Forgotten Bonds – Chapter Two

Chapter Two
Into the Haunt

September 12th, 2008. Friday, 8:00 am.

Robin groaned as wakefulness began to flow through his consciousness. His head throbbed with a dull pain, along with his stomach. Another groan emitted from his throat as he struggled to move.

“Awake yet, Robin?”

Robin stiffened, his mind snapping fully awake; sharp and clear. That was Slade’s voice. Somehow, Robin was with Slade – hadn’t the man showed up suddenly in his room? What about the other Titans? Had they been captured, too? Or worse?

Then, a terrible panic filled Robin’s chest.

What if Slade had taken his mask off? He had been unconscious around a nut case – there was nothing stopping the man from ripping off his mask and seeing his identity. With a nervous swallow, Robin brought a hand slowly to his face.

His mask was still there.

Relief sagged throughout his body; strengthening him. He was still Robin. Dick was protected behind the safety of his mask. Slade didn’t know who he was and Bruce’s identity wasn’t endangered. He was still safe.

Still safe.

Robin’s eyes slipped open. The lighting was dim; too dark for his groggy eyes to see through. He tried to push himself up and found that he was lying on the floor. Robin also noticed that he was still in his pajamas. He sat up with his legs curled beneath him as he took in his surroundings; his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He supported his weight with one arm.

The sound of clinking gears constantly rang above Robin’s head. He looked up to see endless amounts of the sound’s source. They were bigger and more elaborate than anything he had ever seen before. The room itself was wide and expansive; the lighting darkened in an aura of deep brown. Along the far wall was a simple door. Other than that, Robin could see no other possible exits.

He wasn’t in Titans Tower any more.

“What do you think?” asked Slade. Robin turned his head towards the direction of his voice. Slade’s legs were crossed as he sat on a high seat, which gave Robin a strong impression of a king on his throne. Robin scowled at the sight. Surrounding the man was a large number of controls; a blank computer screen stretched the width of the room behind him. Slade opened his arms wide, as if in display.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Robin. I hope you’ll make yourself at home – since this will be your home as well for quite a long while.”

“This isn’t my home,” growled Robin, getting to his feet and preparing himself for a fight. “My home is Titans Tower.”

“Was your home, Robin,” said Slade, his voice silky smooth. “This is your new home.”

“As if I’ll ever—”

“You know, Robin; I’ve been watching you for quite some time,” said Slade, ignoring Robin’s protests. Slade leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee and supporting his head in his hand. His other arm lay easily over his lap. “You are an interesting child, indeed.”

Huh?

Robin’s stance relaxed slightly. The man wasn’t moving from his seat. He looked so relaxed; almost tranquil. Wasn’t the man going to attack? Why was he just sitting there like they were discussing the weather? Slade had to be totally insane – completely lost it. Wasn’t he the enemy?

“What are you talking about? Are you some kind of stalker or something?” demanded Robin.

Slade chuckled, shaking his head once in his amusement.

“In a way, I suppose,” said Slade with a light shrug, his tone casual. “It’s the only way I know everything. Knowledge is power, after all. When I know more than you, Robin, I have more power than you – perhaps even over you, at times. Such as now; you are confused with my intentions and will continue to be so until I reveal them to you. Thus, you are in my control.”

“Enough games, Slade,” hissed Robin, hardening his stance once again. “What do you want? Why have you brought me here? Where are the other Titans?”

Slade sighed and shook his head, leaning to rest against the back of his chair. He rested his elbows on the arms, lifting his hands in front of his chest; fingertips touching fingertips.

“So impatient, aren’t you, Robin? I keep telling you: you need to learn patience.”

“Shut up! Quit lecturing me!” shouted Robin, angrily slicing a hand through the air. “Don’t you ever lecture me. You’re a criminal. You have no right.”

“Oh, I have every right, Robin,” said Slade, his eye narrowing through the slit of his mask. “As of right now, I am in charge of you. Your wellbeing depends on me. You belong to me, now.”

“…What?” Robin’s voice caught in his throat as the shock washed over him. What was Slade playing at? It almost sounded as if… the man wanted to take him in. Was this suppose to be a joke?

No. There was no way. Slade just wanted to control Robin. He just wanted to control his enemy. There was no way Slade actually had any purpose other than shutting Robin and the Teen Titans down, so he could have his way with the city.

“Are you confused, Robin?” asked Slade, his tone dropping to become soft. There was another low chuckle. “You probably think I’m just like all the other villains you’ve met before. What, were you thinking I wanted to control or destroy the city? The world, perhaps?”

Robin didn’t answer. He shifted his weight uneasily. There was something in the man’s tone that unsettled Robin. Slade sounded so calm as he spoke. He didn’t sound like the usual criminals that the Teen Titans faced every day; those ones who loved to monologue over their great evil plans like a broken antique record.

