The sky is a grey slate by the time she arrives at the gates, but she thinks that maybe it's always like that in Gotham. She can tell no one ever expects the sun there, unlike in Azarath, where color and brightness reigned supreme. Every citizen of this dark city seems to subconsciously wear their hometown on their blank faces, their stiff postures, their black business suits and monochrome coats. Hundreds of grey variations shade the cars traveling lethargically on the rigidly straight roads. Even the lights lining the streets and glowing from the glossy stores shine a dulled fluorescent that makes her skin look paler than the moon-kissed shade it already is.
She's always felt comfortable in the darkness but here, it just makes her wish she was back home in the sun.
With a wistful sigh, she counts herself lucky that at least it isn't raining.
And yet, as usual, the world is ironic and Raven feels the first drop slide down her cheek when that very thought escapes her tired mind and she draws her dark cloak closer to her body as she decides that she has to go on, no matter what.
It's not just her fate depending on her actions, she reminds herself even when her legs tremble as they make their journey across the intimidatingly long driveway.
When she's at the end of her tortuous expedition, she closes her eyes in relief that she's made it this far and then raises her hand to knock at the almost ostentatiously grand door, cringing at the weak rap her exhausted fist manages to create.
It's not the end, she remembers when she hears footsteps echo on the other side.
She is starting something.
-oOo-
The moment Bruce Wayne sees her, she notices the slight narrowing of his dark eyes, an expression of stoic consideration decorating his handsome brows.
In her experience, it means that he already feels something – perhaps slight ambivalence – towards her. She knows very well that he's one of the greatest beings on this plane, mortal and ordinary human he is, so she shrinks inwards even more when she realizes that it may mean he can feel the evil that courses so strongly through her veins. She hates the way he looks calculatingly at her after she states her purpose for coming to him and cringes a bit more when he brings on a silence that weighs her heart down more. The glance he gives her when she asks for help is just as heavy and she finds that she cannot read his intentions further; like the other denizens of Gotham, this man – despite his finery and apparent wealth – is just as dark and unmalleable and almost inorganic as any towering skyscraper in the city. His presence is thus as foreign to her as any other aspect of this city, so far away from what she remembers of Azarath which is already fading away from her memory.
The temperature of the room, it feels to her, drops like her heart when Bruce Wayne says nothing to her and leaves the room with scant a rustle of his designer clothes.
Raven sits on the expensive armchair she was guided into silently, fists clenched on her knees with fear at this outcome. This is her last chance and she is terrified that she's failed not only herself but also everyone else with her disastrous attempt and she's resigned to her inevitable fate.
She's alone in the dark, encompassing chamber for what seems to be hours before something at the window catches the corner of her eye.
Turning her head completely, she watches as small fingers clutch at the window's ledge and a following figure adeptly leaping up onto it. She's shocked when she realizes that she's suddenly not alone at all. There, in the soaking rain outside, is a young boy with dark hair stuck to his face and basically in his eyes; it seems to her that he has a few issues seeing clearly because he paws pathetically at the glass as if trying to find a clasp or handle. A bolt of eerie lightning somewhere behind him in the horizon highlights his silhouette before the responding thunder causes him to flinch exaggeratedly, which in turn causes her to wince when she realizes that the loud noise had threatened his sense of balance.
Hurriedly, Raven moves to slide the window open before the kid fell to his death onto the unyielding stone pavement below. Despite her appearance and heritage, she does not want blood on her hands, after all.
He more or less tumbles in like the wet mess he is when she opens the window, but lands perfectly onto the thick rug after perfectly somersaulting from the ledge, surprising her with his physical elegance and agility. He huffs out a breathless thank you from his slowly dampening spot on the rug and she nods before realizing that he can't see her since she's standing behind him, a bewildered expression on her face. The boy doesn't seem to feel threatened or even in a rush to confront his rescuer, so she simply watches him with a curiosity that she'd almost forgotten she had.
Out of the storm, she can see him much more clearly. For a while, she'd previously thought that he was much younger than she herself, as his body and limbs were rather thin and small. He's shorter than her by a few inches or so, but she can tell he's probably ten or so like herself because of the way he positions himself. The blaringly red shirt he wears is soaking wet and so slightly darkened by the moisture, but it still blatantly brightens the monochrome room they're in.
"Usually, there aren't any people in this room," says the boy after a moment of quiet, turning to face her. His breaths are more even now, though a tint of excited laughter remains in his voice. "Did Bruce let you in here?"
