Long-ass A/N: Hello again! So, it's kind of a funny story. When I first started writing this, people wanted to know more about what happened to the Titans and what Robin did to the people in his basement. Originally, I wasn't planning on going into too much detail with it because I imagined that Robin didn't really want to talk or actually process what had really happened. He was a survivor. That was all there was to it.
BUT - Inquiring minds want to know what happened. And today, friends, he'll tell you. But first I get to blabber on about trauma theories and dissocia- hey! Don't skip this part! It's an important information about psychology and why Robin freaked the fuck out! I can't have Slade explain it! It doesn't fit the story to have him do it! Oh, yay! You're still reading! Thank you! Anyway, humans have an uncanny ability to survive terrible, terrible things. During survival mode, the ability to process complicated emotions and acknowledge trauma is shut down - and for good reason! Frankly, if Robin spent his time hashing out what happened with the Titans, he'd be d-e-a-d... But then comes Slade and a temporary reprieve from survival mode (mostly in the form of separation from immediate danger and an subconscious bonding with our favorite bad ass). For the first time since the death of his friends, Robin is distant enough from danger that he feels safe. Safety brought relaxation (sleep, in Robin's case). Unfortunately, this feeling of safety ignited a second wave of survival mode: processing and healing (aka Robin's crazy nightmares that put him in attack mode). Now that he's been away from the emanate danger of death, his mind is returning to the trauma to try and learn from it so that he can a) either avoid the pain in the future, or b) learn how to deal with it should it occur again. But that's the funny thing about trauma and healing: like chemotherapy, it saves you by killing you. Obviously, it's a lot to handle, so let's go easy on poor Robin for freaking out... after all, things are going to get a lot worse for him by the end of this chapter...
Robin's let out a soft, painful groan. He'd awoken several times this way, just fleeting moments of sound or vision. Slade was often there, watching over him, a hand on his forehead, pouring tiny bits of water in his mouth in the moments when he was almost present enough to think and just barely enough not to choke. Other times, there was darkness. Painful loneliness that closed in on him in those tight, unmoving seconds where his eyes opened and it felt like he was the only one alive in his dead city once again.
He felt Slade's hand on his forehead. It was rough and slightly chilled from the outside, but it felt refreshing in comparison to the cocooned heat from the sleeping bag. His eyelids fluttered slightly, opening enough to see the man peering back at him with the same unreadable expression through the darkness of the night.
"Awake?" the villain asked, removing his hand and reaching for a bottle of water.
"Fuck you?" Robin muttered with enough inflection to make a somewhat coherent question.
"Good boy," Slade gave a tiny smirk, wriggling his hand under the teen's shoulders and gently pulling him up in the limited space of the tent.
Robin tried not to moan at the painful stiffness. He also tried not to faint. He only succeeded at staying mildly conscious.
"Drink. You're dehydrated," an annoying voice murmured in his ear and Robin knit his brow, unsure of why the world had gone dark again until he realized that his eyes had slammed closed in the heavy grog that remained in his mind.
Robin hated to agree with Slade, but when he felt the chilled plastic pressing against his lips, he gratefully parted them and let the water pour into his mouth. He swallowed, letting the water collect again and again between each gulp until the container was drained.
"M'starving," Robin muttered, sloppily wiping the water from his chin and glaring up at the man.
"You can eat in a bit. Let the water settle."
Robin snorted through his nose, eyes closing slowly before he forced himself not to sleep.
"How do you feel?" Slade asked and was answered with a single finger and a discontented muttering.
"I hope I shit in your coffin tent when you knocked me out."
"Not yet, thankfully. You were coherent enough at one point to let me take you out for a piss."
"Don't remember that," Robin wrinkled his nose. "I bet you looked, ya perv."
"Hard not to. I'm pretty sure you were aiming for me."
Robin let out a long chuckle, clearly proud of himself. "Fuuuck. I want out of this shit coffin," he said as he pawed at the fabric ceiling before letting his hand drift over and gently slap against Slade's cheek repeatedly. "Be a dear and get me the fuck out of this."
A smirk appeared at the gesture and Slade reached for the zipper. Robin was more awake than he had been in some time, but was clearly not yet with it. He pulled open the door, letting the cold night air rush inside and feeling silently grateful that the teen didn't wake up swinging again. He had done so several times in his sleep and after long periods of babbling, but there was little strength behind his punches and the action never lasted long. It was really only enough to mess up the tent, but truth be told, he'd almost rather take a fist to his chin than have to fix the damn shelter again.
Robin was greeted by the full moon and the faint sound of the dead as he was pulled from the tent. Slade had been kind enough to keep him wrapped in the sleeping bag, though it was relatively warmer than it had been in recent weeks. He was too tired and groggy to complain when Slade lifted and bridal-carried him to the nearest edge of the building before setting him against the railing and steadying him when he started to drift to the side.
The villain knelt before the teen, carefully checking his vitals in the only light that was offered by the pale moon.
