Moths, a teen titans fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Teen Titans (or anything else). This work is for fan entertainment only. No one is making a profit of any kind from this work. Teen Titans copyright DC Comics.

Author's Note: This is my first fic. It is about Raven and Beast Boy, for shippers and non-shippers alike. Since you're reading this, thanks, and I appreciate any reviews!

Raven glides into her room, the thick metal door closing with a thud behind her. The sound carries with it the familiar, empty relief of being alone, even though there is only one other person in the tower. She wonders briefly what he is doing, but quickly dismisses the thought. He'll be up here to bother her soon enough. She reminds herself that she likes being alone.

She sighs and picks up an old paperback. Spine cracked and pages brittle, it is falling apart; it has been loved too much, has shared too many of its secrets.

As she reads by the flickering flame of her lantern, she slowly becomes aware of a disturbance in her solitude. She realizes what it is only once she looks up, leaving behind the beloved false world hidden in the dusty pages. The source of the interruption is a repetitive sound, soft but insistent. A large white moth is throwing itself against her lantern, as if intent on breaking the wall of glass to get to the warmth of the flame. Raven catches the moth gently between her hands and releases it outside her window. She knows that if it touches the light it will burn itself to death. She watches the moth flit about for a moment, a dark silhouette flickering in and out of perception against the lights of the carnival across the bay.

She pulls the window shut, and the sound is echoed by a knock on the door. Raven hesitates; after all, she wants to be left alone.

"Come in," she calls after a moment, whirling so that her back is against the window. With a gesture, she opens the door from where she is standing, unwilling to venture any farther towards the doorway.

Beast Boy is standing in the doorway, a dark silhouette framed by light. He doesn't heed the spoken invitation, obeying rather something else -- as if a glass wall is keeping him from stepping into the room. Raven squints for a moment at the glare from the hallway, which mingles with the edges of Beast Boy's figure. He looks even smaller this way, and it is hard to distinguish where his real edges are, where he ends and the light begins.

As her eyes adjust to the light, she can make out his eyes, darting a bit, as if he is having trouble finding her in the shadows.

"Uh...hey, Raven," he ventures with a cautious grin.

She looks at him.

His smile falters. Why is he asking such a stupid question anyway? "I was just wondering," he gestures vaguely toward the lights visible through the window, "if you'd like to go to the carnival with me."

"No," Raven replies. When is he going to learn not to ask? He should know her answer by now.

"Aww, come on." Beast Boy is back to his normal goofy enthusiasm, as if suddenly remembering his own personality. He raises his eyebrows coaxingly. "I could win you another chicken."

"Oh, yes. The chicken. It was my pride and joy," she says in monotone.

"Sooo...you'll go?" His pointed ears perk up in silhouette.

"I said no." She marvels once again at his sheer persistence in the face of sarcasm.

"Please?" He whines in melodrama, giving her his best plaintive look in the darkness. "Come with me. Don't you at least like the lights?"

"The lights hurt my eyes. I can see them just fine from here." Her gaze flutters to the floor. She is trying to ignore the sound of the moth beating itself against the outside of the window.

"Well, you can't say I didn't give it my best shot. If you change your mind--"

"I won't."

"--You know where I'll be." He turns and walks off down the hallway.

Raven is left with three sounds, mingling in quietly mad percussion: Beast Boy's retreating footsteps, the moth flinging its body against the glass, and her own heartbeat. She stands listening until there are only two.

Thud.

Beast Boy treads along the sidewalk on his way to the carnival. The ground is still wet from an earlier storm, and he can see a distorted reflection of himself in the pavement. Hundreds of dead oak leaves are plastered to the wet cement, a long trail leading to the carnival lights in the distance. Their dark tips stick up like the wings of so many poisoned insects, and he finds himself wishing for the noise and the speed of a moped, to blow them all away.

Still, Beast Boy continues, drawn to the brilliant lights, following them without knowing quite why. The carnival isn't even much fun when he goes by himself.

But it is distracting. He doesn't have to think about anything with all those lights glaring in his eyes, drowning his view of the night sky, black void and stars alike. With all the frenzied motion of games and rides. With all the laughter coming from the roller coaster and the tilt-a-whirl, delirious laughter just this side of tipping into a frightening hysteria. There are screams among the laughter, but they are almost always lost to all the other sensations crowding Beast Boy's senses.

