Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans. And Cartoon Network should be dammed to a lifetime of sewage cleaning for taking it off the air!

Disclaimer numero dos: I don't own the Doom Patrol either. xP Or the Brotherhood of Evil which includes the Brain, Madam Rouge and Monsieur Mallah. I do however, own all the little random guards that are running around throughout the story. D

A/N: There's going to be a monster note at the bottom explaining everything, if any of my old readers are still around to get it. ;; My absence was due to some very life-changing things—I apologize deeply to all, and I have decided to come back and try and finish this fic for a few reasons—one because I promised I would, two because I want to, and three, because I freaking can. xP Let it be known this took a very long time to write! Enjoy!

Yes Sir!

"Failed? Vhat do you mean, failed?" demanded Madam Rouge, her thick German accent masking none of the controlled fury in her venom-laded voice. She stood in front of the secondary patrollers deployed to find the green boy, whom to her disgust were trying hard to keep from trembling.

They weren't doing a very good job.

"W-we didn't find anything of Aiden and Mike, nothing but their weapons, blood and some green fur—"

"Silence." Rogue told him, turning her head away to glance back towards the door of the Report Station. She was angry. She had been so busy with overseeing the inner construction of the base—much to her chagrin—and working with these sloppy troops that she hadn't received the report that the green boy had disappeared, along with the two guards that were said to have picked up his trail.

She groaned inwardly, cursing the Brain. He knew that she despised this sort of job. She was easily better than any of these half-baked idiots, and could take down Mento of the Doom Patrol, if she ever had the chance. And now, she was being told that Mallah's plan to capture the little boy had failed? A little boy! No more than eight or so years if what she had been told was true.

The air in the room was chilled, and the lights were bright—the only room in the entire base of steel, iron and stone like that. A sophisticated pad on the wall with a thin screen allowed reports to be entered and verified. Security monitors appeared on the far right wall and the dark steel blue color of just about everything darkened the atmosphere, accented by the blinking red, green and yellow lights of the electronics. Towards the back of the room was the big desk of polished black granite at which were Madam Rouge was sitting—but not in the big chair, rather on top of the desk with the papers shoved off to the sides, some having fluttered to the cold, hard floor when she had moved quickly in her surprise that the mission had been botched.

Rouge was not an unattractive woman. She was tall and leggy with a generous chest, her deep black hair cut slightly past ear-length accented by the fitted dark-blood red outfit she wore—a sleeveless top with a high black collar that hugged her neck, and a black fastener with silver trimming wrapping around her midriff. The matching red skirt she had on was very small, but underneath it were red leggings, and shiny black, high-heeled boots that came up to her thighs that like her midriff was trimmed with silver made sure that nothing really showed. Matching gloves that flowed down her graceful arms ended at the ends of her biceps. What could be seen of her complexion was the perfect blend of tan and peach-white, not too dark and not too pale, her full lips accented by dark red lipstick. It was rumored that she didn't use makeup for those lips, but the blood of her enemies. And she did nothing to suggest it wasn't true. But the worst part of her appearance were glittering, slanted, exotic looking eyes the color of lapis-lazuli, hard and cruel with the gleam of a sadist under half-closed lids.

But all this meant nothing to her, or those around her. Her powers were what did. They were what truly made her feared—that and her prowess in battle.

"You two. Get'tout of here." She commanded, sliding off the desk and striding to the door without giving them a second glance, purpose echoing in the sounds of her heels against the floor. The guards leaped out of her way as they parted the way for her like the Red Sea.

"But Madam, there's no way—we were ordered to inform—Gaaack!"

Without even turning around, and though she was now almost seven feet away from the guards and almost to the door, she had seized the man by the jaw with an arm that had extended grotesquely to reach him, her iron grip clenching hard.

Rougue's lips curved downwards in a tiny frown, even though on an ordinary day, she might have smiled at the sound of the man's whimpering. "I don't vant to hear you talk anymhore. I vill hear te rest of te report from Mallah heemself." She viciously flung the guard away, not even turning to see him smack hard into the wall before she left the room.

