A/N: A good friend, whom you all may know as Kiome-Yasha on this website, came to me with a pretty neat idea concerning Bombshell!Raven's design in a BBRae format! She graciously let me use her wonderful art as a cover (and inspiration), and asked me to try and write out her vision. Now, I've still got a crazy amount of WIPs to do so, sadly, I don't have plans to really continue this as of now, but I did have a lot of fun writing it! I'm also pretty happy with how it turned out and I hope that I stuck as close to her vision for the characters as I could! Thanks again for always inspiring with all your lovely art, Kiome!

For a bit of context; this is an AU of sorts, with a mix of comic and cartoon elements, but as there isn't really a DC Bombshells category on here, I've put this in the cartoon as it also relies on elements from there, too.

Why'd the Demon Cross the Road?

Garfield Logan was drunk. Normally impossible, given his freak of nature metabolism, but he'd found a way. A miraculous way, really. If you counted miracles as a questionable, viscous liquid in a test tube given to you by a man who could, arguably, run at the speed of light. Sometimes, it paid to have best friends that were anomaly speedsters, and Logan found himself mentally thanking his ginger friend when the buzz finally kicked in shortly after he'd drank the foul concoction, strong enough to slow down even the fastest man alive.

Once the party had started, and the crowds had built up, with music so loud it could drown out his own thoughts, he'd forgotten exactly how much he'd been told to take. Didn't help any that there were cute girls abound and Gar loved nothing more than to flex in front of them, so he'd downed the entire thing in one swig, relishing in the applause and attention that followed.

And so the drinking began.

Shots. Martinis. Vodka. Champagne. Tequila. More shots — licking lime and salt off a model's gorgeous body. She tasted like strawberry lotion and alcohol. Sweet and bitter. Being drunk was an addiction. He didn't feel anything he didn't want to feel. Everything in his peripheral vision was but a hazy blur, fingers and toes a tingle of nerves. Even his lips burned. Which girl did he kiss? Blonde? Brunette? He didn't remember, but there were different shades of lipstick all over his neck when he glanced into the bathroom mirror. Some were turning a nasty purple, bruised and with light bite marks, but he was sure he'd done worse to whichever girl had been on his lap at the time.

Outside the bathroom door, the music pulsed from the massive speakers, and Gar swallowed the bile that rose up to his throat for the second time. Its acid sting burned all the way back down, but he hated being sick. Only thing worse than actual doctors. He'd already puked once, and the boy staring back at him in his reflection looked haggard and pale, even though his skin was an earthy green. Gar clutched at the edges of the porcelain sink and tried to steady his breathing, eyes closed and counting to ten until the bout of nausea slowly dissipated. The muscles of his stomach were still taut, squeezing his abdomen from the last time he'd spilled out his guts.

His loose, white dress shirt sat haphazard on his lean form, a few buttons from his collar and chest missing. He could only guess that they'd been torn off somehow, a trail of dark red lipstick marks disappearing down his sternum. Racking his brain, Gar couldn't think past the fog, and it frustrated him.

He turned on the tap and splashed some cold water onto his warm, flushed face, cheeks tingling. It helped wake him up a bit, and he used his wet fingers to comb back the messy, ruffled waves of his hair.

God, it felt good.

Loud banging on the door nearly jolted him out of his skin.

"Hurry up in there, dude! I need to pee!" a frantic male voice shouted.

"Just pee in the plants, no one will notice. It's not like it's our house. Let Gar's maids or whatever deal with it," another chimed in.

Gar stood up, facing the door and nearly staggering forward. "Nonononono!" he slurred. "Don't pee in my plants, please! Galtry'll kill me! I'm done, I swear, I'm comin' out. Just, uh…just gimme a minute."

He did up his fly with fumbling fingers, and nearly fell forward into the door, the room spinning. Finding the lock while keeping his eyes closed — because the bright white light was giving him a migraine — Gar fiddled with it until it clicked open, his face pressed up against the wood. Licking his dry lips — still tasting of tequila, lipstick, and vomit — he somehow managed to open the door.

Bodies seemed to immediately push past him, thanking him with a clap on his back and helping to usher him out of the way. "Awesome party, man," someone noted before the door closed behind him.

But Gar couldn't open his eyes. In fact…it felt pretty good keeping them shut. No light. The music faded into the background of his empty dreams. Just peace and quiet and darkness.

In the distance, he could still feel that his body ached, tethering him to a reality he wanted no part of. And when he tried to pry open a single eyelid with all the effort he could muster, he found the hallway was sideways. Was he floating? Dancing on the walls? Just what exactly had been in that drink Wally had given him?

He could see dozens of feet. Walking, shuffling, standing. But they all moved away from him, giggling at his predicament in the distance.

