Jericho—likewise a person I understood too little about but was so strangely connected to that it would only seem inappropriate I shouldn't understand more; and yet, only having spoken to him once, it seemed impossible that I should feel as strongly linked to him as I did; to add to this, the consideration that he was mute would have seemed to assure that we could never be close enough, and yet as he manipulated my mind so that we could communicate it only seemed to bring us closer—like my bonds with Raven or Terra, strange connections forged from circumstance alone and the way we were thrown together the way we were so haphazardly.
When all of the Titans swarmed our tower in the aftermath of the BHE, taking refuge there and making it a temporary home for several weeks—and of course, as told to me by Argent, still swarming the city even after they all cleared out—Jericho was one of the only of them that seemed uncomfortable to stay. As the Honoraries and East raided the refrigerator and pilfered poor Cyborg's and Beast Boy's video games and tech, and, into the late hours of each night, blasting loud music which they danced to with one another until they passed out on the coaches and the ground and stayed that way until early morning—Jericho crept out into the blackness and meditated with his guitar sounding softly and somehow hauntingly as beautifully in that midnight darkness, and even then he seemed disturbed; because the shy boy who couldn't speak was not the type to hang out at a party where one of the favored games was karaoke, and whose muteness had pushed him into a further recession from friends that he would not dance, either. But if that all had been removed—if we were sitting in a field of poppies listening to him play his guitar and making wreathes out of those poppies—he still would have been upset, and I saw that. There was something within him that seemed to be brooding, harboring something terrible, blackness building within him; you could look into his eyes and he would look back but you would know he was not really looking because Joseph—he was lost in there somewhere, and could only be drawn back when you went up to him and tapped him, and even then he barely lingered. Most of the Titans seemed not to notice, but a few—myself, Raven, and Kole would not be so easily unaffected.
In this period of two weeks, she would approach me as I was talking to Thunder and Lightning in the hallway outside the main meeting-room where at that current moment, I think, it had turned into a suffocating medley of noise deriving from a makeshift virtual band formed for the game they were playing; Cyborg synthesizing some beat for them as Hotspot wildly played the guitar and Harold proving accompaniment with a trumpet, though not his own, still flawlessly and impressively. I had actually been helping them with their stupid symphony—the virtual drums, banging my head until I felt like I would throw up, though it made everyone laugh (most notably the ladies) so it was okay with me—when the two of them returned to the tower looking pretty disturbed and insisted my audience. And though the "fans" were pretty disappointed, I could tell they were really upset and so I handed over the drumsticks to Beast Boy, who we had been jokingly excluding from the fun as long as we could.
They had been in the Chinatown district of the city with Bushido, promising to make us a meal like their parents had taught them to in the traditional fashion, though most of the Titans would have been content to just order Chinese food and have it at the tower in less than an hour—but we went along with anyway. They said they were walking through the crowded streets and noticed a man coming out of one of the more specialty shops; this man, they said, looked like the very profile of everyone outsiders thought of people of their culture—dressed in a long, flowing red robe, a large hat, shrouding the majority of his face in mystery. His long, white hair flowed around his head and about his mouth, but "the smirk was unforgettably evil!" as Lightning had exclaimed, clenching his fists. They said that this man leaving the specialty shop, which happened to be a Chinese offset of the darker arts, was clutching a bottle of some unknown substance in his hands and looking down at it with a grin that would have made the teeth crackle as crazy and driven as it was.
"The old one!" Thunder said, looking at me with an intense look taking hold of his features; the eyes, dancing with fear and the unending pain and frustration of that. "It was the old one, Robin!"
"This one you call Slade!" Lightning added, reflecting that same look in his own wild and flickering eyes. "He was buying a potion and from the looks of it, it seems to me to be something strong and evil!"
I had met these looks of fear with my own of skepticism; again, as I had been on the night of my re-capture, I was putting up a defensive and totally uncaring attitude, an incredulity that made it easier to live and thrive even when the greater and smarter part of me knew that the laziness could only shroud that truth for so long—that, soon enough, there would too great a reality to face and no longer could I pretend that I wasn't thinking of Slade in this time of inactivity; no longer would I be able to hide behind the anonymity that his absence created, leveling out these vying emotions—and in such anonymity thoughts became dull and emotions irrelevant; and it became easier to allow disinterest to creep in, not matter how much I secretly knew and longed for something new and something brighter; secretly, wishing for a crime that was not shared with my friends—not a great victory over an adversary where things were diluted and half-dead but the easy crime where I felt always that one single eye as it watched me;
As we escaped Mad Mod's trippy school or—defeated the Brotherhood of Evil, that one eye watched me and me only. And it thought.
Simply, where I lingered then—an unprecedented state of denial.