…………………………………………………………

Madam Rouge stalked down the high hallways lit by torches, the sight of the blood red banner with the insignia of the Brotherhood of Evil stamped onto it a now familiar sight in this base. The guards kept well out of her way, even the employed freaks of the Brain that were slinking down the hallways. The only thing that made her want to laugh a little was the way the clack clack of her heels down the hallway seemed to sing the chant of doom to these petty little people who started violently out of their paths to make way. But even that couldn't console her now. She was extremely vexed at the Brain for putting her on this kind of duty and ending up nothing more than the bearer of bad news for him and his pet monkey.

Besides, hadn't he noticed that the Doom Patrol were oddly quiet? And what was that hack Immortus doing? And this little boy who had escaped…the chances he was dead after all that terrible weather, out on his own was very high, but the disappearance of the two guards and the child, leaving only blood and fur behind was fishy indeed. It meritied further investigation. Frankly, she wasn't worried. She could handle any shapeshifter, but if the Doom Patrol had gotten a hold of them somehow, their silence could turn into a problem.

Though she would never admit it, the Doom Patrol already caused problems enough. Even if they had no way to get into the base on their own, the flaw of the hologram protecting them was that an animal could see through it. That's why there were so many rats running around in the currently-empty prison keep.

Careful to compose herself before entering the high-security command center, she paused and let herself flow into the proper mindset. It wouldn't do to storm in there raging like a lunatic.

She approached the door with poise and allowed it to receive her with grace, sweeping in as soon as the compressed air released and the door dematerialized to let her through, closing behind her.

Monsieur Mallah, the hulking gorilla with the huge yellowed teeth curving up from his lower jaw turned, as did the withered old wreck in a blue cavalry army uniform trimmed with gold, so shriveled and wizened he was barely recognizable as human, General Immortus. The Brain, sitting there stationary had already been turned in the direction of the door.

The Brain was literally just a brain, but he preferred to have a "body". It was a short, cyndrillical canister of sorts about three and a half feet tall with a circumference of about two and a half feet. It was black on the top for the most part, but at the base it was a steely color tinged with blue. Big silver studs around embossed it, and towards the top, it was black with three thin, ridged silver rings enclosed it. The brain itself was encased in a clear plastic container resting on the top, while what personified the Brain's canister of choice was a painted on face of something crudely resembling a skull.

"Madam Rouge. What brings you all the way up here?" Mallah's clipped French accent greeted her in the cold, cordial way that black-hearted people in league green one another.

"Your plan to capture te green child has failed, Mallah," Rouge informed him, swaggering into the center of the Control Room. It was a circular room, blinking lights, monitors, consoles and controls surrounding on all sides. The ceiling was high and domed, and in the center of the simple room was a tall, thick cylinder of what looked like light sheathed in plastic. "The two imbeciles you sent after tem haff disappeared along with te little boy. I suspect te Doom Patrol's involvement, vouldn't you agree? T'ere was not'ing but blood, t'eir weapons and green fur left behind at te attack site."

Rouge disliked being the reporter at the moment, but she was pleased at the effect this seemed to have on the trio in front of her. It was hard to keep from smiling. One thing that made her happy is that Mallah and the Brain were not in the middle of a chess game. It was extremely annoying to walk into a room with them in it while they were moving the pieces around and talking as if the people they were after or the situation they were in reference to the game.

"He is probably dead by all means anyway." Mallah told the woman, his yellow-green eyes betraying nothing. "The weather would have made short work of the boy, considering he was all alone." His voice was conscious and steady, and Rouge believed that half of his supposed genius was the way he talked. It made him sound a bit smarter than he was.

The Brain's voice was as emotionless and electronic as that of a robot, slow and deliberate, but not halting and jerking so that he sounded stupid.

"But, Monsieur Mallah, it is not wise to leave ourselves open to an attack by the enemy. Wouldn't you agree, Immortus?"

The hack in question smiled, revealing yellowed, almost green teeth. "Of course…and the Madam has a point there. The Doom Patrol has been…dormant, as of late. Should we not…draw them out of hiding?"

"We will draw them out. Then, we will not only be able to weaken them, but know for sure whether or not the little green one is dead."

Rouge smiled. Finally. Things were starting to get a little more interesting than just desk duty.

……………………………………………………

Garfield Logan, alias Beast Boy observed himself in the mirror of his new room. It was a small space, once having been an old storage room that had remained unused for a long time. Previously, the old washing machine, broken tools, computers and other assorted junk that looked like old space shuttle pieces to Beast Boy had resided here, until Robotman had come to help Rita move it out.

