This is my first foray into the world of Teen Titan literature so please take this into account when you tear my work to pieces.

My intentions for this story were to simply show the Teen Titans from a new point of view. The actual idea came to me when I had a very disturbing dream about being a Titan. I won't go into details but it simply appealed to me to see the Titans from the point of view such as this, and so I was off. So I devised a character that I thought would fit in with the original team and then be able to say what they saw with a neutral eye. I took a very long time in deciding on the new characters identity when it suddenly came to me in a moment of random contemplation that I could use a character from another of my stories, (I have written a fair few on other subjects, though none on this particular site.)

This character I felt gave a unique glance into the Teen Titan world what with their interesting personality and rather gloomy take on life. Most importantly however I felt that this new character seemed just out of place enough to fit in fairly well with the other unique characters. Also with this new individual I was surprised just how little I had had to edit their background for this role, and also how the new character encompassed at least some of the factors which made the real characters so popular for example like Raven this person is in a apparently constantly depressed state and is unwilling to open up although not quite as dark as Raven. Along with Robin there is a similar if not almost identical lust for victory/revenge. Like Beast boy there is an immature sense of humour which can become annoying on occasion. Similar to Cyborg the new Titan fears that he is not up to the task and doubts himself therefore similarly this person strives to measure up to their prestigious team-mates. Lastly there is a connection with Starfire in that there is a desperate need to be liked and accepted by all, albeit somewhat less publicly.

Anyway that's my character without actually giving anything away in a nutshell. Sorry to babble on but I just felt a decent description was in order before I began on what I feel certain will be a total disaster. So anyway now you know my rough intentions I suppose I have stalled long enough.

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Disclaimer.

Oh one Last note, shocking as it may seem I don't own the Teen Titans any of the episodes or anything to do with them. Nor do I own anything else that I will highly likely mention in this extensive written disaster. I herby not only acknowledge but commend all those whom I herby take inspiration from by mentioning their creations. I only hope I can do their genius justice with this particular story.

Here we go then.

1. New town, new trouble.

The moon cut a strange pattern through the trees, in the distance an owl hooted happily to itself.

There was no rush up here in the foothills above the busy city.

No cars and no people. Just how the owl liked it.

Out of the corner of her eye the owl saw movement, a mouse perhaps? Eagerly she turned her body to face the movement, even with her incredible night vision and hearing this strange being was making almost no sound and seemed to move like a ghost, like it was trying to not be heard. Suddenly the moons glare caught the movement in its ghostly light illuminating the figure of a fifteen year old boy with dark scruffy hair and swamp coloured eyes of brown and green. For a second the owl looked stunned, how could she have thought this lout was a mouse. It was a stain on her perfect senses. 'Well.' She thought to herself, I won't be eating him, 'Well.' She thought again. 'No, I defiantly won't.'

The figure continued its quick but silent progress through the trees. Now that he was closer and that the wind had died down the owl could hear him humming sadly to himself, as if lost in some painful memory. As he moved under the very tree the owl was perched on the owl gave an almost inaudible click of her beak which would be translated as

"Sad."

The figure froze as swiftly as if he had been shot at. He looked up at the owl and after a few moments his pale expressionless face broke into a swift smile that vanished as soon as it appeared. The owl noticed however with her excellent vision that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes which remained cold and clear. The figure said. In a cold and slightly amused voice.

"You wouldn't happen to know where the nearest roadway is would you."

The owl couldn't know this but the boy below her spoke with an English accent, one that suggested he had not been home or with one of his own kind in a long time.

The owl looked back for a moment still caught in the penetrating gaze off those dark swampy coloured eyes which shone with a fanatical glint. After a moments consideration she hooted in the rough direction of the lights she could see from the top of her perch. The stranger looked in the direction indicated, and with a sceptical look on his pale face said.

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

He gave a sigh and placed something on a low branch before he began moving again in the new direction, he paused just before he disappeared out of sight and gave a smile. The owl noted with satisfaction that this smile was a true one, the boy was at least partially happy. He must have been able to see the city lights from over there. Another second and he was gone. The owl hooted happily to herself not only had she been of help to the passer by but he appeared to have left her half a sandwich. She fluttered down and inspected it. Hmmm beef, she commented to herself.