"You saw Slade?" I said, raising an eyebrow to mimic my doubt. "Are you sure? I haven't seen him in two years, at least. Maybe—"
"It was him, Robin!" Lightning said, and his fists were further tightened; the expression of wild awareness still dancing in his eyes. "I could never forget that eye if I tried! We know little about him and yet he provokes an energy of evil! One could not forget him!"
I thought on this for the briefest moment—at least, I pretended to, actually—before I decided to humor them—or whatever I really wanted to accomplish in this horrible, senseless state of denial. "So—did you guys talk to him or something? What happened?"
They exchanged quick glances, uneasily. "Well, no—" Thunder said slowly.
"But he was aware of us," Lightning added in an almost defensive fashion. "Thunder and I…when we saw him coming out of the store we just gasped and didn't know what to do at first—but he heard us and looked up at us, somehow in that huge crowd like he knew we were going to be there! And the expression only became more crazed, Robin! The one eye was glowing and the grin was of one who is not well!"
Nodding, Thunder added grimly, "There was something not right about this man, Robin. We couldn't forget the old one if we tried—and he didn't forget us."
And again—I was cloaked in that disinterest and trust that made even the most sensible and persuasive argument extraneous, one that, had I heeded its warning, might I not be where I am today, with Slade; one that now I regret turning such a blind eye to—the first of many warnings which went disregarded; almost as if Slade wanted me to figure out what he was doing before it happened but then—I think it would have been accurate to assume he knew I would do nothing to act upon these such warnings when he was seen purchasing a potion from the specialty shop
—what I would later learn was one of the active chemicals in the new nanoscopic probes he was using…
And I suppose that even though the past is not something that can be changed, and dwelling will do no good—had I listened to Thunder and Lightning and pursued Slade, had I, at least, wised up at investigated the Wilson/Jericho lead at Argent's urging, I might still be with my friends today. And their lives, it seems, would not be endangered now as they are thanks to my stupidity; and though hindsight does little more than damage the soul and send the mind into a helpless spiral of regret and all those stemming emotions, I would remember these few instances from this moment out and would think—if only I had done something, where would we be?
Often I try to focus on the future instead of these dark thoughts of remorse at my actions, but here in the present moment it is not much brighter—and so I'm left to wonder where my mind should be left so that I can avoid the pain of everything as much as possible; where, things not bright or darker, dullness rains upon the landscape and I take up my own Avrretta.
Though in this city—with so many places to hide, and yet one seems never to be invisible to the all-seeing eye which rules this city in the shadows. Because in my attempts to hide from this, what so belonged to me, I was more than ever in public opinion—and my cowardice was what would condemn those who were strong enough to wonder.
"Well—did he try to do anything to you?" Again—the skepticism rained. "Did you guys fight?"
Again, they exchanged quick, concerned glances before adapting an air of almost defensiveness, as if I was not on their side. "No," Thunder said slowly, calculatingly. "He—"
"We could only look at him for a moment before one of the carts going by blocked our view of him—and when it passed he was gone!" Lightning interrupted wildly; again, encompassing the very meaning of his name, as Thunder in his slow, seriousness.
As typical of me—"Guys, as much as I appreciate that you're keeping on your toes—unlike everyone else in there—I don't think that was Slade. If it was he would have attacked you."
"But maybe he wouldn't have!" Lightning said, noticeable getting worked up now. "Whatever he had bought it was worth a lot of money, Robin! The city has been trying to shut down those places for years on the charge that they sell illegal drugs!"
"Do they?"
Again, the two of them looked to one another for a few long, speculative moments; Thunder looked at Lightning, his teeth clenched and body shaking in what seemed to be anger, with concern and quickly, after just a small moment, he calmed from his frustrated and defensive verve into sensibleness and too adapted this look of concern as the attention was fully turned upon me—and then Thunder walked up to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Robin—Raven tells us that this Slade is very obsessed with you. If it is him—"
"Then we need to do something," Lightning said, also walking up to me and touching my arm with a very strange and practiced gentleness that alerted me to the fact that within the crazed, fun-obsessed Titan there was more of an understanding of the world than anyone could really grasp. "That potion—"
"Look," I said, and put a hand on both of them as reassurance—though there was that constant buzzing disinterest. "I appreciate how you're concerned—I really do. But if Slade comes back for me, I'll be ready—but for now I don't think it's worth our time to pursue this guy, because we don't know whether or not he's the actually Slade especially considering he didn't attack you."
"Maybe he didn't have to," Thunder said with eyes that seemed to droop in defeat, extreme sadness. "Maybe it wasn't part of his plan."