"What the hell is all this junk doing in here? We should have thrown it out ages ago!" he had cried. Negative Man responded dryly was the one who had insisted on keeping the worn out items in the first place, which Robotman promptly denied.

The room was still bare and cold-seeming, but Beast Boy found it much more comfortable and warm than the back of a smelly old alley with newspaper blankets. The room itself wasn't yet painted white, it was just a bare concrete with a few naked lightbulbs dotting the ceiling. An army cot in the corner heaped with patched, but thick and serviceable blankets and an old pillow was companion to the small wooden nightstand—complete with three drawers—and the dull silver lamp that hung over it. Rita and Beast Boy had put down some rugs to cover the cold, unyielding concrete, and Robotman had installed a portable heater and a fan. To Beast Boy, it smelled a little bit cold and airy, a little bit like the smell of an empty garage. The atmosphere was chilly, and for some reason made the shapeshifter feel a little exposed. To any other observer, it was a painfully boring room that might remind them of a jail cell, but to the young shapeshifter, it was practically a dream come true.

How long had it been since he had last slept in a bed?

Beast Boy's eyes took on a faraway, detached look as his thoughts began to wonder. The amorphous clouds in his mind were starting to take shape and form, and subtly raising question and eight-year-old should never have to ask.

"Remember, Gar, these people are your friends…and we're going to be your family now, I told you yesterday." Family…Rita had said family. And yet:

"I'm Mento. You'll be addressing me as 'sir'." That was contradictory…what irony. But the other thing that Beast Boy dwelled on with a clenched gut and a heart that was starting to beat a little faster.

"Garfield. If you're going to be one of us, we're going to teach you how to fight, think and work in situations of stress and fear. You're going to be risking your life every time we fight. You know that, right?"

In response to this, Beast Boy remembered himself swallowing and replying, "Yes, sir."

Fighting…risking life and limb. The shapeshifter had fought before. He'd killed a Black Mamba—a poisonous snake to save his mother what seemed like ages ago. He'd instinctively changed, his body twisting and contorting in the panicked rage he had felt to save her. The snake's acid blood in his mouth as he had streaked forward like a bolt of green lightning and chomped down, the horrible thing writhing its life away in his jaws….his mother's scream. Then later—that boating accident.

He'd fought again. On the streets, he had fought off all those nasty crows for food. He'd fought off rats. And he'd fought off those guards. Pain. Fear. Instinct. Blood on his tongue.

Garfield Logan didn't have good experiences of fighting. But then, did anyone?

And now, he was going to be fighting here. For what?

Beast Boy slowly opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and stared into the mirror again. He'd fought. But he didn't save his mother from later. He's fought off those rats and birds and patrollers, but he wasn't really saving anyone except himself, and there was nothing there. There was still that horrible, empty feeling inside that clawed at his heart, aching for something more.

A family. He thought of Rita. His eyes glittered. Negative Man. Robotman. Mento? Family. Were they his family?

Rita was. He could tell by the way she looked at him and talked to him that she loved him. He loved her right back. In those days that he had been sick, there had been a bond forged. And the others? They accepted him. That was enough…he guessed. Mento was a puzzle to him.

But if this was a family, it was something worth fighting…and dying for.

"How long are you planning to sit there?" drawled a voice. Beast Boy squeaked in surprise and jerked his head in the direction of the door, all those profound thoughts finding a crevice in his memory to hide, his big eyes huge as his body recoiled in a terrified reflex. It never would have occurred to him that living on the streets for so long would impact his psyche into reacting this way to surprise.

Standing in the doorway was Negative Man. Or, rather leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "You're a jumpy squirt," he commented as Beast Boy gathered his bearings and stood up.

"Negative Man! You scared me." The name sounded funny and odd on Beast Boy's tongue, almost silly. It was hard not to giggle or smile addressing him colloquially.

"Noticed that," Negative Man replied dryly. His expressionless mask gave Beast Boy no clue or hint as to what he was here for. It was a little disconcerting.

"It's dinner time. You're hungry, right?" Negative Man's flat voice seemed to have a ring now, something that made Beast Boy feel so much more at ease. Not as comforting as Rita's but it was a start. It was warmer than Mento's voice.

