Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. They belong to Warner Bros, DC Comics, and Cartoon Network.

The rose-tinted color of daybreak began to stretch across the sky, marking the start of a new day. The usual bustling streets of the municipality were at a standstill, for its inhabitants were too preoccupied in their slumber to venture out so early in the morning. It was a rare occasion for the city to be in a prolonged state of tranquility, but at that moment, anything and everything seemed to be unperturbed.

That is, until an out of place noise shattered the serene ambience.

A succession of smooth, sonorous notes reverberated across the city like tidal waves, washing over the buildings with its resonant sound. Unbeknownst to the people who lay asleep in their beds, a rift in space had just opened up in a secluded part of their city. As the portal increased in size, gaping like a dumbfounded mouth would, two figures emerged from the entryway.

One was a tall teenager with dark, chocolate-colored skin. It was the middle of June, and yet the teen had decided to wear a blue hoodie, jeans, and dark sunglasses that covered his eyes. He was currently blowing into a gleaming silver trumpet, his mind fixated on the task at hand.

The other teenager was noticeably shorter than the first, his head parallel to the darker teen's upper chest. He was donning a white, long sleeved turtleneck with faded jeans. His curly blonde hair was tousled in every direction, yet still managed to appear immaculate. What really stood out was the teen's luminous, viridescent-colored eyes that truly captured the essence of his pacifistic nature.

To the average person, the scene would appear quite erratic. After all, spotting two, normal looking teenagers egressing from a portal didn't occur often. What they would fail to realize is the fact that these two teens were far from normal. By definition, they were undeniably abnormal. Acquiring unique powers while working with fellow vigilantes to put crimes to a halt instantaneously stamped them with the title of abnormality.

Most people would hate to be stamped with such a title, but to Herald and Jericho, they wouldn't want it any other way. To them, abnormality meant working with courageous teammates, living in grand towers, and discovering the best of friends. Abnormality wasn't bad, it was considered to be their normal.

As Herald expelled the last couple of notes through his pursed lips, Jericho scanned the area before him. He had made sure that Herald had opened up the portal in a sequestered place, for he didn't want to raise attention to himself. The civilian clothes certainly helped, but he wanted to make sure that no one knew about his whereabouts. He trusted Herald, and knew that when he asked him the day before for this favor, his best friend wouldn't pry to find out all the details.

The trumpet player clutched his Mystic Horn of Gabriel in one hand, glancing around the alleyway with an uncertain look. "Are you sure this is the place?" his usual deep, laid-back voice was laced with concern for his younger friend. Jericho gave a sharp nod, knowing the location all too well. It had been a few years since he'd last visited, but one never forgot their roots.

Jericho gestured toward the lingering portal, to which Herald stated, "Maybe I should come with you, just in case something happens and you need backup." Jericho faced the trumpet player and rolled his eyes, earning a snort from the older teen. "First time I've ever seen you don a sarcastic look, Jer."

Jericho let a small smile play on his lips, but crossed his arms in order to prove his point. "I know, I know," Herald grumbled, "You're a superhero and are perfectly capable of handling this alone, whatever 'this' is."

The mute teen signed, Sorry for being so secretive.

"Don't be," Herald dismissively said with a wave of his hand. "We all have our secrets. When the time is right, you can tell me. Or you can not tell me. That's up to you to decide." He placed his hands in his pockets and let out a sigh. "Just promise me that if something goes wrong, you'll call for backup."

Jericho held up his T-Communicator and waved it around in his hand while nodding his head profusely. The corners of Herald's lips perked up slightly as he ruffled his younger friend's abundance of hair. "Alright, guess I'll be going then. Take care, Jericho." Jericho gave a sincere wave as the trumpet player hesitantly stepped into the portal, glancing back at him once more before the portal closed entirely.

The blonde teen let out a relieved breath before making his way toward his intended destination. As he walked the quiet streets, memories began to flood his mind. Flickers of a younger boy playing at the park and roaming aimlessly with his older brother invaded his field of vision. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, wishing that they would go away.

After a few turns, Jericho had finally made it to the house; his old home. He made his way up the creaking porch steps and vaguely wondered if someone new lived here. Thinking it best to play it safe, he rapped the front door with his fist a few times, each knock getting progressively louder. After waiting a brief moment, he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it. Much to his surprise, the door opened, letting out a gust of ominous air.

As Jericho closed the door behind him and surveyed the place, a sickening feeling seeped through his heart. This…this is where Jericho used to live. Or, should he say where Joseph used to live.