Slade sounded almost… normal.

Sane, even.

“Why would I want to control the world, hm? Or destroy it? What a waste. I have no desire for that. No, my desires are a little simpler. A little more… personal.” Slade leaned forward, his elbows shifting to his legs; his fingers lacing together. He rested his chin on his intertwined fingers, his grey blue eye piercing deeply into Robin’s eyes. His voice went stiller and softer.

“I want an apprentice. An heir, so to speak. A moldable child to follow after my footsteps. I have much to teach, much to offer – but, I am only willing to pass such valuable information onto the perfect child.”

Robin held his breath, unable to breathe for fear of making a single sound that would shatter the softness he felt within Slade’s tone. He was frozen in his smooth and quiet speaking; the man’s voice dangerously captivating and enticing.

“And Robin, I’ve chosen you,” said Slade in a deep whisper, his voice filled with the sound of a smirk. He leaned back slowly, folding his arms and lifting his chin slightly as if giving Robin a moment to register his words.

Robin let out a low sigh, breathing deeply; releasing the stillness that he had felt during Slade’s words. Silence stood between them. The only sounds that filled the air were the clinking of the gears so high above.

It was… flattering, Robin supposed, that this man wanted him as an apprentice. It seemed that Robin had caught his eye, even though he hadn’t been trying to. And now the man wanted him to be – what had he said? – an heir to follow in his footsteps. Did this man really want to give Robin everything he had? That’s what being an heir meant, after all.

But why? Why Robin?

“Why… me?” asked Robin; his voice soft. Slade tilted his head to the side, as if considering the question.

“Oh, Robin,” started Slade, sounding deeply regretful, yet managing to sound condescending as well. “Do you not know your own worth? You’re like a raw gemstone. So much potential, so much ability, so much to offer. But without the proper master to polish the gem, such beauty is just wasted – if not destroyed in the hands of an amateur.”

Robin’s mouth opened slightly; taken aback by the man’s description. Did he really think Robin had that much potential? His heart quickened at the compliment. He closed his eyes behind his mask, trying to calm down his racing heart.

It had been a long time since anyone had said something like that to him. Sure, his friends said things to build each other’s self confidence up all the time, but nothing like this. Definitely nothing like this. Not since his parents’ deaths had he ever heard something so complimentary.

It was almost something a parent would say to their child.

Robin opened his eyes, taking a deep calming breath. It was really too bad Slade was a psychopath. Really too bad and such a waste as well. Robin just might’ve taken the man up on his offer if he’d been a normal person.

But, of course, the man wasn’t – a normal person, that is.

“Slade…” started Robin. “I’m… flattered by your offer. But I’m sorry. I’ll have to decline. I can’t be your heir. I’m Robin, leader of the Teen Titans. There’s no room in there to be Slade’s heir.”

Robin took a deep breath and looked straight into Slade’s visible eye.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Slade.”

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

Only the sound of the gears filled the air as they stared at each other.

Then, Slade chuckled darkly. “Really, Robin; you truly are quite adorable.” Robin stiffened at the man’s silky tone. “What makes you think I’m giving you a choice in this matter?”

Unbidden panic rose in Robin’s chest, his heart rate climbing once again. What more did the man want? It wasn’t like he could keep Robin here. He gritted his teeth and glared at the masked man.

“What about the other Titans? You can’t just keep me here. I refuse to be your apprentice!”

“Rest assured, your little friends are safely tucked away in their little tower. I did nothing to harm them,” said Slade with a light shrug. Then, the air grew heavy around him in deadly seriousness. “But you will be my apprentice, Robin. Like I’ve said: you don’t have a choice in this matter. You are too young to make such an important choice on your own. You will be my apprentice – whether you like it or not. You’ll get used to it, sooner or later. Sooner is preferable, but—” There was a light chuckle. “—not necessary.”

“I won’t ever like it,” snapped Robin hotly. “You can’t keep me here!”

“Oh, please; try and escape, Robin,” said Slade with a wave of his hand. “I can assure you – you won’t find the exit. But I promise you, I don’t look lightly on such willfulness. You will be punished if you try to escape.”

Robin glared at Slade in silence, his eyes darting to the door. Then, suddenly, he bolted to it. Slade didn’t stop him, only chuckling lightly. Robin gritted his teeth at the man’s smugness. He burst through the door, suddenly slipping to a stop in surprise at the drastic change in décor.

He was inside a brightly lit kitchen. The room was decently sized with clean white walls; elegant wooden cabinets sat above a rich marble countertop across the room. Robin could see a number of appliances like a stove, a dishwasher, a fridge, and a freezer. There was a round table with three chairs; the table set with silverware as if waiting for a meal.