All in all life wasn't so bad in the foothills she thought as she fluttered back up to the tree. No noise and only the occasional weird stranger passing by.

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The lights of this unknown city made a pleasant change to the cold and seemingly eternal darkness of the mountainous countryside. The shadowy figure stumbled down some loose stone he paused to regain his balance and looked back at the mountain he had just come down that afternoon. He looked once more at the map he had in his backpack, he knew long before he unfolded and shone his torch on it that it would be of no help whatsoever. He was right, after a quick scan of the map he came to the conclusion that he still didn't know where he was.

"West coast."

He mumbled to himself as if hearing the little he knew out loud would help him. He sighed again and tucking the map into one of the large pockets in his Para smock. It would be easy to forgive a casual observer for thinking a soldier who had just come through a war was descending from the mountains. He was wearing an old British paratrooper smock as well as matching cargo pants. The clothing was filthy and had many tears in it, a testament to his rough life over the last months but then he really wasn't concerned about his appearance only with not freezing to death. He finally met a road and began to walk into the city. Passers by didn't give him a second glance, just another washed up soldier with nowhere to go they thought. Had they looked closer they might have seen that it was no U.S. army uniform the figure wore and that he was far too short to be a soldier, but few cared to look closer on this cold windy night.

The figure stopped at an all night diner and got some desperately needed food from the puzzled owner. That would keep him going for the rest of the night he thought. He sat on a bench and ate, his mind wandered as he consumed the welcome hot food. He thought back to his life before and what he would have said had he seen himself in the future. He thought of the screams of his mother as she had fallen to her death or his father being cut down while trying to get to her and the way their murder had not given a second glance as he turned to make his escape. The thought of his own futile attempts to extract revenge and how the murder had swept him aside as if he were merely an annoying fly. The memory of this brought fresh pain to him and he put down his already cold food, his appetite now gone. Where am I he thought to himself as he looked around him. He had walked of the edge of his small map a full week before while trying to take a shortcut and now had absolutely no idea where he was.

"America."

He mumbled with an ironic look. He looked down at his watch 9:45 was the time; he shrugged to himself and was just pondering where he could find a map of his new area when he heard a muffled scream. The noise instantly took him back to the sound he would always associate with his mother's death. Totally alert he scanned the darkened area around him; the sound had come from an alley behind him. Cursing his curiosity he silently moved to the entrance of the alley and crouched in the shadows. At first he could make nothing out in the pitch black darkness. However after a few seconds he could faintly see three figures surrounding a kneeling and whimpering one. He could tell that the victim was female and that her assailants were all bulky males. Once again cursing his curiosity and now his chivalrous attitude he pondered what he should do. On the one hand it would be wrong to simply leave and pretend he had seen nothing, then again to plough right in would only lead to big trouble. He could go and find a policeman but that would take too long and besides policemen never seemed to be around when they were needed, he could testify to that.

Another low scream came from the trapped female in the alley and he was once again transported to one of the worst moments in his life. He hated people who mistreated females, he had no particular fondness for the female gender but those who treated them badly deserved anything they got in his book. Again the cornered and obviously terrified female screamed but this time it was accompanied by a heart wrenching plea for help. The surrounding thug's response was to laugh maliciously; it reminded the crouching young Englishman of his parent's murderer. He could take it no longer he stood up and walked into the alley calmly thinking up a plan as he went along. The thugs didn't see him coming and so there surprise was understandable when the strange figure in his weary Para smock appeared behind them and commented in an of hand sort of way

"You know, I don't think she wants to be here with you lot."

The three thugs exchanged puzzled glances and then advanced on the motionless form before them. The little Englishman didn't think that he was especially brave, in fact he would have been the first to admit that he probably wasn't, even so it was apparent to the three big men before him that he wouldn't be intimidated by a mere show of force. Also something about his eyes disturbed them, they weren't killers eyes in fact they looked like they could have been soft caring eyes, but something about them now radiated cold uncaring devotion. Like a fanatical monk or some similarly unyielding individual. The largest of the three took a step forward and looked down into those piercing, scanning eyes.