After a few moments of silence, Lightning slowly shrugged Thunder to the side and touched my shoulders, staring directly into my eyes with this air of seriousness—the concern and anger and sadness melding into this undiluted stroke of emotion; he squeezed my shoulders as he began to shake and whispered out, "The old one's eye…Robin, it seemed to invite us to tell you…he…may not have powers like ours but there is something within him that is just as formidable…and…I fear for your life if you let him do as he pleases…"
I had opened my mouth to say something, and though I'd like to think it was some assurance that I would make sure to heed there warning I'm sure it would have been another impartial and ignorant rebuttal so that I could go back into the room and meld back into the total ignorance of revelry until I ended up passing out in the early hours of the morning like the others, where thoughts of Slade were nonexistent—though the eye seemed to loom, as it always did…; when Kole exited the room where they were all gathered and approached us, this time, alone, as was not typical of her, usually hand in hand with her love or, in earlier days, side by side with her partner.
Her smile—though, perceptiveness allowed one to see it was little more than a façade to placate those she would not talk to—fell immediately as she sensed the vibes thrown off by our conversation—those being nothing like the party inside, consumed by a solemnity that matched better perhaps our fight with the Brotherhood of Evil, and she seemed so visibly disturbed by this vibe that she actually stopped in her tracks and held up her hands as apology.
"I'm sorry…I hope I'm not interrupting something?"
I shook my head. "No, you're fine, Kole. What's up?"
I noticed out of the corner of my eye Lightning and Thunder exchanging their glances; these consumed by unending sadness and a greater sense of defeat, and of course not without their constant concern, but they said nothing.
She walked up to me slowly, until she was close enough where she could speak in this tone she had adapted of quiet sadness and concern—something anything but new to me now—which dulled it into almost being barely inaudible; clasping her hands against her legs, hunched over but looking up at me with wide, sparkling eyes, which I could tell were just scarcely containing tears. Her lip quivered as she murmured shakily, just barely being able to form the words, "Robin—"
Sensing her alarm, I reached out and hugged her, and as I did she began to cry. "What's wrong, Kole? What's up?"
When she continued to cry without saying anything, I realized that whatever was going on, it wasn't going to be a quick fix; and so still holding her I turned back to Thunder and Lightning and looked at them warily.
"Can we…?"
They both nodded, without hesitation. "Of course, Robin," Thunder said, seeming to understand that we needed to be alone—that, like I did, Kole would not talk if they were standing near. However, they both seemed disturbed—and holding a sense of defeat, knowing they had not accomplished what they needed to and therefore could not rest completely until they had, and in this way they seemed emanate a sense of spiraling hopelessness if only in the eyes, which were calm but possessed depths of cold understanding.
"Can we talk again?" Lightning said, looking seriously at the two of us as we stood there embracing. "Please, Robin—we believe this is very important."
"Sure," I said quickly to dismiss them though it held no truth to it. "Anytime."
And so slowly they left, Lightning touching my shoulder briefly before he exited and looking at me with the same serious look—that concerned and deflated knowing, which seemed to drag one's sense of mind down into the depths of an ocean of quicksand; in a word, disheartening.
We never did finish the conversation; in fact, that was the last time I would talk to the two of them privately or seriously before I encountered Slade yet again.
"Kole, what's wrong?"
Her dainty fingers, those which had endured cruel enemies and could slice through their flesh like it was butter, with anything but effort, now seemed to belong to a weak baby bird; they felt as though they could be broken with one simple, hateful snap, while the flesh shrank and fell away in pitiful recession, crumbling slowly like a decrepit statue. It was unlike any state I had ever seen her in as she pulled herself closer to me; the girl who was once a beautiful and strong ice princess, the girl who had fended for herself in the jungle the majority of her life, was clinging to me like I was her lifeline; the girl who, in recent days, had resolved to gain independence from "Nark," the adopted earth name which the creature took when Cyborg couldn't seem to pronounce the full one (that is, you could say to him, Cyborg, it's G-nark. Guh-nark. And he could say "Guh" and "Nark" separately but when he tried to put them together it was just Nark, though we figured he was trying to mess with us more than anything after realizing how much it bothered us, so we stopped buying into it and adopted the name, too). Kole—who, upon the urging of Argent, would later adapt the alias Trope—began to practice using her powers without becoming totally still, in turn meaning that Nark would not need to shadow her; and what started as a way to avoid further confrontation with villains, specifically the Brotherhood of Evil who seemed to hopelessly encompass our attitudes still in that time, became quickly Kole's attempts to free herself from this strange bondage to the caveman; what, she would tell Raven and I as we helped her to isolate the crystal powers so that they could be directed to one singular part of the body, had once been a strong and treasured partnership became what began to feel to her as a cage which she could not free herself.