In the back of the kitchen, directly ahead of Robin, was a dark, open hallway that led towards the back; the darkness hiding any possibility of knowing what lay beyond. There was a closed door on the left of it. Next to the door, and close to Robin, was a large beautiful dish cabinet; glass doors revealing many pieces of delicate china.

It looked so normal – like a real kitchen in a real house, complete with the homey feeling.

Such a contrast to the room Robin had just left.

An older man with pepper grey hair was sitting in one of the chairs at the table, a newspaper in his hands. He looked to be well in his sixties, yet his face hadn’t quite fallen with too many wrinkles. He looked up at Robin; setting the newspaper down when he saw him.

“Ah, there you are,” said the old man in a warm tone, as if he had been waiting for Robin. He stood up and motioned to one of the places at the table. “Come, sit down. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

“Who are you?” demanded Robin, unmoving, as the old man walked to the stove. The old man grabbed a frying pan from off the stovetop and turned slightly to look at Robin, an eyebrow raised.

“Right to the point, aren’t you? Ah, well. I’m William Wintergreen; Slade’s butler and a very old friend.”

Before Robin could say anything in return, the old man continued with a stern look on his aged face.

“Let’s set some ground rules, shall we? I may be the butler around here, but I’m not the maid. You will clean up after yourself. Put dirty dishes into the dishwasher when you’re through with them. Since I do the cooking, I expect you to be present – on time, I might add – at every meal when served. If you are in need of a snack, you need only to ask and I shall prepare you one.”

“I’m not staying here,” said Robin swiftly. Wintergreen raised his eyebrow again, a light wry smile tugging at the side of his mouth. He walked to the table and began to scoop some eggs from the pan onto each plate.

“Well, that’s debatable, now isn’t it?”

“Why do you work for Slade, Wintergreen? Don’t you know he’s a—”

Robin’s tirade was stopped suddenly when a sharp cuff came at the back of his head. Robin hissed and placed a hand over the spot, turning his head to see Slade standing behind him. The man’s narrowed eye looked greatly displeased.

“That’s Mr. Wintergreen to you, boy. You need to show some respect.”

“I don’t need to do anything here!” cried Robin. “I need to go home.”

“You are home,” said Slade, his tone dripping with silk. Robin could’ve sworn the man had a smirk lifting his visible eye.

“This isn’t my home and you know it,” snapped Robin, glaring irritably at him.

“Would the two of you stop already?” said Wintergreen, sounding exasperated and annoyed. “Argue after breakfast, why don’t you? It’s getting cold.”

Slade sighed softly and nodded, taking a seat without another word or glance towards Robin.

Robin didn’t move.

“There’s no way I’m eating anything that you people serve. You’ll probably drug me.”

“How dare you, young man!” cried Wintergreen, sounding appalled; a frown darkening his face. “I would never drug a child. The nerve of you! Sit down and eat already, you impertinent boy. You’re much too thin as it is.”

“Sit down, Robin. Do as Will says,” said Slade, his tone turning dangerous.

“Quit acting like this is permanent!” shouted Robin. “I’m not staying here. Get that through your thick heads!”

Slade stood swiftly. Before Robin could react, a hard slap cracked across his cheek with such force that he crashed to the floor. The pain stung viciously and throbbed through his entire face. The blow made him feel lightheaded as he tried to look back up at the man that towered over him.

“You will learn some respect, boy,” said Slade coldly. “I won’t tolerate such insolent behavior.”

Robin growled, the sound vibrating his throat. With a cry of anger, Robin rushed upwards to punch Slade. The man easily grabbed Robin’s fist in his hand, stopping the attack.

“Pitiful, Robin,” chided Slade. He threw Robin to the side, making him fly backwards to smash into the countertop. The cabinets rattled from the force as Robin’s back cracked along the edge. He gasped from the terrible sharp pain that shot up his spine. He had to support his weight with a hand on the countertop, his vision filled with blinding stars from the pain.

“Ah—! Slade, not in the kitchen,” scolded Wintergreen, putting his hands on his hips. “The food—the china! That stuff is rare and you know I hate wasting food. You’re too rough with the boy. Just sit down and eat already, will you?”

Slade chuckled lightly. “I’m sorry, Will.”

Robin couldn’t defend himself from the iron grip that clamped around his neck. The wind suddenly stopped flowing and he gasped for breath as he was lifted into the air. His hands automatically clutched uselessly against the terrible hold; twisting his hands over Slade’s wrist.

“But we’ll be taking this into the other room, won’t we, Robin?”

A terrible chill slid down Robin’s spine, like an arctic shard of ice; shivering him to his very soul.

“Oh, very well,” sighed Wintergreen in exasperation. “Do hurry, would you?”