"Hey buddy, get lost and there wont be any trouble."

The female that the silent Englishman could now see more clearly was a young black haired girl, not much older than himself. He tilted his head so that he could see the girl and noted that her face was streaked with tears and her shirt ripped down the front.

He straightened up and looked back at the larger thug.

"For me or her?"

Was his simple curt answer. The largest of man again looked at his friends and then smiling back at this apparent English wannabe hero.

"Look, friend, I don't know who you are back home but here your just a little Limy punk in an old army jacket, now there's three of us and only one of you, so they say you English are smart so why don't you do the math."

The 'Little Limey punk' had heard enough, he didn't mind the insults but he could see that there would be no way of getting the girl out of the alley without first removing the three aggressors. Oh well

The thought to himself, perhaps tonight will prove more entertaining than most. The three thugs moved in as one and tried to swamp the small boy before them, he dodged easily and struck one in the back of the neck with a sharp movement of his hand. He may have been small and wiry, but he was fast and after nine months wandering he knew how to fight. The thug he had struck went down and banged his head on one of the walls, he went out like a light. The two remaining assailants turned round in shock to find that the boy was now between them and the girl and that one of their number was lying in the trash.

"Sonofa-."

The largest man was cut of by his one remaining henchman as he grabbed a steel pole from amongst the debris on the alley floor and launched himself at the apparently unconcerned Englishman who remained motionless, just staring and waiting. This was too easy thought the English boy as the pole wielding thug flew at him, the pole flew past his head by inches and before the attacker could draw it back for a second swing the quick boy kicked him in the groin and then punched him out as he fell, catching the pole almost as an afterthought. He stood there looking at his one remaining opponent, willing him to pull a knife or some other foolish action. He was almost beginning to enjoy himself. Then deciding it was pointless to continue with this violence he broke the silence.

"Er look, mate, lets not go any further, cos, well, this is kinda embarrassing."

The lone thug looked for a moment like he would launch himself at the fully prepared Englishman, then thinking better of it he ran out of the alley pausing only to shout.

"You think your so cool you'll get yours pal, and her to, I'll make sure of it."

With that he disappeared round the corner.

"Ho hum."

Was all the now depressed Englishman said in response as he turned and crouched down to the still sniffing roughed up girl.

"You ok?"

He asked in what he hoped was a soft sympathetic caring voice, he was unsure because this was the first time he had used it in a long time. She nodded and continued to sob. He knelt there for a moment thinking what did she have to sob about, she was fine now, and when she got home her family would look after her, and him, well he would be thanked and then sent unceremoniously on his way, that's what always happened.

"Come on then love, lets get you home."

He said a tad less sympathetically now. As he offered her a helping hand.

"Thank you."

Said the girl accepting the hand and being pulled unsteadily to her feet. She looked at her saviours face and was suddenly overcome by emotion, throwing her arms around him she planted a kiss on his left cheek and then rested her head on his shoulder. Taken by surprise he would have fallen over had he not had the pole in his right hand to steady himself. Patting her gently on the back and trying to not to hit her with the pole in the process he finally prised himself from her grasp and took a step back, his face now red despite the cold.

"Erm, ok well that's er, nice, but you should really be getting along now."

No sooner had these words left his lips the girl gave a frightened whimper and pressed herself against a wall. He looked at her puzzled and wondered what he had said.

This is why I don't like hanging around with girls, one moment they are all over you the next you say something and they run off. He thought. Then two things happened to make him reconsider his judgment of the girl. First of all a shadow moved along the wall to his left and then he heard the unmistakable sound of someone trying to walk quietly along a concrete surface. He spun around, pole at the ready, and was not happy with what he saw.

The big thug was there but he had friends. Many friends. The Englishman counted quickly, but there seemed to be no end to them. He gave up at twenty-two.