She described how, since meeting the Titans, and having a good understanding of how we worked as a team—not so dependent upon one another that, without the other, we would fall, but enough so that success seemed to be based on the unity of our group—she had been encouraged to adopt this mentality like Nark his new name. She said that Nark was demanding and often abusive; she told that she could get no time away from him because of his neediness, and the fact that, if she was not catering to his needs, he lingered around her still—and if she tried to get any alone time, he would often lash out at her, or accuse her that she did not love him. She said that she believed he thought after their years together, with she almost serving him, that he could take advantage of her in the ways that he was and she was fed up with it; and after having a talk with a strong and feminist-oriented, almost man-hating Jinx, she became determined to break free of whatever grip he had over her. And because we were her friends, we helped her as best we could with little questions asked; in those earliest days at the tower when it was still a hotspot of activity and seemed to be everyone's new home, Raven, Jinx, and Argent, and myself took on a sort of protective role of Kole as we finally helped her to formulate this new skill she desired—and we saw less of Nark as Jericho seemed to take an interest in our project with Kole. We began to recede slowly back as the mute but metaphysical and extremely empathetically-powered Jericho easily helped Kole to form her crystals around her hand—a deadly weapon which would work like a knife on the battlefield; later, he would resolve to help her develop these individualized crystals whenever she wanted and the two would often spend hours in the training room together working on this. We were impressed, but we were quick to note that once Jericho and Kole had achieved these crystals upon her hands, work slowed to a standstill and it became painfully obvious that they were very much attracted to one another, and were enjoying the excuse of their alone time—and even if I hadn't peeked in on one of their "training sessions" one day to see them engaged in a passionate kiss, and Jericho's fingers wandering gently over her chest, beginning to remove her dress, it wouldn't have been hard to have guessed, especially when, in the following days, we saw less of Kole as well.
I talked to her one day after I had seen them kissing, though I didn't disturb them or mention it—and I wouldn't. She seemed jubilant and confided in me only how much she loved Jericho—what she claimed to be a match clearly and confidently made; she told me how respectful he was to her, how considerate and soft, how, with his special powers, filled her mind with words of warmth and love. A flower he had picked for her was woven in her hair. She showed me a painting he had done of her as they sat in the grass together outside of the tower, and told me of a melody he played for her on his guitar. They were very much in love—and when met with this new and considerate substitute, Nark because so seldom seen we were left to wonder where he had gone, and if something had happened. And in his absence there was a confidence, a feminist attitude that resembled Jinx's or Argent's, a new respect built upon her along with this new understanding of love and Jericho. She became such a strong woman she rivaled Argent, who had, with her British accent and beautiful body, been the subject of men's eyes since her maturity, as she said; and in those days of laziness and sloppy ignorance, the most prevalent thing to the male Titans would be the dilemma of who would get the rights to ask her out, because their relationship, but to me, was kept a secret—and though not well, it didn't take much to fool some of the Titans… though within days of their intimacy, soon that was to change when the confidence had been stroked so thoroughly that when Speedy flexed his muscles and offered to show her his arrows and tricks she easily pushed him out of the way and paraded out of the room, saying, "Sorry, but I like Jericho's better."
And so with this confidence one would not expect to see her in such a strange and weakened state; when, having seen her only days before flaunting her new body's poise and making the guys leave their lips hanging stupidly open, in stunned silence, she should be clinging to me with tears streaming down her face as if she was begging for love; and yet, I could not form any opinions about such occurrences especially when I had adapted an attitude of total passiveness which seemed to encompass the entirety of my mind, and so maybe I was thinking frontwardly that these displays of emotion and concern from my friends—which would seemingly increase in the coming days—were just a residual excitement from our battle against the Brain and his fool-henchmen, Monsieur Mallah, who became later known as "DM" to the Titans, General Immortus, or "Jackson" and Madame Rouge—and who, coincidentally, we would not see the last of—,also adapting an alias of Rubicund when she later spoke of escape but was known to the Titans solely as "Red." With their impressions still burned into our minds, I expected jitters; I expected tears and fanatical assumptions and hallucinations, expected the Titans, especially Hot Spot, who was without hesitation to say a complete mess, to be sure that they saw Red lurking in the corner—or were wondering silently whether everyone in the room was really who they said they were. On at least one occasion, I found myself looking troubled at Hot Spot, my head tilted, wondering—is that bitch in there somewhere? But nothing would come of this for a while.
So I was not judging—and was rather uncaring, not in the sense that I didn't care but more uninterested—believing strongly that nothing would come of these happenings. In those weeks I think I was very distant from the world. I think the real Robin, the outward and analytical Robin would have spent hours on the Slade lead given to me by Lightning and Thunder—would have thought more about what I would learn from Kole and Jericho that night. And yet looking back upon those weeks I think I had become so numbed by the Brotherhood of Evil and all that they meant to us—how dark this time became—I thought very little of these so-called problems back home; because after being flash-frozen and witnessing my entire team be taken down one by one by this horrible group, the ideas of trouble within our group, or outer forces like Slade, who, in comparison to the senseless and heartless Brain, seemed like a petty thief and became more to me as an antihero who I would see little of in the future—and right there can be seen my entire mistake of those weeks. Underestimating and petty disconnection—the idea that if I closed my eyes, all of it would go away. Like a child.
