Disclaimer : Teen Titans do not belong to me. They are the property of DC Comics and Warner Brothers.

Author's Note: Sequel to One Man's Junk. Read that first. Otherwise you'll consider putting me in for a 302 – sorry – involuntary psychiatric confinement.

Warning: There's boy humor. Lots of it. References to cable TV shows, Barry Manilow and the song Copacabana. It's co-written with my husband. He's a genius. Everyone is out of character. Well, mostly. We usually laugh ourselves silly each time we work on it so we've been working on it since last year's vacation in August.

And most importantly, One Man's Junk has earned a coveted spot on Kryalla Orchid's Favorite Stories List.




Sequel to ONE MAN'S JUNK

Referenced Episodes of the TEEN TITAN Cartoon: Titan's East I & II,

When Brother Blood has stolen and assimilated the blue prints to all of Cyborg's technology.







"The prisoner will come forward."

The prisoner shuffled into the holding area, his movements hampered by the shackles around his ankles and wrists. Harsh light gleamed off his cybernetic implants, his orange jumpsuit providing the only splash of color in the room. The room was white, too white, completely devoid of any furniture save for a plain desk, a chair, and a line on the floor. The prisoner wasn't fooled by the Spartan nature of the room; he knew that behind the blank walls stood defenses capable of stopping an army dead in its tracks, or at least ruining its day.

That was what Belle Reve did – incarcerate metahumans, the worst of the worst. And it did so with a nasty efficiency.

He also noticed a drain on the floor. He conspicuously ignored it and tried not to think about why it was necessary.

"Stand on the line." The pudgy guard pointed with his pugil stick. "Prisoner 609845 reporting, sir."

The man occupying the chair behind the desk looked up from the folder he was leafing through with a hangdog expression. The Warden had a name, which nobody used. They just called him "the Old Man."

And old he was. Rumor had it the last time he smiled, he scared the dinosaurs.

The Old Man adjusted his reading glasses and peered at the folder. "Prisoner 609845. Sebastian Blood…"

The prisoner drew himself up. "You will address me as Brother Blood, cretin."

Without missing a beat, the Old Man continued: "…apparently wants to be returned immediately to solitary with his television stuck on repeats of Jersey Shore?" He scowled at Blood and raised an eyebrow.

The guard whispered to Blood, "C'mon, Blood. Don't blow this. General population gets tater tots tonight."

"Tater tots?" Blood muttered. He blinked. "I apologize, Warden."

"Hmph," the Old Man grunted. He looked back at the file. "Sebastian Blood, aka Brother Blood," he read, his Texas drawl becoming more pronounced. "Alpha class psychic. Powers include mind control, altering perception, teleportation, telekinesis, levitation and casting energy bolts." He looked up. "My, aren't we the Swiss Army knife."

Blood ground his teeth and said nothing.

The Old Man continued reading. "Former headmaster of the H.I.V.E. academy, dedicated to training young metahumans to be naughty. Tangled with the Teen Titans once, twice, no, three times, and had your ass handed to you each time."

Blood's hands slowly clenched and unclenched.

"Says here that, prior to your third go-around with the Titans, you became obsessed with the Titan called Cylon…"

"Cyborg," the guard corrected helpfully.

"…Cyborg," the Old Man continued. "It says you stole his blueprints and turned yourself into a copy of him?" He pulled his glasses down and looked at Blood incredulously.

"Superior version in every way," Blood said haughtily.

The Old Man looked the metal implants replacing Blood's eye, chin and extremities. "You did that to yourself?"

The guard snickered. "Pity he wasn't obsessed with Wonder Woman."

"Shut up, Chumley."


The Old Man shook his head and went back to reading. "So, now you also have Cyborg's complement of powers, including super-strength, sonic blasts, direct neural interface with computers, etcetera, etcetera…" He closed the file. "I suppose you've got a can opener and toothpick in there as well." He shook his head and tossed the file on the desk.

"All right, Blood. You have formally requested that you be removed from Supermax and released into the general prison population. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Blood said.

"I am pleased to tell you that the Board has provisionally granted your request." He didn't look pleased. "Do you what that means?"


"Let's review it anyway." The Old Man leaned forward and steepled his fingertips together. "Superpowers are not permitted in the general prison population. By requesting to be released into the general population, you have voluntarily agreed to have all of your metahuman abilities suppressed to normal human levels. Is that correct?"


"You have agreed to a daily regimen of whatever processes we have determined will be necessary to suppress your superhuman abilities, which, in your case, will be a combination of medications, technological suppressants, nanotechnology and software subroutines. Is that correct?"


"In the general population, you will be a 'trustee.' This does not mean that we trust you." He leaned back and gave Blood a careful look. "Once in the general population, you agree that at any time and for any reason you will submit to any examination to assure that your powers continue to be suppressed. By 'examination' we mean anything, up to and including blood tests, urine samples, psychic scans, forensic magic all the way to what the boys refer to as the 'full gerbil.' Do you understand and agree to these conditions?'"


"Furthermore, you will be required to report any change in your metahuman status immediately. That means that any inkling you have that your powers may be reasserting itself, you will tell us or you will find yourself back in Supermax permanently. Do you undertand?"


The Old Man paused. "What was that?"


"You said, 'Meep'."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

The Old Man glared at him for a moment, then shoved a piece of paper across the desk. "If you understand and agree to all the conditions I have explained to you, sign here."


The Old Man stopped. "You did it again."

Blood looked confused. "That wasn't me."

"It came from you."

"Yes, but…" Suddenly, a salsa beat filled the room. The prisoner, the guard and the warden all froze in shock.

From somewhere came a slightly muffled, "Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…"

Blood's human eye widened. He slowly looked down towards his nether region.

The Old Man and the guard leaned forward, their gaze focused on something bouncing to the beat under Brother Blood's coverall.

The guard whispered, "Is that… Manilow?"

Brother Blood tried to draw himself up with some semblance of dignity. "Warden, I would like to report a disturbance in my pants…"



"It's dead, BB. You killed it."

"I didn't mean too!"

Beast Boy and Cyborg stood around the smoking remains. "I told you, man, you can't shapeshift when the GameStation is using Kinect. That's the third one you've exploded…"

Beast Boy scratched his head. "I didn't know those things could scream…"

Suddenly the alarm went off. The Titan's twenty-foot main monitor snapped on, showing an immense human nose.

"Nnngh!" Beast Boy jumped back. Out of the speakers came, "Is this thing on.?" The camera pulled back to reveal the tired face of the Belle Reve Warden. The Old Man glanced around the room. "Sorry to disturb you. Would you be Cylon?"

"I'm Cyborg, sir."

"Cyborg, right. I'm the Warden here at Belle Reve. We've got one of yours here, a 'Brother Blood'?"

"Brother Blood? Yes." The other Titans poured into the main room. "What's going on?" "Sssh."

The Old Man thought for a second. "Well, we had an… incident, you might say."

"Incident?" Cyborg asked. "Did he escape?"

"Escape? No, he didn't escape. He's still here." The Old Man paused. "Well, most of him is, anyway…"




Thank you for reading.

Please review!


Teen Titans, Episode 312, Titans East Part 1, Written by Marv Wolfman

Teen Titans, Episode 313, Titans East Part 2, Written by David Slack

Copacabana, Words and Music by Barry Manilow, Bruce Sussman, and J. Feldman, 1978