Robin Wilson: "On The Burner"
Desc: Robin is thirteen and sent on a simple mission by his father after begging to do a mission by himself, but it goes completely wrong because of a purposeful lack of instructions from his father and Robin didn't know. This is a snippet from the chapters I'm writing, I hope it's good enough so maybe I can post the full thing one day.
“This is your fault, Robin”
He felt the airborne dirt fill his lungs, chest heaving as he tried to focus. The ringing in his ears settle, only to be met with screams and the crumbling of the fallen building around him. People flee while others lay motionless on the ground.
“Did you hear me, boy? This is your fault.” Slade’s voice sounds so neutral, so unnervingly calm.
His fault? How could it be? He wasn't told that he was responsible for the evacuation. He wasn't told the planted bomb would go off while he was inside, nor was he told the blast would be so powerful that it would wipe out all of the floors above floor two. His target was only one man, how could this have happened.
He looks up, seeing a small drone hover in the dirt filled air, the sun barely piercing through while his vision is hazy. He opens his mouth to try to speak, but only coughs of blood spew out. He falls to his knees, body shaken and exhausted while he clutches his chest.
“Robin?”
He didn't answer - he couldn't answer. He feels as if his limbs are disconnected from his body, he didn't have the strength in him to get up. His head felt heavy first, then his eyelids. Vision blurs before he collapses, joining the scattered pieces of what once used to be a building and what once used to be living, breathing people.
The drone hovers, the hum of its wings barely able to cut through the dusted air. Everything fell silent, no more screaming, no more rumbling.
“Stay there. I will retrieve you.”
The communicator on Robin's now unconscious body cuts off, the drone retreating, leaving him covered in blood, debris and gun powder.
Robin opens his eyes, met with a strong white light hitting his vision. He groans, feeling pain and soreness shoot through his entire body. He sits up quickly, inhaling sharply through his teeth from the pain amplified with each movement. He feels a large hand placing itself on his back, another on his chest, gently making him lay back down. Once his vision focuses, it's Slade, his father. He looks down, seeing him stripped of his suit and wrapped in bandages around his chest, ribs, upper arms and his upper right leg.
Slade doesn't say anything yet, keeping close while examining the bandages, making sure Robin's movements didn't cause them to curl up or undo themselves.
Robin can't seem to put his thoughts together, closing his eyes as he feels like he's still in that destroyed building. He feels nauseous, exhausted, and thirsty.
“You have been unconscious for some time.”
Robin lets out a small murmur to let his father know he acknowledges him, even when he should care less about what Slade has to say right now.
“I suppose these injuries exclude you from any future punishment from your major failure today.”
Robin slowly opens his eyes again, his face riddled with defiance and anger. He tilts his head to get a better look at his father who is only focused on his injuries. He slowly gets up, shooing Slade's hands away and sitting up, letting his feet dangle from what looks like an operating table psychopaths use to torture people in horror movies. He takes a moment to collect himself, his brain recognizing that the pain is mostly coming from his chest and ribs.
“You have three fractured ribs and one broken. It is foolish of you to exert yourself simply because you aren't keen on the way I speak to you.”
He hesitates, looking over his shoulder to stare at his dad as his brows furrow. He makes up his mind, looking forward and pushing himself up and onto his feet. He clutches his chest, using his arms as a shield before taking a few steps forward, eyes squinting from the pain.
Without much effort, Slade moves around the table and blocks Robin from going any further, his demeanor casual yet authoritarian. His hands are crossed behind his back, one visible eye looking down at Robin as if he's a misbehaving child.
“You act as if you have an option. Your autonomy does not have any value here when you're injured and under my protection.”
Robin's eye mask widens. He takes a step back, looking at Slade like he's crazy before they narrow angrily again.
“Take me to an actual hospital!”
His voice is slightly strained and weak, but there's still protest. Slade’s energy shifts noticeably at the sudden bark of demand. He takes a step closer, making Robin take another step back.
“Are you trying to render me incapable of taking care of my beloved son from his own faults?”
He scoffs, even in pain he's still stubborn.
“If you won't take me to one, then the least you could do is leave me alone!”
His voice is now drenched in exhaustion, feeling his body beginning to give out again. He tries his best to compose himself, not wanting to deal with his father's harsh words anymore.
“Do not test me, boy.”
Slade's hand suddenly shoots out, grabbing Robin's jaw aggressively and making him look directly up at him.
“You are out of line. I will give you grace and assume it is because of your injured state, but know this. I am helping you because I am your father. You defy me, you defy yourself. It is not that difficult to understand, my dear child.”
Robin's heart drops, weakly groaning from the pain of his grip on top of the existing pain resonating within his chest. He tries to pull himself away, but fails as Slade tightens his grip with a glint of amusement in his eye. He leaves Robin no choice but to stare him down.
