The air smelled like lost chances.
Such a thing can be smelled, she knew. And felt, heard, seen, tasted. Emotions and ideas could be solidified into comprehension, but the technique for identifying this was scarce and ancient one. Selfishness could be measured, sorrow could be poured, pain could be held. That was one of the first lessons the monks had taught her.
'That's right, Raven,' she chided herself mentally. 'Just distract yourself.'
The scent of clean wood and the bite of summer heat meshed with the palpable sense of mourning that hung above them all, churned by the lazy fans hanging from the ceiling of the church. The aroma manifested itself into what she could only interpret as lost chances. Her theory was confirmed by one glance into their eyes, the ones that glistened with liquid remorse and unshielded suffering. But her own did not.
She refused to cry.
She felt chained to the ground, mercilessly bound in that spot forever, never to move or laugh or speak again. All sensations and feelings were shoved down to the bottom of her being, where they boiled and mixed, leaving her nauseous. She half expected to throw up right then, but the feeling, as all others, passed.
As much as she was laden, she was weightless. She was distinctly light, as if she was already hovering and just didn't realize it.
But that feeling only existed because she was hollow.
She had to be. She was a desolate submarine at the far most depths of the darkest ocean, and the slightest puncture in her exterior would collapse her from within, destroying her utterly. So she sat stoically on the backmost pew in the church, her blank gaze staring at (but not through) the windows, absently observing the downpour that persisted outside.
"Raven?"
She looked up, the voice trickling in at the edge of her conscious. Robin. He was looking at her with that masked concern of his (force of habit, she knew, because he didn't have his mask on). Her head inclined, a part of her lifting, nonsensically, at the sight of him.
No. She stubbornly stifled that part once more.
"You shouldn't be here," she almost growled, for she was almost angry, almost desperate, almost despairing, almost anything. He didn't react to the iced-over statement at all, instead sitting himself right beside her, too close.
She shifted away from him, her body moving gracelessly, as if it forgot how to function.
"It's a beautiful ceremony," he commented, and for one brief, affecting moment in time she wanted to punch him, touch him, and kiss him all at once.
"Yes, it is."
Before, she always forced herself to be monotone, deadpan, apathetic. She always had to diligently hide her emotions and who she really was.
There was nothing to force anymore. Nothing to hide, either.
"Did you help organize this?" he asked, nonchalantly curious, his own tone controlled, but still lively.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't want to."
"...because you couldn't," he corrected solemnly; sympathy and sadness enriched his voice. She was silent.
"How's Starfire? The others?" he asked, because he had to.
"Devastated," she replied matter-of-factly, because it really should've been obvious. "What do you expect?" she added, but she wasn't angry, nor actually curious. She was quiet, reserved, for she was under the heavy impression that she was not supposed to be talking to him.
"Right," he sighed, leaning the back of his head against the back of the pew. His brow furrowed as he seemed concentrated in thought. "Have you heard from...?"
"Yes," she answered swiftly, purposefuly cutting him off, so he wouldn't have to actually say it. "He came by the Tower a week ago, and he was here earlier."
"Good. I'm...glad," Robin said, though he seemed to doubt the honesty in that statement himself. The conversation was flowing easily now, leaving Raven all the more uncomfortable. They shouldn't be talking. He shouldn't be there. She shouldn't...
Her thoughts collided into themselves clumsily (because they had lost all sense of direction), and the aftermath was a still mind littered with debris. She welcomed the silence gladly, embracing it, hoping it would last so she wouldn't-...
"Raven..." Robin began, weaving just the right amount of caring and understanding into those two syllables. Gritting her teeth, she stiffened.
"Robin. Don't. I'm fine. And even if I'm not, you can't do anything about it."
Her words drifted laggardly between them, and she could feel the anguish she inflicted emanating off his form. Guilt, regret, and an urge to retract her statement were all isolated and muffled, so that all she did feel was his emotions pressing around her psyche. He shifted his weight, bringing himself subtly closer.
"Of course you're not fine- no one is. You're not alone here. Everyone else is feeling the same things you are."
She couldn't take much more of this. It was so overwhelmingly, horribly painful, but she couldn't bring herself to leave or make it stop. She was chained to where she was, the shackles of Robin's consideration binding her to him as well.
"No. That's just it, Robin. No one is feeling what I am because I'm not feeling anything. And I'm not feeling anything because no one else feels the way I would."
He understood, she knew. He understand completely- would understand- and it was killing her.
Robin said nothing, instead laying his hand on her forearm, so gently its presence had to be second-guessed. She swore his palm on her skin was the first feeling she felt in too long, and it woke her from a self-imposed stupor. Turning to him, his unmasked eyes drilled into hers forcefully, filling the emptiness until it was brimming with the way light simmered blue before her. To spite to her earlier condition, emotions shot through her vivaciously, blazing through her veins. She suddenly felt boundless, free, able to feel again, and she wondered wistfully if that soothing emotion rising within her was close to happiness.
"Why are you here?" she asked, hoping he won't answer, hoping everything can just remain exactly as how it was, with his hand on her arm and life sparking under her skin. She hoped hope would be enough this time around.
"Because you wanted me to be," he replied simply. And just like that, she felt soundless tears crawl down her face and drop to her legs, acidic on her skin. She turned away from him, and her body didn't shake or waver at the action of crying; she held herself steadily as her cheeks moistened.
When she spoke, her voice was firm and clear.
"Will you stay?"
"As long as you need me to."
His free hand slid along her back and rested upon her shoulder, the embrace enveloping her in a sense of cool warmth. A tear diverted from its intended descent, instead on a direct path to Robin, but it never would reach its destination. The droplet fell right through his hand as though there was nothing there but air- which was true. Raven averted her eyes, denying herself reality. It was so childish of her, she knew. She hadn't evaded acceptance since her father's resurrection lifetimes ago. But she just couldn't bring herself to bear the full weight of this, not yet.
"I miss you," she whispered in a cough, choking on the lost chances that were no longer the air, but smoke, clogging her lungs and tainting her words.
"I know." The illusion of Robin, the one her mind and powers manifested, wisped a kiss along the side of her forehead, and she swore she felt it.
Outside, surrounded by lush grass and vibrant flowers and fallen hopes, was a grave regretfully wearing Robin's name.
END
Author's Note: Yes, I'm not dead. Yes, you all probably hate me for not submitting anything for over a year. I'm sorry about that. Stuff happens. I'm not promising 100 activity, but I can promise two new pieces that I'm pretty proud of. Hope that's enough.
In any case- yeah, this was death!fic. Pretty angsty. Had a mention of Batman, did you catch it?