Title: Stockholm 2/?
Author: Katarik
Fandom: Animated Teen Titans
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Slade/Robin

Summary: What if, during Robin's time as Slade's apprentice, Robin had developed Stockholm's Syndrome?
Disclaimers: DC Comics owns the original characters.
Warnings: DARK. I cannot emphasize that enough. DARK DARK DARK.

*---*---*---*---*

Robin wakes instantly when a needle slips into his shoulder, jerking against his bonds and hissing with the pain from his back. How the hell had someone gotten in without waking him? How the hell had they gotten past *Slade*?!?

"Good morning, Robin. I trust that you slept well?"

Well, that explains how someone had gotten in and not woken him. For someone so big, Slade's *quiet*. The syringe had held another dose of anesthetic; his back's going pleasantly numb already. "That anesthesia's not addictive, is it?" Slade's being eerily calm about this whole thing; Robin wouldn't put it past the man to use this opportunity to hook him on a drug and keep him that way. He's already said he was willing to break bones, after all. Said he was willing to murder.

"Robin, if it *was*... do you really think I'd tell you?" Slade looses one strap, but it's not enough to let Robin move. Attack. Curl against something and hide. He's not sure what he'd do if he could move, anyway.

"... No. Not until it was too late, at least. You'd tell me then."

Slade laughs and runs one gauntleted hand up Robin's bare side to another buckle. Loosens that as well. "Good answer. A question for you, Robin: would you prefer to have breakfast before going to the infirmary, or after?"

"Infirmary." He doesn't even need to think about that one. Burns have a *high* rate of infection, and he has a bad one. Damn Slade to every hell in existence. Robin has goosebumps on his side, and when Slade's fingers trail over his calf to unbuckle that strap Robin shivers slightly. It's *cold* in his room, especially with no blankets on.

His breath catches slightly in his throat when Slade unbuckles the straps on his arms, cool metal-tipped fingers raising the hairs there. He's almost completely free, but he doesn't move. He doesn't know what Slade will do next, after all.

Slade's hand rests heavy on the small of his back after undoing all the buckles. Robin fights the urge to move, to ask Slade what the hell he thinks he's doing. The metal on Slade's gloves begins to warm against his skin. "... Get up, my Robin."

Robin moves awkwardly off the bed, shrugging Slade's hand from his back. He turns to face Slade, raising his chin to look the man in the eye. "I'm *not* yours."

Slade's eye narrows, but his voice stays calm... even amused. "Are you not, then?"

Robin's eyes narrow in return. "No. I'm not."

Slade hums. "Well, then. We'll have to see what I can do about that." He turns away. "Did you change your mind about wanting to go to the infirmary, Robin?" Robin shifts, testing how well he can move. How much the anesthetic is affecting his system. "... Will you come with me?" He *hates* that that sentence came out of his mouth. He hates that it was necessary.

Slade turns his head, eye gleaming brightly. It makes something in Robin's stomach clench and roil. He hates Slade so *much*; damn the man for this. "Ask nicely, and perhaps I will."

"..." Robin bites his lip. Hard. He--he *can't* walk to the infirmary on his own. Robin knows his limits. Mostly. Nor does he entirely recall the way. Perhaps most importantly, he can't treat his back alone; he's not that flexible when wounded. "... please."

Robin waits tensely for Slade's response. The man's eerily still and silent; if Robin outright *begged* and Slade says no? Screw being injured, Robin's jumping him and he doesn't *care* that he'll lose.

"... Well, Robin. Far be it from me to refuse such a prettily-worded request."

Robin's lips peel back from his teeth in a faint snarl. Slade tilts his head in amusement and turns back to Robin, taking his arm in a firm grip. With Slade's support, Robin can walk well enough. On this trip, Robin carefully memorizes the route.

It won't do him much good with the burn, but Robin knows he'll need the knowledge in the future. Slade's holding him tightly enough to bruise; Robin walks at his side and doesn't say a word.

When they reach the infirmary, Robin's already learned not to stall. As soon as Slade lets him go, Robin lies on the medical bed without obvious hesitation. At least, he hopes it isn't obvious.

"The burn appears not to be infected. However, it is going to need to be bandaged. It should really have been bandaged yesterday, but you were bleeding too much."

The bandage is going to have to be removed every time Slade examines the burn. Most likely, that will mean cutting it away. On the up-side, Robin can wear a shirt again if the bandage is going to be there *anyway*.

Robin jerks when Slade's fingers touch his bruised arm. Honest to God *fingers*, and when exactly had Slade removed his gauntlet? How had Robin *missed* that?

Slade rubs something cool into the bruises, lightly, and Robin starts to relax. A little. They don't hurt as much; it must be a healing agent of some kind. Nice of Slade to mend him after hurting him; surprisingly enough, it's more than Bruce did. Robin idly wonders why, before putting it out of his mind. It's not for him to doubt Bruce, and anyway Slade's a villain. He's nothing like Batman.

And even with the drug, when Slade goes back to his back it kind of hurts. Robin grits his teeth slightly and bears it.

"The fact that physical training is not an option at the moment does not mean that you are permitted to let yourself grow weak. You do, of course, realize that?"

Slade�s voice breaks the silence. Robin turns his head a little to glare; he wouldn�t *want* to grow weak, anyway. Slade knows that. Robin *knows* Slade knows that. "... Of *course* I know that!" He restrains his tongue enough that he doesn�t tell Slade not to be stupid; *Robin�s* not stupid enough to do that.

Slade hums. "Prove it."

Robin considers. The drug hasn't worn off enough for him to do anything *too* showy, but... he thinks he can pull this off. Clenches his fists on the bed to brace himself and grits his teeth; this is going to hurt like *hell*.

Shifts his weight enough to let him move, hopefully without alerting Slade to his plans, and twists his body upward *fast*. He screams, but manages to kick out *hard*. And the kick's solid; Robin feels the impact shock through his bones. His back.

And then he doesn't feel anything, because Slade's grabbed his leg and *yanked*, pulling Robin towards him. Robin tries to muffle his screams; if he'd known kicking would hurt that much, he *wouldn't* have done it. Nothing exists but the pain and Slade's hands on him, Slade murmuring harshly into his ear. Robin's lip burns; he's bitten through it and the salt of his tears stings.

"That was *stupid*, boy. Very, very... stupid. Do you deliberately try to make life harder for yourself?" Slade twists the limb in his grip; the motion pulls Robin's decimated back muscles, and his keening spirals up into another cracking scream.

"S-Slade, please, stop... please, I�m sorry, please... please don�t hurt me anymore..."

Robin can't *take* this.

He'll do anything, say anything, if Slade will just stop hurting him.

Slade�s grip only tightens, and Robin wails in agony. He�d screwed up, but he�s *sorry*, he won�t do it again, �Please, please, I'm sorry, please stop... Slade, *please*!"

"And what will you do for me if I stop, Robin?"

"Anything, God, please, anything you *want*," Robin�s voice breaks halfway through, choking on the bleeding remnants of his pride and on his own tears. He can feel something warm and wet on his chin, but he can�t think clearly enough to identify it.

"You should never offer 'anything', my bird. Not to me." Slade�s voice goes low and soft and knife-edged tender; Robin shakes and whimpers again. He�s gotten himself in way too deeply, but he can�t make himself care because Slade�s let *go*, and the pain is spiraling away into drug-induced black.

The last thought Robin can manage is a faint flicker of gratitude, as he falls into gentle darkness.

--To be Continued.

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