Robin feels his body slowly freeze, subconsciously holding his breath knowing he's in no condition to fight or argue with this man in front of him. His angered gaze falters along with his struggles after a long staring contest between the two. Slade doesn't let go yet, leaning in close enough to where Robin can see his tinted reflection in his father's mask.
“You've become too reckless. too…disobedient. I intend to make this a very, very valuable lesson for you to remember.”
Slade’s hand pulls away from his face as he makes the right amount of distance between him and his son. Robin exhales as if Slade’s presence alone was suffocating him subconsciously.
He lets his gaze drop to the side as he keeps his arms tightening around himself, looking shocked and completely defeated while his chest rises and falls like a startled animal.
Slade noticed his body language, taking it as a sign that he won this little intimidation battle that he made up in his head. He takes this moment as an opportunity to move closer again.
Without warning, he picks up his son into a cradle carry. Robin's eye mask widens in surprise, looking down at the ground he's no longer standing on. He looks back up in confusion, skeptical of his father's intentions.
Not a word is spoken as he carries his son out of the eerie medical room and into the vast, dark hallway. The sound of machinery and Slade’s heavy footsteps from his boots echo through the hall. Robin shivers, the cold air piercing through him from the breeze flowing through.
Slade looks down at him when he finally comes to a stop in front of a door before it automatically slides open. It was Robin's room.
He barely even recognized where he was being taken, maybe his father was right about him overexerting himself. He brings them both inside, the door sealing shut behind them with a hiss. He lowers Robin into his bed, pulling up the blanket to cover him from the waist down while Robin leans his back against the headboard, his face strained from the pain.
Slade crouches down next to the bed, his hands automatically cupping his face, tilting it side to side to check for any injuries before moving down to check the bandages on his upper arms and around his chest one last time, the touch sending small jolts of soreness and pain throughout his body.
He pauses for a moment, seeing Robin's eyes flutter shut slightly, struggling to stay awake.
“You need to recover. Do not let your stubbornness get in the way of what you need…” he takes a small moment to examine his son's reaction. When he finds no defiance, he uses his index finger and thumb to gently tilt his chin up to make Robin face towards him.
“Understand I am doing this for you. I only ask for a little gratitude, yet I am met with hurtful looks and belittling words from you, dear boy.” His voice is poisonous, feeling his words slowly take effect while each seed of self doubt is planted. Robin can't help but ponder on his father's words, the sickly sweetness of his voice striking right through his very soul as if he's a kid again. His pained expression softens when Slade’s hand moves from his chin to the side of his face.
Robin feels conflicted. He knows his father is harsh, and says he's doing this for his own safety and protection, but he's so angry at him. He knows he's too exhausted to fight back anymore, he just wants to rest, and his father is being so open with him for the first time in a while.
He gives in, closing his eyes and taking in the warmth of his father's gloved hand on his cheek. He sits up fully and wraps his arms around his father, hugging him gently.
Slade is slightly confused by the sudden hug, but his single visible eye gives away his sly, unsettling smile, reaching up to rest his hand on the back of Robin’s head while the other wraps around his upper back protectively. He knows what he's doing, and he knows it's working.
“I-...m… sorry…” Robin's words slur, fighting to stay conscious as his eyes are still closed.
Slade shushes him, pulling away to see a small tear forming in Robin's eye as they slowly open. He wobbles slightly, Slade placing his hands on his shoulders to keep him steady.
“Shhh… Listen to me and rest, we will discuss this properly when you are not so disjointed.”
Robin gives a sleepy nod, laying down on his own and resting his head against his pillow, tucking himself in. His eyes almost close immediately, his body missing the coziness and warmth of his bed while his sore and injured muscles slowly relax.
Slade stands up, towering over his bed and making the room seem smaller. He takes a long moment to stare down at Robin, looking at him with slight bitterness, wanting to snuff out any sort of positive feelings towards his own son.
He pauses for a second before turning around, placing his hands behind his back once more and heads towards the door.
“Good. Sleep, child. Pray tomorrow will show you mercy.”
Robin doesn't hear his menacing comment, his mind already drifting off into sleep. Slade exits his son's room, turning off the overhead lights and not looking back.
He goes back into the medical room to clean up the now littered and bloodied operation table, a tray with tools and blood covered glass pieces lays out next to the large table.
The scene of watching his son collapse through the drone camera replays in his head while he picks up and cleans the place, his facial expression unreadable and cold.
Once finished, the last thing to do is repair Robin's suit. It rests on a counter in the far corner, the armor pieces on top of the stretchy leather suit are dented, scratched, and covered in dirt.
He lifts it and hovers it in front of him as if holding a thin, barely dried painting. He sees the rips and holes curled from dried blood. Something in him makes it hard to keep looking at those rips and tears, his jaw tightening slightly as the dried blood is visible on the orange part of his suit.
He makes the decision to scrap the suit entirely, folding it neatly before using an evidence bag to store it, preparing it for the incinerator.
That's it for now! Tell me if you guys want more, I'm not that confident in my writing so I appreciate any sort of support.
