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One look at her, and it was painfully apparent where her newfound loyalties lie. Robin supposed he only had himself to blame; after all, they’d let her in. Trusted her even. But she’d taken their trust and tainted it with a mark, one that stuck out to Robin like a brand. A calling card.
He should’ve seen this coming.
Robin thought back to their first mission, the one with Slade’s underground worms. Raven had this look on her face, uncertain, like she knew something.
”Everything ok?”
She hesitated; Robin’s worry spiked. “I don’t know,” was her response. “Are you certain it’s safe to have her on the team?”
Robin mulled it for a moment, considering. Then, he said honestly, “I’m not sure, but everyone deserves a second chance.”
He never should’ve given her the opportunity. Why, why was he so stupid?!
His mind flashed back to Red-X briefly. He could hear Slade’s words vibrating in his skull, an ominous warning.
Patience. Trust is easy to destroy, but it takes time to build.
He hadn’t trusted Slade to make good on his word. He hadn’t trusted his friends either, sabotaged them ruthlessly. All for the sake of a selfish objective.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, Robin.
He knew that now. So why was he falling for the same slip-ups? Making the exact same mistakes?
Has Slade taught you nothing? he mentally berated himself, and inwardly recoiled at his own muse.
Terra—or should he start calling her Slade’s new apprentice now?—was leering at him, and for a split second, all Robin could see was Slade staring back, almost lasciviously, as if he could pin him in place with his lucrative gaze. She was elevated on her skewed platform of rock, high above him, her hair flaring wildly, her right eye concealed by a smooth drape of blonde.
“And now,” Terra says coldly, hoisting her boulder high for a crippling blow, pale cerulean eyes incisive and vindictive—just like Slade’s, his voracious mind supplied unhelpfully. “I never want to see your face ever again.”
Robin stares mutely, the looming shadow much too dominant to instigate any and all evasive notions.
She brings the rock crushing upon him—and her arm jerks. The two fighters watch as it sails cleanly over Robin and crumbles to the right in its rather lackluster descent to the ground now that its missed its target.
Robin stills, stunned. Terra mirrors his bewilderment, arm outstretched as Slade forcefully holds the limb through the neurotransmitters overriding her suit. The silence drifts for a minute, but to Robin, it feels like several hours. Static sputters in Terra’s earpiece, and Slade’s velvety voice oozes like syrup, shattering the stretch of stillness.
”Dangerous behavior, Terra,” he purrs. “Nicely done handling the Titans. I must say, I couldn’t have done better myself,” and Robin swore his arch-nemesis was smirking. He feels something twist tightly in his gut, a curl of anger and revulsion. Whether its directed at Slade for violating Terra like this, or her blatant backstab, he doesn't quite know.
Slade’s voice shifts, and it’s so subtle, Robin almost doesn’t pick up the slight inflection, that intoxicating lift coloring his husky baritone.
”And you, Robin,” Slade commends, almost as if he knows he has the right audience, and Robin visibly stiffens, his heart palpitating as time seems to nullify, revolving expressly around him and Slade. “Excellent technique,” the man was continuing, and Robin blanched at the praise, trying to squeeze away the funny feeling of rosy flowers blooming teasingly up his throat.
“It’s rather fascinating to witness, you know. I’m pleased to see you really have learned something from our time together after all.” The boy’s feet are hammered to the ground as he freezes like a mannequin, rigid in the seeping discomfort the man’s complements evoke. He couldn’t focus on Terra—the way she was looking at him in clear alarm. Instead, Robin was entirely entranced by the device lodged in Terra ear.
It was a sick addiction, but the endorphins and dopamine cheered him on, plunging him further into the chasm of deceit as he tried to scrabble his way back to a shrinking light.
In some ways, he wanted the darkness—wanted Slade to drag him down further.
He would rather die than admit that—especially to Slade or Terra—though he had a sinking feeling the mercenary could see through him anyway, see through the lies he told himself at night, see through the denial he constantly barricaded behind.
His gaze glossed over Terra’s, and for a precarious parallel moment, he could see some of him reflected in her, and vice versa.
Slade was still talking, a constant intrusion looming over the clearing, through the broken skylights and spiderweb-crackled drywall. ”A pity you were my apprentice for such a short while, isn’t it Robin? You and I both understand you have endless potential to become uncontainable; unstoppable even.”
