A/N: Ugh. My internet is being the biggest anus today. I'm posting this before it goes down AGAIN. Also ~ Hiiii!
Robin took a deep and shaking breath before calling up to Slade, "I think it's ready."
The villain took in a deep breath of the wet night air, adjusting the supplies that weighed down his body and looking over their rooftop that shined with the fallen rain. "On your go, then."
"I'll give you ten seconds to clear the blast zone," Robin called back. "Starting countdown…"
Slade moved briskly to the other side of the building, counting in his head with some amusement at the fact that Robin was so precise. Only a fraction of a moment passed between the mental count and the enormous sound that ripped apart the silence of the dead city.
An exhaustive search of the apartment left them with little to work with, but enough to give them a sliver of a chance to create a passageway from the rooftop to the apartment. They'd selected a hallway closet as the blast-zone. It offered an additional, though meager, buffering from the blast and was less likely to have additional wires and pipes running through it. Robin was able to confirm that when he used a screw driver and hammer (neither of which looked like they'd ever been put to actual use) to break through the drywall ceiling. If they were lucky, the blast would be enough to damage the concrete enough to create safe passage.
Robin was hesitant on that point. He'd found a variety of items in the apartment, none of which were particularly dangerous on their own, but that might pose some threat when combined. He'd found an electronic pressure cooker, which was clearly the most useful of the items, and he'd spent the whole day ripping open other electronics and stripping wires to create a battery that could his bomb. He was fairly confident in his chemistry, and Slade had been helpful in pointing out a few things during the construction – helpful and annoying - but no amount of knowledge or prowess could guarantee that it would work. He'd filled the container with anything small and heavy. The kitchen utensils went first, followed by any amount of jewelry the man had – mostly cufflinks, but a few thick rings and watches were put to use as well. For all their combined knowledge and expertise of how to best use the supplies around them, all they really had was hope.
Slade lifted his head as the sound of the blast sent rolling shockwaves that sounded like thunder through the city. A small debris cloud wisped from the spot they'd chosen, but it drowned quickly in the falling rain, replenishing itself now and again, but never growing too large. He could hear the faint sound of coughing and ran to the edge of the rooftop.
"Robin?" Slade grasped he banister.
"M'okay - " Robin called back haggardly. "Just dust."
"Stay by the window. I'm going to check the blast." The villain turned his attention back to the wispy little clouds that rose from the broken concrete. "Damn," he muttered, noting that, although the blast had clearly caused some damage, there were no clean breaks that ran through it. He walked back to the edge and called below, "Didn't break through. I'll need to chip away at it. Once the dust clears, you'll need to go to the other side and do the same."
"Got it!" Robin answered, leaning as far out of the window as he could to breath in the moist air and let the rain fall over his face.
Slade removed the supplies from his body, setting them aside as he pulled out the teen's bo-staff and held it firmly in both hands. He raised his arms above his head and brought the staff down with all the force he could muster. The loose bits of debris jostled at the impact, but little else came from the force. The small fissures in the concrete were no more wide as when they began.
"Damn," Slade muttered, taking a different route and angling his strikes so he could at least exploit the tiny cracks. That was moderately more successful, because Slade could at least see results, but it meant that the process would take far longer because they needed to chip away at each and every pocket that managed to stay bonded together.
This job was much better suited from Robin's side, Slade decided soon after his hands began slipping on the pole, the rain weakening his grip and subsequently his efforts. Luckily it was not long before he heard the teen call up to him and begin working from the other side, driving his screwdriver into the weakened spots with the hammer.
Their combined efforts won them only three hours of grueling labor before Slade finally saw the shining metal trip break through the concrete.
"Keep going!" Slade called to the teen, "We're nearly through!"
He allowed the teen to work over the center of their passageway while he focused his attention to the outer parameter. Chipping away the sides so that they would eventually have a hole big enough for him to drop into. Not terribly long after that, the teen had cleared a rough-edge circle that was wide enough for both men to see through. Slade smelled the blood before he saw it, and dropped down to peer into the tiny window.
"Christ Robin," he said angrily at the site of the blood running down the teen's arm and torso from the red-soaked tie around his hand. "Give me the screw-driver. You're done."
"I can still-" Robin protested before Slade shot him a deadly glare and barked a command.
"You're done."
The hero reluctantly handed the man his tools, eyes set to a glare above his frowning mouth.
"Go change your bandage. See if the bathroom as any anti-sceptics. And pain killers."
"It does," Robin muttered. "I was saving it for when we were done."
"We're close enough," Slade answered, trying to soften his voice, but finding it particularly hard to do so when the teen was stupid enough to exacerbate an already serious injury. "Go take care of that wound."
Robin shot the man one final glare before nodding and disappearing from site. Slade spend another hour carving away at his concrete passage before it was finally large enough to climb through. He dropped the supplies first, tossing them into the hallway before his feet landed on the concrete rubble and bits of remaining wood and plaster that littered the closet floor.
"Robin?" He called just after he stepped into the hallway.
"I'm in here," the teen's voice drifted from the dining room, and Slade found him sitting across from the dead man, a vacant expression on his features.
"Found some bourbon," He smiled faintly. Slade glanced at the bottle, the two clean glasses sitting next to it, and the teen's hand which wrapped in a new tie and already soaked. "I thought we'd celebrate a little… wasn't even opened…"
Slade's head snapped at the muffled sound of banging hands and heads as it echoed from the hallway.
"More of them have gathered since I got here. The blast and the noise afterward drew most of them in, but I think they can smell my blood by now, and it's keeping their attention." Robin stared blankly ahead, as if speaking to the dead body across from him with a mixture of disinterest and subconscious spite. "So, are we going to drink, or not?"
"You probably shouldn't have any alcohol with a wound like that," Slade answered calmly. "Let alone something as strong as bourbon."
"The guy had expensive tastes," Robin mused picking up the bottle with his good hand and musing at the bottle. "It's probably good."
"Kid, have you ever even had a drink?" Slade tore the bottle from his hand and set it halfway across the table before leaning down to the hero's level. "I can't have you piss-ass drunk. Not right now. Not when we need to work on our next move."
"Don't be an idiot, Slade," the teen gave the man a condescending sneer as he held up his bloodied hand. "I'm dead in the water if I take one step into the city like this, and you know it. And if you think you can protect me, you're wrong. They can smell it. They'll be drawn to me. And to you, by extension. It'll be like when you got here, except I won't be on the rooftop ready to throw you a line. We can't do it Slade. Not like this. I can't do it."
"Robin-"
"Shut up. God, just shut up!" Robin growled and the white noise of rain and hallway shuffling drowned out the sound of their argument. The two men stared at each other, all eyes fierce and jaws set in place before the teen sighed shook his head sadly. "I'm not going anywhere… I can't. Now pour me a drink and let's toast our small victory."
Slade shook his head with a frown, grabbing the bottle and angrily pulling the top free. He poured a generous portion into each glass and sat next to the hero with a pissed off glare.
"To small victories," Robin muttered, raising his glass in the air and bringing it to his lips.
A/N: The End!
... No? Okay, fine! But in exchange, I'm taking a short break from the regular publishing of People Person. I've got a lot of projects lined up through April and May that will need attention and a lot of effort to complete. Although I DO plan on publishing between then and now, it might not occur on the regular days, and there might be longer breaks in between... with this news, I also want to announce that ONE of the projects I'm putting more focus on is Sladomasochism. What can I say? I miss it!