Hey. Fée here with a little twisted ficlet. It's RobinRaven, on Raven's POV, and Robin-centric. Canon story line, and I figure they're around 18. There's a non-explicit sex scene in there somewhere. Just thought you'd like to know, though its practically nonexistent.
Summary: Robin might be dying, and while everyone blames themselves, Raven does a little thinking.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, they'd be weirder. (Even more so) I don't. So there.
"I've had that dream. Only when I'm naked, I'm missing not my clothes, but my mask. But it's the same dream—the laughing, the pointing, the vulnerability… I desperately try to cover my face, but my hands are bound to my sides. Everyone can see me, they know who I am. They know Robin is a lie, and there's really only Dick. Richard Grayson, former circus boy." The confession was nothing more than a hushed comment, but it rang in Raven's ears as though spoken through a megaphone. It weighed her down for days, distracting the Ravens in her mind to the point of frustration. She tried to wipe it clear off her mind during meditation, but it always led to stuff breaking.
It confused her; Robin had never spoken to her like that before. In fact, it had been the first time she heard his own name come from his mouth—though she had known it previously, more through coincidence than anything. And former circus boy? She hardly knew what to do with that. Robin's past? He came from Gotham City, had been/still was Batman's protégée, and…that was about it. They know Robin is a lie… that was just plain creepy. Robin had always been the epitome of confidence, secure in his persona like no one else she knew of… Robin is a lie. What did that statement hold?
Robin was different from the rest of them, that much she knew. Starfire was an alien, Cyborg half machine, she was half-demon, and Beast Boy…well, Beast Boy. But Robin was human--pure, blood and flesh, human. They often forgot that. They forgot it that day, when ashes and gravel rained from the sky, and a third of downtown Jump City collapsed.
They'd been on bomb alert for a week, she remembered. When the siren sang, they had been ready. Efficiently, they evacuated most of the buildings in the area, until only one was left—Jump City Children's Hospital. Most of the people were out already, patients evacuated, but they had to be sure. The five of them had gone in then, quick and sure, Cyborg sweeping for the bomb, the rest of them throwing any remaining skeptics out. The citizens of Jump City had never taken kindly to the Titans, and were somewhat reluctant to cooperate.
The bomb went off, and five buildings caved unto themselves, including the one they were in. The shockwave traveled through the surrounding blocks, shattering and stumbling everything in its path. Eleven people died. Raven was in the air when it happened, a civilian in her arms, Starfire and her charge beside her. A green pterodactyl shot out of the collapsing structure and flew beside her as they got as far away from ground zero as they could. Behind them, Cyborg exploded from a pile of rocks, a true titan, lasers blasting all around him as he struggled free of the building that would have crushed him.
At first, she couldn't remember whether she ever looked back, whether she wondered on Robin's whereabouts. Now she knew she hadn't; how could she have? Robin was strong and young and beautiful and agile and nothing could destroy him. She didn't have to wonder; she knew Robin would be safe on a rooftop somewhere.
He wasn't. He was somewhere in the pile of debris, his body thrown protectively over a young woman—a nurse---and a toddler boy. The woman was dead, a rock on the back of her head having cut her life short. Robin was alive, but only just. His breathing was raspy, labored and faint, his heartbeat hardly more than a whisper, his features nearly unrecognizably coated in blood. Beneath him, the little boy was alive.
Sixteen broken bones, head trauma, internal bruising and bleeding, three of the fingers in his right hand turned to useless mush. He had been dead even in life as he lay there in his tomb of gray vestiges. Raven didn't know what kept his body alive for two hours until they found him, or for three after that until they got him to Gotham and safely plugged into machinery that breathed for him. Shrill willpower, she guessed.
Batman was there, she remembered, him and Batgirl. Only they came as Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon, and it somehow made it easier to sit and brood and, in Batgirl's case, cry. They all sat in a small, white waiting room, the image of the broken Robin burning through in their brains. His voice rang in her ears again. Robin is a lie. It seemed true now. The Robin she knew was immortal, unbreakable, superhuman.
The real Robin was dying, dead, they told them, and only Batman and her didn't cry--although the wall cracked suspiciously behind her. Even the nameless little boy, small and battered in Starfire's lap, burst into tears for a young man he had known for less than a day. Maybe he knew who Robin was, Raven thought, what he'd done. Maybe he thought Robin a hero.
They took him home, to the Tower, still slightly alive. They plugged him back in, and waited. Waited for him to die. A semblance of guilt---at least, the rationalization of guilt that was all she could manage---crept through her. They'd gone; they'd forgotten to look back. They'd forgotten he, alone, was human. He couldn't fly out of the wreck, couldn't blast his way through, morph his way through. These thoughts haunted both her dreams and her waking hours, joining the Boy Wonder's ghostly voice and cryptic words of a lifetime ago. They know Robin is a lie, and there's really only Dick.
