November 3rd, 6:30 PM

The night before had been full of fear and pain. It had taken most of the day for Robin to work free of the rope which mercilessly held his arms behind him and threatened to choke him constantly. Though he could not see them, he could feel the rope burns on his wrists, and the burn across his throat, which was bad enough that it had actually bled for a time.

Hunger had grown in him, though his insides felt as abused and raw as his wrists, if not more so. Even if he could have gotten to food, he doubted he would have been able to eat. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen and rubbed the roof of his mouth like sandpaper. He'd had nothing to eat or drink since night before last. He was not in danger from it, but he felt awful.

That was far from the worst of it.

It was hard to believe that a single day had accomplished what weeks of torture never could have. Utter desolation and hopelessness had crept into his heart overnight, leaving him feeling weak and exhausted. Too much so to even be depressed or even indulge in self-pity.

His entire world had crumbled apart, tumbling down onto him like it was a house of cards and he was the table upon which the whole thing had stood.

He knew, and perhaps had always known, that there was no escaping this, any more than there could be an escape from fate itself. Yet, even so, he had fought to free himself from the ropes as though he still held out hope. His training would not allow him to give in so easily. Even though his heart wasn't in it, his mind was all about escaping. He couldn't allow himself to think about... anything else.

On escaping the ropes, he gingerly moved his shoulders, trying to work the pain out of them. His muscles felt torn and stretched beyond what they could endure. But even now that pain was fading, drowned out by the internal agony, which he knew would not go away. It could not fade. It was now a part of him as surely as his own limbs.

It was settling upon him like a great weight. A heavy flame which burned his very soul, wounding him in places which could not heal. A nameless terror, which already felt ancient though it had so recently come upon him. He felt old. And forgotten. And terrified of being remembered.

Still, he got up and searched for escape. He checked the floor and ceiling, walls and door, but there was no way out without someone opening the door from the outside. The room was pretty much rock, having been hewn into the cave wall itself. The door was solid. Robin wasn't surprised. He remembered this room. And he knew Batman would never leave him alone with a chance of escape. Not now.

November 4th, 05:00 PM

Robin had no way of measuring time in the darkened room. The temperature was constant and when or if Batman would open the door was a mystery at best. Still, he felt the outside darkness take hold, spreading like cancer, slowly turning the world to sickly black. Darkness. The time Batman awoke.

When Robin had most to fear. And he was afraid. In spite of everything he could do to tell himself that being afraid would do him no favors here, he couldn't help it.

It was cold. It was dark. And it was Hell. There was nothing to do, nothing except to relive past terrors and dread coming ones. It wasn't fire and brimstone, but it was Hell nevertheless. Being alone, feeling the weight of loneliness, but along with it the fear of that loneliness coming to an abrupt and painful end. And there was no way out, no end in sight.

November 5th

Since the beginning of his captivity, Robin had been given very little water, and no food at all. It was not spoken of, for words no longer passed between the prisoner and the source of his torment, but he knew that it was his pride which angered his captor.

That he did not avert his eyes when Batman stared at him, that he struggled in his tormentor's grip, that he took every opportunity to try and make his escape. That he did not give up, or submit quietly. His own fiery spirit was what made him go hungry. But he couldn't give it up, not even for food. For if he did that, he would be truly broken. He would have nothing left.

November 9th... or 10th

The waiting was the worst part. Endless silence, fighting against the growing alarm, exhausted by constant fear, never knowing when the quiet would suddenly dissolve into a true nightmare. Shivering with cold, both real and imagined, unable to tell if it was night or day.

So many times he tried to turn the fear back into anger. Fury at the injustice which was being done to him. But he couldn't do it. There was too much fear, too much pain. At some point, it came to him dully that he could die here. That he probably would. And nobody would even know it.

And then what?. Well the world would spin on without him. He was that insignificant. All his friends would believe whatever Batman chose to tell them. The hints of his madness were cemented by his own outburst the last time he'd seen them. They were right to think he was crazy, would believe he pitched himself off a roof and died if that's what they were told.

He was so tired and gradually going numb. Pretty soon, he wouldn't have anything left but the fear, the cold dread and gnawing horror. And then, eventually, that too would fade. And then he would disappear completely. It began to dawn on him that maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

But still that small voice whispered, more urgently now than ever. The voice that was either his instincts or his training, or perhaps his conscience itself. Urging him to resist, to escape, to survive.

He was too tired to remember why that mattered, beyond caring. But he couldn't ignore the voice, the very center of his being, even though he had begun to try. Dazed as he was, he knew that he must do whatever he could to survive. Above all, he must survive. He didn't need to remember why.

November 20th

"He's not coming back,"

The words, spoken with such gentle understanding, stung nevertheless. Artemis had found Kid Flash staring at the entrance to Mount Justice, as though he expected someone to arrive at any second. Artemis knew who he was waiting for, even if he didn't.

She had seen him each time they returned from a mission, looking over his shoulder as if he thought perhaps one of the Team might have been left behind. She had quietly observed him as he subconsciously looked all over Mount Justice when he arrived every morning, searching for the one person who was never there. Who would never be there again.

Batman's reports on Robin had not been promising, and were growing infrequent. In fact, Batman seemed to have disappeared from the Justice League almost as much as Robin had from the Team. Though neither were dead, there was a sense of mourning somehow, as all of them realized, at least subconsciously, that they would never seen Robin again. And, soon, they would hear of Batman only by way of news reports, as the Dark Knight retreated into his city.

