Title: Strike Like Wildfire

Couple: Beast Boy/Raven

POV: Raven

The nightmares still come, every now and again. I'll be in bed, peaceful, solemn, resigned. And then the feelings will strike like wildfire. It starts with the sensation of burning against my skin, and then I'm in a different world entirely. He stands in that different world, and his hands thrust themselves upon me, his eyes like raging infernos. I scream and I cry out, but my power is gone, and I am a wilted flower before him. For what mere girl can stand up against a demon?

I wake in a cold sweat, my breathing heavy and my fists clenched tightly. Usually, something in the room will have been shattered by my lack of control over my emotions. You see, my emotions connect straight to my power source, the dark energy that can bend and shape to my will. That is, it will bend and shape to my will if I can control myself. It is when I lose control that things get…complicated.

Tonight, the dreams hit sooner than usual. I end up waking, terrified and restless, at only 2:00 in the morning. But I know I can't try to go back to sleep now. The fear is too great, and if that fear is not restrained, then the consequences will be even greater.

I stand up and make my way to the bathroom, careful not to make too much noise. Gar, my husband, is still sleeping deeply, his mouth slightly ajar and his breath coming out in soft snores.

I close the door and turn on the light, looking at myself in the mirror. My face is ghastly, pale, and lined with worry. My violet-blue hair is ratted and tangled against my scalp.

Aggravated with my weakness, I shake my head and turn on the faucet, splashing warm water against my skin, in an attempt to calm myself down. It doesn't do much, but at least it's something.

I leave the bathroom and head to the kitchen, where I can make myself a cup of herbal tea. A book might help too. At least it's a Saturday and I don't have to go to work. Things could be worse.

I settle myself down on the couch and wait for the tea to finish, wiping my hands down my face as I try to set things straight. The demon in my dreams is a figment of my mind, I remind myself, over and over again. I vanquished him years ago, with the help of my husband and our friends. My mind is just playing tricks on me.

He's gone. Long gone.

When I wake, the sun is streaming in through the window blinds and cutting across my face, blinding me. I blink and squint, shielding my face with my hands. Outside, a sunrise dapples the horizon, and I realize that I must have fallen asleep while reading my book.

It's early still, but I know it's not that early when I hear my son's pounding feet against the hardwood floors. He's running towards the bedroom, I realize, when a few seconds later I hear Gar's groans.

"Dad, come on!" My son, Lance, urges.

I stand up and stretch, closing my book from where it lay open on the coffee table, and placing it on the bookshelf. A few moments later Lance comes running into the room, half-dragging his father, who's still wearing his pajama pants and wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

Lance smiles kindly at me, and then points to Gar. "Dad said he'd take me to the beach today," he tells me, as if to justify why he's so energized.

Lance, most people say, looks just like me. A shock of blue-black hair settles on his head, while his skin is soft and pale. Midnight blue eyes and a set of high cheekbones make me believe he'll be a handsome young man someday. Right now, he's sporting an interesting combination of colors: green pants with an orange and purple top, two mismatched socks (one blue, the other pink and covered in polka dots), and an eye patch over his left eye. I almost laugh. Lance may have inherited my looks, but he unfortunately also inherited his father's fashion sense.

"The beach?" I ask, glancing at Gar, who looks at me sheepishly. He should know I'm not a big fan of the beach. Too much sun, too much skin, and too many memories, really. The last time I went to a beach, one of my best friends nearly drowned. She made it out just fine, but that was only because we had help. It's something that would never have happened, if only I had kept control of my own powers.

"He wanted to see what it was like," Gar explains, formulating an excuse. "And, come on, Rachel. I can't say no to that face." He points down to Lance, who is standing there grinning earnestly at both of us.

I sigh and turn back to the coffee maker. "Fine," I say, and Gar whoops, earning a small giggle from Lance, who keeps looking back at me to make sure I'm okay. He knows I'm not altogether pleased with the idea, but I'd hate to deny him the experience because I'm not feeling well. I close my eyes and rub my temples. It's all in my head, I think. All of it. Just a dream.

"Mom?" Lance asks, concern coating his voice. He hops up onto the chair beside me as Gar heads back into the bedroom to get changed.