"It's Jericho," she gasped, closing her eyes and forcing the tears out in longer and thicker streams. "There's something wrong with him, Robin!"
And indeed there was something wrong with Jericho on that night. Outside the tower it was a beautiful night; the air was reminiscent of the cool summer air and with a soft breeze, and Jericho and Kole had been sitting on the rocks looking out at the city lights while Jericho played his guitar a little. Kole would tell me that she had commented to Jericho how beautiful the lights were, and how his song seemed to draw out that beauty; she said she told Jericho that the song sounded as if it could blend into the wind and expressed amazement at his oneness with the world and the universe. Jericho seemed to be off-put by this—or something, Kole did not know—and he stopped playing his guitar. She asked him what was wrong but he took her hand and they looked at the city lights and he did not answer her; but when they heard the screech of an engine on the mainland and the peeling of wheels against the concrete, one which was distant and should have been relatively unimportant, Jericho collapsed in what seemed to be pain over his guitar, and, as she told it, her mind was filled with the image of an ominous war general and his glittering gray eyes.
"I don't know what was happening," she would tell me, tears streaming down her face at an even steadier rate, like two small waterfalls. "I just saw this man—and I don't know how, because I never saw him before in my life. I don't know if Jericho was doing it but—he must have been because it feels that way when he talks to me. But this man—" she shook her head, shutting her eyes and again pushing out more tears. "I didn't know him but it almost felt like I did. Like I could feel him—like he was there or he was part of my life! He was so vivid, Robin! This man, I was sure he was standing there because I saw every part of him so clearly! He looked like one of the hunters who sometimes stumbled into the underworld—like he had been through one of your wars. He was covered in dirt and oil and wearing that camouflage and he had this wild armor—and he almost looked like a robot but he had the most beautiful eyes! They were gray but they were beautiful and direct and deep—and they reminded me of Jericho's. And he had such a beautiful, young face. His reminded me of Jericho's also. They looked so much alike. The only difference was that he was older and his hair was just a little darker and he had a little bit of a beard. And I don't know what to think, Robin!—
The thought burned and was hot like a fire. Pain. Ominousness about it. Something bad to come.
When the thought had gone, Kole saw that Jericho was staring back at the city lights with his mouth hanging open and his eyes watering, eventually to meld into tears. She said that he was shaking violently and no matter what she did or said, he would not take his eyes off the city; she asked him many times, she said, what was wrong, what had happened, and what she had seen, but her mind was from then on blank, and he would not speak to her at all. "It didn't even seem like he was there," she told me shakily, as I hugged her and held her like a good friend, yet detached. She would bring him inside the tower and to the guest room where he was sleeping while he stayed there with us, though too detached, like I; and when she had finished telling me this, this was where we went, too—
And when we entered, we saw Jericho packing his belongings and strapping his guitar onto his back.
No amount of persuading would change his mind. With little more than a mysterious and incomplete goodbye, he left that night and from that moment on, there was a change about the place which seemed to have begun with his absence; soon, we saw little of the once confident and once so cherished girl named Kole until she became nearly non-existent to us, and one morning we woke to find that Harold and Argent, too, had taken their leave.
And things were never the same as an emptiness encompassed the tower; and sooner than later, we watched as the rest of our guests, who we thought we detested so much in their presence alone, became an aching and empty hole in our hearts when only the original Titans, Jinx, Kid Flash, and convert Gizmo, (who, after escaping the flash-freezing of our enemies with the help of future Titan Billy Numerous [who king-of-nicknames Cyborg would simply call "The Kid"], who would join a few days before I was captured by Slade, had come to the tower on the day we arrived back in the city; he had come to apologize to Jinx and to tell her that he and Billy planned to break the Headmaster out of jail so that they could rebuild their home—though he told us when we watched on warily that they didn't have anything evil planned; and consequently to invalidate this as an excuse to commit a crime, or maybe simply to save Gizmo, Jinx simply said, "Then why even break him out of jail?—you can live here," to which she quickly added when Gizmo looked at her in disbelief, "Don't worry—Robin's cool." And so under some pretty intense peer pressure and the idea that I might be keeping a criminal in prison and the city a little bit safer, Gizmo [later, one of my nicknames as I grew more fond of him which stuck, "Giz"] thus became an ordinary part of our lives at the Tower) remained in the tower, though in the recent days we had seen less of them, (though when Cinderblock had shown his face the four of them had been ready to fight, though we—I, mostly—convinced them that it was something we could handle on our own), and suddenly we were missing the destruction of our stuff, the hijacking of our tower, the endless party—the warm and bright innocence and light-hearted nature it had had. The blissful ignorance creating a safety where for those two weeks I resided comfortably like a warm bed and didn't come out of once even in all these such instances where that was all it might have taken to save me—and now, the realization that if I had perhaps explored Jericho, who I knew too little about but who would become such a large and ruminating part of my life, I might not be where I am today.