"I'm sorry for attacking you," Robin slurred after the man pulled his hands away and settled back on the rooftop, facing the smaller body. "I know you weren't behind what happened to my team."
"Is that what you dreamt?" Slade asked, his body relaxed, but ready for an attack at a moment's notice. Robin didn't know it, but they'd already had this conversation. Twice. Maybe even more than that if Slade were to count the few times Robin grumbled in sleep and woke up ready to fight. Miraculously, though, the teen seemed to be working through his troubles a little better each time. At first, he started screaming and throwing punches, the last time he just sobbed uncontrollably. This time… well, it was a bit early to call it.
Robin nodded, "Yeah… you were behind it, somehow… I don't know how, but in the dream it all made sense. I knew it wasn't real when I first woke up, but the more you told me to remember, to quit fighting, the more I wanted to believe that it was you and not my friends - the people that I'd saved and kept alive - that betrayed us. I just lost it. I knew it didn't make sense, but I didn't want to think about it."
"They were desperate for a cure," Slade's voice was soft, almost sympathetic. "They knew it was just a matter of time before the virus contaminated the water and the soil."
"Desperate enough to kill off their only means of survival?" Robin sneered, his head lulling dangerously to the side. "We could have saved them. We would have found a way to live! To decontaminate and test the supplies before consumption! But no." Robin emphasized his tired and slurred words, sometimes leaning dangerously and requiring a little help righting himself in order not to topple over. "They were panicked and stupid, and they purposefully infected my friends because they hoped, blindly, that they were somehow immune!"
"The blood and tissue tests were inconclusive," Slade responded, steadying the hero again and noticing the angry blush that crawled up his neck. Ah, perhaps he should be ready for another fight after all.
"All tissue tests were. Human, meta, alien, cybertronic… The pathogen travels in the blood, but it doesn't attack a host until it's reached the brain of a living specimen. That's when the symptoms start. That's where the virus replicates. They knew that." Robin said darkly, the anger fading from his voice into a dark, tired tone. His bloodshot eyes glared forward as his frown deepened. "They knew what they were doing… and waited until I left to do it. By the time I got back, everyone was dead… except the two responsible, of course." He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and giving a giving a haggard sigh. He didn't want to talk about any more.
"And so you finished them off." Slade asked, pausing when the hero seemed to drift off. He gave the teen a gentle nudge and he gave an indignant little moan and his eyes creaked open and Slade repeated, "And so you finished them off?"
"Yeah." Robin muttered, trying to decide if he should go back to sleep after his rant. "They'd locked themselves in the basement when hell broke loose. Cowards." He let out the tiniest of laughs, his expression pained and exhausted. "I went in there looking to save them, you know? I thought the outbreak had been an accident. Tainted supplies, some mistake or carelessness, But… not that… I wanted to believe that people, against all odds, could come together and live together in peace. I thought that a shared enemy would unite us. Heh. Once I realized what they'd done, I made them tell me everything. Why they chose to betray the Titans. How they did it. How long it took them to decide to kill my friends. How long it took them to change. What they said before they died… I wanted to know… I beat it out of them word-for-word with each blow. Then I made them tell me again when I broke out their teeth… You were wrong about that part… I wanted them to keep talking; I just wanted to make sure they felt it."
Slade was silent for a long moment, keeping a close eye on the younger man until he decided to keep the conversation going.
"The notes said that your team volunteered for the experiment, that they also saw no other alternative than a potential cure. They assumed only way to develop that cure was to find immunity."
"Lying bastards. They put that the notes to try and trick us in the event that things went wrong… I think that's the part that kills me the most… they weren't even remotely sure that my friends were immune. They planned as much for their infection as they did for their immunity. There was no evidence to support the theory."
"No evidence to disprove it, either."
"Are you defending them?"
"No. I think you're right and that those bastards got what they deserved. It was a flawless kill, Robin. Painful. Meaningful. I don't think it's what your friends would have wanted, but its every bit as good as they revenge they deserved."
"So glad you're on my side," Robin snorted, rolling his eyes and feeling numbness crawl through his body. "Shit, I feel sick."
"It's probably the hunger," Slade answered. "Let's get some food in you."
The hero nodded solemnly, watching as Slade riffled through their supplies and pulled out two of the MREs.
"Think you can eat a whole one by yourself?"
"Yeah, probably…" The teen answered. "But why? Shouldn't we be saving them?"
"We'll be moving out in the next few days," Slade responded casually as he tore open the plastic pouches and began to prepare the food. "You'll need to build up some strength before we do. Put some weight on, if you can."
"Is Bruce that close?" Robin asked, pausing at the sterility in the man's movements and his stoic face. He bit his tongue, feeling the animosity build in the silence until his own heart seemed to be pounding in his ears. "Slade?"
"I don't think so," Slade finally answered in a low, quiet tone. "He hasn't checked in for two days."
Banananananana Batman's dead?