I try not to look at Lance, because I know he'll just make me get emotional, but I can't help it.

He looks at me with his head cocked slightly to one side, but his look isn't one of curious innocence. It's more like he's staring straight through me. His eyebrows furrow slightly and he gazes at my face, as if I'm a piece of abstract artwork and he can't quite figure out what I'm supposed to be. I can't help but smile slightly. My son understands me in the odd way that only a child can.

I scoop him into my arms and pull him close, kissing the top of his head as he rests it against my collarbone. I've never been the affectionate type, but this is an exception. Gar and Lance are my life. I can't let my past destroy my future.

Gar comes back into the room a moment later, already dressed in khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, and Aviator sunglasses, trying to be funny. Lance laughs at him, but I just shake my head. Sometimes I wonder if my husband will ever grow up. To me, I think he'll always be Beast Boy.

"Come on. Let's go to the beach," Gar says, taking Lance out of my arms and skipping towards the door, whistling cheerfully. I stand for a moment longer, gazing at our bedroom door down the hallway. The door is open slightly, and I can just barely make out the crushed glass that is splayed across the blue carpet. The glass seems to have come from the lamp that used to light the corner of the bedroom. So that's what my emotions broke last night.

Silently, I curse my powers, my wicked genetic code, all the wrong things that I have inherited. And then I vow to leave it behind, and I follow my husband and son out the door.

The beach is crowded, as it almost always is. I rest underneath our tent, my book resting delicately on my lap, sunglasses shielding my eyes and a towel shielding my skin. I don't look around much except to watch Lance play in the sand with his father, building castles dangerously close to the water and then watching as the entire ensemble crashes to the ground when the waves bite at its sides. It's an ironic symbol of how I feel at the moment. Built too close to something I can't control, something that could easily tear me apart if it got close enough.

I try and meditate a bit, but my mind is too unfocused. And besides, every time I close my eyes, all I see is something horrible. Either it's the demon, his four red eyes glinting like diamonds and his grin jagged and malicious, or it's something even worse, like my husband with blood dripping down his body, or my son, descending into shadows of my own creation. I have to bite my lower lip hard every time these visions enter my mind, in order to keep from screaming.

I don't know how much longer I can take this. And I especially don't know how much longer I can hide it. Gar may be reasonably oblivious, but he's not blind. He knows a wrong picture when he sees one.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos," I mutter under my breath, and a small water bottle comes floating through the air, surrounded by black, pulsating energy, and into my hand. I take a sip and watch as my husband comes out of the waves and walks towards me, his hair dripping wet.

He puts a hand on the bar holding our tent up and swings underneath it, coming to rest beside me. "Pretty day," he comments, looking up at me and smiling. He's trying to be sweet, I know, but I'm not in the mood for anything romantic. I simply nod in reply.

He takes the hint and is silent for a moment, merely sitting and watching Lance with me, as the sun sinks lower to the horizon and surrounds our son in rays of light. Then he rises up on his knees and takes my hand in his. I knew it would only be a matter of time; Gar's infamous for being impatient. He's always been.

"Rachel…what are you not telling me?" he asks, searching my face almost as intensely as Lance did earlier.

I sigh, not wanting to have this conversation. "I'm not hiding anything from you, Garfield. Please." I shake my head and close my eyes.

"You only call me 'Garfield' when you're stressed or making fun of me. And considering you don't poke fun a whole lot, you're likely stressed. So, there you go, dead giveaway that something's going on," he points out, half-teasing, half-serious.

I shoot him a look and he grins. I close my eyes again, pretending as if I'm tired and want to take a nap.

"I'm just having trouble meditating," I reply. "That's all it is. It unnerves me, and that's all." I open my eyes and glance at him, seeing the concern on his face. He's not buying it. Just like I didn't think he would.

"…The last time you had trouble meditating the world almost came to an end, Rachel," Gar replies quietly, not wanting to reopen old wounds. "If something's going on, you need to tell me."

