Congregate – c. 1400, from L. congregatus, pp. of congregare "to herd together", from com- "together" + -gregare "to collect into a flock, gather," from grex (gen. gregis) "a flock." Congregation is from c. 1340, used by Tyndale to translate Gk. ekklesia in New Testament, and preferred by 16th century reformers instead of church; hence the word's main modern sense of "local society of believers" (1526), and Congregational, the Protestant sect, from 1639.

- information taken from The Online Etymological Dictionary

Congregation
By Kysra

Father Noah waited as he had waited every Tuesday since that Tuesday, sitting quietly in the last pew on the right side of the church interior. The lights had been turned off, allowing the midday sunlight outside to filter eerily through the stained glass. The place was empty – save for himself and the omnipresent, but he did not feel lonely or fear the quiet. There was a tiny smile courting his lips which grew wider when the light rustle and swish of a flowing cloak whispered against his leg before settling in folds from cushion to floor.

"Good day, Raven." His voice was pitched low for her benefit. She was the respectful sort and her faith was the kind better served with soft tones and honest reverence. To better focus on her words, the barely discernable nuances in her flat voice, he rarely looked at her during these conversations. Somehow he knew she appreciated his consideration for her privacy. She had made it quite clear before that she was not quite sure what drew her here, what made her wish to speak to a perfect stranger; but the young super heroine knew when an urge must be met. This was the place where she sought refuge during her birthday chase. This was the place she had fled to lead Slade away from Robin (and escape from his words, the mark burned into his brow).

"Good day, . . . Father." There was always a hesitation in saying his title, and through their weekly conversations during the past year, he had come to recognize that it was so because Raven had extreme parental issues. He had never pried, but he felt it might be time to share his own thoughts on the subject – particularly after the dream he had shared with his parishioners, particularly after noting the fidgeting she indulged in.

"For a moment . . . your father destroyed Earth, didn't he?" He could still hear the roaring fire, the crackling snap of his bones and smell the charred flesh and hair though he couldn't remember any pain. It had seemed a horrible dream, suspended as he was with the others above their dying planet, watching the spectacle of the Titans pitted against . . . themselves. And she had been absent . . . until the end.

"Yes."

There was a strong silence for long moments, but it was neither awkward nor suffocating. Instead, it hung over them like a warm blanket – a tacit understanding that foregone words are sometimes more healing than those spoken.

The indigo haired teenager rubbed the edge of her cloak between steady, delicate fingers. "I talked to them."

The priest closed his eyes, relishing the bloom of relief in his chest. It was simple to dismiss her as a child with no worries though he knew well how her shoulders hunched beneath the weight of unfathomable responsibility. He had been surprised – and unspeakably proud – when her white cloaked form appeared, head held high and impossibly regal. In that moment, when she so unflinchingly fought for humanity and her friends, he had the unsettling idea that what he was seeing was a rebirth.

And now, the product of that ordeal sat beside him – changed but still the same.

"I'm glad you finally took my advice," was all he said, knowing if not understanding that her empathic power would pick up the rest of his response.

She swallowed audibly before speaking again. "Starfire was accepting. Beastboy was weirded out. Cyborg was just glad to see me alive."

That was to be expected. He waited. "And Robin?"

"It's . . . . confusing." It was perhaps the first time he had ever heard her openly admit to being confused.

"How so?" A reflexive question, for he knew well how complex her relationships were – her connection to the Boy Wonder being the most tangled of all.

The hands in her lap fisted and flexed. She was nervous. Interesting. "He saw me at my most vulnerable. He came after me when he didn't even know if he would find that I no longer existed. He will not let me out of his sight."

Father Noah chuckled under his breath at the growing frustration evident in her words and the growing force with which she spoke. "You scared him. It's natural that he's not yet ready to accept that you're not going to disappear again."

This time she turned her head to look up at him, an action she had not performed since their first conversation. "He won't even let me bathe alone, and he's standing outside right now."

Amused and not afraid to show it, he turned to look at her only to find a small, barely formed pout accusing him of insensitivity. "I don't think the attention bothers you as much as the not understanding why he's showering you with such attention."

She huffed and hugged her arms to her chest. "I don't know how to assure him."

"Your presence is enough, I believe. However, if this behavior persists, I would recommend confronting him."

Her strangely expressive eyes seemed to penetrate into his very soul. "When you say things like that, you remind me of Azar."

Grinning slightly, the good Father couldn't help but marvel – not for the first time – that Raven could have so little belief in herself yet harness so much faith in one woman long deceased. It reminded him of the many followers of Christ who were so devout they had lost track of themselves. "Tell me, do you believe in an afterlife, Raven?"

"I know it exists."

"Then why does it surprise you to find aspects of Azar in me?"