Except for one set of blue heels and fishnets. He couldn't see much of her legs, but what he did see, he appreciated. Such lovely, demure ankles, and there was always something inexplicably sexy about fishnets. Like Black Canary or Zatanna. Damn.

Velvety, blue heels click-clacked against the tiled wood as she rushed over to him as fast as the shoes would allow her. She bent down so that her knees were also now in line with his vision. Finally, he thought. Someone had realized that the life of the party was missing, and it was about time. Gar would get up and join them. In a moment. Whenever his muscles decided to listen to him again. He willed his arm to move, and nothing happened.

"Are you okay?" Blue heels sounded genuinely concerned for him, her voice low and gravelly.

He wasn't quite sure he heard her, not right away, anyways. In fact, Gar was fairly certain he'd imagined the voice and, hell, probably the woman herself. Her question echoed strangely until she posed it to him again, a little more firm this time. He blinked his one good eye, trying to note if she'd disappear. His other eye was pressed tightly against the cool, tile floor where he lay, permanently attuned to darkness no matter how much he blinked. Not that he minded. He was slowly coming to understand that he'd fallen onto the floor of the hallway and hurt himself. Only, the alcohol had numbed him to most of the pain. That, and he was so tired. So, so tired.

Tendrils of long, thick, black hair dangled before his gaze, loosely coiled. They looked so soft and silken, and he wondered if he could touch them. He smelled her before he even saw her, and God she smelled divine.

Sweet like brandy. Mouthwatering. She was a creature of dreams, he knew it. Far too perfect to be real.

"An…angel?" he thought aloud, staring at her as best he could through his haze of intoxication. It took a while before her three heads merged into one lovely sight.

Her eyes were a deep shade of red. Like wine in the sunlight — dark enough to almost give the illusion of sherry brown. Prominent black brows arched over top, drawing his stare immediately because they were angled in such a strange design, granting her a fierceness unmatched by any human woman. In contrast, her skin was as fair as porcelain, and there was so much of it on brazen display, she may as well have been naked. Her bangs were cropped short, to a triangular point, and she wore a headband with small, pointy horns. But, God, her lips. She had such a sensual mouth, even when pouting in concern. Over him, of all people.

No one ever really cared about him. His fortune? Sure. His fame? Ask all of his ex girlfriends. But Gar Logan himself? He may as well have been a plastic product; just a brand name you tossed away when you were done. So, the real question was, how'd he ever get so lucky that a beautiful, dark-haired angel had come to rescue him?

"Not…quite," she answered with uncertainty, shyly tucking a long chunk of her hair behind her ear. "Now hold still while I patch you up. Most demons are capable of healing on their own, but you seem to be delayed. I suspect it has something to do with whatever it is you consumed."

Huh? "Demons…?" he mumbled, but she didn't hear him. Maybe this was hell and not heaven after all. Would explain her horns. But since when did demons wear fishnets and have lips he could kiss for days?

Either way, Gar complied with her easy instructions, unable to take his eyes off her while she surveyed the damage. As if he even had a choice; his body was no longer obeying him.

Then, something warm came over him. It started small — so small, he almost thought he'd imagined it. Realistically, everything at the moment seemed like a fever dream to Garfield. But the feeling grew, spreading all over him. Like being snuggled into a warm blanket and lulled to sleep. Gar blinked, but each time, his eyelids grew heavier, and it became harder and harder to stay awake.

She said something to him, but he was gone too far away to make out what she'd meant. Gar felt like a child again, head on his mother's lap as he dozed off while she hummed some familiar tune and stroked his hair tenderly…

She was waiting for him to wake up. Demon males rarely ever slept, but this one had been fast asleep for almost half a day now. The night had long since ended, and the sun was settling high in a clear blue sky, peering in through the window with its golden rays.

Raven was beginning to doubt her decision about coming to Earth. If this was the best demon boy this dimension had to offer, then it was a sad one to say the least. His skin and hair were green, not red. He had no horns of any kind, nor a tail to speak of. Instead of four, he had two eyes, and his brows were simply brows; she'd checked. She had even peeled back his lips when he'd fallen asleep to closely examine the sharp set of fangs in his mouth. The bottom ones were nowhere near as large as a typical demon male's, but they were there nonetheless. Plus, she'd been reassured that he could shapeshift; a rare but powerful talent that had impressed Raven most. In a world overrun by humans and aliens, he'd stood out.

Chewing her bottom lip, she briefly toyed with the idea of waking him. She had so many questions. But there was something serene about the way he slept, like he was finally at peace. Unlike when she'd found him on the floor, practically dead and purpled with bruises that would not heal immediately — yet another shortcoming she would need to overlook for the time being.