And yet—to learn anything about Jericho would be harder than I could imagine when the line between truth and lies told to me by the one who knew the most about him was non-existent. Indistinguishable.
Like Jericho.
0~0 0~0
Forget him.
These—cold words uttered by my new "master" like a déjà vu from our past when my newest and only friend was he and the old ones were little more than an annoyance in the grandest scheme of things. I was supposed to forget them, but if that had happened our course now would be so much skewed—so how did he expect that to change now? How could he—as he had sat me back down on the bed, not allowing me to engage a fight because either that, too, would provide too much satisfaction or would perhaps lead to some harm (because he had told me it would be unfortunate should I have to make good on my threat of snapping his neck), and then slowly eased the suit, in all its dark glory—despite years of loneliness in this dark place with dust having that time to devour it, gleaming and new and seeming to emanate life and death all at once—into my lap. The bold and sharp S smirked up at me, still, waiting to encompass my very heart and soul and being very eager to do so as he repeated that incantation. The advice. To forget—
"Robin—the child vexes you more than I. Forget him, Robin."
My heart was racing—staring down at the gleaming S with wide eyes and an open mouth while my body shook and vibrated with the sensation of this knowledge, the horror it brought to my blackened and further blackening soul, the reflection of my past and how the new knowledge applied and affected the present and future. "Y-you had a s-son?" I stuttered, now gripping the suit and looking at that S until its image burned before my eyes like the mark of Scath upon Slade's forehead. Haunted by it, I repeated, like an incantation which would chase away demons, "Y-you had a s-son?"
"Why does this surprise you?" he said slowly, the eye raised and shining in something that seemed reminiscent of amusement mixed with growing concern. "It was not a secret—I never hid it from you. What is so surprising, little one? Didn't think I could get a pretty girl to lay down for me? Didn't think I was human?"
And yet I could only stare down at the letter, speaking the words while my mind tried to pull out one something else remotely sensible from the tornado of thoughts which had enveloped the place and made clear thinking, cohesiveness, and attentiveness not only impossible but almost silly-seeming if I could have thought that far or in-depth. And in these quick moments as my heart raced and my breath became rapid, as my body convulsed and my eyes were covered by the S which seemed to be propelled eternally into my very spirit, there became nothing but that S all that it had come to stand for, those emotions spiraling sensibility into blackness in a frenzied retreat. As this had come to increase I had lost sight of Slade; the bedroom; the suit itself until just that symbol remained; and soon all I knew was the S and the way my heartbeat seemed to amplify it with each pained and breath-taking beat. I was gripping my chest and did not know it.
I felt a needle thrust into my neck and a warm blackness came where thoughts were soft and there was only calm.
This—how blissful ignorance and his fabled forgetfulness finally came.
0~0 0~0
"You know, you worry me sometimes, Robin," I could hear Slade say, though it was far-away and muted as I laid there in his grip, half-asleep and listening to the sounds of cogs and gears slowly turning, melding with the voice to create a tone that to me became almost soothing. "You would think it would be enough to destroy me that you almost get yourself killed against these other criminals, or that you've got more woman wanting to steal away your youth and spirit than most—and yet you seem so intent to let these silly little nuances of mystery be the death of you. We're going to have to watch that.
"But…you have a lot of nice lady-friends, don't you, speaking on the subject of Joseph? You know if you didn't belong to me I would have said you'd be best to be finished off by one of your other enemies or this crazy heart of yours than any of these women," Slade was almost rambling, though I just barely heard it as it melded into the soothing white noise, while he was dressing me in the custom and grinning suit with his burning insignia, which still fit perfectly and seemed as it was put on me to be anything but years old; and as I lay there half-asleep, he dressed me in it as if he were a parent putting a typical pair of pajamas on their kid, continuing to speak almost absentmindedly as he did. Ignoring my grunts and little sounds of weak protest as my body was disturbed while he pulled on the suit and zipped it up so it was tight on me, he continued to speak slowly, thoughtfully, almost, like myself in those weeks or maybe in that moment right then, not really present there and because of this leaving an odd emptiness in the room which resonated and sounded: "Because—women can be quite cruel, my little one. And I worry when I see you with those girls—that you'll end up with some woman who will steal your money and waste your time and use your body. And—" he pulled the silver utility belt with his weapons with their own haunting letters around my waist and buckled it tightly, making me whine a little, "—unfortunately those kind are more common than you'd think. Something I found funny—the other day I saw Terra run from you when you tried to comfort her when you visited her little false reality, and yet she claims to love you. She's quite a fool if she thinks betraying you was the best way to pick you up." I heard a soft chuckle from within the mask as buckled the collar around my neck, and then proceeded with the bands for my arms, and again there was little I could do in that state of weakness I was enveloped by to protest but groan out my displeasure, to which he finally said, "Relax, Robin. It isn't so bad. You will learn to like it, in time. You're a handsome boy and you'll soon be glad I took you out of those awful rags you were made to wear so that he could look better in comparison to you. But I want you to feel good because that's when your strength is at its greatest—and you know you like how it looks."
