What if Robin stays Slade's apprentice? What if the Titans don't find the nano-bugs?
Robin is alone. No one can save him from the situation he's in. It's up to him to somehow make contact with the Titans, or better still... Batman.
In the dim light of his assigned bedroom, Robin holds up his uniform. He tilts it towards his desk lamp to better illuminate the left side, now a vibrant red. His smile stretches wide, cheeks pushing into his eyes enough for the squint to blur his vision. He silently thanks Billy Numerous for his choice of beverage— it's a wonder the academy lets kids drink something containing this much red dye. The food fight had been messy, and destructive. If the glass juice dispenser went missing in the fray, it was the least of the staff's concerns. He soaked the fabric for hours, and now the colour was a near-perfect match to his old Robin suit.
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Robin opens his mouth to comment on it, then thinks better of it, glancing at the metal neck plate sitting on a shelf in his closet, where a microphone hides behind the collar. It's one thing for Slade to overhear conversations, and another to let him in on his private thoughts. What's the range on that thing?
Slowly, he folds the jumpsuit over his arm, then sets it on the desk, keeping it in view as he steps backwards and plops himself onto the stiff mattress of his bed. A thought bubbles up in his mind, and he squeezes the edge of the mattress excitedly. Slade is going to hate this.
He lets his imagination play the scene. He'll stroll back into the lair, wearing his suit proudly. Slade will give away how bothered he is, his eye narrowing and body tensing at the sight.
"How's my progress now, Slade?" Robin will retort smugly, "Still the perfect apprentice?"
Slade will get in his face to try and intimidate him. He'll loom over him like a living shadow, only his piercing eye visible in the silhouette. "Your little act of rebellion changes nothing, Robin. That suit will be destroyed, and you will be given another. It's amusing, however, that you take such satisfaction in something so... inconsequential."
Disappointment sinks Robin like a stone. He pulls himself out of the scenario, and the shadows morph back into those cast against the slanted walls of his bedroom. That was more realistic than he'd like. He'd dashed his own hopes without Slade having to utter a single word.
He looks over at his uniform, glowing red in the lamplight. The colour strengthens his conviction, his expression hardening. No, that won't happen. He'll get to have this for the next few days, and then Batman and his friends will come for him. They'll find him, even without the tracker in Superman's earpiece. I just have to wait, he reminds himself firmly.
The academy isn't the worst place to be, in the meantime. The people are nice enough, to his surprise. They remind him of carefree days— of his friends. He'd almost be grateful for Slade still sending him here despite the stunt he pulled with the stolen com link, if there was a world where the words 'Slade' and 'grateful' could make sense in the same sentence.
The only problem is his sleep schedule. Robin has to switch his night and day... again. He falls back onto the mattress, sighing as the adrenaline from his nighttime DIY fades, but exhaustion does not follow. He burns a hole in the ceiling with his gaze as he thinks about how he used to quell his boredom: listening to music, playing video games, trying new recipes... chatting with Starfire, reading with Raven, or getting involved in Beastboy and Cyborg's daily antics. He could find solace in the dark and quiet, too, he had Bruce as a role model after all, but he grew used to the constant activity of Slade's back-to-back missions. All he feels now, in the absence of it, is restless. Awake and alone in one of the many cells of the hive.