The haunting went away only when she sat by his bedside, soothed in the whirling sound of his breathing. He was still alive. Robin, Richard, Dick, whoever he was---his heart still beat. His nose was still slightly crooked, his legs still graceful and muscular even when shattered. His lips, though pale, were still as sweet looking and tempting as they had always been. His skin still smelled like autumn, earthy and moist.
And his mask was still there.
If he died, she would never know his eyes.
She had often dreamed of Robin, of his strong hands on her body and those swollen lips on her skin. In her dreams, he crushed her to himself, made her raw with desire and feeling---in her dreams, he filled her with hope, he forced her to feel.
She harbored no silly notions as to the meaning of her fantasies---purely sexual, to be sure. But then the dream changed, and instead of clawing off her leotard, Robin took off his mask and looked directly at her with eyes that changed every night. She couldn't hide behind lust then. She didn't only want Robin's body—she wanted whoever it was underneath the mask.
The little boy nobody seemed to know had taken up residence in the tower. Raven watched him out of the corner of her eyes whenever he was near, and thought it strange nobody had claimed him after nearly a month. But then again, there had been many orphans in the Children's Hospital, and all records had been destroyed in the explosion. He was a sweet little boy, barely two years old, who claimed in babbles to be named Alex. He was all smiles and giggles, and Raven knew that Robin would love him when he awoke. Alex, for his part, seemed devoted to the Boy Wonder. Whenever he could, he'd stumble to the infirmary and grasp at his savior's door, trying to turn the handle with chubby fingers.
Sometimes, she brought Alex in to sit with her in Robin's empty room. It seemed to soothe them both; full of dark red and wood, very Spartan and tidy, nothing like the cluttered study they all knew. She had often wondered how Robin's workplace could be a mess, and yet he still appeared to have such ordered thoughts. Now she knew—Robin's room and his study were the duality in his nature; a cool rationality and intelligent actions, carried out with a soul-wrenching fervor that would forever remain unknown to her.
Sitting on Robin's bed, nestled in a comforter that smelled of him still, Raven felt…something. It wasn't only the usual arousal his scent brought---something deeper. Comfort, maybe. Loneliness, certainly. Awareness---the realization of how alone she was with him asleep, and solace in his lingering presence, the Robin that was everywhere in the room. She had often felt lonely before, but never so much as she did now. Somehow, with Robin nearby, she'd never felt completely alone or misunderstood. It made no sense—and sense was the only thing she had to live by. Her and Robin had never been particularly close, but now she---she missed him. Not the idea of him, not the security of his leadership, but him---actual, physical Robin. She missed the cocky twitch of his grin, the strange velvet of his voice, the sad glint she always thought she saw in his masked eyes. And his bed brought it all rushing to her, almost real enough to touch.
When she lay down, it was as if she could feel his body resting beside her, his chest swelling with real breath---not that mechanical swivel that kept him alive. She imagined his hands traveling the curve of her waist and settling on her hips, his lips tickling her neck up to the hollow space behind her ear. She felt his long legs intertwining with hers, his knee pressed to the inside of her thighs.
The day came, sometime in the end of Robin's second month of unconsciousness, when she abandoned her room altogether in favor of Robin's. She didn't know if the other Titans noticed, but it wouldn't have surprised her if they didn't. The others…they were lost. Seeing them almost made her grateful for her inability to feel. All three were a sorry mess of guilt and sadness, wandering the tower like ghosts. Starfire seemed the worst of the three---pale and silent, she ate little and often slept the day off. Their only distraction consisted of spoiling little Alex. They were lucky, though---criminal life in both Jump City and Gotham had taken a dive, and there was hardly any need for the Teen Titans. Were it otherwise, Raven felt sure one of them, at least, would be dead.
In a strange way, it seemed that villainy mourned Robin. Though it wasn't wise to share such a secret, the Titans had been given no choice; their retrieval of Robin's body from the ruins had been broadcasted internationally. The whole world knew of the Boy Wonder's condition—they know Robin is a lie.
She'd solved the riddle by then. Unlike Cyborg, Starfire, Beast Boy, or herself, Robin possessed a secret identity. There was Robin. And there was Richard Grayson. Therein lay the struggle in the boy's soul. They couldn't both be real. Robin was a fabrication, a façade---but it was he that made Batman proud, he that criminals feared, he that existed, he that was loved. And Richard…Richard stood in the shadows, carefully tucked away to prevent anyone from learning the truth about who Robin really was. Because Robin was nothing more than a name and a mask---it was Richard that ran the night, Richard that dove in the way of bullets, Richard that pulled two persons under his body when the building collapsed. And Robin got all the credit.