She pauses. This boy clearly knows and is familiar with the owner of the estate; he isn't just some wild hooligan looking for a thrill by breaking into the well-known billionaire's mansion. With this in mind, Raven is cautious when she responds. "Yes." She doesn't know if she's still allowed to be on the Wayne property and she decides it's best if this boy doesn't know how long she's been sitting alone in the room, awkwardly hoping that the man would return after his abrupt departure.
He sobers up, his mischievous grin gone. "He doesn't use this room often."
Raven stiffens, wondering if she revealed something that she shouldn't have. "I –"
"I'm Dick Grayson," he interrupts, another warm smile on his face. "Thanks again for letting me in. I had to sneak back, you see."
Relieved, she attempts to return his smile though her lips only manage to twitch weakly. "I'm Raven."
He nods, not even questioning her lack of a surname. She knows that it's a common custom to have one in this dimension and was quite apprehensive at the absence of hers, silly and trivial it was. Her mother had one, but she didn't feel quite right with using it. Raven wouldn't feel herself if she used a name that had meant nothing to its owner and been cast off.
There's another awkward moment where nothing is spoken.
It's broken when Raven's stomach gives a mighty grumble, reminding her of its presence. She blushes uncharacteristically, a rose flush that she tries to hide from her new companion by ducking into her cloak and dark hair. Her cheeks, usually the color of moonlight in winter, are now noticeably bright red even behind the sleek layers of dark hair. She protectively cradles her stomach with an arm, immensely embarrassed at the noise it produced, though she finds that she cannot remember the last time she had eaten. She wishes she could just phase through the floor when her stomach growls again, this time more threateningly.
Dick laughs brightly, but it's not mean-spirited in the least. Her face is the same color of his shirt when she turns to face him again, a defensive frown summoned.
He leaps up, startling her with his dexterity once more, holding his hand out for her to take. "I'm hungry too," he explains to her sincerely. "Let's go find Alfred and get something to eat."
She has no idea who Alfred is or even who this capricious boy is but the way he's offering his hand stirs something in her – something beyond hunger. From the vivid red of his shirt to the sparkling blue of his eyes, Dick Grayson is something bright and colorful, like something from Azarath and like nothing else in Gotham. As she feels her blush of mortification fade away, she feels like perhaps this world isn't as strange and foreign as she previously thought.
Her hand is warm in his as he leads her to the spiraling staircase, where he tries to persuade her to slide down the bannister with him.
She says no, of course, but she feels the gravitational impact he experiences as he swooshes down and lands on his feet like the smug little acrobat she now knows he is.
Raven thinks for a moment that everything's looking up for once in her life.
-oOo-
The hall is even more ostentatious than Wayne Mansion, she thinks blandly, though far less utilitarian.
Everything sparkles with wealth and power, marble floors and columns laced with gold and splendor. Floor to roof windows allow the bright sunshine to lick at every shiny particle of the gallery and domed ceilings bear down upon her head. She assumes they tried to create a building worthy of encasing the greatest beings in this universe, unhesitatingly filling the establishment with the most luxurious furnishings, while also attempting to seem approachable enough to not cause the ordinary Earthlings fear.
It's almost garish, with the silken emblems of the Justice League plastering almost every inch of wall space available. She sees the symbol for the Kryptonian and then a golden lightning bolt encased in red, an alien symbol surrounded by green. Turning her head in another direction, she notices that there's even a silhouette of a hawk or some other bird of prey embroidered onto the hanging banner. Many more similar depictions line the walls and she is reminded of the fact that there were such numbers of powered beings, people who could possibly have a chance of changing her fate or equally have a chance at destroying it. Ironically, the only one that brings any degree of reassurance is the black bat insignia to her immediate right.
She's only here because Bruce Wayne thinks she deserves it.
Like a prisoner awaiting judgment, she sits for her fate to be decided by judge and jury, her face grave like it had been the first day she'd stepped into Gotham.
Sighing, she lies back onto yet another armchair that she was forced into. Her legs and arms are jittery, though, hopping and twitching all over the place because she is worried. Her only defendant is Bruce Wayne, who she can't read at all; he could be doing anything in that room full of League members, perhaps even dissuading them from hearing her case out. She may have earned the respect of his ward, but she clearly isn't someone that the Batman would look twice at. After all, she'd bypassed all of both Bruce Wayne's as well as the Batman's security protocols and marched straight right onto his front step demanding help, all the while aware of his secret identity.
She wouldn't have been willing to hear out some suspicious girl's story at all, if she'd been Wayne.
Raising her head so that she could look up at the big glass sphere of the domed ceiling, Raven realizes something.
