A/N: Hello.

Hm.
It's been... probably over a year since I hung out on the TT section of
I think it's been probably about as long since I gave up on trying to write fanfic. (translation: tried to kill this account)

I've actually had the idea for this fic for a few years. Now that it's summer, I'm bored enough to write it.

Now... Since I know that summary was a little sketch...

The premise of this story is that the Titans are vulnerable in ways they never would have guessed. As in, things like guns with bullets that kill people. In the actual show, no one dies (or at least, no one's allowed to say the 'd' word, or the 'k' word). There's no death, blood, and the heroes always win - just cuz they're the good guys. I wanted to write this fic to point out exactly how incredably easy it would be to take out the Titans. (And because I wanted to try my hand at writting the angsty dramatic dark fic). And since I'm trying to make this angsty and melodramatic, this fic gets to be Robin-centric.

Setting: Post season 5. Assume that all those extra Titans went off and formed their own teams elsewhere. Jump City is only big enough for Robin, Raven, BB, Cy, and Star.

A note on the 'big bad' of this story... Wade DeFarge. AKA Slade's evil half brother. No really. This guy's legit. In the comic books and everything. He's the bad guy because it's convenient and Slade according to the cartoons would never hurt a fly. But since he's a bad guy of convenience (not to mention never a major character in the comics) I take quite a few liberties with his character (what little of it there is). All you the reader need to know is that he's Slade, only evil. And out to make Slade miserable and dead.

Pairings... Nope. For once I'm going to do my best to write this with zippo romance. Maybe a little Rob/Star, but only because it's so canon denying or ignoring it would be like saying Robin wears Superman's costume. If my backgrounds as a fluff-author decide to show up here, I'll do my best to keep it as far in the background as possible.

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. Or buildings. (I really wish I lived in Titan's Tower...)

The couple had left early and in a hurry. Perhaps they were late for work. After a week of observation, such an event wouldn't be unprecedented or even surprising. Whatever the case, they had remembered to lock their door.

With hands encased in a dark blue glove, the man easily picked the lock on the door of the apartment.

With the contempt of an uninvited guest, the man strolled across the living room and into the bedroom. He couldn't help but sniff in disgust, the sheets were a mess and there were pieces of clothing littering the floor.

All it took was a flick of his wrist and the dark red curtain over the window was move aside.

Red, he supposed, was the color of blood. The color of his father's blood, the color of his blood, the color of Slade's blood. How appropriate.

He was wearing red. Red, blue, and bullets.

Bullets? He only needed five.

The Y-intersection perfectly framed the scene. Picturesque in their heroic poses, the Titans were gathered around a round table atop a low rooftop. They surrounded the ultimate prize. Each one of them stood tall, having long ago discarded their chairs as they attempted to defend such a great thing.

The legendary last slice of pizza - golden in the setting sun, romantically gleaming with grease in the dying light of a sunset.

Across the arena of cardboard pizza boxes, the Titans faced off with their most dangerous foes yet.

Raven narrowed her eyes.

Starfire formed green starbolts.

Beast Boy growled.

Cyborg held up his sonic cannon.

Robin gave that cocky traffic light grin.

The enemy surrounded them.

"Rock..."

"Paper..."

"Scissors..."

"SHOOT!"

Cyborg wailed in pain. Starfire glared. Raven smirked. Beast Boy laughed. Robin refused to wipe that cocky traffic light grin off his face.

Raven and Beast Boy turned towards each other and nodded.

Robin chanted, "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

The crowd of bystanders looked down. Rock, and scissors.

Raven sighed. She hadn't really wanted the last slice anyways, right?

Robin and that damn cocky traffic light grin loomed over Beast Boy. "Ready?"

Beast Boy nodded. "Ready."

Together, "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

Two papers. The suspense built.

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

Robin screamed in defeat. How? How did it happen? How did he, the great boy wonder, fall prey to a pair of scissors?

Beast Boy smiled smugly. "Ladies and gentlemen, that slice of pizza belongs to the great Beast-man." Jumping up on the table, caught in the thrill of victory, Beast Boy held the greasy slice of cheese and sauce aloft above his head as he ever so slowly and tauntingly lowered the pizza to his waiting jaws.

There was a loud crack, and suddenly Robin was staring up at his green teammate through a haze of pizza sauce.

A moment passed. Then another.

Some of the red dropped away, forming thick globs on the concrete deck of the pizza shop. Some of the red didn't go. Robin reached up to wipe the sauce off his face. Clearing his vision, he looked down at his gloved hand, but something else caught his eye first.

Beast Boy was lying on the table, on his back, surrounded by empty cardboard boxes. His face, his head, they didn't look like him at all. There were bits of something white scattered around him. The area was covered in pizza sauce.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Robin knew it wasn't pizza sauce.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Robin knew who was screaming.

Can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man.

The man in red, blue, and bullets was leaving. Why would he stay? He had finished what he came to do.

Carefully, he put away his sniper rifle. One piece at a time. Why would he rush?

It took his practiced eye a mere moment to be certain he had left no traces of ever having been in the room. The bed was still unmade; the kitchen sink was still dripping. Why would he fix them?

With all the loving care in the world, the man in red, blue, and bullets set down a small piece of paper. Printer paper. Folded precisely. Why wouldn't he care?

Latching the window closed securely and pulling down the blind, the man in red, blue, and bullets flicked the light switch and locked the door behind him. Why wouldn't he conserve?

Whenever the couple returned home, they would find it swarming in police. But this was of no concern. Why would it be?

The Titans sat in silence.

Four minds shared a single thought.

This isn't happening.

The darkened entrance hall was as silent as its occupants. The roars of the media outside were muted by the blast doors that sealed Titan's Tower away from the outside world.

Robin tilted his head back and closed his eyes. This wasn't happening. When he opened his eyes...

Robin stared. He stared, and he stared, and he stared. All his training demanded that he move, that he find cover, that he find the sniper, that he do something. Robin just stared.

This wasn't Gotham; this was Jump. And in Jump, the bad guys didn't use bullets, didn't use lethal force, didn't kill. Brother Blood hadn't killed. The Brotherhood of Evil hadn't killed. Even Slade had never intended to kill.

Heroes in Jump didn't lose. Heroes in Jump didn't die.

Robin let his head drop to stare at his gloved hands. Deep red stains had seeped into the fabric. It had never been a problem before. Heroes in Jump didn't bleed.

The Titans got thrashed occasionally. Occasionally they were injured at the most inconvenient time possible. Occasionally they complained of pain.

Robin let himself be guided into a chair by a police officer.

Police officer? Why were the police never around when they were needed? Why were the police in Jump so utterly useless?

As he looked down at his hands, Robin knew the answer. Heroes in Jump didn't bleed.

Robin opened his eyes. The room was still dark. The silence was still there.

The teenage boy looked down at his gloved hands. The stains were still there.

The silence was suddenly broken by a soft sobbing. Robin looked up to see Raven collapsed on the floor several meters away. Starfire was there too, wrapping a protective arm around her friend.

The most detached part of Robins mind noted that Beast Boy would have owed Cyborg a large pizza – Raven cried saltwater tears just like everyone else.

A/N: Just like everyone else in the Vole Pit, I like reviews. Very much.

Your reviews do not speed up updates. Your flames make me happy someone's reading this. Your constructive reviews make me very happy and help me be a generally better person.