I look at him, the worry in his eyes and his hair still wet, causing drops of water to fall down his face like tears. I want to tell him everything, I really do. But I don't want him to think I'm going crazy, even though I might feel like I am. I need someone to keep a level head, to be able to find a ray of light in the darkness. That's always been what Gar is for me. An ever-loving optimist, who can take away the pain. But if I surround him in too much of that pain, I'm afraid he'll only get swallowed up in it like I have.

He waits for me to answer, not saying anything, just watching me. I exhale, and press my forehead against his. He kisses my cheek, as I say, "I've just been having bad dreams."

"What kind of bad dreams?" he asks softly, slowly, not wanting me to turn away from him.

"Bad dreams like the ones I used to have," I reply with effort, feeling the emotion bubble underneath my skin. "Like the ones I had with the Titans."

Gar pulls back, his face surprised as I mention the name of our old team. He puts his hands on my shoulders, very worried now. "Rachel, is it…is it Trigon again?"

I suck in air through my teeth as I hear the name of the demon out loud. This is not what I want to talk about right now. I want to get away from this, all of it. I push Gar away. "They're just dreams, Gar! Nothing more! History!" I stand up, as the water bottle beside me bursts. My emotions are spiraling out of my control.

"Rachel, stop—"

"He's gone, and he can't come back! I got rid of him!" I'm almost yelling now, something I never do. This isn't right. This isn't me. The tent shakes and the chair beside me cracks, the wood splitting into pieces. The sand beneath me shifts and curls underneath my feet, as power crackles from my palms. I watch in horror as I lose command over my surroundings, as the air snaps with pulsating force and the tent tears into two. I fall down onto my knees, as Gar is sent hurtling backwards with a burst of energy. I press my hands against my face, as tears tumble down my cheeks. The demon's face flashes before my eyes. He's trying to get in, to take over my body as he once did before. But I can't let him. I won't.

And all at once, everything goes still. The sand stops moving, the air settles down, and the tent merely flaps in the breeze, controlled by nothing other than the wind. I'm left there, lying on the ground, my eyes still wide open and my whole body trembling. I feel just as vulnerable as I did when I was a teenager.

Gar rushes to me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close, as Lance comes running towards us to see what's the matter. I don't say anything, I just silently weep, as Gar whispers to me that everything is going to be alright. But how can I believe him, when I know what I have seen?

That night, I lie awake in bed. I don't want to go to sleep, for fear that something like what happened at the beach today will happen again. Gar is snoring lightly once more, one of his arms draped across me protectively. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his breathing. He was so worried earlier, and I don't blame him. I almost attacked him, and I could easily have lost further control.

I try not to think about anything. I empty my mind completely, envisioning blankness, utter blackness. The whirring of the ceiling fan fills my ears, and I exhale softly. The air is cool against my skin, the night is young, my thoughts are still. There is nothing in my head but me. I can do this. I open my mouth and slowly whisper,

"Azarath…Metrion…Zintho—"

A blood-curdling scream pierces the silence, a young scream of absolute fear. My eyes spring open.

No.

I throw myself out of bed, knowing all too well whom that scream came from. Gar is only a step behind me as I sprint down the hallway towards my son's bedroom, thrust open the door, and rush inside.

Lance is lying on the carpet in the room, his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth slowly. Tears silently move down his cheeks, and he seems more shocked than anything else. I rush to him, pulling him into my arms and pressing him against my chest. Gar comes and puts his arms around both of us, immediately asking Lance what happened. It's the question I am too afraid to ask, for fear that it will be the answer I dread.

Lance does not answer at first. I must admit, I'm thankful. At the moment, I'm too petrified by what could have been-and too relieved that it wasn't-to take much more. But his reply is inevitable, I realize, as Gar asks him yet again. "Lance, what happened?"

Our son remains quiet for a moment, then pushes his face into my shoulder and whispers, "I had a bad dream."

If anyone but my child had said this, I wouldn't have been worried. Every kid has a nightmare at some point; it's part of the growing up process. But I have the sinking feeling that this wasn't an ordinary nightmare.

Garfield glances at me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I just hold my son close and stare at the wall.

Gar turns back to the child in my arms. "Lance, sweetheart, can you tell Mommy and Daddy what happened in the dream? Please?" He gently takes Lance's hand in his, trying to be reassuring.