"Dick, what are you doing?"
Her voice is flat and emotionless as it echoes into distortion throughout the empty, draughty hall, but there is a trace of panic inherently embedded that someone who knew her well would be able to discern.
Such a person, she discovers, is perched cheerfully on an elegant and clearly expensive chandelier dangling from the ceiling. In a manner he probably thinks is reassuring, he waves haphazardly from his position, swinging the light fixture dangerously left and right.
"Oh," he says lightly. "Just hanging around, you know."
She ignores his attempt at levity and wordplay by standing up from her seat.
Raven had discovered Dick's adventurous qualities the very day she found him soaked at the window, but she is still alarmed whenever she finds him in strange places like atop a chandelier or swinging upside down from a tree branch. She knows that like Batman, he is a mere human with no superpowers or flight abilities even if he chirps around her easily and flies from tree branch to window ledges in a second, so she can't help but feel like every stunt he pulls may be his last. He was exceptionally light and quick on his feet, yet the fixture didn't look very stable. As someone who never really had anyone to watch over except for herself, Raven finds it hard yet instinctively easy to care for this strange boy.
"Can you get down from there?" Raven asks, eyeing him carefully, ready to catch him or use her powers to save the entire light-piece. She has never used her powers in front of him or the Batman, though she has informed the latter of their existence. It was never easy for her especially to reveal the taint in her blood.
He pretends to consider her question before replying. "Pretty sure I can."
She tries to be patient even when she sees the unstable tremble of the crystals at his feet. "Then, please come down before your father catches you again."
Dick, like any other obnoxious ten year old, simply dismisses the slightly older girl, rolling his eyes underneath the domino mask he was forced to wear. "Nah, he's busy talking to his League buddies. It'll be a while."
It's like he'd forgotten the incredible scolding Bruce had given him two days ago after catching him jumping off of the niches in the library, a scene that Raven watched with slight amusement. While Bruce was generally an exceptionally lenient parent, the moments he embodied parental concern were often the most intense. Indeed, even Alfred had taken pity on the firmly reprimanded (and slightly teary) boy and refrained from reproaching Dick about shattering the Ming dynasty vase that had once stood there.
"He'll never take you to any of the League meetings anymore," she tests him. "Please just come down."
With a frown, Dick gives the chandelier chain another swing. "Uncle Flash won't let him do that."
Exasperated, Raven tries again. "He will if you fall and break your neck, Dick. Just get down here, I won't tell him."
This time, Dick looks a lot more uncertain about his choice to swing from the chandelier, which was ultimately a much grander endeavor in his mind than in actuality. He doesn't like the creases lining his new friend's face either, especially since he'd jumped onto the chandelier earlier because he'd spotted her worried, sad face down below and resolved to cheer her up somehow. Being the new reason for her sadness doesn't appeal to him much at all, so he decides to instead impress her with a new leap-roll combination he had been practicing with the Bat.
"Okay, Ra- "
And ironically, the moment he decides to come down is also the moment that the entire chandelier decides to come down with him.
With instincts she never knew she had before, Raven throws up her hands and shouts a phrase that suddenly rings throughout her mind – a phrase that she has never known before.
"AZARATH METRION ZINTHOS!"
From her pale fingers comes a large shadow in the form of a raven, sweeping fiercely across the floor and upwards to envelop the falling light fixture. The dark wings of the raven catch every single crystal dangling while Raven finds herself floating upwards to meet her friend's descent, catching him with scarcely an oomph as his slight weight meets her own less than muscular arms.
She tightens her hold on him as she realizes how close she came to almost losing her first and only friend. Dick understands this, and though he himself is quite dazed at his sudden fall, embraces her as well with a pale, shaky face.
"Y-you can fly?" he asks, clutching at her when he realizes that his feet aren't touching solid ground. "So unfair!"
Raven snorts, realizing that he's almost completely unfazed by her demonic heritage and the fact that he almost died just seconds earlier.
"You're so dumb," she groans in response. "And now the Batman is going to kill me."
"I wouldn't," said a new voice in the echoing hall. "But him, on the other hand."
Shocked, Raven almost drops her precious parcel onto the marble floor awaiting them both below. Instead, she merely drops the chandelier as the black shadowed raven dissipates, sending small crystals scattering towards her feet.
Batman stares at the both of them, expression unreadable due to his mask as well as his natural stoic set of features. Behind him, several prominent Justice League members that even Raven can recognize watch them as if they were an interesting circus performance.