“Of course,” said Slade. He walked towards the door with Robin dangling for breath in his iron grip. He snapped his fingers and, once the door swung open automatically, he harshly tossed Robin through the doorway. The force of the throw sent Robin flying; skidding along the floor onto his back a few feet away.

The clinking gears joined in the sound of Robin’s gasps as he heaved a breath of air through his mouth. He coughed a few times and rubbed his throat with a hand, trying to rub away the feeling of the man’s powerful hand from his skin. Slade calmly walked through the door after him.

“Slade, do us both a favor and don’t kill the boy,” said Wintergreen dryly. “I only cook breakfast once a day, so please hurry up.” With that, the door closed behind Slade.

“Ha… ha… your butler…” gasped Robin, struggling for air, yet still feeling the need to throw a sarcastic bite at Slade. “He’s a nagging one, isn’t he?”

He paid for it.

A metal tipped boot swiftly connected with Robin’s side. He couldn’t hold back the cry of pain that burst from his mouth. He rolled onto his side; his arms clutching his stomach and his legs curling close to his chest.

“Lesson number one: disrespect is not tolerated. You will be respectful to me and to Mr. Wintergreen at all times,” said Slade. “Now, get up on your feet.”

Robin attempted to do so – not in any effort to obey the man, but in an act of self preservation. Groveling on the floor at the feet of one’s enemy was not a smart position to be in.

Not a smart position at all.

Using his anger and hatred towards his enemy as a burst of energy, Robin forced himself up onto his hands and knees. His stomach still raged in pain and his breathing still hadn’t normalized, but he managed to stand up; wavering unsteadily somewhat in his stance. He faced Slade, readying himself for any attack from the man.

Slade clasped his hands behind his back as he tilted his head to the side slightly, considering Robin for a long quiet moment.

“Are you out of shape?” asked Slade finally, a slight incredulous tone littering his voice. Robin growled and darted forward, his entire body pumping with the desire of punching this hated masked man into the floor.

Robin’s fist was caught in Slade’s hand; Robin spun his leg into the air, aiming for the man’s head. It was blocked; Slade grabbed Robin’s ankle before it connected to his head. Robin growled and tried to jerk out of his grasp; his fist and leg strongly captured within the iron grip of Slade. The man let go of his ankle and pulled Robin’s fist forward; sending him flying over the man’s shoulder to tumble to the floor. Robin rolled through the toss and jumped to his feet, whirling around to face Slade.

The man had disappeared.

Robin’s head darted around nervously, trying to catch a glimpse of Slade before he attacked. Suddenly, a blow smashed into the left side of Robin’s head and stars erupted in his sight. A growl ripped from Robin’s throat as he punched wildly towards the direction of the previous blow.

Once again, his fist was caught in Slade’s hand.

“Stop fighting with your anger. Control your emotions,” instructed Slade. “Let your fists do the job for you. If you fight with your anger, then your enemy can easily use it against you.”

“Shut up!” shouted Robin. He sent his other fist towards Slade’s face, but was caught in the man’s other hand.

“You’re not listening to me, Robin,” chided Slade, sounding amused and somewhat exasperated. “If you don’t listen, you’re never going to have a chance against me; let alone win.”

“Just—shut—up!” hissed Robin, kicking Slade in the stomach with the flat of his foot. Slade’s grip weakened and Robin wrenched his fists away, twisting around to land another kick against the man. It was easily evaded. A blow came from below, punching Robin directly in the pit of his stomach.

Robin felt all the wind leave him.

He fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath; wheezing heavily. Robin’s fists clenched as the anger began to pour through his veins.

He was totally out of his league. He could feel it – he was seriously outmatched by Slade. The man hadn’t shown this much skill before. Robin gritted his teeth furiously. Slade had been holding back all this time with him – he must’ve been. That psycho-jerk had been holding back in every battle with him!

Well, now that just pissed Robin off.

With an infuriated growl of rage, Robin leapt off the ground and darted towards Slade. He was so angry that the man was messing with him. Slade wasn’t taking him seriously. Well, Robin was just going to give the psychopath something to be serious about.

Robin fought like a ferocious animal, sending endless attacks toward any part of Slade he could throw his fist or foot at. Slade calmly blocked each attack with ease. This only sent Robin into a deeper fury. Robin leapt into the air, twisting his body into a leaping kick towards the man’s face.

Robin’s leg was caught midair and he was left dangling upside down in Slade’s grip. Robin swayed in the air for a moment as the blood began to rush to his head.

“I thought I told you to stop attacking with your anger,” said Slade, irritation filling his tone.

“Quit lecturing me!” cried Robin, flailing slightly in his precarious position. “Just—stop already!”

