AN: Okay, I started reading Robin and Slade fic a few nights ago, and while I enjoy a good rape and torture tale as much as the next woman (not really, it's a little too dark for me), I thought that the stories where Slade captures Robin and forces him to be his apprentice were missing a few good moments, such as discipline and other kinds of mind play. So, here is mine.

WARNING: Dark fic with lots of punishment and trickery and medical stuff in later chapter, but no rape.

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The dungeon was cold and dark, smelling dank and earthy.

It made sense that Slade's fortress would have a dungeon even though it was in the middle of America with modern technology.

By Robin's calculations, he had been in there two days. He had watched the light moving and darkening over the high barred window.

The day before, one of Slade's henchmen had come down to give him food and water and ask if he was ready to talk. Robin said no, and the man left the food and water without a word.

Slade had caught him two days ago, a lucky punch that had sent Robin tumbling off the roof. He had caught himself on a side awning before dropping to the ground, but when he dropped dizzily, two of Slade's men were waiting for him. They had clapped electronic handcuffs around his wrists and thrown him in the back of a van.

Robin had tried to shake the cuffs off, but they gave him a sharp electric jolt every time he fiddled with them, so he finally let it alone and attempted to devise an escape plan.

He thought they would torture him. He thought they would inflict pain on him, all under Slade's supervision, until he revealed all the secrets he knew about everything: Teen Titans, Teen Tower, Batman, Superman – not a secret left.

But rather than inflict pain, they had put him down in the dungeon, still in his Robin suit and mask. A heavy iron shackle had been bolted around his ankle with an electronic lock that would alert the guard if tampered with. Robin had started rubbing one link of the huge iron chain against the stone wall the second the guard left.

By the next day, he had worn the link down enough to break it. But he was careful to keep the chain looking intact for when the henchmen came back.

Rather than open the cell door (also made of heavy iron), the man had opened up the door flap, inquiring, "Are you ready to talk?"

"No," Robin braced himself for a fight.

A bucket of water was shoved in along with a tin tray holding three pieces of bread. After eating the food, Robin separated the chain and explored the room. He easily climbed the stone wall up to the barred windows, but the bars were so thick and deeply embedded into the wall that he would have to take the whole wall apart.

The door had hinges, but they were on the opposite side of the wall so he couldn't hope to escape by pulling the hinges free. The flap at the bottom wasn't big enough for him to wiggle through even if he kicked it open.

He was trapped.

He sat on the dirt floor, staring at the wall and wondering if this time he was really finished. Maybe they planned to starve him out, wait until he went crazy down there with only himself to talk to, the hunger growing on the meager rations they fed him.

The first day, he wondered what Batman would have done. Would Batman have agreed to talk and, when they brought him out for questioning, unleashed a bout of power and rage to overcome them?

The second day, he wondered if he could contact Batman to come help him defeat Slade once and for all.

The third day, Robin was ready to beg Batman to come rescue him.

But he could not reach Batman from inside the cell. He couldn't even reach his own teammates. He wondered if they had survived without him. They had their own superpowers, but he was their leader, the one who reined in Starfire, and encouraged Raven, and joked with Cyborg, and mentored Beast Boy. They needed him.

Footsteps sounded down the stone steps. Robin made sure his chain looked unbreakable and he stood, waiting.

The locks were pulled back from the door, and the door opened outward slowly.

Two of Slade's goons waited in the hallway, one with black eyes and the other with gray hair.

"Arms out," Black Eyes commanded. "March forward. Any sudden movement and we'll shoot."

Robin put his arms out and came forward. He hoped he might be able to jump them before they could stop him, but Gray Hair held out the electronic handcuffs.

"Put these on and then we'll hand you the key to your shackle."

Robin tried to keep the cuffs loose enough to slip his hands out, but the cuffs beeped loudly until he locked them tight enough around his wrists. The key he got was just an electronic card that he held over the shackles. The electronic lock slid open, and Robin pulled his ankle free, finding the iron difficult to manipulate with his hands in the cuffs.

"Follow us," the guards demanded. Robin moved into place between them, and he felt the muzzle of a gun slide into the small of his back. He thought the gun was probably a stun gun, but he saw no reason to test his luck.

As they went up the stairs, the air grew warmer, a blessing after the frigid dungeons. Robin didn't realize how cold his fingers had been until they started tingling from the warmth.

The men took him up to a large room, probably some kind of family room, if demented men like Slade had family rooms. A fire blazed on one side, and Robin tensed for action, sure they were about to use the fire to torture him.

