The first day had been the worst. He'd kicked, screamed, bit, scratched, and clawed at the nurses when they tried to pull him away from his father. Eventually, they used a sedative to calm him down. His sanity now gone, he had no idea what to do. When he woke up, he figured out a plan. He was going to get out. He was going to go home. And his teammates were the ones who were going to break him out. When the nurses were gone, he went into the bathroom and pulled on his mask. He sent a message through his communicator, which he'd stowed in a secret compartment of his trunk. He sent the team his coordinates and exited the bathroom in haste.
He had examined himself in the bathroom mirror while recording the message. His hair was still messy as ever, although this somehow dramatized the whole thing. His eyes had gained a fresh look of innocence, as if he had somehow become a child again. They sparkled with a disconnected zeal that made them more fascinating and more terrifying at the same time. His posture had dropped dramatically. He walked as if his legs were jelly. The biggest change had come in his mind. Everything was fogged now. Every moral line, every enemy, and all his beliefs were blurred by the fog. The only constant sane thought he kept was that he wanted to go home. He didn't want to be in this scary place with people he didn't know. It scared him. In a sense he had become a child again- new experiences were terrifying. He wanted to be some place familiar. He wanted to go away and never come back. He wanted to fade into nothingness.
He wanted to die, but Daddy said he couldn't.
Therefore, his logic dictated, he had to make it impossible for himself to live.
He didn't eat. The food reminded him of prison gruel. It was nothing compared to Alfie's. He hardly slept either. He woke up screaming most nights, anyways. He was supposed to go to therapy, but he never said a word. He'd cut all ties with the people here. More often than not, he would simply stare vacantly at the whiteness. His mind occasionally drifted to his team. The three most popular thoughts that entered his head, however, were his father, cutting again, and his suicide.
He wasn't allowed to be near any sharp things. Cutting was impossible. But he needed the relief that came with the knife. Who was he without it? He didn't know. All he could do was cry. He cried all the time, sometimes for no reason. They tried to get him to talk, but all he ever said was he wanted his father. He didn't interact with people. He just waited for his rescue.
Meanwhile, the Titans were holding down Jump City as best they could. Batman had called some days ago to tell them that Robin was staying in Gotham for a little while. When asked why, Batman simply replied that they were working on a difficult case. They took the explanation for what it seemed, and didn't question it further. After all, why would The Dark Knight have to hide? It was a sunny wednesday when they got the message from Robin. Cyborg hooked it up to the main screen in the living room, and began to play the message.
"Titans," came Robin's authoritative voice. Instantly, the team straightened up. "I'm being held against my will at a Mental Institution in Gotham. Use the coordinates from this message to find the place. I'll see you there." Static filled the screen once more.
"You heard the man. Titans, Go!" said Cyborg, going to the T-Car.
"Wait," Said Raven's quiet voice, halting everyone in surprise. "How do we know that was really Robin? And if it is, how are we going to find him?" Cyborg looked at her blankly.
"We'll figure it out when we get there." Said Beast Boy, brushing it off. Raven sighed as she got into the car.
If they had stayed only a few minutes more, they would have received Batman's message not to go to the Mental Institution.