Author's note - I don't own teen titans, but I do own Bronwyn. This is an old story that I made with a different fanfic persona - lizzy goode. So I'm not stealing it - just republishing it. So I hope I'll get some good reviews. It's completely based on the comic book, but I hope you guys enjoy it.

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I was born in an abandoned church, to a dying woman, devoid of all faith - all hope. It took a whole day for someone to find me. They called it a miracle, miles till the next house, but yet someone heard the cries. A peasant, really, a woman dirt poor, who was forced to go days without food, without water, a shower. And the nights, she barely slept, too conscious of the bitter cold. But yet, she felt obliged to walk these long, lonely miles. She felt a need to save a helpless baby born to a dying woman who had been devoid of all faith.

At times I feel as though it would have been better, easier, if no one had found me. I was a baby, and I'm sure starvation or frost bite would've been terrible…but I wouldn't've understood it. My mind wouldn't process such horror. I wouldn't know death was on its way. I wouldn't have feared for my life.

The woman who found me was poor. She could hardly take care of herself, she couldn't manage a baby. A nearly dead baby. So she walked, miles, to the nearest town and right up to an orphanage. The orphanage was dark, empty of all but the necessities. A few lights, a few blankets. There were only ten children, and the town beside the orphanage had been abandoned. As I grew up, the older kids gossiped about a war. An unofficial war between the citizens of the town. They killed each other, over stupid stuff like moldy bread. It was a poor town, where there were no jobs because nobody could afford anything, nobody could pay help. Those that didn't die in the unofficial war died of starvation or frost bite due to the aftermath. It wasn't pleasant, but perhaps they were better off.

The warden of the orphanage was fat, lazy, and practically useless. The state shipped him food, instead of money. Even then, the children were skinny, only consuming the necessary amount of food. My mother had died, cold and alone, but apparently she had stuffed a piece of paper into the blanket that had been wrapped around me. A single name was in the middle of the paper. Bronwyn. I had no last name and nobody ever cared to give me one.

Sixteen years, I spent at that orphanage. Until a band of superheroes were called. The villain was not in their territory, but I guess they figured, what the hell. Later a kid told me that they had taken a wrong turn and ran into this town. A ghost town, really. They were lost and naturally they went to the only building that seemed to hold life -- the orphanage. Death Row, the kids called it.

They were kind enough, introduced themselves and all. The warden gave them directions and everything, seemingly in a hurry to be rid of them. And then they were on their way out. I had a urge, an obligation. It was the only time I had ever wanted something so bad it hurt. I wanted to go, I wanted to be free of such horrid poverty, such willessness.

The leader, a man of metal, Cyborg, was nice. He flashed a fake smile and started to say that it was quite impossible - a powerless girl, tagging along with a team of heroes. Then a boy stopped him. He wasn't older than me, but I doubt he was younger. They called him Impulse. He had a power I had read about. Chronokinesis. The power to affect time flow. He was arrogant though, and hardly asked permission, even when they were roaming the orphanage, he often disappeared. He joked freely, and seemingly to everyone. Everyone gave him looks though, but if I knew how, I would laugh at his jokes. Laughter just hadn't ever seemed possible before. Such poor orphans simply do not laugh. It's like a law.

"Why can't we?" Impulse asked, appearing genuinely perplexed. "This town," he threw a hand around, toward the town that held no humans except us orphans. "There's nothing here, Vic." Impulse paused, and the silence enveloped the team. "Would you want to stay here, in this ghost town, for the rest of your life, just because you're powerless?"

Cyborg was quiet for a moment, then his defense collapsed. "Alright." He looked at me. I tried to diminish the hopeful look on my face. "You can come with us, but you will never ever be as safe as you are here." I nodded. I understood the dangers of their lives. "Very well."

They had given me a room and everything. It was a big room; it seemed bigger than the whole orphanage had. There was a bed too, king sized, far bigger than necessary. It was soft, and the blankets were nice and warm. The room smelt nice too, a fresh clean smell. The teenagers of the group only lived there on the weekends, and during the week there was no alarm clocks. On the weekends we had to wake up at eight. But I had no super powers, so I doubt it would've matter if I had woken up or not.