She blinked up at him before her lips pursed together. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Looking up to the altar stained a smattering of reds, blues, and greens by backlit stained glass, he struggled within for the correct words. Here was the cusp of Raven's general problem in understanding her place on Earth. Here was the moment their weekly meetings had been building to.

"Perhaps it is a flaw in a Christian to believe in any sort of afterlife that is not Heaven, but I tend to think of the spirit as essence that never settles." He heard an intake of breath, but held up one hand to halt whatever question or comment she wished to interrupt with. "The soul of a loved one, then – when the body dies, disintegrates and disperses itself into those still living. It's how God grants us the gift of knowing who our friends are."

"You mean . . . we can somehow sense those pieces?"

He nodded before continuing, "Just as we gather to worship, we also gather people around us who give us what we need . . . what we lack in ourselves. I believe, it is those pieces of lives departed that fit our own incomplete selves."

"Does the Pope know about your rogue beliefs?" Her smirk indicated a jest.

In response, he gave a smirk of his own. "Do my rogue beliefs make sense?"

She turned her face down to her lap. "Even if I never trusted anything else, I trusted Azar and the Azarathian monks with my life and mind. When I came to Earth, I was desperate for help. I had lost Azar. I had become my own enemy. I had nothing. When I met Robin . . . When I sensed Robin, somehow he felt like her just enough to be almost familiar. In him, I felt that trust again. He believed in me just as she did. Somehow – after everything, he still believes in me, more than I could ever believe in myself. It was the same with Starfire who seems to have Azar's capacity for caring; or Beastboy who has her uncanny ability to catch me off-guard; or Cyborg who can give me answers when nothing seems right."

"I know you don't believe in my God, Raven; but I think it's fair to say that . . . you Titans are a congregation brought together by whatever Powers that Be. Perhaps it was even your Azar that brought you together. Maybe she knew you would need them in the future."

There was a tiny, soft smile fixed upon her lips as she turned to him again. "Maybe you're right."

Suddenly, he knew this would be the last of their weekly meetings. Feeling the bittersweet coil of loss in his gut, he molded his palm to her crown and said a silent prayer of blessing over her before using the same hand to lift her chin slightly. "Be at peace, Raven."

Her smile, honest and reflected brightly in her eyes, was beautiful when it came. "Thank you, Father." She stood and moved to leave.

"And Raven –" She stopped, looking over her shoulder with a quizzical look. He grinned. "You should tell your friends about her."

Nodding, the one feared as the Dark Witch of Titans Tower gave him a reassuring look. "I will." A breath and then, "In you, I found the comfort she used to give me when my destiny became too much to bear alone."

Rising to his feet to better survey her from the across the growing space between them, the clergyman responded seriously. "You were never alone to begin with." And he wasn't necessarily talking about God.

Again, she nodded before turning to return to her masked friend whose shadow, Father Noah noted, hovered at the threshold between the church proper and the vestibule.

When she was gone, he made the trek from pew to altar, staring up at the sculpted crucified Jesus as he was wont to do when in deep thought; and he suddenly knew it would not be the last time he saw or talked to that gifted, insecure little girl. Maybe, the next time he saw her, she would have found the pieces of Azar that she lacked. Maybe, the next time he saw her, she would have achieved some measure of completion. He knew there had been some drastic changes in her since the dream. Her behavior today had been enough to inspire the observation, though he couldn't even begin to fathom the extent of those changes. Considering all of this, he leaned against the altar, bowing his head and giving thanks to his Lord and Father that she, the Titans, and the world had come through unscathed.

For as surely as the five children had been drawn together, so to had Raven been drawn here to this sanctuary, this seemingly empty congregation where she found the comforting shadow of her mentor in him. And as he stood there, watching the face of his Savior, he seemed to hear a feminine whisper breeze across his mind, Till we meet again, Raven.

Notes: I tend to be a very spiritual person (as opposed to religious), and I also tend to spend odd amounts of time thinking about what my favorite characters believe in.

Yes, I do have a bit of an obsession with Azar.

Father Noah is my creation. No, he's not a pedophile. Yes, he is a Catholic priest. In my mind, he's about 30 years old – old enough to be Raven's father. That was not a coincidence. Also, the name "Noah" is the Anglicized version of the Hebrew name "Noach" which means "rest, comfort." Information courtesy of the most wonderful name etymology website, Behind the Name.

This little story was inspired by "Birthmark," in which Raven seeks shelter from Slade in a nearby church with a wounded Robin; and "The End," in which Robin finds little!Raven in ruins that look like they are the remains of a church. The repetition struck me as being significant in some way.

Why did I choose a Catholic priest? 1. I was Catholic till 16. It's the religion I'm most familiar with. 2. Catholicism tends to be a guilt-ridden religion with a focus on gaining forgiveness and redemption, and since we see Raven feeling guilty through Birthmark and into The End while she tries to somehow solve the problem of her destiny, I figured it was a fitting parallel.