Title: Stockholm 3/?
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.

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

When Robin opens his eyes, there�s a faint flicker of disorientation before they adjust to the dim light (Slade left the door open, there�s light to see by) and he can see. He�s in his room, on his bed. Strapped in.

Slade�s not here.

His back hurts. Kind of a lot, actually, and *ow*. He�s never doing that again.

Why isn�t Slade here? Slade should be here.

His brain is fuzzy, not working properly. He can�t focus. Why isn�t Slade here?

He wants Slade here. "... Slade?"

Nothing. Silence, and no change in the light quality. His back still hurts.

"Slade?"

Nothing.

Robin sighs. His room�s *boring* when Slade�s not there to distract him. There�s no one to talk to and nothing to do.

"Robin."

His eyes snap open again. *Finally*. "Slade."

"I hadn�t expected you to wake for some hours." Brush of cold metal along his shoulder blade. Goosebumps rise on his skin and Robin shivers slightly. This is better than being alone.

Slade unbuckles the straps; Robin twitches and rises. Grits his teeth; moving *hurts*. Next time Slade tells him to do something, Robin�s not disobeying unless he has a damn good reason and there are no weapons nearby.

"Can you walk, Robin?"

He considers. *Possibly* he can, even after the stunt he pulled yesterday, but unlikely in the extreme. "... No."

Slade picks him up. Robin squeaks and moves to hit him, but his back screams outrage and Robin freezes. Slade laughs. "Robin, the burn requires debriding in order to heal properly. Either you walk to the infirmary, or I carry you there. Choose."

He can�t walk that far, not with his back in the state he�s put it in. And Slade�s right: the burn needs tending. Curls his head into Slade�s shoulder and winds his left arm around Slade�s neck, wincing slightly at the motions, to signal his acceptance of the situation.

Slade moves so gracefully that every step barely sends a twinge through Robin�s back. He�s oddly comfortable here, with the familiar scent of Kevlar and metal and the feel of solid muscle under his palm. Robin closes his eyes and dozes; very little can get past Slade�s defenses. The only thing he has to fear is Slade himself, and if Robin behaves well nothing will hurt him. He�s learned that by now.

It�s a while longer before they stop. Robin blinks his eyes open to see where they are: he knows that walking to the infirmary doesn�t take that long.

Sees a bathtub. His mouth drops open and his brain says: struggle! His instincts say: for once in your life, stay *still*. Slade�s arms tighten on him and Robin opts to obey his instincts.

"Good boy. And because you behaved well, you may have another choice: you can be rendered unconscious for the process of debriding, which happens to be quite painful and somewhat degrading. Or you can remain awake." Slade releases Robin, and he lands more awkwardly than normal, turning to look Slade in the eye.

Robin considers. He�s tired of pain, but he also doesn�t entirely trust Slade not to hurt him further, given the chance. Of course... if Slade wants to hurt him, there�s not much Robin can do about it. Better to be out of it, then. "Unconscious."

Slade�s hand is suddenly around his throat, flash of steel and black and Robin chokes. Brings his hands up to Slade�s fingers, trying to pry them off; he can�t kick out again. His back won�t permit that a second time.

But he also can�t *breathe*. Black fog swimming before his eyes and he chokes, clawing at Slade�s fingers and ignoring what he can and cannot do. Kicks out again; he�d scream, but he has no air in his lungs.

"Robin," Slade murmurs very very softly. Robin�s fingers relax as his mind drowns in black; he feels cold metal catch his waist, and a warmed gauntlet stroke his jaw.

And doesn't feel anything else at all.

He starts coming out of it, feeling warm water on his back and legs and Slade's *bare* hands--*skin*, not metal and kevlar--on him and he whimpers; a tiny little noise from behind him--Slade?--before *bare hand* on his throat again and he tumbles back into oblivion.

He blinks his eyes back open to see a fuzzy dark form leaning over him. "S--Slade...?" Voice hoarse. Head hurts. Muscles feel weak. Back hurts. His hair's wet and out of its spikes, hanging over his face and dripping water over his cheek; a drop trails down his throat.

"Shh, Robin. Go back to sleep." Sting in his left arm; Robin�s eyes flick over to the left. He�d been too distracted by Slade to notice the gleam there. IVs.

His eyes slip closed, despite someone screaming at him in what sounds like Bruce's voice; ragged-sounding moan of protest spills from his throat. "Robin," Slade says quietly, and strokes his cheek with bare--*bare*, why is that familiar--knuckles.

He sleeps.

--To be Continued.

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