“Robin, it’s my job to lecture and teach you.”

“You are not my teacher!” shouted Robin, sending his free leg into Slade’s side. He heard a light grunt from Slade and he couldn’t hold back the smirk of satisfaction of landing a hit on this irritating man. But it didn’t last as he felt Slade’s knee connect with his stomach. Robin cried out before he was thrown to the side onto the ground. Robin groaned as he struggled against the floor to move.

“I am your teacher now. And you will learn from me,” snapped Slade. Then, there was a soft sigh and the shake of a head. “I’m surprised at you, Robin. I don’t know how you’ve been winning all your battles. You must have a lot of luck. I admit, your technique is decent, but easily overcome by any halfwit who knows a sliver of what he’s doing.”

Robin clenched his fist and pounded the ground with it, absolutely frustrated by Slade’s demeaning words. He heard a sigh from Slade as the man came to stand over him.

“Really, Robin,” said Slade, another sigh escaping as he spoke. “I have much to offer you; if you only swallow back that annoying pride of yours and think for one second, you’d realize my words make sense.”

“Stop. Lecturing. Me,” snarled Robin slowly in a soft, deadly whisper.

“What was that, boy?” returned Slade, his tone going dangerously dark.

“I said: stop lecturing me!” shouted Robin, leaping upward after he spoke. He flipped backwards, supporting his weight with his hands as he kicked upward. He felt his shoeless foot connect with his target. Still on his hands, Robin twisted his body to swing another kick – which connected with a light twang of sound. Robin pushed off his hands and leapt to his feet, crouching on the ground, before he jumped upward with a clenched fist.

A leg smashed into the side of Robin’s stomach; the force of the blow sent him flying aside with a cry. He landed on the ground once before bouncing in the air; skidding along the floor a few feet before he landed again. There was a moment before his body settled. Robin groaned in pain, rolling onto his side as he pushed himself up. Another kick to his stomach sent Robin flying to the side. He smashed into the wall with his back, before collapsing face down onto the floor. He groaned against its cold surface; pain ravaging his side.

“I wonder,” murmured Slade from right above Robin. “How long it will take for the lesson to settle into that thick head of yours!”

“Enough already!” came the angry sound of Wintergreen’s voice. Robin struggled to look up. When he managed it, he saw the older man with his arms folded; leaning against the doorframe and looking extremely cross.

“Slade, do you know how eggs taste after being reheated too many times? Like cardboard. I, for one, dislike that taste and I’m positive you will as well. Do your training after you eat. That’s all I ask. You can’t think clearly with an empty stomach – either of you. Besides, the boy’s much too thin to miss meals and I won’t have a starved child in this house.”

Robin felt his face flush, the heat flooding to his ears. That was the second time the older man mentioned his size. It wasn’t his fault he was naturally slender. He was an acrobat – the size came with the profession.

Slade didn’t move for a long moment. Robin could feel the anger emanating from the man – all directed towards him; he was sure of it. Robin struggled to sit up, sharp pain flaring throughout his stomach. In the heat of the fight, he hadn’t noticed the layer of sweat that had accumulated on his skin. His breathing was heavy and it hurt to expand his lungs all the way.

Then, Slade turned away from Robin, motioning with a hand to follow him, before walking past Wintergreen through the door into the kitchen. Robin knew there was no fighting it right now, seeing as he was injured at the moment. He felt a trickle of sweat slide down his left temple and he took a hand to wipe it away. When he was done, he saw a smear of blood on the back of his hand.

Wonderful.

Robin groaned as he struggled to stand up. Slade really did a number on him. The man hadn’t held back – or at least, that’s what Robin thought. At that moment, Robin was no longer sure what to make of the man. He could be far stronger than what he had exhibited in their fight. If he was stronger…

Robin didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

He placed a hand on the wall for support and slipped upwards to stand on his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as a wave of sharp, throbbing pain rippled through his body.

Oh, this couldn’t be good.

Gritting his teeth, Robin walked slowly towards the open door, trying hard to ignore the sharp pain that kept biting into his side as he breathed. Wintergreen stood in the doorway, waiting for Robin. When he reached him, the older man looked him over with a critical eye.

“Dear me, you look like road kill,” commented Wintergreen dryly. Robin grumbled incoherencies in reply. Wintergreen held up a damp cloth in his hand before placing it lightly on Robin’s bleeding temple. Robin hissed as the cold cloth stung his wound.

“Keep it there,” instructed Wintergreen. Robin took the cloth and wordlessly obeyed. He figured staying silent and listening would be better than griping at him. The old man was obviously trying to help and Robin could see concern within those aged hazel green eyes.

However, Robin couldn’t hold back the gasp of surprise and embarrassment when the old man lifted his pajama shirt.