In the middle of the room, a triangular piece of furniture stood, looking out of place with the rest of the fancy décor. The piece was about three feet high, completely slanted on one side with a bar in the middle across the other side.

Black Eyes pushed Robin to stand with the front of his shoes against the slanted side.

"Lean against it," Gray Hair ordered.

Robin hesitated and he felt the muzzle of the gun push against him. This was why Batman didn't like guns – guns made everything more difficult. Without any choice left, Robin leaned against the slanted side.

Black Eyes immediately grabbed his cuffed hands and pulled them over to the other side, locking them down on the bar. Robin had to lean a little further over to keep his wrists from hurting and his feet on the ground. If worst came to worst, he could launch his feet around in a roundhouse kick.

Then they locked his ankles against the wood.

Robin fought down panic. He slightly rocked his weight back and forth, testing how much he could move the triangle. It was bolted to the ground.

"Hang tight," Gray Hair smirked.

Robin twisted his body as much as he could, and he caught sight of the men exiting the room and shutting the door behind them.

Robin thrust his weight against the triangle hard. It creaked against the floor bolts. He pushed harder, hoping he could start to break the wood apart. He was smaller than the men, but his training had taught him to use his body for maximum force, to be able to break concrete blocks with his arms, driving power and using his body as a fierce weapon.

"Ah, ah," a voice scolded behind him. "If you break my furniture, I will have to kill you."

"Slade," Robin growled under his breath. "What do you want with me?"

"What do I want? What do I want?" Slade mused.

"You'll never make me talk," Robin snarled.

"Oh, I'm sure I could get you to talk quite easily," Slade moved around in front of him, Slade's mask obscuring his face. "You may have trained your body to become a fighter, but you're still just a boy. A little pain in the right places, and you'll cry out your worst secrets."

Robin breathed deeply. He knew that his body was strong, but certain places were vulnerable: his eyes, his ears, his fingers, his privates, his knees. All places where Slade could attack him and destroy his resolve.

"What do you want to know?" Robin asked. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"What makes you think you have information I want?" Slade's voice had a smirk in it.

"Why else kidnap me? I have to have information you want."

"Oh, pish-posh. What do I care about your secrets? You trained under Batman, you left him to form the Teen Titans, you all live in Titan Tower, and the others have superpowers while you, my dear boy, have none."

That was a lot of information. Robin pulled against the restraints in order to distract himself. Despite his struggles, the cuffs held. Not even his trained body could break the metal.

"When you're quite done fighting, we will begin to have a civilized discussion," Slade's voice had a smirk in it.

"Fine, what do you want from me?" Robin snarled.

Slade picked up a remote and pushed a button. Robin lifted his head to watch one of the walls split in half and reveal a tall computer with multiple screens.

"Cyborg is better at machines than I am," Robin said before he could stop himself.

"On this computer," Slade pushed another button and the screens flared to life, "I have a contract saved. In a moment, I will print it out and you will sign it."

"Contract for what?"

"Your training with me."

Robin blinked for a moment at the sudden news and then he unleashed a bout of rage. "What! Train with you? We're enemies. I'm going to fight you and beat you and take you to prison. Now let me up so we can fight."

"So I take that as a no?" Slade asked.

"You got that right, metal-faced freak."

"That really is such a shame," Slade sighed. Setting the remote down, he went to a wooden stand and pressed a button there.

Robin sneered. That was really all Slade was good for – talking and pushing buttons.

Two goons came back in, Black Eyes and Gray Hair. One was holding a wide flat box, and the other had a pair of long scissors in his hand. Robin tried not to flinch as the scissors came near; he had a frightening thought that they might try to stab him with the scissors. But Gray Hair went behind him, and Robin felt the cold scissors slide down his neck and start to cut through his uniform.

Black Eyes gave the box to Slade and then stepped in front of Robin. As the scissors continued to clip through the uniform, Robin watched Black Eyes smile coldly and then reach down to remove his mask.

"No, don't!" Robin protested, but it was too late. Cool air washed over his face as the mask came off.

"He's really just a boy," Black Eyes commented as he handed Slade the mask.

"Indeed. Please assist in removing the rest of Robin's attire and then leave us."

In a humiliating few seconds, the goons cut through the rest of his clothes, and left Robin naked on the stand. They even took his boots, and he had to stand tiptoe on bare feet, extremely vulnerable.