"D-don't…t-talk…about him…that way…" I said softly as Slade led me back over to the bed and set me down and then pushed me so I lay before him passively, making me groan again in exhaustion, feeling like I had just climbed a mountain and then done a thousand pushups when I got to the top. I didn't know what it was; if it was the drug in the injection, the probes, my overall fatigue from the hurricane of emotions I experienced, or a combination of all three, but while it was enough to cripple me into submission while Slade dressed me I was not so far-gone that I would not defend the man who became like my father when he was being so blatantly insulted.
"Oh, hush, Robin…you hate him as much as I do." He clipped on the bands that went on my legs and like on my arms and every other part of the suit, made them tight and invasive as if to remind me and assure that I belonged to him and that I would do his bidding and that, above all, there was no getting out of this. Again ignoring my grunts he pulled out a shining and like new pair of boots and slipped them easily on my feet and buckled them.
"T-that's…n-not…true…" I mumbled helplessly, but feeling as though it were my duty to him to defend his honor, as Slade sat me up and pulled out a pair of sleek black gloves, which seemed in that low lighting and to my blurred vision and hazy brain to be a pair of hands which were the hands of Satan himself to reach into my very soul and to rip out the goodness and pureness and everything I had once stood for in one fell swoop; these, simply, were the hands that would define me in the coming days as a servant of Slade and ultimately the Devil and would possess stolen goods to destroy harmony and create disarray, and ultimately would ravage my friends, old and new. And as Slade stood beside me when we observed the destruction, that hand on my shoulder, these would lay at my sides, curled slightly as a symbol of submission and non-hostility toward my master which could be cultivated into adoration in time. And no matter how I protested—these hands would belong to me.
Because the hand commanding these was much too strong for me.
Gently, Slade took my hand and pulled the glove on, and it fit perfectly, caressing softly my fingers and making me feel somehow a feeling of horrible dread and at the same time security and safety in them, that these hands would always have one to meet them in times of hardship and pain and trying emotions. It seemed to feel even better when the band was clipped around the glove, making me feel that strange feeling of total refuge and the ability to disappear within the suit—within Slade. And when Slade did the same with the other hand—I will not lie in saying that for some strange and horrible reason, even in that state of groggy confusion and half-sleep, I realized that it was one of the best feelings I had experienced in the longest time—since things were brighter. And in that moment, they became so; as Slade finished clipping on the band on the other hand, his own lingered there and briefly caressed my hand, with such an uncharacteristic gentleness I became immediately transfixed and any defiance within me was immediately stomped out into the ground like a discarded cigarette butt; and I stared into that eye, glowing in the low light of the bedroom as he caressed my hand and made me feel in that moment that I was where I was meant to be—and made me suddenly want to serve him and to please him like I had once done for my father.
"My little one," he said softly, staring back at me so intently, the gray eye drawing me into its light as it sparkled with that intent, inviting me to fall into the gaze and to explore there; provided me with that same safety I felt from the hands and that touch. "You, my little one, belong to me now—and I would be willing to bet that in time you will see me as the father he never was. You will grow to like this in time and you will stop resisting—and you will learn to like me because unlike him I think you can be my son rather than my servant. You will see, in time."
"You…already…have a son…" I said slowly, still staring into the eye, mesmerized. This hand was slowly and gently, just slightly, rubbing my own.
And I watched the eye narrow. "You mean the little ingrate who I lost my eye for? The uncaring boy who disowned me for fighting a war I wanted no part in? The reason I slaved in a factory for years to come home to criticism and hostility? That I wasn't making enough money? That I wasn't a good father even though I threw my life away at twenty-three for him?...He may be my son, Robin—but if I wanted him, would he be categorized with your poor other friends as subjects for my probes? Would he be reassurance for you?—and, my little one, if you had a father would you have been alone for all these years? Would you have had to constantly prove yourself to everyone to show that you didn't need him? And would you be here with me?"
