splayed apart so that she could see that he didn't have any kind of "fancy" gun in either of them.
"Ok, there you are," he said calmly, still with his back to her. "Nothing to freak out about…"
"Don't get smart with me, you little wise-ass!" The woman spat. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing. When I tell you to, turn around, and don't do anything clever or you'll get a mouthful of shrapnel."
Shrapnel?...
Wasn't "shrapnel" another word for…
…rock chips?...
"Ok, turn around," the woman ordered briskly.
Robin obeyed silently, his hands still spread. He didn't know what to feel when he saw that it was her –
Terra.
A much older Terra; she was very tall, and much curvier than she had been at 16 – or as she was in Robin's own time. Her hair was still exactly the same shade of pale blonde, but it was much, much longer, falling past her hips, and instead of being perfectly straight as the 16-year old Terra's was, the older Terra's seemed to have acquired natural, voluminous waves. Her bangs were gone, and one side of her hair almost completely obscured one of those large blue eyes, mirroring Slade's masked appearance. Her face had thinned out and her body was now slim rather than skinny, well-toned and lean and agile. She wore all black – an almost-off-the-shoulder tight Lycra top that showed off her midriff with three-quarter length sleeves, and matching tight black Lycra trousers, again three quarter length, advertising half of her calves. On her feet she wore black leather ankle boots with metal soles and zips, on her slim hands wrist-length black leather gloves with large, folded-over cuffs to them, and a black leather belt with a huge silver buckle at the waist of her trousers. She was actually surprisingly beautiful – he had always acknowledged that Terra had been pretty, but he hadn't realised that she would turn out like this fifteen years down the line. But he could also see that she had been through hell those fifteen years.
No doubt about it; she wasn't working for Slade anymore. She seemed to be hiding too.
That was a point in her favour.
It was only as he stared at her in disbelief that he realised she was looking at him with the same expression of shock and incredulity.
Only she looked frightened too.
"Hey, Terra," he said weakly. Strange, he did not feel the anger he felt towards the Terra in his own time.
Terra watched him for a while, silent.
"Robin?" She put her head in her hands, her wavy blonde hair falling forwards. "No, you can't be… you can't be Robin… get a grip, Terra…"
"I'm real, Terra," Robin replied softly.
Terra slowly looked up at him, her expression unreadable.
"No, you're not," she said quietly. "You can't be Robin…"
He swore he saw tears come to her eyes as she looked at him.
"You're dead…"
Terra! Terra! TERRA! TERRAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
Love her, hate her – I don't care. She's here, and she's here for a while. Remember a while back I said that you would be seeing a very different side to Terra in this fic? This is what I meant! It is Terra – but she's an older version, with a different characterization. Terra haters, you might like her a little better in this form…
Or maybe not.
Roy is here soon, but for now…
Next chapter; life in suck-tastic run-down Gotham City, as told by a thirty-one year old Terra.
You wanna know why she's hiding in a church, and more to the point, what the hell is going on, you're gonna have to come back!!!
Review, please!!! It's my birthday…
TTYS!
RobinRocks xXx
P.S: And because it is my birthday and I can't share my cake with you (my dad had it made specially! It has Robin on it! I know, soooooo sad for an 18 year old to have Robin on her cake, but whatever… I didn't ask for it, he just got it done secretly, which makes it even nicer…), I have a special treat for you all instead. Go to my profile (AFTER you're reviewed… just kidding…) and check out the two newest links I have put up specially for you – they are right at the top, as usual. They are links to two hilarious lip-synched Teen Titans videos I stumbled across last night.
One is called If Slade Were Gay. And the other is called The Internet is For Porn. You might have seen them, or at least heard the songs, but check them out. You will be in tears by the end of them…