Raven told him that, alone in the infirmary. She whispered it to his ear---I know. I understand. She peeled his mask off---something none of the others, even Batman, had dared to do---and caressed the smooth brow underneath. A faint tan line ran the length of where his mask used to be. His eyelashes were long and abundant, as black as his ebony hair. In her fascination, she faintly kissed each eyelid and moved to sit beside him on the bed.
Robin's—Richard's chest rose and fell with each breath. His bones had nearly healed, and his stitches were gone, leaving only harsh pink scars behind. Miraculously, his body had recovered enough to allow for life—whether the Boy Wonder would be able to walk again was somewhat questionable, but Raven felt no doubt that, when he awoke, physical impediments would become nonexistent. His hand, however, would remain as it was—only two fingers. All in all, Rob---Richard's body was ready for him to rouse.
Only he didn't. It had been three months, and he slumbered on beyond medical understanding.
She lied down, placing her head directly over his heart. What are you dreaming? Is it better than here? Is that why you won't wake? Raven fell asleep despite her uncomfortable position, lullaby-ed by her exhaustion and his body's warmth. She dreamed a dream that couldn't have been her own. She was nimble and agile like never before, flying through the air while thousands of people watched her summersault the winds inside a giant circus tent. She laughed---something completely foreign to her---, exhilarated by the freedom that ran in her blood. She looked down, and saw herself, standing quiet and staring straight up. Beside the other Raven was Beast Boy, and beside him was Starfire, and then Cyborg, and Batman, and Batgirl. Aqualad, Speedy, Wonder Girl, Jinx, Gizmo, Kid Flash, Terra, Superman, Green Lantern, Hawk Girl, Wonder Woman, Freeze, the Martian Manhunter, Nightwing, Slade, the Joker, Cinderblock, Mad Mod, Two-Face, Catwoman, Toymaker, the Riddle, Poison Ivy, Red X, , the Penguin---every single one of them standing in a circle underneath her, and silent and staring.
We're all freaks. She heard herself thinking. We're all as crazy as the next. Abruptly, her hand slipped, and she was falling. Falling, falling, falling. Looking up, she saw faces with ebony hair and hazelnut eyes. She thought of Robin. They watched her plummet solemnly, sadly, and she tried to reach them with all her might… Suddenly, it wasn't her rushing down, but Robin, and she was the Raven in the sidelines, watching him crash into the ground with a dry thud.
Nobody around her moved, but she bolted. She broke the circle and ran to the fallen bird, throwing herself hard on her knees beside him. He was awake, his unmasked eyes fixed on the tent's ceiling, far above them. He didn't notice her, even as she took his hand and ran slim fingers through his hair. Around them, the heroes and villains and in-betweens burst into life; they juggled and pirouetted in complete mayhem, music blaring through the air, each of them clowns, acrobats, beasts, and tamers in the three-ring extravaganza.
"Robin," she called to him over the ruckus, "Richard." He finally turned to her, his expression still unreadable.
"Raven. You've never come before." He told her matter-of-factly, his dear, dear voice like lush rain in her ears. She only nodded in response, undecipherable emotion choking on her throat. "I knew, if anyone, it would be you, eventually." He brought his free hand to her face, and slowly caressed her skin. His touch set her off, alive. "Where's my mask?"
"I took it off." Her answer was simple.
"Why?" His question was not.
"I don't know." Why had she? She'd said she understood, and she really thought she did, but what did that had to do with the mask? "I wanted to know you." The answer was truthful, even if it didn't quite cover all the echoes of intentions in her actions.
"Who?" This one was easier.
"Richard. Robin." She paused. "All of you." Inspiration stroke. "And I wanted you to know me." He nodded, satisfied. She let the silence be a while, concentrating on the shattering feeling of his hand on her face and the sad tenderness of his eyes. Then she asked, "Will you wake up?"
"Maybe." He wasn't teasing. "Will you be there if I do?"
"I will." Of course she would. She had to be.
"Then I'll try harder." He patted her cheek one more time, and pulled her head down. Softly, almost ethereally, he pressed her lips to her forehead. "Goodbye, Raven."
"Goodbye…"
The cold drizzle coming through the shattered window woke her up. She opened her eyes, and saw the room destroyed; there was broken glass everywhere, machine parts thrown astray, stuffing and wood from the corner couch littering the floor. The wind howled outside, and Raven shivered, pressing herself closer to Robin's body. She drifted off again, sure that at some point during the night, another Titan—maybe all of them---would come looking for her, or to check in on Robin, or for whatever. They'd see her, pressed to the length of his body, smiling in her sleep, the room a mess around her. And they'd wonder. But then they'd go away, and she'd be alone with Robin, again…and maybe he would wake up.