The madman’s words echoed clarity, and Robin paused in a numb trace, absorbing the crippling impact slicing like cleavers. Slade praise was a bullet from a gun and his heart was a trigger.
Slade spoke again in that same reveling rise, ”You’re much more than you let on, Robin, you really are.” His tone dipped as if plunged into icy water, carrying a drop of restrained fury. “Willing or not, I intend to make you see that.”
He let the silence sink in, effectively making both parties increasingly uncomfortable before he directed that same icy danger towards his apprentice, rounding his escalating anger on her. ”As for you,” he snarled low, almost losing grip on his temper—a rarity Robin was witness to on only one other occasion. ”I believe a punishment is in order, don’t you agree?”
Terra didn’t dare breathe as her arm was forcefully repositioned behind her hairline. The ground dipped under Robin’s toes, and even though Slade’s rage wasn’t directed upon him, he felt as if he were standing on the thinnest of ice, vying to give way in a moment’s instance.
“Apprentice,” Slade’s voice was quiet, his deathly-edged whisper the epitome of a fault-line about to snap and trigger a magnitude that tipped far past ten. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you just how high I regard Robin’s reverence unequivocally, do I?”
Terra quivered, unable to do much of anything else, her arm straining as the joints in her wrist twisted, veins clearly on the verge of popping. Stray tears leaked from her lashes, slowly overflowing as Slade locked her arm at an unnatural angle with a silent bloodlust.
Waiting games were suicide with Slade; Terra choked out what she hoped was an appeasing answer, finding the effort a struggle to achieve. “No, Master.”
Slade’s pressuring resolve tightens on the screeching limb as bone grinds against bone like a corkscrew drilled haphazardly into a bend and Terra shrieks in protest, the noise long and pitched. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, breaking skin as she tries to hold another scream down. ”Good girl. Consider this a warning,” the man illustrates darkly, his tone plummeting further than the sinking stone sliding through the sides of her splitting spinal cord. “Robin is mine, and mine alone. If I ever see you try and take him away from me again, this strenuous…exercise of ours will feel like nothing more than a routine stretch,” Slade was hissing, his underlying threat frighteningly apparent to both individuals occupying the ruinous remains of what had once been a bustling city of everyday ruckus and chaotic commotion.
Robin stares on, helpless. His eyes are stretched, scrunched at the bridge, blood evaporating from his face as if he’s the one under crippling restraint instead of Terra.
It takes a long lapse of time for Slade’s threat to finally register with Robin, and when it does, his world seems to tip astray. He staggers slightly to the side, throat constricting his senses like a snake squeezing the drainage of energy from a mouse.
”Oh, don’t worry Robin. You did nothing wrong,” Slade’s voice is softer now, much softer, as if he could feel the gravity of Robin’s panic climbing and was trying to placate his fear. ”You held your own against a formidable opponent with a remarkable performance. I wouldn’t dream of punishing you, not ever like this—unless you pushed me to that edge—but we both know you wouldn’t, would you?”
Robin slowly, almost mechanically shook his head, too tongue-tied to utter a word. He tried to formulate a sound, but his vocal cords stuck in his throat without permission as if he’d choked down a mix of mud and glue.
Slade shushed him gently through the intercom, ”Hush, Robin. No need to get so worked up. You did good today; I’d like you to remember that for me, alright?” Entranced by numb terror, Robin mouthed a shaky assent, unable to do much of anything else as the blood shook and froze around his muscles, immobilized in cognitive paralysis. Somehow, the man’s tender reassurance was more frightening, more unnerving than the man’s chilling chastise had ever been.
”Good,” the man soothed gingerly, as if he treasured Robin’s entire existence in the cradle of his timbre, “I’m pleased we understand each other.”
The mercenary paused, seemed to hesitate for the briefest of reasons before he directed his attention to Terra in that same consoling mumble, “I believe an apology is due, my dear,” Slade chided far too gently, “After all, you tried to maim my favorite pupil, now didn’t you?”
Terra said nothing as her lip trembled uncontrollably, features twisted with fright. She was staring at Robin, helplessly pleading, though her eyes pooled with hopeless acceptance in the face of her oncoming sanction.
He desperately wanted to stop this; innocent or guilty, no one deserved to be at Slade’s virtually nonexistent mercy—he knew firsthand just how terrifying and twisted the man really was.