Yes, it is easier to be caught up in the too-bright energy of the carnival when he is not alone, but no one was around except Raven. Beast Boy fixes his eyes on the lights and walks on. Being with Raven is a lot like being alone, anyway.

Raven is alone in the tower. She welcomes the solitude, brushing off the thought that some people would find it unnerving. She wanders through the tower, enjoying a peaceful camaraderie with each empty piece of furniture, each silent appliance. She turns off every light as she goes. Beast Boy has a habit of leaving them on.

She is about to turn off one more, but her hand pauses, hovering just above the light switch. A dark shape, motionless on the white wall, holds her attention. It is a moth, quivering wings peppered in black and grey. The creature is camouflaged perfectly for a dark forest or the night sky, but these are the last places it wishes to be. It clings instead to the brightest place it can find, even if this place is nothing more than a blank wall.

Raven stares softly at the moth, this fragile creature meant for darkness, yet yearning for light. Then she bites her lip and closes her eyes tightly, because no one is here to see the expression.

"You just don't belong." Raven turns off the light and walks away.

Hours later, Beast Boy rubs his eyes as he enters the tower. He has made a mistake, a mistake he's been making more and more often lately. He stayed at the carnival too long. So long that the dazzle wore out, and the faded fair showed him what it really was: fast rides, silly games, cheap prizes.

And now he finds he is coming home to utter darkness. He thinks about Raven, and how she must enjoy having a dark tower all to herself. It makes him feel guilty for coming home. He makes his way up to his room, absent-mindedly flipping each light on as he passes. Familiar things can become monsters in the darkness. His bedroom door shuts behind him as he flops onto his bed and digs a CD player out from under a pile of laundry.

Thud.

He looks up from the CD player to see a moth fluttering intently around his light fixture. He watches it for a moment, but no matter. Ever since he changed the light to a fluorescent bulb, colder and brighter, the moths haven't been able to hurt themselves anymore. Tonight, again, Beast Boy is trying not to think about the moths that died in the past. The ones that got too close, and burned. The ones he couldn't save. The ones he could have saved if only he'd been quicker, or smarter. He sits, gazing at his own hands, and the sound of the moth through the thick silence becomes a rushing, a pounding in his ears, or is it his own heartbeat?

Thud. (Useless.)

Thud. (Worthless.)

Thud. (Useless.)

He puts his hands over his ears, but this only seems to force the sound further into his own mind. Useless, worthless, useless, worthless, a crescendo in ruthless tattoo. He jams the headphones over his ears, turns the volume to MAX, and shoves his head under his pillow.

Meanwhile, tiny specks of powder are falling silently, like snow, from the moth's wings. It is slowly beating itself to death against the cold light.

Raven doesn't need to hear Beast Boy come home. Every light switch from the front entrance to his room betrays him. She wonders, though, why she doesn't hear him now. It must be that he's just tired after staying so long at the carnival, having so much fun. She remembers to add these extra hours of peace to a short mental list of blessings. Still, Raven can't quite chase this silence from her mind. Silence from Beast Boy.

Restless, her shadow glides black-powder silent through the halls of the tower. After many twists and turns through rooms both lit and darkened, she arrives at a rarely used storeroom in the tower's basement. A hot, bare light bulb hangs from the ceiling by a wire, swinging in small, erratic circles as if trying to maintain its grip, to keep itself from crashing to the cold floor. Raven reaches for the light switch, but stops. The bulb is dancing in its own pained way, taking her shadow and whirling with it around and around the room in a desperate plea for companionship. Raven can meditate with the light on. It doesn't take much concentration by now to shut it out.

She folds herself into position and meditates, until all she can hear is her mantra and her own heartbeat. Eventually she imagines that she hears another sound, beating so closely in time with her heart that she isn't even sure it's there.

She doesn't notice a small green moth, flinging itself desperately into the burning light, over and over.

Azarath Metreon Zinthos.

Thud.

Azarath Metreon Zinthos.

Thud.

Azarath Metreon Zinthos.

Thud.

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