Raven woke up twice, and nothing had changed. She wanted a bath, a change of clothes, and a cup of tea. But she stayed each time, and slept again. Again, she dreamed. She saw Robin stirring, frowning, wrapping his arms around the cool foreign body laying next him, and finally---opening his eyes. He looked around, seemingly unsurprised by his surroundings, and then turned his gaze down to her sleeping form. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered; You were in my dreams, his breath! And you're here still. Then he kissed her temple, the corner of her eye, her right cheekbone, half her lips.
She was kissing him even as she awoke, and three light bulbs exploded in the hall before she knew what was happening. When she opened her eyes, the first things she saw were Robin's own beautiful, unfamiliar, golden-brown orbs.
He was awake. Richard, Robin, Dick, Nightwing, Birdboy---whatever the name—it didn't matter---he was still the Boy Wonder. And he was conscious—alive—here---around her—everywhere---awake.
She pulled back, hardly daring to draw breath. His gaze was hazy, and he supported himself on forearms that trembled slightly from disuse. She had missed the languid grin on his face, and reveled in the brilliance of his new eyes.
"Took you long enough." Raven's voice was as monotonous as she could make it, but a tremble still sneaked through.
"I wasn't sure how to get back." His proximity was intoxicating. She grabbed a fistful of the bedspread, and held on tight.
"Stupid." She felt something pushing against her eye---a tear?
"I'm sorry, Rae." That did it. What did he have to be sorry about? He'd been wonderful, a thousand times a better hero, a better friend than any of them, brave and protective, their leader unchallenged, Robin. The tear, two, and three more. She heard a crash.
His image was blurred, and she opened her mouth to tell him, to apologize---for the first time in her life. She hadn't meant to leave him behind; she couldn't bare the thought of her carelessness, her forgetfulness, her mistake. She wanted him to know what it meant when she took his mask away, every time she slept in his bed, the three days straight she'd spent by his side, unmoving. The months, the scores of nights she'd prayed to a God she never cared for, prayed he would wake, or die, or something---prayed she could, too, sleep forever. And the dreams---the visions that clouded her mind continuously, the lust that smoldered through her even now. But most desperately of all, how she, too, felt like a lie and it was awful, because she didn't even have a mask to hide behind and she wasn't even quite sure there was any truth to conceal beneath it.
She whispered her reality from beginning to end, her gaze never faltering even as the strange little tears won, spilling unto her cheeks. She couldn't take it any longer; the Tower was coming apart at the seams, from the sound of it, and she felt broken and wasted and emptier than she had ever been.
And then Robin held her, and he was all flesh and tanginess and warmth. I've had a lot to think about, and too much time to do it. You saved me, Raven. Even before you woke me up, you saved me. His voice in her ears was husky and rich, like a song she'd loved but forgotten.
Return the favor. Save me. Wake me up. She sobbed. I can't stand the night any longer.
And then his lips found hers, and it all rocketed skyward. The world merged together, time gone, his hands on her body, his lips on her skin----exactly like she'd dreamed, except infinitely better if only because it was real. The salty tartness of his skin brought her screaming to life, and it was like she was being born again, a greater version of herself----weird, wonderful, beautiful her. Her entire being was rearranged, twisting and torturing her into more feeling than she'd ever thought possible to exist, let alone experienced by her---and all of it heightened with passionate fervor, Robin's zeal for life impregnating every cell of her body, every corner of her mind, every fraction of her spirit.
She heard him moan, felt him shudder, and it was even more wonderful---because she knew it was her, Raven, that brought this pleasure to him. It was exhilarating, being able to feel, while being also able to bring about sensations to another---Robin, especially, most of all. Her skin was magic, her mouth was magic, her flesh was magic, her hands, her eyes, her lips, her legs, her toes, everything about her---intoxicating, this new power she held. She kissed him again and again—his lips, his chest, his hands, his neck, his back, his feet, his stomach, his scars, the stumps of his lost fingers---filled with ardent gratitude and life and everything she had always fervently yearned for.
And then he was in her, and she lost all sense of self---she felt too pure, too vast, too…too much to be Raven still. His hands, his tongue, his hot sultry sizzling body, his everything…She shook and trembled and left her shell. The darkness in her---the cursed darkness that kept her alone, what a wonderful thing it seemed, now, with her every nerve heightened, all her body an outlet for the power she felt flow away from her and into Robin's being. All she could do was dig her nails into his back and hold on. And like that, her burden was gone, shared by the one person that understood its magnitude---with a scream, she was free.