Lance swallows, one of his tears dripping onto my skin. I shudder. I am terrified to hear what he says next.

"…There," Lance starts slowly, his voice still choked with tears, "…there was a big fire. And Mom was there. She was wearing white, and I didn't know why. She had long hair."

I close my eyes. My son is describing to me an event from my past.

"I was trying to run to her because I was scared," Lance continued, "but she couldn't hear me."

Because I was distracted.

"And then I heard her yelling. She was angry."

Because I was afraid.

"She kept saying things about a father, and then weird black stuff came from her hands." Lance shivers against me, his voice breaking. I hold him tighter. "And then…and then I heard a scary laugh."

My heart sinks.

"A big, red guy came out of the fire and towards me. He had antlers on his head, but that wasn't scary. He had four red eyes and sharp teeth, and that was really scary." Lance pushes tighter against me. "And his hands were on fire," he explains to us, and I can feel him shaking. "He had bloody stuff running down his face, and he reached towards me, and told me that his daughter couldn't hide." Lance leans back to look at me, his face confused and frightened. "What does that mean, Mom?"

I can't answer him. How can I? What am I supposed to say? 'It means your mother is a half-demon with a monster for a father, honey'? You can't tell that sort of thing to your five-year-old son.

Gar puts a hand on my shoulder. I don't resist him, as he takes Lance out of my arms and carries him back to bed. I sit there for a minute, feeling Lance's eyes on me, still worried, still scared. I have to help him believe things will be alright.

I stand up and walk over to him. I kiss him goodnight, tell him I love him. So much. Everything will be fine when he wakes up. It's all just a dream. He smiles sadly at me, still confused, and nods. Always trusting.

I make my way out of the room and numbly sit down on the couch. Gar joins me a minute later. He doesn't say anything at first, as he remembers everything we went through. We've battled my father before, back when we were with Robin, Starfire, and Cyborg; the other Titans. But things have changed. Time has moved on. Robin has grown up; he goes by "Nightwing" now. Starfire has a job with her new boyfriend at one of the local businesses. Cyborg settled down, started a family like Gar and I. My father is supposed to be history, something we don't have to worry about anymore.

"Rachel…" Gar begins. I don't turn to look at him. He tries again, using a more efficient way to get my attention. "Raven," he says fiercely, calling me by the name I went under when we were with the Titans.

"…What?" I whisper, my eyes still not looking at him, but at least some part of me responding.

"You have to stop this. It's gotten to Lance now. Trigon is back. I don't know how, but he is," Gar says to me, although it's not like he's telling me anything I don't already know. "He still has a connection to you, and you have to cut it off."

Finally, I turn and look at Gar.

Not much has changed about the way he looks, since I first met him. He still has that wave of green hair on his head, matched with lighter-colored green skin and small fangs that jut out at the corners of his mouth. He still has those long, pointed ears that used to make him look like a rabbit. He can still change into animals, much to Lance's amusement. And he's still Beast Boy, if not always on the outside.

"I know," I eventually reply, quietly. "I know."

Gar leans forward and slowly presses his lips against mine, soft and tender. He puts his hand along the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I don't push away. I need this right now. This is why I need Gar, why I chose Gar instead of Robin or Cyborg. Because Gar is the one person who can make me feel like there's hope, who can show me a better look at things. The rose in the patch of thorns.

He kisses me softly, and I kiss back, momentarily forgetting what I will have to face. Then, as our lips pull apart, I hear him whisper, "Rachel, I know you can do it."

I meet his gaze, and, if only slightly, smile.

It has been decided then. Tonight I will face him. I will face the demon who pries against the corners of my mind, desperate to get in, destructive in his attempt.

Tonight I will face my father.

Author's Note: Well, there you go. My very first Teen Titans fiction, centered around my favorite character besides Robin. I'm a bit nervous to publish this, as I'm not certain if I wrote it completely in-character, but I did my best. :)

I made this as a gift/request for my cousin, who absolutely loves this couple and Teen Titans in general. Love you, honey!

Please leave a review if you have the time!