“H—hey!” protested Robin, wincing in pain as he tried to push his shirt back down. “Wha—what are you doing?”

“Stop struggling, child, and let me see the damage,” said Wintergreen, sounding exasperated as he pushed Robin’s hands away. “Lift your shirt up, would you?”

Tentatively, Robin raised his shirt above his chest level. Robin’s eyes widened as he saw fresh bruises beginning to form in numerous patches. There were also some older looking bruises, no doubt from his encounter with Slade in the Tower.

Wintergreen pressed lightly with his fingers near Robin’s ribcage. Robin was surprised by the cry of pain that escaped his mouth and he bit his lip, hard, in the attempt to hold back any more outbursts. The pain was terribly sharp and the throbbing intensified after Wintergreen touched the spot. It had been quite a long while since Robin had an injury like this. He rarely ever got hurt since moving to Jump City.

After all, villains just couldn’t hold their own against the Teen Titans – not to mention Jump City villains were so pathetic it wasn’t even funny.

Besides Slade, of course.

“It’s all right, child,” said Wintergreen, his voice filled with kindness. “Don’t hold back. You’ll split your lip like that.” He turned to glare at Slade, who was calmly sipping from his mug at the table through an opening in his mask. “Did you break this child’s ribs?”

Robin tried to ignore the blow to his ego at the word ‘child’.

“I might’ve,” said Slade.

“Might’ve?” started Wintergreen incredulously. “I dare say you have and more than one, I think. This isn’t good. He’ll take weeks to heal these.”

Robin got the distinct impression of a doting grandfather as he watched the way Wintergreen talked and moved. The old man seemed genuinely concerned for Robin’s wellbeing, which was more than he could say for Slade – obviously. But Robin was surprised by the familiarity that Wintergreen had with Slade. It reminded Robin of Alfred and Bruce at times; although, Alfred was a bit warmer than Wintergreen. There was a certain feeling of ‘no nonsense’ coming from the older man that made Robin feel a bit wary of Wintergreen.

Still, Robin preferred Alfred for the obvious reason that he wouldn’t be in this position then. He’d be back in Gotham City; safe from the hands of a psychopath. But Robin was here in Jump City and in Slade’s kitchen; within the hands of a man who could do whatever he wanted to him.

A certain level of helplessness began to fill Robin’s chest.

Slade gave Wintergreen a light shrug as he brought his mug to his mouth again. Robin caught a glimpse of a white goatee around the edges of his lips.

“You know what to give him,” said Slade.

“That doesn’t mean—” Wintergreen stopped mid sentence, before letting out a long sigh. He clicked his tongue irritably and said grudgingly, “All right.”

He patted Robin lightly on the arm. “Wait at the table and I’ll bring you a… pain killer.”

Wintergreen walked out of the kitchen and down the darkened hallway. Robin slowly made his way to a chair – unfortunately one next to Slade – and settled into it; huffing slightly in frustration. On the table in front of him was a plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Slade’s plate had the same thing, while the other plate had the appearance of being recently finished. Robin noticed that his plate was slightly overflowing in comparison to Slade’s plate. Robin couldn’t stop lifting his eyebrow dubiously.

Did the man really think he – Robin, Richard Grayson; ward of the billionaire Bruce Wayne – was starving to death?

“Eat, Robin,” said Slade smoothly, but the tone of his voice was deadly straight on one thing: ‘Do as I say or else.’

Robin held back a growl and grabbed his fork without a word, picking at his food resentfully. If this man thought he could just keep Robin here, then he had another thing coming. There was no way Robin was sticking around – he would escape. He had to no matter what. There had to be an exit somewhere. It was ridiculous for Slade to think he could trick Robin into thinking there wasn’t a door out of here. Seriously, what residence didn’t have a door?

Surely the man knew Robin was just a little more intelligent than that.

“Food is meant to be eaten, not played with,” scolded Slade. Robin slammed his fork down onto the plate; the metal clattering against the china surface. He pitted a fierce glare at the man, who was calmly eating his breakfast.

“You know what: shut it, Slade,” snapped Robin. “Quit telling me what to do. You’re not in charge of me, you’re not my teacher, you’re not my mentor, and you’re sure as heck not my father. So, just shut it.”

The slap that cracked across his cheek wasn’t as strong as the one earlier, but it still hurt terribly. Robin bit his bottom lip in pure hatred and aggravation, putting the back of his hand to the stinging cheek. Swiping his cheek once, he glared at Slade; wishing he had the energy and power to strangle Slade for just one minute.

One minute wouldn’t kill the man, after all.

“Keep it up, Robin,” said Slade in a terribly frightening tone. “There are still plenty of bones left to break in your body, and no one to hear your screams.”