The hand stroked mine and the eye gleamed as I stared into it; and the words slid out easily as I lingered in my haze: "No, Slade…"
The eye briefly sparkled as he stared back at me, slowly removing his hands and reaching down onto the bed where rested a new mask, with its exaggerated shape of the eyes to match Slade's one single, now comforting like a warm lighthouse on a haunted sea. "That's right, my good little boy," he said, as he brought the mask up to my eyes and slowly and gently smoothed it down, the hands practiced and calculated in their every slightest movement—hands which seemed, in that moment, to be the most reliable to trust with one's life. And I didn't flinch as he put it on me; I didn't even close my eyes. And when my identity was now hidden behind Slade and his hands lingered at the sides of my face, similarly beginning to caress there as we swapped our gazes. "Look at you," he said very softly, and for a moment, if just in my sleepy haze in that one moment, no longer was this man Slade with his cold and dark history; but he was the young and idealistic, Bohemian-type unwilling general with a smooth face and bright eyes, and hair that was young. And in that moment, I was sure he was smiling at me beneath the mask—for once being so vulnerable and readable that in that moment, again, if just in the haze, he seemed like an actual person with an actual soul—seemed, almost, to be my father. My real father.
Forgetfulness. Blissful Ignorance. The sleepy haze and that needle forever became my escape into a world where the eye seemed good and the man with that one eye could have been my father; where the hands were commanding and all-knowing but comforting as their safety trumped knowledge for a more wakeful Robin.
And the needle would soften the S into a reminder of what this S could give me, ultimately, when the head-strong and retro Robin had been beaten and robbed of its integrity and was left in cold reality and unbridled, raw emotions which that Robin had tried so hard to hide.
I wanted a father.
In the haze it became easy—but when I woke up darkness crept swiftly back in as light retreated; polluted by ideas of where I was and who I was and Jericho. Jericho. The retro Robin thought of Jericho in wakeful hours until what could have been was wrecked like chemicals to pure water.
Jericho.
Author's Note:
Okay I actually survived the picture thing-but I will tell you this. I slept with the picture under my pillow and in all honesty-not even lying her, this is balls to the wall serious-it is something I will never forget nor will I do again. I wrote some of this on Sunday and the majority of this tonight, after eating a bunch of pizza and chocolate lava cake and then drinking like eight diet cokes and a Monster at around midnight after I finished watching Zombie land when it was on TV. If I gave more of a shit I might have done a crossover where Slade was Tallahassee and Robin was Columbus and then we got some bitches in as the two stupid girls, but blah, I don't really give a dead moose's last shit. So basically that was my night, now, I did not go to sleep and right now have a coffee and a muffin. Have to go to school in like four hours-oh bob saget!
Anyway, please review the story, let me know what ya think. Until then, a quick, I GIVE A DEAD MOOSES SECOND TO LAST SHHT skit with Robin and Slade since there ain't no way in gd hell that I'm gonna fall asleep now. lol you guys better pitty me cause I pretty lame for what I bout to do.
If you didn't see that moooovie on tv last night then you'd better not read this damn thing:
Slade: okay Robin. Goddamn it, we need to find some f##king twinkies or I'm gonna get really pissed off.
Robin: K (starts doing some squats)
Slade: what the f#ck is wrong with you. there's a twinkie truck right the hell over there.
Robin: just limbering up
Slade: lions aint limber up when dey chase the gazelle
ROBIN: I LIKE THE SCENE WHERE CHRISTIAN DANCES WITH SATINE IN MOULIN ROUGE I WANT TO DO THAT WITH STARFIRE
Slade: this is like what happened to the penguins in the north pole.
Robin: (30 seconds)...there are no penguins in the north pole...
Slade (30 seconds)...you want to see how hard I can hit?
AT THE TWINKIE TRUCK
Slade busts open the truck and a bunch of snowballs fall out
Slade: HOLY S**** (starts stamping on the snowballs)
Robin: I like snowballs
Slade: (30 seconds later) You're an ass****
Later ON AT A GIFT SHOP
Robin is trying on some perfume
Slade: Lancôme Maginifique?
Robin (angry face)... b*****
Slade: you wanna do Raven. that's fine cause she's doing us.
Robin: *sprays him on the back of the head with Lancôme*
Slade whips around 0-0
Robin: Let me start my three part apology by saying that you are a really great person
Slade: shoves Robin into a vase OH BOB SAGET
LATER ON AT BOB SAGETS MANSION (tehheee)
Slade: well I've never been really good at goodbyes so-that'll do pig.
Robin: -_- drives off into a bush on his motorcycle.
HEheheh yeah...ohh god I need to get a life! is this all ive amounted to? starts crying.
Im gonna go watch Moulin rouge.