Any other demon would have scorched a man down where they stood, had they dared step on him and desecrate his body with their vile human feet. But this boy had merely lain there, content to be forgotten by the world.

Raven pondered all of these things as she sat on the edge of his bed, bouncing her knee impatiently.

When he finally stirred — a ray of light moving into his eyes just as the sun rose high enough to disturb him — Raven perked up.

"Nnnn," he groaned, eyes squeezing shut in a tight grimace. He immediately clutched at his throbbing head.

Slowly, he sat up in his bed, the crisp white linen slipping down to reveal his naked torso. Garfield rubbed at his eyes and then tried to open them through the excruciating pain of his hangover.

"Finally," Raven noted exasperatedly. She frowned shortly after. "You are in pain again. Such a fragile creature for someone not human."

"Wh-who…wha…?" Garfield muttered, squinting at her, but he didn't seem to really see her beyond the strong sunlight and the haze of pressure behind his eyes.

Raven had already removed her glove and was placing the palm of her hand against his forehead, immediately relieving him of his pounding headache with the same warmth that had overcome him the other night.

"Who the heck are you?" he asked her when she was done, staring back in disbelief. Gar then glanced down at his nudity, then back at the girl on his bed, who was wearing nothing but a blue, strapless leotard with a plunging neckline that emphasized her breasts. His eyes widened, and he rubbed at his forehead, trying to recall the night's previous events.

"Shit, did we have sex?" he asked, scrunching up his brows.

Raven felt her cheeks flush hotly. "Not yet, unfortunately. Although, if you feel you're adequate to try…" She trailed off, fingers reaching for the zipper of her outfit. At least this was a request she had been prepared for when it came to demons.

The shapeshifter brought up his hands in alarmed protest. "What?! Wait, no! Uh, shit." Garfield glanced over at his bedside clock, and once reading it, he threw the covers back and jumped out of bed. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Galtry is going to kill me! How did I sleep in for so long?! Why didn't you wake me up?! Oh, man! I'm dead. I'm toast. Kentucky Fried Gar."

Raven watched him scramble about the room curiously, nearly taking a tumble trying to get his legs through his pants. "How did I get to bed? If we didn't have sex, why am I naked?!" he exclaimed frantically.

Once his pants were on, he glanced about for the rest of his clothes, strewn about the room in messy piles.

"You were fatigued and needed to mend, so I had all of your guests leave and then I helped you to bed," Raven answered nonchalantly. "As for you being naked, I had to strip you to check for any other injuries. Although, most of your marks just seemed to be in the shape of painted lips…" She ran her fingers down the clean bedsheets and averted her gaze as she admitted to this. Her father had told her not to be coy, but Raven had never been as brash when pursuing the opposite sex quite like Trigon was.

Gar blinked at her, pausing in his search to address what she'd said. "How the heck did you get them all to just leave? There were, like, four hundred people over!" he cried incredulously. Then, he eyed her small frame with moderate suspicion. "And, no offense cutie, but I'm having a hard time believing you carried me up several flights of stairs. I'm not as light as I look."

"Humans seem to have a strange aversion and fear of demons and our appearance, so I scared them away. And no, of course I didn't carry you. Why would I carry you when I can just levitate you through a portal?"

He'd managed to get one arm through the sleeve of his t-shirt before he poked his head out and stared at Raven like she'd somehow sprouted several new heads.

"A what?"

He quickly finished putting on his shirt — ruffling his already messy bed hair even more — and began pacing the room, his brows pulled into a furrow. "Let's…hold off on explaining how the heck you put me through a portal for a moment or how you scared away my friends, and rewind a bit. Did you just say that you're a demon?!"

Raven unfolded her legs from beneath her, dangling them over the edge of the king-sized bed so that she was facing him. "I'm…a halfling, but yes. My father is Trigon, the demon lord of hell, conqueror of worlds."

Garfield stared blankly at her, and then he plopped down onto the carpeted floor and looked down with wide eyes, rocking back and forth. "I slept with a demon. I slept with a demon. Oh, man, Galtry is going to murder me. I had a party, I got drunk, the house is trashed, and somehow, I ended up in bed with a demon girl. How the hell are you going to get out of this one, Gar?!" He clutched at his hair, tugging at the strands like he was going insane.

"Actually, you were the only one who did any sleeping," Raven corrected him.

He glanced up at her, face drained of colour and eyes glassy. "I still don't even know who the heck you are!"

"Oh." Raven stood up and cleared her throat, straightening out her rather revealing, fitted costume with gloved fingers, and catching Gar off guard with her long, shapely legs in a pair of tight, fishnet stockings. He gulped, licking his dry lips as he gawked at her. "My name is Raven, daughter of the demon lord, Trigon, and the human witch, Arella Roth of Azarath."

