Bound in Darkness

Ghosts of Yesterday

"You aren't listening to me. Again." Slade growled. The angrier he grew, the more punishment Robin knew would be dealt out. He could feel the man's glare through his mask. Cold. Calculating. Those eyes bore into him, into his soul, and he knew there would be no escape from the torment that awaited him. Without another word, Slade struck countlessly, each blow landing with cruel precision. Each hit was another reminder of his helplessness in the situation. Another reminder of the idiocy that landed him in that place to begin with. Each blow not only caused him physical pain, but psychological pain as well. That pain threatened to break his spirit. Still, Robin refused to yield. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching. He knew, no matter what, that he would try his hardest not to break. That was a valuable lesson Batman taught him years prior.

Never let them catch you while you're down.
Never let them break you.

As the punishment continued, Robin's body screamed in agony, yet he pushed himself to endure. The pain was excruciating. It was as if there was a stake being hammered into his lower back, the strikes radiating pain in a way that shattered his brain. He lay so still, his breath shallow and labored.
There was no escape. No respite from Slade's control. Not in that moment. Not anytime soon. The silence in the lair was punctuated only by the sound of their struggle. Finally, Slade stepped back, his gaze still fixed on Robin's battered form. There was no satisfaction in his expression, only the certainty of his dominance. He had succeeded in breaking Richard's resolve. The ultimate defeat. As Dick tried to catch his breath, his lungs feeling as if they caught fire, he knew that the torment was far from over.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel.
All he could do now was endure, and though he was most certainly broken on the inside, he refused Slade to see it. Or, he tried his hardest at least.

"This is what you deserve for your disobedience, boy." Wilson's words were as cold as the floor Richard had collapsed on.
Without another word, Slade struck again, delivering a swift kick to Robin's side. The force knocked the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. There was not a moment of rest as the next blow followed, a stinging punch to his gut. Richard stumbled backward, trying to shield himself from the onslaught, but Slade's relentless assault continued. Each strike left bruises and welts in their wake.

"You must learn discipline, my boy." His voice was a low, cold whisper, barely audible over the sounds of their struggle. Robin's body protested with every hit, and no matter what pain he felt, he refused to back down, though his spirit was wavering more now than it had previously. Finally, as if satisfied with his work, Slade stepped back, his gaze lingering on the battered bird's form. The silence between them was heavy, and Robin knew this was far from the last lesson he would endure. With a subtle nod, Slade turned away, leaving Robin to finally catch his breath and nurse his wounds.

Most of the days were like that. Richard's cocky attitude landed him with new cuts and bruises to tend to. He wasn't sure how long they lasted, or how many days he had experienced the torment, but it was enough to break a person. Moving without pain—without aches was just one thing he used to take for granted. As the time with Slade progressed, the more his muscles felt as if they had been flash-burned with acid from the inside. Just sufficient enough to make them move like the living cells had been replaced by aged rubber bands, thick and twisted. His limbs, though fully intact, started to no longer feel as if they belonged to him. No longer was he a cohesive machine of blood and bone. They soon became his enemy. Decaying and angry with every new beating.

When retrieving things for Slade, or when engaged in battle, he moved as if each step was a negotiation rather than an order. Everything hurt. Every damn thing. The bruises came, bold and bright, though the spreading purple with yellow blotches was only the surface wound. The real one was within. That feeling of betrayal. And then came the silence. The silence of his soul came soon after his psyche had been shattered to thousands of pieces, unable to properly be put back together again. He had become like the fall leaves under winter frost. Dick could feel the chill in his blood—the coldness bringing the synapses of his brain to a standstill.

Slade's fury had risen to inexplicable levels, and it burned like a raging inferno as he stared at the silent figure of Robin. The hero stood there, eyes downcast, refusing to utter a word even in the face of his adversary's anger.

"You dare to stand before me and say nothing? Speak, boy!" Wilson's voice thundered through the lair, demanding a response from the Boy Wonder. But the hero remained silent, his jaw clenched tightly as he withheld any words that could have potentially put his friends in any more danger. He knew another slip of his tongue could lead to disastrous consequences.
Slade's frustration grew with each passing moment of silence. He saw Robin's defiance as a challenge to his authority, and he was determined to further break the young hero's spirit. Without warning, he struck, delivering yet another punishing blow to Robin's already battered being. With each new blow, Robin's body trembled, barely able to hold itself upright. The pain was unbearable, but the emotional torment was far worse. He had lost count of how many times he had to face Slade's wrath.

"You are nothing without me." Slade growled, his voice colder than ever before. Robin's spirit wavered, and he felt as if he had reached the edge of his breaking point. Time seemed to lose all meaning as the punishment dragged on, and as the pain consumed him, Richard's mind drifted off to his friends. The ones who he swore to protect. He knew that even if he couldn't save himself, he would have to endure the torment for their sake.
This assault was unlike any other, and it left both Robin's body and soul destroyed beyond recognition. With each blow, Robin's cries grew louder, the pain becoming unbearable both physically and emotionally. He had tried for so long to hold onto his resilience. It caused him to feel as if he was a mere shell of the hero he once was.

"Please—" Richard pleaded. "Please just stop." His voice was desperate and defeated.
Slade showed no mercy, continuing to strike and taunt Robin as if reveling in the hero's pain.
When it was finally over, Richard lay on the cold floor, broken. There was no glimmer of hope. Nothing he could possibly think of would bring him even the slightest hint of joy. His friends were at risk of dying and it was entirely his fault. He had caved and joined the darkness. Only a sense of utter despair remained. He was left adrift in a world without light, where he saw nothing but the pain and suffering that awaited him. He just wanted this nightmare to end. Tears mixed with his bloodied face streamed down until they hit the cold cement below him.

In that moment, his spirit broke.

Slade's victory was complete, and he relished in Robin's suffering. As the hero lay there, broken and sobbing, he knew not if he could ever find the strength to rise again. The pain was far more than physical—it was a soul crushing ache that left him feeling hollow. Robin was no longer the fearless leader of the Teen Titans, but a shattered soul, drowning in the depths of despair, and he wondered if there way any way to find a glimmer of light amidst the suffocating shadows.