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Robin laid on the hard bed, staring up at the ceiling, aching, unmoving. Every breath he took caused his muscles to burn. There wasn't much point to moving anyway. It's not like he could leave; Slade had locked him in this small room with nothing to do other than just think.
So Robin sat, and thought about the day's events. About training with Slade, about every move he could've done differently, about every mistake he made; but mostly, he thought about his friends.
They had no idea where he was, what he was doing, or that he'd had to betray them to save their lives. He hoped that he wouldn't run into them any time soon, the recognition and dawning horror on their faces would sting the same as a slap.
A traitorous part of him still hoped that they would come to save him; maybe they were tracking him even now. Maybe the door– or even the wall– would burst open to reveal his friends smiling back at him and showering him with forgiveness. Any second now… Just maybe…maybe…
Robin held his breath for a few moments, as if he could will his daydream into existence. He exhaled and suddenly felt the burn of his muscles again, and the burn of shame for not doing more. For waiting around to be saved, like a damsel in distress Though truly, he was out of options for now.
He had gone over every nook and cranny of his roo– no, not his room, of the room he was being held in, and there was simply no way out. At least for now.
Suddenly, the door opened, and a brief spark of hope jolted through his body despite everything he had been through.
Could it be…?
But no. It was Slade. Only Slade. It was always only Slade.
Sitting up, Robin watched the older man walk in carrying a nondescript box. They stared at each other for a few moments, like wild animals encroaching on one another's territory.The door slid shut. The air felt heavy and tense.
Robin spoke first as he didn't have the energy to continue their little stand-off. "What are you doing here?" he asked, exhaustion making his voice weaker than he wanted. Despite the room not having a clock, Robin could tell it was too soon for it to be time for more training. Well, not unless Slade was determined to break him entirely.
"You're injured," Slade said in a matter-of-fact voice, deadpan, devoid of any unnecessary emotion. He walked over to the bed, sat down, and watched as Robin quickly gathered himself up enough to scoot away from him, pressing himself to the metal wall.
Slade reached over and grabbed Robin's hand anyway, gripping it with a firmness that conveyed that Robin shouldn't pull away or risk punishment.
"Your hand was bleeding earlier," he stated, accessing the injury on Robin's knuckles.
Robin's chest felt tight, his shoulders ached, and he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts until he passed out. But Slade wouldn't even give him that. Instead, he opened the box and rummaged through it until he came across a roll of bandages and a disposable sanitary wipe. He ripped open the package and Robin winced as the wipe came down on his sores. Slade wiped away the dried blood, surprisingly careful not to re-open the small splits in the skin.
Robin kept his eyes on his hand. The air was surprisingly calm, but he was still wound up tight like a spring ready to snap. This was the closest they had ever been outside of a fight, and that wasn't lost on him. He refused to glance up at the mask; he wouldn't– couldn't bring himself to analyze the tiny bit of expression he could see through the mask's eye slit.
Bandages were wound around his hand in a calm, clinical way, but not gentle. Slade was never gentle. Careful, calm, and calculated, but nothing ever gave away to softness.
"Why are you doing this?" Robin breathed out, in a voice so small it surprised even himself.
The bandages stopped for a moment, then continued. "You are my apprentice," Slade answered as if that explained anything.
Robin scoffed. "You want to keep me useful, you mean."
"Of course. You'd be no use to me broken," Slade answered, voice as monotone as ever. "And you'd learn nothing if you're injured."
"Don't act like you care." Robin was frustrated with this whole "apprentice" facade. Slade wanted a servant, not to mentor him.
A small, amused hum escaped from Slade's mask. "Is it really so hard for you to understand your position, Robin?" he asked while turning back to his box, searching for something else. Finding it, he then grabbed Robin's chin, forcing the boy to look up at him in the eye.
Robin could hear his heart pounding in his ears, his fists clenched tight and threatened to undo the bandages Slade had just finished. A hand was raised, and he braced himself for impact.
A bandage was placed upon his forehead where the skin had split after an especially ruthless punch Slade had delivered earlier.
"Do you not understand why I do this? Do you have any comprehension of your potential?"
Hands were placed on either side of Robin's head, holding him in place. Firm, but not painful.
"You could be me. You could outshine me. I'm not doing this as a side hobby, boy. I'm doing this for you."
Robin could barely breathe. The subtle hum of machinery in the background faded to almost nothing, slipping from his grasp.
"Do you understand?"
A shaky inhale rattled in his lungs.
"I asked you a question, Robin."
"Yes, I understand," he barely squeaked out. Tears threatened to leak from his eyes, almost breaking the seal on his mask.
"Good." A hand ruffled through his hair. Too large, too forceful to be kind.
Slade closed the box and stood up. "Training resumes tomorrow after breakfast," he said, turning the door knob and leaving. Footsteps and a click of the lock was all Robin needed before his aching body shuddered, a sob threatening to break out.
He would've preferred to have been slapped.