"I've got to be dreaming," Gar stated breathily, running his hand through his unruly hair before he pinched his own arm. "Ow! Okay, nope. Definitely not a dream. Am I being punked? Because if so, this stopped being funny ten minutes ago."

Standing up, he started looking for hidden cameras.

Raven folded her arms over her chest and jutted out her bottom lip, growing irritable with his childish antics. "You really aren't the cleverest demon boy, are you?"

He turned on her. "Listen. You're like, ridiculously hot, even if you didn't get the memo that it wasn't a costume party, or whatever weird roleplay kink you're into. But I'm not a demon, and neither are you. What I will be, however, is shish kabob if you don't leave and Galtry gets here before I can clean up all the mess everyone made!"

"Hmph. What mess?" Raven then snapped her fingers and an aura of dark energy engulfed all the articles of clothing on the floor, separating them individually.

Wide eyed and slack-jawed, Garfield stared as his underwear, shirts, and bottoms all floated into the air of their own free will, folding themselves neatly before being filed away into his open drawers.

"Now do you believe me? Or have I wasted my time?" she scoffed.

Once Garfield remembered how to use his voice again, he said, "Man, this has got to be some Justice League Dark stuff. Lady, I think you're probably looking for John Constantine. Not me. I'm just a washed up actor, getting a free ride on my uncle's coattails. A ride, mind you, that is five minutes away from throwing me off at full speed unless you do more of that black magic thing to clean the rest of the house."

She sneered. "John Constantine is many things, but a demon — much less, a suitable mate — he is certainly not. As for your house…"

Raven snapped her fingers again, only this time, her eyes went white, glowing with power, and she levitated off the floor, arms outstretched and a dark aura overcoming her silhouette. "Azarath, metrion, zinthos!" she cried out, voice booming throughout the mansion halls and making the small hairs on Gar's arms stand on end.

Once she was finished, her eyes returned to normal, and her feet were once again planted on the ground. With a hint of pride, she then added, "Consider it done. Now will you stop freaking out?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Garfield replied with a nervous, high-pitched chuckle. "No big deal. My horniness just finally summoned a powerful and hot witch demon to my house, who is claiming to be my mate, absolutely nothing weird about that whatsoever."

"You didn't summon me. I chose Earth because it is my mother's place of birth. Although…" Raven paused to look about the room with distaste. "I can see why she chose not to stay."

Garfield closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, seemingly more calm now that he was aware of the developing situation. "Wait, so…you're actually saying that you're here for me? Really? Because Dick Grayson lives, like, three blocks away from here, so it's possible you've made a mistake."

Raven pulled a questioning face. "I don't know a Dick Grayson. I know of you, and you are certainly not a mistake, Garfield Mark Logan. I saw your face in the big screens, and all over magazines and newspapers. The changeling boy. You may not be an ideal demon, but…you're far superior to any human. Only my father is a known skinchanger, and his power knows no bounds." Then, tucking her arms behind her back demurely, she amended, "Plus, I kind of already used my one way ticket, so you're all I've got to show for it."

"Gar," he corrected her.

Her lips parted, brows furrowed, puzzled by his statement.

Garfield smiled at her, the tip of his right, bottom fang exposed over his lip, and a dimple on his cheek. "Just call me Gar. It's super weird when people say my full name. Only Rita does that, and usually when she's pissed at me."

"But that's so informal," commented Raven.

"You don't seriously expect me to always address you as Raven, daughter of demon lord Trigon all the time, do you?" he jested, changing the pitch of his voice when he stated her father's title.

When she didn't laugh, Gar cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Then what would you call me?" she asked in all seriousness.

"Uh…well." He glanced outside his window in thought, sunlight filtering through his curtains and casting a shadow of her horns on his carpeted floor.

Tapping his chin, and with his other arm crossed over his chest, he came up with a nickname. "How about…just Raven? Or…Rae?"

"Rae?" She raised a sultry brow, sharp angles and all.

"Yeah, Rae, uhm…what did you say your mom's last name was?"

"Roth is her maiden name."

Gar clapped his hands together. "That settles it, then. Raven Roth, or Rae for short. It suits you, actually," he surmised, studying her face as he rolled the name around in his mouth. "Cute."

The demoness shrugged. "I can't say I'm a big fan, but I suppose this is practice for when you introduce me to your uncle," Raven stated.

"My uncle? Galtry?" He blinked in surprise.

She nodded. "Because he's here."

As soon as she spoke, the front door chime went off, and Garfield Logan went as pale as a paper sheet.

A/N: Thanks for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated. Drop me a comment, let me know if you'd be interested in seeing more of this idea, and who knows? I might revisit it sooner than you think! Also, make sure to check out Kiome's BBRae fic, Kremlin Dusk! :)