Chills went down Robin’s spine.

This man was serious – deadly serious. He meant business; that much was apparent. Robin’s heart began to thump rapidly against his chest. It was rare when Robin felt fear. There had been a few times when he had gone on patrol with Batman that he had felt that terrible oppressive feeling of pure terror in his heart from a criminal. Very few men managed that fear with Robin.

Slade was now one of those men.

Robin squirmed in his seat under the dark look that Slade was giving him. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once. Slade set his fork down lightly onto the plate and devoted his entire attention to Robin; resting his elbows onto the table’s surface as he gazed over his intertwined fingers. Robin felt another shiver go down his spine – like icy water sliding over his skin.

“You seem to still be under the impression that you’re an adult and as such may act like one. Let me correct this assumption: you are not – you are a child,” said Slade slowly, emphasizing his last sentence carefully.

“I’m not a child!” snapped Robin. “Stop talking down to me, Slade. Geez, I’ve fought crime for seven years now. I’m not just some little kid.”

“If you’re not an adult or a child, what are you, then? A duck, perhaps?” Slade tilted his head slightly and Robin got the distinct impression that the man was smirking beneath his mask. “No, a little birdie, hm?” suggested Slade slyly.

“I’m not a child,” hissed Robin through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but you are; and as such, you don’t have the wisdom your elders do.”

“I don’t want any of your wisdom,” growled Robin, his temper flaring from within his chest. Words plunged from his mouth in his frustration and irritation. “I’ve told you that. Can’t you get that through that head of yours or is that steel mask blocking the blood to your brain?”

Oh, he shouldn’t have said that.

The instant the insult fell from his lips, he wished he could take it back. Fear took over his body as he cowered before the infuriated man next to him. Robin thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest. Slade stood up slowly, his chair scraping against the tile flooring.

Holy Eiffel Tower, the man was tall.

Robin fell backwards off the side of the chair, his legs on the seat. He scuttled away; the chair toppling over onto its back. Slade’s presence was terrifying. In that moment, Robin thought the man was going to kill him. He could just feel the fury emanating from the man’s core.

Slade harshly kicked the chair aside. It smashed into the wall; the top of the chair splintering slightly. Robin’s thumping heart was pounding so furiously against his chest, he thought it would collapse from its intensity. He had to get away. Slade was going to kill him – he was sure of it. Robin pushed his feet against the tile floor, trying to back away from him. His sock covered feet slipped beneath his urgency and he didn’t put much distance between him and his horrifying enemy.

Slade took one stride towards Robin.

“Wait—Slade—I’m—I didn’t—” stammered Robin, nearly petrified before the man. Slade bent down and backhanded Robin across the face; the pain almost blinding him for a moment. Then, with a terrible vice grip, Slade clamped his hand around his neck, dragging him to his feet. For the second time that morning, Robin gasped for breath as his windpipe was obstructed. He could feel himself being lifted slightly into the air, the balls of his feet barely touching the floor.

“Now, I understand this new situation is… difficult… to say the least,” started Slade in a low, sinister tone. Robin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as another shiver went down his back. “But you’re an intelligent kid – you learn pretty fast. I’ll be lenient with you if you merely apologize for your atrocious behavior.”

Robin gasped, struggling to breathe in spite of the chocker hold on his throat. His brain wasn’t working correctly. He was going to die – he was sure of it. Choked to death by a masked psychopath. Apologizing seemed impossible.

“What is going on here?” questioned Wintergreen in an even, yet slightly annoyed tone. Robin managed to turn his gaze to the older man, who was standing at the entrance of the hallway. He had a syringe in his hand.

“Just waiting for a little apology from my dear apprentice,” said Slade, his grey blue eye sending a hard glare at Robin. Wintergreen appeared content with this answer; even seeming to agree with it and he looked expectantly at Robin.

Robin closed his eyes, still gasping and struggling in Slade’s unmoving hold. He had never felt this helpless in his entire life – struggling before his enemy; completely in his power. That was something new to Robin. He had always been the one in control – the one with power despite the fact that he was just a normal human without any superpowers to speak of.

Just apologize. Say you’re sorry. You can do this. It’s not that hard. Won’t kill you. Just words – just two words. Then he’ll let you breathe again; he won’t kill you.

“…sorry…” rasped Robin as loud as he could, which was only a soft, tiny whisper. “…I’m… sorry…”

Slade dropped him. Robin collapsed to the floor, taking gulping gasps as he struggled to send air to his brain. His head began to pound viciously in protest from his lack of oxygen. Robin curled up onto his side, coughing harshly. Bright stars blinked in his closed eyes. Slade left him there, walking to the chair he had kicked away and setting it back near the table. He sat down in his seat without another word. Wintergreen sighed, shaking his head lightly as he walked over to Robin.