Anything to make the man behind the wheel pause; he just needed to stall Slade as much as he possibly could before he—
Terra gave a sniffling sob as her feet were forced forward, bringing her closer to him. Anyone with a shred of semblance could see the leaking peril, the strain as she tried to hold herself back from taking another step, and another. She had no control in the matter now; and Slade purposefully went out of his way to make sure she couldn’t forget.
“Slade,” Robin tried to steady his voice as he met Terra’s unwilling irises, soaked to the brim in tears as they slipped down her cheeks and past her chin, leaving a stain she couldn’t wipe off.
The man had to be ignoring him. Either that, or he was too immersed in his sadomasochism to consider Robin’s plea.
Robin tried again. ”Slade,” he said, insistent, “please—” His voice cracked, the strength behind crumbling, “—please…stop…”
Terra kneeled before him against her will, head bowed miserably; Robin’s resolve wilted.
Slade wasn’t relenting an inch.
”Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves now, Robin,” Slade’s rumble was much clearer, much closer now. ”This isn’t your consequence, dear child. You do, however, have the privilege for front row seats, and only you alone. You’re much too special, far too perfect for anything less.”
Then Terra’s chin jerked forward and up. Slade held her there in that demoralizing position, seemingly unbothered by her lewd pose. Robin wanted desperately to evade her eyes, though mortification rooted his shriveled stare to her downcast features, hollowed in a sheet of shame and humiliation.
”Robin,” Terra’s invocation wavered, a burning question at the edges of her frayed, fractured countenance. She tried to take a steadying inhale, desperate to get her autonomous question answered before Slade snatched it away. “What…What is he to you?” Her quiet whisper trailed off, uncertain, “You…You and Slade…”
Flinching back slightly as if he could recoil from the pervasive question, Robin shook his head rapidly, eyes wide. He really didn’t want to go there. Hell, he didn’t even know where to begin, it was all so messed up.
Terra went quiet, reclusive as she came to her conclusion. She uttered a silent, “I’m sorry,” before Slade intruded rather abruptly, scaring her out of her wits.
”Speak up, Terra,” he snapped, clearly impatient, the static screech nauseating.
“I’m sorry,” the girl repeated with an empathetic gaze. Robin mirrored her empathy, and, despite everything, a twitch of a faded smile creased the corners of her lips.
Slade ruined the moment within the span of less than five seconds. ”See, that wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”
Terra steeled her resolve, determination spurring behind what she hoped was a neutral gaze. “No, Master,” she replied, the words curt and cutting. Robin silently nodded; a small smile quirked him for a second before it slipped back into an impassive state.
On the other end, Slade went silent for a few heartbeats, and Terra wondered if she’d been too hasty to unleash the beginnings of her defiant streak.
”Good,” Slade smoothly inducted. It was unbeknownst to the duo if he’d let it slide, or stashed it in the back of his mind for further evaluation. He paused, as if contemplating something before adding, ”And Robin?”
The halo of optimism dropped off Robin’s head and swiftly crashed to the floor.
”My offer still stands. I wouldn’t turn you away for the world.”
Robin frowned as he bitterly thought, And I wouldn’t join you for the world, inwardly shivering at the falsehood of such a statement. Not that he would want to join Slade willingly by any means, but his body kept sending him contradicting signals, yearning to let Slade lead him down a darker path. He wisely opted to keep this snarky comeback to himself. Still, relief enveloped him openly; Terra had not been incriminated.
”Silent today, are we?” Slade chuckled, “My, my, Robin; you must not be in a chipper mood. Or is it you’re contemplating my offer?”
He didn’t intend to response, but words went spiraling forth on the tip of his tongue before he could bite down on them. “I almost died mostly thanks to you,” the boy flashed back flatly, “so forgive me if I’m not exactly in the mood to have a conversation with you right now, Slade.”
Slade hummed, ”And yet, we are conversing. Checkmate.”
Robin groaned softly in defeat; Terra just managed to stop herself from laughing at his expense, taking note that the man had now dropped the controller to her suit; Terra tested, discovering she could roll her shoulders back.
Robin mouthed again, Baby steps. Build his trust. It’s the only way to stab him in the back. Slade thinks he can’t be exploited, but you are his undoing, just as I was when he blackmailed me. Remember that.