This must be an entire street gang, he thought. Eleven to one odds were not good in the Englishman's book; of course what made this worse was the fact that the girl who was now crying again would not be much help in the coming struggle, so the odds were probably much closer to twenty to one. He sighed and awaited the inevitable; he could see knives, baseball bats and other weapons. How sad he thought it that the girl would probably be killed also because of his intervention. Had he minded his own business she would have likely not been harmed, but now it seemed she was about to witness a murder, his murder. He readied himself holding the pole like a rifle and bayonet, just like he had been taught. He was ready, what a shame it had to end like this, still it was as good a way to go as any, defending the innocent. The mob before him advanced cautiously, it seemed that his reputation for speed had been relayed by the large thug of the earlier skirmish.

"Careful, he's a fast one."

Came from the large thug who was staying well near the back of the group.

"You should have minded your business Limey."

Soon followed.

"Yes well I'm a sucker for a damsel in distress."

Was his response. He began watching now silently, but edging back slowly to the dead end at the back of the alley. Even with the pole he couldn't cover the entire width of the alley and if they got behind him then it would all be over for him, not to mention for the girl. Suddenly a tall man waving a chain darted forward on the resolute Englishman's right. He swung the chain but the defender was quicker, using his pole he deflected the chain and thus wrapped It round its right side then using the mans on weight as a leaver he smashed the left side into his face. The man fell without a sound but there was no time to consider his likely broken nose. Under the cover of this attack two more had charged straight at him. Good, he thought. If they came at him like this he could hold them off all night, maybe some help might even arrive.

He drove the pole into the midriff of the closest enemy giving the pole a tiny twist as he did so and then struck the second with the flat side to the face both fell but now the others were closing in and he was starting to run out of alley. He turned quickly to check on the girl behind him who had already reached the end of the alley and was pressed against the wall, seemingly trying to hide in his weedy shadow. He winked and then gave a slight smile before turning quickly back to the steadily advancing mob before him. He knew it would only take them all to charge at once and swamp him with sheer weight of numbers. Even just three or four could do it if they came in hard and fast at the same time. As if they had read his mind several of the thugs came at him in a solid wall of muscle. He struck the nearest to the neck which sent him crashing to the ground, but then disaster struck.

As he whirled around to take the next man who had been slowed by his falling friend thus giving valuable time to the hard pressed defender. The brave little Englishman slipped on an old wet and mushy newspaper. He regained his balance almost immediately, but the damage had been done, like a pack of wolves they were all around him. He lashed out with the pole and struck something but in the confused mass of flailing limbs he couldn't be sure what, somebody grabbed the pole and he was forced to abandon it and rely on his fists. He struck a face before him but was then himself struck several times and forced back he kicked at an enemy and connected with his groin sending him screaming back into the mass behind, clutching his ruined manhood.

It was hopeless he knew but he would not go down without a fight. For a split second he thought of all his ancestors before him fighting in the British army throughout the ages, he wondered if they were watching him now and whether he had measured up, he hoped so but suspected not. It was inevitable really but even so he kicked, punched, bit, spat, swore and injured for nearly a full minuet before he was finally struck across the back of the head with what he guessed was his own pole. He partially passed out but was dimly aware of the girl screaming in the background, his backpack being ripped from his back and of what seemed to be a thousand limbs pounding him into the wet cold concrete. He tried to tell them to leave her out of it but he was too insensible to manage more than.

"Le ger no."

He was rolled onto his back by a boot, he could just make out the moon in the sky and all the faces around him when they had finally stopped kicking him, his old friend 'Big Thug' stood above him holding the pole and saying something but he could not make it out. He could have sworn he saw a figure fly across the moons image with some sort of cloak billowing behind it, but he was unsure. For the briefest moment he pondered if this was how all people died, seeing a cloaked figure coming to take them away, he would later discover that it was not. As he slipped into unconsciousness he could hear shouting and see vague outlines moving around rapidly in obvious confusion as bright lights flashed all around him before he was finally delivered into a kind and painless oblivion.

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Well there's chapter one, number two should follow quite quickly, (considering I have already written it.) so do stay vigilant.

Please R&R, constructive criticism or just criticism in general is most welcome.