“Stand please; when you can,” said Wintergreen gently, holding the syringe in his hand. Robin struggled to get to his feet. His pounding head was making everything far more difficult. It felt as if someone was constantly rocking him and dully hitting his forehead. Robin’s balance was off as he rose and Wintergreen offered him some support when he swayed. The old man slowly helped him to his chair. Robin’s eyes focused on the syringe and he suddenly grew extremely wary.

“Wha—what is that?” asked Robin; his voice raspy and hoarse.

“Pain killer,” said Wintergreen. Robin narrowed his eyes. He could see the liquid inside – clear, with a few round crimson particles and numerous air bubbles. It seemed thick to Robin.

“Doesn’t look like a pain killer to me,” said Robin suspiciously, his voice still cracking. Wintergreen seemed to hesitate at this.

“It’s my own formula,” said Slade, before Wintergreen could reply. “I created it.”

Robin raised an eyebrow and said incredulously, “And you expect me to allow you to stick me with a needle that has something you created? Are you crazy?”

“Yes, I do and might I remind you that you’re skating on thin ice here, boy,” said Slade, his visible eye glinting dangerously. “Don’t push me.”

“Truly, it is what he says it is,” said Wintergreen, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s quite safe…” Wintergreen trailed off for a moment, before looking at Slade. “Are you sure it’ll work with the child?”

“Positive.”

Robin grew alarmed. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded promptly, glancing nervously between the two men. Wintergreen gently grabbed his bare arm, readying the syringe.

“Ho—hold up!” cried Robin, pulling away from the old man.

“Child, please—”

“Robin,” snapped Slade, interrupting Wintergreen. “You’re to take that pain killer or so help me, I’ll give you more than enough reasons to wish you had listened.”

Robin swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of his increasingly dry throat. He knew full well what Slade’s reasons would be. His stubbornness and rebellious side screamed at him to not listen to Slade – to just bolt out of there faster than the T-Car at top speed. But his logical side was telling him that, for his self preservation, he better not. His options were quite simple, it seemed. Either get stuck with an unknown substance or get the crap beaten out of him.

Such lovely options.

“Al—all right…” murmured Robin, turning his head away and relaxing his arm. He felt the sharp pinch of the needle a moment later. Then, he felt a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

“All finished. You should begin to feel its effect soon,” said Wintergreen. “Now, please eat something. You’re much too thin.”

“I’m not thin,” huffed Robin, feeling emotionally exhausted from the events. The pounding in his head hadn’t let up yet.

“Oh, please,” started Wintergreen sardonically, folding his arms and looking down at Robin with an amused expression. “If I look at you from the side and squint, you disappear.” He pointed to the food in front of Robin. “Eat.”

Robin let out a sigh before obeying. He gathered some eggs onto his fork and took a bite. It was cold. Well, he wasn’t surprised by that. There had been quite a bit of activity and none of it good. He wordlessly shoveled the eggs into his mouth slowly, uncaring about the temperature. His mind raced with his thoughts.

How the heck was he supposed to escape?

Slade seemed completely omniscient and all powerful. He had never realized before just how powerless he was against the man – by himself, that is. Perhaps if he had been with the Titans, they might’ve had a chance in taking him down.

But he was alone – completely and utterly alone.

And Robin knew it.

Being a loner wasn’t something too new to Robin. It was in his nature to do things on his own, just like he had when he tried to sneak his way into Slade’s plan as Red X. Bruce was always a loner as well and Robin found himself adopting such ways. It obviously wasn’t a good policy, since it had blown up in his face. Even after a full year as the leader of the Teen Titans, he was still failing miserably at the job.

He had just been so used to being alone.

Although, it didn’t make him enjoy it.

Secrets, reclusiveness, work driven – things Robin had developed under the tutelage of Bruce. But those skills were useless here. There was seriously no way to overpower Slade by himself – he was totally helpless before the man.

Robin was overwhelmed with thankfulness that he was wearing a mask. His eyes were burning with the desire to cry. He had never hated being alone this much before – not even after his parents died. The despair was threatening to suffocate him in a far stronger grip than Slade’s iron choker. He squeezed his eyes shut without any other movement on his face, not wanting to show his feelings to the other men in the room. He just couldn’t let himself cry. Not now, not here, not Robin.

No.

No, he couldn’t give up. He’d find a way – he had to find a way. He’d escape and when he did, Robin would slap the man with kidnapping charges so fast, it’d make his head spin. He’d find a way out of this mess one way or another. He’d bide his time carefully – outwit the master tactician and strategist at his own manipulative game.

He was Robin, after all – the Boy Wonder. The leader of the Teen Titans.

He just had to escape.

Keep Reading –>