A.N. Whoa, shit, almost forgot to post tonight! It's a little late, and I'm still in the middle of a RAGING craft night with my buds, so I'ma get back to it and let you awesome people go about your business.
"Care to tell me what you found through your research?" Slade's smile was calm as he busied himself with the food, carefully tearing the top off of a rice packet and stirring the contents with a fork.
Robin shoved the rest of the bread into his mouth, glaring at Slade, who simply kept his smile in place and handed the teen the rice packet.
"Nothing helpful. I could only confirm that it was a viral pathogen. It's transferred in bodily fluids with mere hours from first contact to full blown infection… More or less the same things the news said before everything shut down… We only had about two days of television from patient zero."
"Same," Slade replied. "I was out for a run when the first report hit the airwaves. By the time I was returned, over a hundred cases had been confirmed."
"We heard about the first case over breakfast," Robin said grimly, his fork freezing inches above the rice pouch as he remembered the nervous jokes that mingled with plans to set up quarantine zones. He swallowed hard and passed the container back to Slade.
"No. That's one's yours. Starting tomorrow, we'll split every meal."
"I'm not hungry," the hero replied listlessly, holding the packet out to the man and waiting for him to take it.
"Eat," Slade's voice calmly slithered into the teen's ear, daring Robin to glance up and find a dark eye staring into him.
He wanted to argue, but when his stomach let out a long, grateful grumble at the food inside his belly, he really had nothing to argue against. The corner of his mouth twitched in a fuck-it kind of frown before he continued eating.
"You were trying to find a cure, weren't you?"
Robin nodded, swallowing again and stabbing his fork into the rice as he stared at the ground. He really didn't want to talk about it, and yet the words poured off his tongue between bites and sometimes while he chewed. It was the end of the world, and he was eating with his worst enemy. What need was there for things like decorum and privacy?
"Yeah. We had a couple doctors among our survivors… Pediatrics and a nutrition specialist… not exactly the best group for an infectious disease… but between the three of us… we managed to isolate the virus… confirm how it was spread… and confirm that it would eventually leach into the water and soil."
"Here," Slade handed him another packet, and the teen found it was shredded beef. "Mix it in. You need some protein."
"Thanks," the younger man managed, ignoring how loudly his stomach purred at the thought. "Of course, all tests on the dead were null. Not once did we get anyone back once they were infected."
"What about immunity?" The man stroked his beard, eye still fixated on the hero.
"We weren't studying that." Robin glared at the rooftop, studying the tiny bumps where the white paint had peeled away.
"The lab notes say otherwise."
"Those weren't my notes," Robin snapped, eyes fixated on the paint with insane fascination, making his mind focus on each tiny little dot, the grains of sand that had been mixed into the paint to create better traction on the roof's surface.
"I'm aware of that."
"Then why are you asking?" he shoved another bite into his mouth, fighting the urge to spit it back up as he fought invasive dark memories.
"Just making conversation," the villain replied airily. "In reality, I have a pretty clear idea of what happened. You left enough evidence behind for me to determine that those people – the doctors among them – were alive when you killed them. You used your staff, but you weren't quick about it. You wanted them to suffer."
"Well," Robin's voice was snide as he lifted his glare to Slade. "You're the expert on that, aren't you? So, tell me. Did I do a good job?"
"Immaculate," Slade purred, esteem reflected in his features. "I could see how you immobilized them first, taking out their knees and ankles… then you hit their hands, taking your time on each, individual finger… knuckle by knuckle… I'm guessing you got tired of their pleas then, because you took out their teeth, making it hard to form words along with causing them a great deal of pain."
"You don't need to describe it to me. I was there," Robin said plainly, letting his gaze fall once again.
"Were you?" Slade asked calmly. I know it was you that did it… but was it really you?"
Robin's brows raised and fell apathetically as his lips curled with disgust. "I knew what I was doing, and what it meant."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"It wasn't like the disks," Robin blurted out just as his eyes widened at the realization of what he'd said. He lifted his face, seeing Slade stare back at him calmly, and he knew there was no use arguing or lying his way out of the terrible honesty that had escaped his lips. "It wasn't like being Red X… Or your Apprentice. No matter what I'd done because of you or for you, I knew that it was just… an act. No matter how much I enjoyed it, I knew it wasn't really me. It wasn't who I was. It was exciting. It was wrong. But it wasn't me…When I killed them… There was no enjoyment there. No right or wrong… Just peace. Permanence."
"You did the right thing."
"I don't need your reassurance."
"I know," Slade's hand landed hard on the teen's shoulder, staying there as his eye gave a long, hard gaze into the icy blue stare of the hero. "And you did the right thing." He waited for some reaction, revulsion to his touch. Distrust, fear, or despair.
Robin only gave a small sigh, looking tired as he muttered something that might have been thanks before his fork dove back into the meal pouch and he continued to eat.
A.N. Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends! Please enjoy your turkey or turkey substitutes and remember that you shouldn't kill your family on holidays, even though it might seem like the most practical time to do so.