Suddenly shy and almost completely terrified, Raven realizes that this is not quite the impression she wanted to make upon Earth's greatest heroes; the Batman's sidekick almost dying on her watch is probably paramount to expulsion from the hall and exile from the planet. Slowly, she drifts downwards to the floor, eyes shut as if to try to expel the thought of her impending punishment, and carefully drops Dick Grayson on his feet several feet away from her, attempting to fight the urge to simply phase through the floor and bury herself several miles underground.
"So," says an amused voice. "This is the accursed demon girl hybrid?"
Raven flinches, automatically drawing her cloak closer to her body and wishing her hood was on.
Noticing her discomfort, Dick snapped. "Excuse me? What did you call her, Uncle Flash?"
The man she recognized as the Flash pretended to back away, palms up pacifistically. "That's what Zatanna said, kid."
"You're lying," Dick accuses immediately. Evidently, he knows this Zatanna well enough to make that assertion. "She wouldn't say mean stuff like that."
Zatanna herself steps forward cautiously, looking at Raven like she was a plague upon humanity. It was a look that Raven understood and respected, as familiar as it is, especially from people who were around her age. Zatanna, with her long black hair and sparks of raw magical power that Raven could practically taste, looks intimidating despite her sixteen or so years.
"Come over here," Zatanna says, glaring at Raven who stands unmoving by Dick. "That creature is dangerous."
Unable to fight her instinct to hide anymore, Raven draws up her hood quickly.
By now, Dick is fairly annoyed. He steps in front of Raven almost protectively, despite the fact that Raven is taller even when trying to shrink away. "That creature is Raven. My friend. And she saved me from breaking my neck and dying."
There is a tense moment, a pregnant pause that stretches thin and uncomfortably.
"I suppose the vote should be held now," says a woman with stars and stripes on her uniform. "All in favor of sheltering Raven and preparing for the Fated Day?"
Raven's eyes are still closed, terrified as she is if they choose to reject her and expel her from the dimension. She's only come to this particular world because it was her mother's homeland, after all, so how could she bear being deserted by a part of her mother again? What would she do if they didn't take her in? What could she do without her first and only friend?
Hours and hours pass, it seems to her under the cover of her thick hood. She's emptied her senses of the hall and its inhabitants, using a meditation technique that she recalls from her childhood with the priestesses of Azarath, and a comforting blackness blankets her. Slowly, her anxiety fades into nothingness and not even the burden of her true identity weighs her down. Gradually, only a faint noise remains in her ears – a pleasant song of a bird with a bright red breast, chirping and guiding her through the emptiness. She finds herself following without hesitation.
A hug causes her to open her eyes and she finds herself looking at Dick Grayson's masked face. His trademark wide grin is shining brightly at her, his young arms barely able to wrap around her body though the way he grips at her tightly shows how eager he is to try.
"Raven, you can stay!" he cries out happily, cradling her back and forth slightly.
He looks expectedly at her, frowning when she remains blank-faced and stiff in his embrace.
Rather impatiently, he explains. "Almost everybody says you can stay. Only a few people –"
He grimaces in distaste before continuing. "Only a few people said you couldn't. So you're staying with us, Raven."
She feels a hand on her shoulder and she prickles with discomfort before swinging her head to look behind her.
A stern-looking Batman eyes her, but the pat he leaves on her shoulder warms her from the tips of her toes to the top of her still hooded head. She recognizes it for what it is – an awkward, tacit attempt at thanking her for saving his wayward son – and she gives the man a far more genuine smile than she expected. He gives her a nod before steering his now two charges towards the door, awarding Dick a menacing glare when the boy protested the man-handling.
Later, during that evening, Raven would see one of the greatest instances of upbraiding from Bruce to his ward, a quiet but strangely frightening affair.
It is this same evening that Dick Grayson declares his intent to learn how to fly at the dinner table.
-oOo-
He officially becomes known as Robin after that night.
"My mom used to call me her little robin, you know," Dick says to her quietly as he walks her to her new bedroom.
His serious face – a rare expression – resembles Bruce's to an extent that surprises her. There's no blood shared between them and yet, they are so similar it stuns her. A father and a son, she's never doubted it.
"You still can't really fly, though," Raven replies dryly, burying this memory of his childhood deep inside her heart. There's not much of hers to preserve, really, but anything Dick Grayson gives her is a treasure worth keeping. She can't help herself from being a realist, even towards him.
He smirks, another expression that belongs to Bruce. "If you can do it, so can I."
This earnestness on his face convinces her utterly that he'd probably soar so high that she'd never be able to catch up.
No, she's never doubted him at all.