A/N: I'm going to bed after posting this. This week can get rabies and die.
Edit: Thank you to Wynja for helping me find and correct some errors. May you never get rabies.
Robin stared blank-faced at Slade. "In that case, I should probably stop trying to figure out if I can weave a rope from your innards, shouldn't I?"
"Well," Slade gave a little chuckle and watched the teen lower his gun, noticing that he kept his finger on the trigger. "I suppose it would be foolish to rule out that possibility entirely… But I'd prefer that we try this first," the villain produced a long, thin box from his shoulder bag.
"And what is this?" Robin asked mockingly. Whatever it was, it looked ridiculous. I was about the length of his forearm, and looked like bits of metal that were slapped together with minimal flame and maximum duct tape. There were a few buttons, or dials, Robin wasn't really sure, and exposed wires dangling from the top of it.
"Transmitter," Slade answered. "Primitive, but functioning."
"Can I talk to Bruce?" the teen asked, anxiety showing through once more.
"Not in the way you're hoping to, no. It can transmit and receive basic signals only. Monotone beeps, not even clear enough to use Morse Code. The channels don't hold steady, and it can't' hold a charge worth a damn."
"Oh, yeah, this is totally going to work," Robin rolled his eyes.
"Bat's side is a lot more reliable. Being stationary helps. He's hulled up in his cave," Slade reached for the teen's belt and Robin quickly raised the pistol to the bridge of the man's nose, glaring suspiciously. "Relax," the villain spoke soothingly in that perfect, controlled calm that Robin always hated. "I need your bo-staff to conduct the signal. I'd been using my sword, but I left it down there inside the collarbone of a very tall dead man."
"Don't make it sound like you did it on purpose. Immunity or not, they would have eaten you alive without my help."
"I assume you are asking for some type of thank you?"
"No, I'm asking you to return the favor by getting us off this damn rooftop. Quickly."
"We have a decent shot at part of that request, but chances are that we're stuck here for the better part of two weeks. Took me five days to get here, and I'm in pique condition both mentally and physically. Bats is not."
"About that…" Robin seemed to hesitate for a moment, struggling to find the right words until finally blurting out, "What's wrong with Bruce? I can tell he's hurt, but how bad?"
"He's mental. Always was, if you ask me… He had a camp of survivors at his mansion. Good size group from the remains. Things were going well at first, from what I gathered. People were working together and keeping each other safe. The grounds were secure from the dead, and the soil was rich enough to farm. But winter hit them hard, and early frosts killed off big portions of their crops. Once food became scarce, they started to turn on each other. A first it was just small fight over rations. Theft and the fistfights, things like that, nothing big… But when even the most basic supplies ran thin, the fights turned bloody and devastating. Rivals gangs formed among the survivors, and apparently executions between groups were no longer an acceptable form of punishment for perceived crimes. Bruce managed to keep some semblance of peace from time to time, but then the daughter of one of the gang leaders wound up dead, and all hell broke loose. The girl's group managed to capture one of the dead that was wandered on the perimeter fence, kept it in rolled up sheets and rags and then unleashed it at night on the enemy territory. You can imagine how well that played out for everyone."
"Why didn't Bruce stop them? I mean, he had to have… seen this sort of thing coming. Why didn't he put a stop to it? Why didn't he exile the trouble-makers? Something?"
"Oh, he did early on. But casting out survivors, only to have them congregate at the fences as a half-rotten corpse, was apparently too much for him. He claims it was hard on the other survivors to see their family members come back like that, and all that bull. He didn't want human blood on his hands. He was just being soft. I think he knows that now, but he just won't admit it."
Robin held his tongue for a long moment, pondering Slade's words and the crushing truth that things like compassion were a weakness in a dead world. "What about Alfred?" he asked quietly, very sure that he didn't actually want to hear the answer.
"Only Bats was alive by the time I got there… He mentioned a Butler once or twice, but I never caught a name. Never caught a full story, either, but I can guess that Alfred died early. Either before the survivors came, or soon after they turned on each other and their host."
Robin nodded numbly, looking between the buildings at the shoreline in the distance.
"So, are you going to help me send a beacon, or not?" Slade finally asked after giving the teen time enough to acknowledge an old friend's passing.
"Right… right," Robin shook his head grimly, holstering his gun and pulling out his staff. Slade reached for it, his hands brushing against the teen's knuckles and causing the hero to hold his breath.
As the villain pulled the staff away, Robin released a tiny breath that he didn't realize he'd been keeping. With a frown, he calculated the last time he'd been touched by a human. Or the last time he'd allowed himself to be touched by anything. The jump in his chest had surprised him. It was such a simple touch, but it made his heart race. Oh God. He could hardly imagine what a hug would do. The concept seemed so foreign now, though the memory of his last hug felt so fresh.
Beast Boy… he was the last person that gave him a hug. They'd just beaten Cyborg at a video game, and the changeling threw an arm around his shoulders, smiling widely while they both playfully taunted their partner into another round. Starfire floated above them and snapped a picture with her camera. He wanted to laugh at the memory of all the stupid things Star used to take pictures of. Strangers. Clouds. Pets that were not hers. Unusual leaves. Bodily functions… She was popular on the internet, apparently, but Robin never bothered to look it up for himself. His desire to laugh manifested into a frown that Slade ignored when he shoved the extended bo-staff back into Robin's hands.
"Hold that above your head," He commanded stiffly. Robin did as told, noting that the exposed wire tips had been duct-taped to the metal.
"Why am I the one hold this?" Robin half complained. "You're taller."
"Because you don't know the code," the villain stated matter-of-factly, pulling a small turn handle from the side of the device and winding it until static started to pour out of the bent wire speaker. He then turned one of the knob dials, carefully, until the static cleared just enough to hear a faint beeping sound that grew into a full screech as Slade made careful adjustments.
A/N: Rabies is actually pretty terrifying, if you think about it.