Jericho thought back to the time of Joseph Wilson. At a young age, he was already a skilled musician, taking piano lessons and singing at his school's Christmas concerts. He also had a knack for art, particularly painting. He remembered that his older brother, Grant, always teased him because Joseph's interests weren't "manly enough" in his opinion. Joseph had to admit that the hobbies he enjoyed were rather strange to his family, but his parents had always let him pursue anything he desired wholeheartedly, and for that, he was grateful.

Ever so slightly, Joseph took careful steps as he made his way through the house. When Joseph lost his voice, his mother and father had had a major fight. After the encounter, his mother had taken him and Grant away from here without a moment's notice. From then on, they had moved quite a lot and rarely saw their father.

Joseph was surprised to find that a lot of the furniture was still intact. He assumed that a bunch of marauders would take the Wilson's absence as a chance to grab what they could before they returned. Little did they know that the Wilson family would never return to this place.

Somehow, Joseph's feet had led him upstairs into his parent's bedroom. Some clothes and perfumes were strewn across the floor in an unkempt manner, acknowledging the fact that their retreat was indeed a hasty one. The wall's once vibrant wallpaper was now rough and peeling at the edges. In the center of the room lay a king-sized bed, it's mattress still intact even though the bedsheets were missing.

Joseph made his way over to the bed, a blank expression taking over his normally radiant features. Almost instinctively, he plopped down and hugged his knees to his chest. Joseph remembered when he was a child and had nightmares. They hadn't occur often and were usually far from threatening, but when young Joseph's mind whipped up a frantic dream about egregious oceans or petrifying clowns, he ventured forth to his parent's bed in search of refuge.

Now that Joseph thought about it, he contemplated the fact that to a child, a parent's bed symbolized safety. When young Joseph was wedged in between his parents, he had felt secure, like no harm would ever come upon him as long as he was in that bed.

At least, that was how he used to feel. At the moment, Joseph felt stiff and isolated. The bed he currently laid upon offered no comfort, only painful memories of an innocent childhood. Oh, why did his father have to keep such an enormous secret from the family? Why did his mother have to respond to it so violently? Why did his brother have to grow so bitter and die at such a young age?

As these thoughts clouded his mind, he clutched the mattress tightly with his fingers. Joseph's eyes squeezed shut, letting the darkness consume him. He wasn't entirely sure why he came here in the first place. He knew what day it was, and yet he hadn't come near his house in years. What had prompted him to come? Was he seeking some sort of closure, even though he'd probably never find it? Was he hoping to find a certain figure here, ready to welcome him with open arms?

Joseph was heavily relying on hope at the moment, but a snippet of his conscious secretly wished that his father would show up. Joseph knew that the man had done some bad things and was responsible for him losing his voice, but he was still his father. Over the years, he had learned to forgive him for his astronomical mistake, but hadn't acquired the courage to track him down. Plus, the man was a known enemy to the Teen Titans.

Joseph could only dream that one day, Slade would take off his mask, retire from his career as a villain, and welcome his son back into his life. The chances of that happening was razor-thin, but not impossible.

After all, could the line between hero and villain actually be blurred?

After an eternity of internal thoughts went by, Joseph thought it'd be best to leave this place. As he opened his eyes and sat up, a distinct noise stopped him dead in his tracks.

He knew the metallic clink of a gun all too well.

Instead of becoming alarmed, Joseph sucked in a sharp breath and glanced over his shoulder. A man was standing ten feet away, a menacing look overtaking his features. A sickening stench allured from him, as if he hadn't taken a shower in months. He had filthy black hair and a crusty beard to match. His clothes were faded and shredded in some areas of the fabric. He snickered, allowing Joseph to see his yellow, grimy teeth.

"This here's my home, boy," the man hoarsely stated. "And I intend to keep it all to myself." Joseph wished he could correct the man and tell him that it was his first, but he had a feeling that he wasn't familiar with sign language, nor cared about Joseph's words.

"Not much of a talker, eh?" the man snidely remarked. "That's okay, I've got enough conversation for the two of us. Get up." Joseph slowly rose from his seat, putting his hands high into the air and facing the filthy man.

Well, now would be the best time to get out of this situation, Joseph thought to himself as he locked eyes with the man.

Contact.

Joseph intensely gazed at the man's stone-cold eyes, but they would not waver in the slightest.

His eyes widened in bewilderment as the man let a chuckle escape from his mouth. Why were his powers not working? Was the man a metahuman as well and possessed abilities that canceled his own? Now Joseph was starting to panic. He didn't like taking a violent course of action, which was why he actually enjoyed his powers. They allowed him to go inside of someone's body and control them, thus putting an abrupt stop to the conflict. If he couldn't reason with a lawbreaker, his powers were always a last resort.

But now, Joseph didn't have that option.