"You can't wait for him forever. If we're going, now is the time," the words were spoken gently and, for the first time since she'd spoken, Kid Flash looked at Artemis.

She was everything he wanted, everything he needed. If he'd had some reason to think Robin was coming back, he could have waited. But the truth was that Robin probably wasn't coming back. Ever. Kid Flash had no reason to stay, and every reason to leave. And he wanted to. How he wanted to. Yet, even now, there was hesitation within him. Something pulling him to stay. He decided that Artemis was right. He had to stop allowing the past to have a hold over him. It was time to go.

"I want to say goodbye to everybody first. Then we'll go. Wherever you like, we'll go there,"

For so long, it had been dark. So long had he been resigned to his fate, his pride all but gone, the voice which whispered to him silent in the endless hours of deathless night. There was absence, and presence, both equally hated, both equally feared. Awareness and disregard flowing in rivers of apathy and care. All things contrary yet reconciled to be so. No reason, no thought, no hope.

Existence slowly dying at the hands of the abstract, a macabre figure cloaked in black robes of bitterness. An encyclopedia of words and a thousand years of time would not be enough to at last bring to light what had taken place in the dark in all its horror. There were no words, any more than there was hope. It didn't matter, not any of it.

Until the sound. It was a slight sound, almost meaningless. But in a world without purpose, where monotony was broken only in instances of agony, any sound is of greatest importance. This sound, a short, faint sound, changed everything.

Robin's eyes flashed open, though it was dark and there was nothing to see. It was instinct, a reaction to the all-important sound, which he knew in an instant was the difference between life and death.

Even in all this time, even in the dazed stupor his mind usually inhabited, he had not forgotten what it was to be free. He had not put away his training. Though he had given in, body and soul, there was some part of him, a third part which had no name, which had remembered. The sound had awakened it and, in turn, him. His brain was slow to come to reality. Reality had become a most nightmarish place, a place only fools dared to visit. Better the nightmare you knew, than the reality you didn't.

But even as his brain resisted, the rest of him had already acted. He moved to a crouching position near the door, and listened closely, tremors running through him as his body tried to absorb the shock of moving at all, much less at any speed. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound, and on trying to identify it, to seek out in its identification the meaning of it.

It was like a rustle, or a series of very soft thuds. A shuffling... shuffling feet.

Such an insignificant and innocent sort of sound. But Robin, even in his delirious state, knew at once the true importance of the sound. Batman never made any noise. There was no noise foretelling his arrival. Either this was someone else... or something was wrong with Batman. Very wrong.

The shuffling was uneven, as though the person was uncertain of their way, in addition to their balance. Robin tensed, but had not the wits to yell out. He hadn't used his voice for words in so long he felt as though he barely remembered what talking sounded like.

The footsteps came closer, right for him. By now he could recognize Batman's movement, even in its altered state. Perhaps Batman had been in a fight and gotten hurt. Perhaps in his deranged state he'd gone and gotten drunk. Robin didn't care what the reason was. Like so many other things, it didn't matter at all.

There was a long, interminable period of seconds before the door opened. When it did, Robin knew that now was his chance. Batman had clearly tangled with some ruffians earlier. He was bleeding from the corner of his mouth, breathing heavily and leaning against the door frame.

Robin didn't see how he could get any more tense, but he did. There was an unreality to the moment, he almost couldn't believe it. Then he was suddenly pushing Batman aside, darting across the floor and scrambling up the stairs, half-falling as his cramped muscles resisted the motion.

Batman overtook him on the stairs, yanking him back by the hair. Robin fell down the stairs, barely able to shield his head from the stone floor. He hit the ground hard and the wind was knocked out of him. He lay dazed on the floor for several seconds, then finally got the nerve to try and get up. A boot connected with his side, launching him across the floor. He bounced off the bottom of the stairs with a strangled yelp. It was over that suddenly. Except that it wasn't.

Incredibly, unbelievably, the phone rang.

Robin and Batman stared at one another, each frozen by the shock of it. Then Batman turned, stalking up the stairs and locking the door behind him. For a long time, Robin lay on the cold floor, gasping for breath. When at last he could breathe normally, he sat up and looked across the dark expanse of the cave. He couldn't see the stairs, or the door. But he knew exactly where they were, precisely how many steps it would take to bring him there.

The door to the house was nowhere near as solid as that of the little room he'd been in. But did he have the strength to break it down?. He wasn't sure. He felt weak and wobbly, and utterly terrified. His brief show of defiance might prove to be his last act.

But the rebellious nature which had brought him this far had not died in the room. He forced himself to his feet and went to the stairs. He walked up them slowly, deliberately. Before he'd reached the top, the door opened. Batman had returned, but hadn't expected Robin to be where he was.

Only then did it occur to Robin that he really should have been trying to get out, rather than in. But this had always been his home. Out of sheer force of habit, he had tried to go to his sanctuary, even though there was no safety to be found there anymore. Perhaps he had meant to use the phone, even he would never know for sure. There was no time to change his mind. It was up the stairs or back into the room.

Robin lunged quickly, driving his shoulder into Batman's stomach, then pushed past him.

He would never go back to that room. He would die first.