The slight tension that had unconsciously creeped into the shapeshifter's bones lessened as he blinked in surprise. "Huh? Yeah!" Beast Boy had grinned, and his voice had cracked upon the last word.

"Come on, then. Robotman wants help setting the table…he's afraid he'll break the dishes again."

…………………………………………………………………

The lights in Mento's study were dimmed. Papers were shuffled around on the desk usually kept neat and orderly. Newspaper clippings on the left wall ordered by date were nothing but shadows in the scant light, and the only sound in the room was the frustrated, rhythmic tapping of the pen in Mento's hand.

The leader of the Doom Patrol sat in his wheeled chair, keeping perfect posture even when no one was looking. Old army habits hadn't been smoothed out of him yet, not even by Rita. He turned his head towards the newspaper clippings, various headline pages on the Brotherhood of Evil, some featuring a 'Giant Genius Gorilla' or an 'Incredible Stretching Woman' or even an 'Unrecognizable Army Commander'…but none of them, not one of them ever showed the Brain himself. This of course, was perfectly expected, the little bastard kept himself locked up in a can at all times.

But lately, there had been no such articles. There had been little movement outside of the Brain's patrol men that prowled the city like hungry alley cats. Doubtless, he was looking for anything that might be of use to him…or a threat.

All the Doom Patrol had been able to do was ambush small parties of these patrols. Mento put the pen down and sighed. Some of those whom they had managed to take alive had shot themselves rather than give away information before he or one of the others had been able to disarm them…and even when they had found willing information wells, none of the ones they had captured actually reported to the base. Mento had been getting frustrated, short-tempered and angry.

And then, the appearance of this Garfield Logan and those two bumbling guards trying to kill him showed up.

This had been an almost painful discovery. So, now they knew where the Brain's new base was, but there was no way for them to neutralize the hologram surrounding it. It was impossible to see through, even for him; the Brain was no fool. Of course he had made it Doom Patrol proof.

But it wasn't animal proof. Mento sighed again. He hadn't wanted to take the stray under his wing. He was a scrawny, skinny little child with probably little formal education. No family, on the run, living off the streets like a dog, poor brat. He was also green—a shapshifter, which meant there was nowhere for him to go…

Except to the Doom Patrol. It had been an inadvertent meeting, but nonetheless…he, in truth, was really no different than Robotman, Negative Man or Rita.

Rejected. Strange. Anomalous and alien with remarkable abilities.

That was practically why he had called the Doom Patrol the Doom Patrol. Doomed to a life of rejection by society, but working as a family for the greater good of the world.

"Damn." The irony of the entire situation was almost sickening.

Garfield Logan was also the perfect tool against the Brain's new hidey hole. Animal eyes could see through holograms. A wild card. The Brain would have guessed where the boy had disappeared, but he wouldn't be prepared for an attack by the Doom Patrol with a shapeshifter…

In spite of his feelings against taking the responsibility of taking in a child, Mento was curious as to what the boy could do.

It was as if the odds of fate were stacked against him.

Or for him.

It was all just too damn confusing right now.

"Steve! It's time for dinner." Rita's melodic voice had a soothing effect on the old campaigner's nerves…but postponing the problems didn't make them go away.

"I'm coming, Rita!" he called back, his voice carrying easily through the shut door and down the hallway. Sighing, Steve grabbed his helmet, stuffed it onto his head and left the room.

A/N: Ah, so you made it this far down! In a nutshell, I was found to be moving literally across the United States. Almost no warning until the descision was made. I'll leave out the details of my cracked up self verging on depression, and am happy to inform you I am situated in my new house in Virgina. Life is getting better. UNTIL CARTOON NETWORK DECIDED TO CANCEL TEEN TITANS. I swear to X'Hal they're run by some soccer mom old hag reminiscent of Mother-Mae-Eye, eh? Anyway, onwards to my ramblings about the chapter. This took an even longer time to write than the other stuff, and it was the first time I actually experimented with writing the four honchos of the Brotherhood of Evil. I hope I didn't do too bad a job, constructive crit is most welcome! I know that Beast Boy's train of thought about his past and fighting for a family was a little too profound for an eight year old, but I wanted to get my point across. And even now, I hope it made sense to you guys. ;; Anyway, I'll be updating faster now, but don't expect updates every day! Reviews appreciated—hahaha, I'm such a review junkie. Thank you to all who took time out of their day to read. 3