Bart always seemed to appear in my doorway on Friday nights, a sheepish grin on his face. But it happened so often, there wasn't anything awkward about it. We would then talk, for a long time, until Cyborg would shout something about an eight o'clock wake up call, and Bart would reluctantly leave. I knew more about that boy than I'd known about anybody. And I suppose he knew more about me than I'd ever told anybody else before. He was easy to talk to, because even if he didn't understand he would still nod and listen.

I did wake up at eight on weekends. I didn't need an alarm clock - my body sort of wakes itself up. I didn't train, not like they did, but I do like to watch.

One night, when I woke up from a nightmare, sweating and panting, Tim was standing there, beside my bed. His face held an uneven scowl, which it usually did, but some how this seemed different.

"I had a dream," he sad suddenly. He hadn't ever told me about his dreams before. "You died in it. But before you did, you told me to watch over Bart and Melinda. I know who Bart is."

Melinda? "Melinda," I repeated. "Melinda Thatcher." Tim raised an eyebrow. "I don't know who that is…the name just sort of…came to me…"

Tim nodded. "I'll run a scan and see if I can come up with any Melinda Thatcher." I nodded and he disappeared through my doorway. He walked softly, so if I hadn't been watching him, I wouldn't have noticed his departure.

I closed my eyes and waited a few minutes but the sleep wouldn't return to me. So I shoved away the blankets and clumsily followed him. Tim was in the main room of the tower, typing away on his laptop. I hadn't ever heard of computers until I came to the Tower. I slowly sank onto the couch beside him, and leaned back. I'm sure Tim noticed me but he didn't comment.

A few minutes went by in silence, then he spoke out. "Melinda Thatcher was reported dead March 15, 1989. The report says she bled to death. She appeared pregnant but there was no baby. She was found in an abandoned church by a peasant."

"An old lady," I murmured.

"Right," Tim agreed. "That same day a new baby was omitted to the local orphanage." He gave me a side ways glance. "That baby was named Bronwyn. That baby was you, wasn't it?" I nodded. "So Melinda Thatcher is you mother." It wasn't rocket science but he said it as though he had really found something. I nodded again. "But you never met your mother. How did you know her name?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

Alright, so the truth is - I saw everything Tim had saw, in his dream. As he was telling me it, the images were invading my mind. But I still couldn't explain away how I knew my mother's name. So that's not usual, right? Seeing these images and knowing things that…well - things you shouldn't?

I didn't tell anyone. Not even Tim or Bart, the two that I seemed to be getting on the best with. Tim sure was a difficult one. I mean, he doesn't talk, not really. And his face is always so devoid of emotions that he's always a hard one to read. He's tough, though, one you can always count on. Which isn't always a good thing, it's quite a bit of pressure to put on a teenager.

Bart was completely different. He liked to talk, especially when he was in pain, or scared. And he did show his emotions often, whether he planned to or not. And I think that's what makes me like him so much. He's a normal kid, really. A normal kid who can run really fast.

They are training now. I'm not. Some of the members felt I should, I mean, I was part of this team, wasn't I? But Cyborg stated his doubts as bluntly as possible. I wasn't strong enough. This course wasn't built for normal humans, and that's what I was. A normal human. I didn't argue; though perhaps Cassie and Conner took my silence as sulking. I don't sulk.

I was sitting quite a distance away from the training grounds, but still I could see them. They were all quite good. I couldn't imagine ever succeeding at any one of those tasks. Bart appeared beside me, and collapsed down onto the stone ledge I was sitting on. He looked worn out. "Hey," I greeted. The greeting was new to me and felt foreign in my mouth. I wasn't all that used to talking so much.

"You alright?" Bart asked. His face was serious. It looked weird, without a smile.

"I'm fine," I answered. I just have a weird feeling, I wanted to say. But I didn't. Sixteen years of silence is hard to break. "I'm fine," I repeated, instead.