Seven hours of electric shocks and Robin's body was burning. Seven hours of a loud yet silky voice and Robin's head was aching. Seven damned hours- going on eight- of staring at that swirly black and white screen, and Robin was sure that he was losing his mind.

Three days, and he was already out of sanity to hold onto. Three days, and Robin was sure that this mysterious man who he had once been able to picture by name was his father.

He didn't even care anymore. Everything was useless. They weren't coming, whoever they were that his mind kept going back to. Was he supposed to remember someone?

No. He didn't care.

He didn't care.

He didn't care!

And as Robin buckled against the restraints one last time, his father came into view and brushed a hand lightly against his cheek in some form of comfort. He saw something wet and glistening on his father's gray glove, and only then did Robin realize that he was crying.

No, he was sobbing, sobbing his heart out. He hadn't cried like this since.. since what? He couldn't- he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember a thing. He couldn't remember!

All he could remember was clinging onto his father for dear life while he sobbed into his armor, everything going black as he was carried away.

---

"When my fist hits your face and your face hits the floor..."

Dad always put on the most blood-pumping music, he thought as he dilly-dallied around the training room. Handstands, cartwheels, back walkovers- the usual. Dad had told him to take it easy. This was his take on easy. And to Robin? It was child's play. Maybe that was the point.

Dad always took good care of him, whether it be with magnificent dinners- Robin never knew where he got them, although the restaurant tags on the take-out boxes were somewhat worrying- new training toys, or even a better uniform. Sure, they had some arguments that often ended with battle, but that was only the beginning of a training session that lasted hours and hours on end. It wasn't like his body wasn't used to it, anyway. Dad was always there, too. He was always anything. And he loved him.

He hadn't remembered much after that crash, but Dad had filled him in on almost everything. His father was the good-est of the good, the worst of the worst and the toughest of the tough. His father was everything. Lean and clean, they worked together to push back that evil group of kids called the Teen Titans.

The Titans were horrific! Robin gagged just thinking about them.

They robbed stores, killed innocents, destroyed towns, mugged people in alleyways and even tried to kill Dad once! How heinous! Robin promised right then and there, for the millionth time- halfway through a perfect somersault- that he was gonna be the one to bring down the Titans. Dad would be so proud of him when he did. The thought made Robin's heart soar.

Was he ready to take them on? It had only been weeks after that eventful day where Dad had nursed him back to health from his pathetically shattered state. Broken bones that didn't feel pain, hoarse throat from screaming for help in the midst of the car. He had hit his head so hard on the dashboard that he was left unable to move for days while the swelling in his head died down. That explained the rope-bound feeling he had vaguely remembered, Dad had said. 

The only thing weird was that Robin never remembered a car in the usual black-and-orange fashion like Dad had described. Unless the car was a swirly black-and-white... 

He put that thought off for later. No, he put that thought off to never remember it again, nor ever answer it. Who was he to question his father's words? 

His fist left deep impressions of his knuckles on the boxing bag, where his sweat filled the mold and out popped a new punch. Clean hits, specified for each member of the Titans, whether it be adjusted to their height or extra strength being added to efficiently knock them out.   

Robin only hoped so as the door slammed open and Dad strode into the room. His mask was on, a mixture of orange and black, the latter in which that bright blue eye resided. It was always on. Robin was surprised at the sudden realization of his ignorance. The mask was never off. He had never seen his father's face behind the Kevlar-lined item.

"Pack your things," he said gruffly. Robin dashed out to get his Bo-staff before Dad had even finished speaking. He knew the routine. He only hoped that they would be attacking a different place tonight. "We're going out." 

Out to beat the big, bad, wolf-Titans? Or out to rob some bustling company? Robin's stomach twisted with anticipation, butterflies of eagerness soaring around his stomach. The metal door slammed closed and they were off, Robin's staff secure in his glove and fairly ready to swing the night away without regret. Or, so he thought. 

A/N: I wrote out half of this a while ago, and just decided to finish it today. Sorry if a few things are off or weird-sounding. I didn't read it over. I just wanted to shoot out an update so I could spend the next month or so writing a nice fight scene, along with a bit of mush, perhaps? Hope it's not very sucky. If you think something seems off, feel free to tell me. I'll happily take any critique, along with a better chapter title if you have one. 

- B