His breath caught in his throat as his heart began to thump against his chest. He was always at a disadvantage, what with him not being able to speak, but without his powers, he was helpless. The blood immediately drained from his face at the realization.

"I'm going to kill you now," the man icily announced as he pulled back the hammer on his gun. Terror began to seep through the cracks of Joseph's heart as he stood as still as a statue. His brain wasn't functioning as the deafening announcement halted all other thoughts. The man's finger lightly drummed against the trigger, causing Joseph to take a step backwards. His back met the surface of a wall, reminding him that he had nowhere to run.

Joseph flinched and glanced away, not wanting to look into the eyes of his murderer when he-

"If you know what's good for you, you'll walk away right now," A powerful, monotonous voice ordered.

Dad!

Joseph almost jumped for joy as he turned back towards the scene. His father was maskless, allowing Joseph to see his youthful face. He held the barrel of his gun against the offender's temple, making the man freeze.

"What the- Who the hell are you?" The miscreant gruffly asked.

Joseph's father ignored the question. "Step away from my son," he ordered in a low voice. A soft glow appeared in Joseph's eyes upon hearing the remark.

A desperate glint washed over the man's eyes. Then, without a moment's notice, the scoundrel turned to face his father and attempted to fire the gun, only to have his brain blown to bits by the gun against his temple. The ear-piercing bang of the gun going off echoed throughout the room, causing Joseph's ribs to tremble.

If Joseph still had his voice, a bloodcurdling scream would've emanated from his throat. He hadn't wanted the man to die, and yet there he lay, sprawled out on the floor with his crimson-colored blood soaking through the carpet.

Joseph met the eyes of his father, forcing down the bile that was threatening to escape. As his father made his way toward his son's side, Joseph had the urge to flee while he could. The man kneeled in front of Joseph and placed a powerful hand on Joseph's shoulder, causing him to flinch. "I'm sorry Joey," the man started. "I know that wasn't a pleasant sight to see. You have to understand that that scoundrel was going to kill you. He was attempting to kill my son. He also tried to kill me. I had no choice, Jo-"

He was forced to stop as Joseph flung his arms around his father's neck, holding on to him for dear life. The man had just saved Joseph's life. He still considered him to be his son. Even though Joseph was still shocked and angry at what his father had done, he wanted nothing more than to stay in his father's loving embrace for an eternity. Joseph buried his head in the nape of his father's neck, taking in the aroma of his simple yet distinguishable cologne.

Joseph didn't use sign language to speak to his dad, because he didn't need to. The way they enveloped one another said enough.

"I love you son," his father whispered in his ear.

And Joseph knew he meant it.

Joseph gasped as he bolted upright from the bed, tears streaking down either side of his face. He clutched his hair with his hands as he frantically peered around the room, searching for any sign of his father. He scrambled forward in search of the miscreant, only to find that the corpse was gone.

It…it had only been a dream.

As the realization hit Joseph, he slumped in his seat. The entire ordeal had felt so real; he truly believed that his life was in danger and that his father had saved it. But it had just been a figment of his imagination.

The thought of him having a dream like that made him want to forget the encounter entirely. As he glanced around the room once more, Joseph knew that his father wouldn't come. And neither would his mother. And neither would his brother. Things would never be like they used to.

One thing was for sure, Joseph would always be reminded of his past. He could try to push it to the darkest parts of his mind, but eventually, those memories had to resurface. He couldn't always pretend that everything was okay, because in reality, violence and suffering was inevitable, especially with the position he was in as a Teen Titan.

But he also couldn't let the past consume whom he was today. It might have been a brutal past, but it was one that he had learned and matured from.

Joseph got up and wiped the tears from his eyes. He rummaged through the dresser before finding a notepad and a pencil. He hastily scribbled down a note, then placed it on top of his parent's bed.

Taking out his T-Communicator, Joseph used the keypad to send Herald a message. He asked him to meet him back in the alleyway. A moment later, Joseph received an 'ok' from his friend.

As Joseph exited his house, he put his hands in his pockets and glanced back at the residence. With a soft smile, he turned away and began to make his way back to the alleyway.

Back inside of the household, a masked figure emerged from the shadows. Taking powerful steps forward, the masked man strided toward the bed that Joseph had been in moments ago. Picking up the note, he examined it with a gray-blue eye. The eye widened for a moment as the man tucked the piece of paper into his utility belt. The concealed figure leaped out of the window and onto another building's rooftop, leaping from building to building with a newfound confidence.

The note read:

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

Your son,

Joey

Author's Note: Happy Father's Day everyone. Let me know how much your father means to you in a review.

"And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love...you make." End by The Beatles