For ages, she lied against Robin's hot body, his sweat mingling with her own. With closed eyes, she let herself enjoy the last of Robin's caresses---sweet butterfly kisses that fluttered on her jaw, down her neck, to her breasts and finally her navel, until he went back to her face and kissed her full on the lips. Then he, too, lied back, and reveled in her afterglow.
Both Robin and Raven knew that sex didn't solve any of their problems. But it was a beginning. A promise. The mask was off; both of them were---metaphorical or physical, his and hers. It was all downhill from here—or uphill, depending on how you saw it. Anyway, they'd never felt fuller, or happier than they did now, entangled in a too-small bed, completely naked---in all the extension of the word.
Raven rolled, and turned to face her lover. He was beautiful; pale skin flushed, golden eyes glazed, lips swollen and parted, black hair messy and dirty. A second went by, and then he began, both of them knowing she would follow soon. How she loved his voice.
"I belonged---I still do, I guess---to a family of acrobats. Honest-to-God, actual, circus acrobats. Answers a lot about my uniform, doesn't it?" He favored her with a small smile. "The Graysons---that's my family name. Richard Grayson. I never told you that, did I?" Yes, the beginning.
Red Notes:
Though this is entirely—except for three lines near the end---in Raven's point of view, I still classify it as Robin-centric. The reason should be obvious.
I have no idea where this came from. I was actually trying to write a drama-tinted comedy at the time: Robin wakes up, naked, hung-over, and—most importantly—mask-less. He promised to meet someone—whoever he spent the night with---somewhere at seven pm, but he can't remember who or where. How can he answer these questions while avoiding being seen without his missing mask? Something like that, anyway. I'm still doing it, at some point. But this came out instead—pretty drastic change, huh?
The ending is a little…strange, I know. But that's when I stopped writing and the words refused to continue. I couldn't move on without breaking the continuity of the piece, and I kind of like it like this, seamless. This is a story about the beginning, in any case. Although, I think there might be a sequel in there somewhere.
About Alex, the little boy. I have absolutely no idea where he came from, or why I decided to keep him in the tower. Yes, he is kind of pointless. But I like him…the story seemed a little too dry without him. There needed to be a contrast between Raven's cool logic and someone else, whose reaction is more…primal, less methodical. Normally, that would be Robin, but since he's in a comma, I figured the little boy works just fine.
I hope Raven's not too OOC. It was hard trying to portray her growing love for Robin without actually stating it. Working solely with mental processes is very exhausting and trying, but hopefully, I pulled it off.
The whole thing on Robin's identity crisis? Yeah, I think I kinda messed it up. It just wouldn't flow out any better. It's like this: I figure Robin's basically one person, and the only thing that changes from Dick, to Robin, to Red X, to—eventually--Nightwing is the name. But dear Wonder Boy's messed it up, segmenting himself into all these different personas and now he's not even sure which one's the real one. This because Dick, the original one—and therefore, the 'real' one---is his least favorite and most disappointing. Dick's a looser, and Robin's the one that fixes everything. Therein his identity crisis. Yeah, it's still woozy, but hopefully you're brighter than me and managed to grasp it on you own.
Yes, the other Titans are sort of left hanging. But who cares? This story isn't about them.
Yes, I know that villains ceasing their crimes for any amount of time---especially with Robin out of action---is pushing the ludicrous line. But it worked with the story. And it isn't that far-fetched, come think of it. I mean, most villains don't do it for the riches, but for the glory and honor of defeating their superhero equals. With Robin gone, I figure it's not nearly as fun for them. Just work with me.
About Robin's first dream (the one he talks about in the very first paragraph): that's the standing-naked-in-the-school-cafeteria-in-front-of-everyone dream (or any of its variants). I thought it was pretty clear, but you never know.
About Robin's second dream. The dream briefly touches on a subject I've always loved from Batman and its derivates---the heroes are just as crazy as the villains. The idea is something I love to work with, and I couldn't resisting shoving it in, even if only briefly. I'm working on a more extensive piece concerning this theme, anyway, so keep an eye out for it.
I think…that's about it. Yeah. Long notes, I know. But then again, it was a weird story.
Reviews make my day, so don't hesitate on the button. I'd love to know what you think about this little rambling I dared called a fic. Also, any opinions on the possibility of a sequel are, more than welcome, encouraged.
---Fée (Red Room Flare)
PS: This kinda took over Gotham at Daybreak, but the next chapter of GaD should be up this weekend, if anyone was wondering.