Terra nodded imperceptibly, seeming to understand. They both broke apart, making the movement seem natural so Slade wouldn’t suspect anything out of the ordinary.
”Well,” Slade began with a hint of sadistic amusement, dispersing the silent interaction, ”This was rather a touching reunion, Robin, don’t you think so?”
Robin just pursed his lips and stared with a silent shrug of his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest as he leveled a glare that spoke volumes what he thought about their acquaintance.
Slade hummed factually, ”It’s refreshing to know you haven’t changed a bit.” His voice was inviting, light with a lift of humor.
Something eased in Robin’s heart, inexplicable. His expression quirked, a hint of a smile slipping through his face, and he ducked his head to hide it, trying to stomp out the fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest like a rose.
Slade was saying something again. Terra hesitated, shifting her gaze to his.
Go, Robin motioned silently. Terra drew away with a slight nod, starting her route back to Slade’s hideout, a new purpose and willpower driving her forward.
Robin watched as she left, silently debating his next course of action. He couldn’t let his fascination with Slade deter him from what truly mattered. He needed to find his friends.
Terra could handle herself, Robin knew; she’d find her way out. Slade couldn’t control her forever; something would have to give sooner or later, and Robin had a belief the man’s overconfidence would ultimately become his undoing, just as it had during his own experience.
Robin started off through the deserted city, footfalls heavy, yet weightless as they crunched on the gritty main road, littered with a mass of little stones, cracked with splintered concrete: some of it upheaved from the force of earth-caked walls and steep slopes, twisting in tight turns and corners, as if someone rode a rockslide and coughed up what remained.
My offer still stands, Slade’s inner voice reminded silkily, I wouldn’t turn you away for the world...
I still wouldn’t join you for the world.
Even so, his inner declaration sifted apart at the seams, the silence carrying a seeping channel of doubt. Robin couldn’t keep lying to himself. If he truly considered…
Maybe. I just might—
He drew to a still, forced the thought back, numbly started forward again. Slade was just trying to get in his head; he always was. Robin wondered—not for the first time—just how he did it. Maybe if he could learn the same tricks, he could pull one up on Slade.
A grimace settled in. Maybe not. Not if it meant seeking him out, not if it meant bowing to his servitude once again.
He sighed, drained from the culmination of events. Maybe he was fooling himself, fighting a hopeless endeavor to vanish from Slade’s line of sight; of fire, thinking he could ever outpace him. Hunters seldom stray from their targets; mercenaries abide to their chosen contracts; in some occupations, it was far more dangerous to curve from one’s initial pursuit.
Robin was many things. A self-sacrificial hero who leaned on a fine line of gray morals; darkness consumed him from within while light enveloped him from around. A beacon of hope. A constant target.
That voiced nagged him again, a jarring prod whistling through the crumpled ruin surrounding, closing in from all directions, seemingly everywhere at once.
You could be so much more, Robin. Whatever happens, I wouldn’t turn you away for the world.
Robin’s shoulders sagged in dilemma as he picked his way through the remnants, a personification of a ghost town reflected by the withstanding quiet of shallow air. Dust corralled him with every inhale as it lingered its shroud around his city, and he lamented whatever fallout hung beyond the web of destruction and chaos that seemed to dig like a scalpel ripping tendons from sliced skin. Slade’s baritone continuously caressed every dark corner of his mind, a vehement vice.
You can’t delay the inevitable forever, Robin. You can’t fight it. No one can. No matter how dutiful you appear, how resilient you stand, how quick you are to anger and deny your desire, how many miles you march in your defiant crusade, every purposeful step you take will bring you closer and closer to me.
Robin grit his teeth with a spiteful snarl, jarred in a sea of bruising rage as he fumbled to shove the mirage of Slade’s taunt away. The man’s shadow kept haunting him; it didn’t matter how fast he paced. He couldn’t outrun the intoxicating voice in his head no matter how tightly his fists clenched at his sides.
Like so many times before, the raw anger betrayed a seed of fear; an uncertainty he couldn’t ever seem to swallow back.
And once you come back to me, I have no intentions of ever letting you go. You’re mine, and mine alone.
Robin could imagine his Cheshire grin as it split the dark, beckoning him like the moon.
With a rigid chill, his confidence slowly crumbled.