Trapped Under Pressure

A Broken Robin

Nobody's P.O.V

To say the Batclan was annoyed was an understatement.  Batman had not a single clue as to who the hell that masked man was, but he was hellbent on finding out. That man took his son, took out the team, and hurt his other son's. Batman was peeved. All the criminals in Gotham knew that too. Even the Clown Prince was straying from his normal antic's.

Everyone knew, if Batman was mad, you should run. But three more Bat's? Lock your doors, get unhackable motion sensors, close your windows and don't do anything wrong. Don't even litter. Word had got out that the Batfamily was pissed, and only the most stupid of thugs dared do anything. Those stupid reckless thugs were sent to prison in body casts. Or in Red Hood's case, stitches and bandages. He just generally shot people and beat them shitless. Same for Nightwing, except for the fact he decided to use his sword, and Batman, - anyone really was not there to stop him.

Let's just say, it took a lot of willpower for those two to not kill anyone.

Batman and Red Hood had both been working on the case for a week. But if you added the time they were hospitalized, it'd make a month.

Robin had been in Deathstroke's clutches for over a month now. The Batfamily, - No, the entire League, was not happy.

The team had eventually recovered, but the fact that nanobots were running through their system was still unknown to them. Batman had looked at the video of what happened before and after Deathstroke had arrived. He had seen Robin thrown into a car, and tracked the car as it drove off somewhere, he had seen Robin suddenly throw himself out the car to escape. But what confused him and everybody else, was Robin walking back into the car with a defeated look etched on his face. Like he had completely lost hope.

Like he had fallen into despair. Batman also took note of the slight trickle of blood running down his forehead. He wasn't stupid, it was most likely caused in some sort of fight. He had pieced together what he could. Robin had tried to escape Slade and failed, and when he realized he had nowhere to go, he tried to take Slade on but failed. He most likely made some sort of deal with him and Slade had won. - Clearly.

But the question was, What kind of deal did he make? Why did he look so defeated? What was that signal he made with his hands when Slade wasn't looking? What did he say before he was beamed away?

Batman smiled slightly. Despite what was happening, his son had still made an attempt to reach out to him. He knew he could do nothing, so he left clues that could help the league find him. Even when he looked like he had fallen into despair, he still had a little hope left. Hope that someone would see his signal, and hear his cry for help and reach out to him.

Batman wasn't one to disappoint. He was going to find his soon. He had heard his son calling out for him in his desperate time of need. He was going to save him. Some way or another. The league was going to bring that masked man in. Batman was going to rescue his son. Deathstroke was going to be brought to Justice. Once Batman solved the mystery as to what clues his little bird left him, he'd be a couple more steps closer to finding his bird.

There was still hope left. There was still that extinguishable light that Robin had. Not even despair could extinguish that light.

But Batman and everyone else who had met Slade knew that when they found Robin the chance he would be scarred forever would be at a high percent of 98%. They'd be lucky if he even managed to crack one of those goofy grins again. They all knew the outcome of this.

A Broken Robin.

Robin's P.O.V