The goons left, but Slade gathered up his torn clothes, shoes, and mask. Slade walked over to the wall and pulled on a handle. A chute opened up, and Slade tossed the items inside. A grinding noise started up, and then a plastic bag flopped out. Slade picked it up, and as he came closer, Robin could see his costume inside, chewed to confetti.

"Will you sign the contract?" Slade asked.

"Get bent," Robin told him.

Sighing in disappointment, Slade went to the stand where he had left the box. He opened it and removed a long, flat, wooden paddle.

"Tell me when you've changed your mind."

Slade walked behind him. A second later, the paddle swung down and struck Robin's bare bottom.

He grunted loudly, but refused to make a sound. He had been punished before in this barbaric way, but it had been a few years, and even then Batman hadn't used a paddle, preferring instead his own calloused hand against his ward's bottom. Robin had managed to block out those few punishments, and he had supposed at his age he was too old to be disciplined with corporal punishment.

The second swat took away any disbelief he had. And the pain blossomed, so deep and complete, that he whimpered slightly. Slade was a master at causing agony, but Robin reasoned that he would rather be hit on the ass with a paddle than cut with a knife or punched somewhere else. He had survived past punishments; he could survive this one.

Slade slapped the paddle down again, the noise cracking through the room. And then he paused.

"This could be so much more effective," he mused.

Frowning with pain, Robin lifted his head again to watch Slade go to the computer. He slid the paddle into a special slot and typed on the keyboard. A drilling noise filled the room, and when Slade pulled the paddle out, it had six perfectly round holes in the wood.

Robin swallowed hard. Holes cut in the paddle made it easier to swing, and faster swinging meant –

Crack!

Robin gasped at the torturous agony in his bottom. Oh, it hurt – hurt past the point of making any kind of logical decision or reasoning. Slade swung again, and then he started a rhythm on the boy's backside, slamming the paddle at a 4/4 beat count of a smack every second with a brief pause at the end of every four.

Robin dragged air into his starving lungs and bellowed out a long cry, followed by an anguished plead of "No, Slade, stop! Stop it, stop it, stop it! Oh, it hurts too much. Ow, I'm gonna – I gonna – gonna – ooooooooh! I'm gonna bruise and hurt forever. Please stop!"

"Hmm," Slade mercifully paused. "Perhaps you would like to reconsider your position on the contract?"

"I'm not signing anything," Robin tried to sound angry, but his voice was higher pitched than usual. He had the sinking feeling that it was all for nothing; he was Slade's prisoner, and after three days of capture, cold, and little food, he didn't have much of a chance to resist.

The second round of paddling was as sharp and brutal as the first, and when Slade finally paused, Robin, choked by tears, tried to scramble together something coherent to say after all his nonverbal screaming.

"We can keep doing this for hours," Slade remarked. "And even after my arm gets tired, I have dozens of hired men who would be glad to lend their arms in order to help you come to your senses. And even after they tired, I have a number of females who would line up to assist in chastising such a naughty boy. That would put us somewhere into late afternoon . . . tomorrow. Must you be so stubborn?"

"My friends will come rescue me," Robin sniffed. "And if they don't, Batman –"

"Ah, yes, Batman," Slade pretended to consider this threat. "Could Batman lay siege to my fortress? I will not be arrogant and boast of my villainous power, and I will admit that should Batman try to break into my fortress he would eventually succeed. But will there be anything to save by then? What will be left of his little Robin?"

Blinking away tears, Robin tried to focus. He knew he couldn't win as long as he was shackled to the triangle stand with Slade beating him ruthlessly. Even with a contract, Robin knew he could try to escape.

"Okay, I'll sign the contract," he gulped. "What does it say?"

"That you'll be my apprentice for a year."

"A year? A year! No, not a year. A week."

Slade chuckled deeply. "You are hardly in a position to argue, but I'll play along. Eight months."

"Two weeks," Robin blinked quickly to clear away the tears. His bottom ached and thrummed, and he would have given almost anything to reach back and rub.

"Six months."

"One month."

"Three. Three months in my servitude and care."

"All right," Robin nodded, trying not to tremble.

He watched Slade walk back to the computer. The villain typed in a few words, and then the computer printed out a sheet. Slapping the sheet to a clipboard, Slade walked over to the naked boy and unlocked his right wrist from the cuffs and forced a pen into his hand.

Robin ran his eyes over the contract.

I, Robin, do resign myself to Slade for the duration of three months, from January 12th to April 12th. I give my mind, body, and soul to his authority and guidance, understanding that I will belong to him completely during this time. All decisions will be left to him, and I pledge my obedience entirely.

There was a line underneath for him to sign.