Author's Notes:

This story follows the lore of Gifts and Trials, but you shouldn't need to read either to understand what is going on. The reason that I am not including it into Trials is that it's way too long.

Damn, forgot that stupid disclaimer again. No, I don't own the Teen Titans.

Colors of a Broken Soul

1. Lost and Found

It has been two years.

Two years, two months and thirteen days, he corrected himself.

He was still mildly surprised that it did not hurt much. That same spark of hope that blinded his eyes to the facts also deadened the pain. And everything else. He didn't feel anything worthwhile any more, found no excitement or joy nor felt loss or anguish. He existed in a limbo, the days following each other like sand grains in an hourglass, slowly, inescapably, unstoppably, rolling away without carrying him along. The current of time flowed on beside him while he remained frozen on that day, on that morning.

A morning just like any other one, except that her part of the bed was already cold when he woke up, and that a small, velvet-bound box was left open on his night table, her wedding ring resting in it.

It was uncanny. All those days since that morning just slid out of his memory like sand from a closed fist, no matter how hard he tried to hang on to some of them. He lived them mechanically, going through them one at a time, forgetting the last one as soon as the new one appeared. He floated, wrapped in the cloud of self-deception, allowing time to drift by, looking at the days strung one after the other before him. Some opened up like a flower, to wither and die come the night; others burned like a piece of paper, leaving smoke and ashes and little substance behind them. They had nothing for him to catch hold of. They didn't bring back the past; they promised nothing for the future.

No pain, no joy, no laughter, no tears.

All the pain he ever felt, from watching helplessly the death of his parents, from his abusive guardian, from the substitute family that was the Doom Patrol, from Terra's betrayal and rejection, all of it was also there, and all of it was hidden and smothered by the same indifference that his hope had created to anesthetize his soul and protect him from losing his mind. And yet the price to pay to keep his sanity was to lose everything else.

She left only for a while, he told himself. She'll be back soon, he convinced himself. She just had to go and do something, he assured himself.

His friends humored him, outwardly agreeing with him, but he could smell the lie on them. They knew the truth. It hurt them, too, but they kept it to themselves and always presented a sunny face and a hopeful cheer to him, not daring to touch the widening wound, knowing that nothing they could do would help close it.

He searched for her, using all his animal senses, probing through the bond that they shared, all in vain. He roamed the city sniffing, listening, looking, searching. From daybreak to exhausted midnight he hunted for her, only half aware of one of his friends always close by, keeping an eye on him, ready to assist. But they never needed to. He never found anything.

At first he was confused. Soon after sorrow and anguish tried to overcome him, but the curse of hope was always with him; the deadly, destructive, unbearable hope that never allowed him to face the truth and never permitted him to come to terms with it. The hope that did not even let him scream away his loss or cry out the pain in his heart.

For two years, two months and thirteen days.

He was not sure how he knew it, because he thought that he had stopped counting how many days it was since she left. At a certain point it did not matter any more. Because she would be back. She would return, and he would live again, and everything would be as it was before.

Except that nothing was as it was before. He was aware of it, but it didn't seem important. The team simply didn't function as it once did. He obeyed Nightwing's orders but never again showed the spark of creativity or initiative. Starfire's powers diminished as her own sorrow overcame her. Cyborg moved just a bit slower and more hesitantly. They just were not what they used to be. Two of their numbers were out, one literally and one virtually, and all others suffered from the consequences. In the end, the rift grew until Kori left for her home planet to attend an emergency call from Galfore. She never returned, just sending instead a quick note stating that she had to stay on Tamaran, for her duties as princess and now ruler demanded it. It was the trigger that made Richard leave and start fighting crime alone, as he always wanted. Only he and Vic remained in the Tower, his big bro taking care of him, making sure he ate and exercised and showered and went to bed. Starfire's Rekhma did finally come about, but not as she expected. He would have smiled sadly at the thought, but it held neither cheer nor hurt for him. Why would it? It happened to someone else, not to him. He was not there, he was still living that morning. It never ended. It would never end.

Until he sensed it again. Sage and thyme, lavender and mint, vanilla and incense.

Sharp claws tore his heart apart, the sudden blinding agony opening in him like a poisonous flower, sweet and deadly, making his knees buckle as he sought to lean on a wall to steady himself. His breath hissed in and out through a tightened throat. His eyes burned and his hands shook while utter chaos invaded his mind.

He stumbled blindly after it, not even looking where it led him. The numbness was torn from him like a blanket, the agony of his longing hitting him finally with all the power that was kept hidden by his traitorous hope. He staggered along as he followed the trail of her scent, gasping with the pain it caused every time he inhaled, tying his guts into knots and stabbing burning needles into his eyes, but unable to stop himself from doing it, a crackhead desperate for his next hit.

He saw her finally, blue jeans and sneakers, dark blue hoodie pulled over her head. His mouth opened to call her, but only a choked growl could escape from his throat. He quickened his pace, closing the distance. She walked with a slight limp, stopping in front of an apartment building, opening the door and disappearing inside, unaware of his presence.

He reached the door and clawed at it for a few seconds, completely oblivious to the handle. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself, but every breath brought ever more of her familiar scent into his nostrils, driving any rational thought from his mind. His hands finally fell onto the handle, furiously shaking the locked door. He pushed and pulled viciously, the metal and glass loudly protesting while he snarled in rage at it. At last a small ray of rationality managed to shine through the haze in his mind and he stepped back, fighting desperately to reestablish some semblance of reason.

He looked around to see if his actions had attracted any unwelcome attention, but it was late evening and the street was almost empty. He morphed into an ant and crawled inside.

He transformed back into himself and almost ran to the stairwell, climbing up, following her trail. She had used the elevator, but her scent would be easy to pick up once he got to the correct landing. He sensed it again on the sixth floor and followed it to one of the doors in the hallway.

He took several deep breaths, calming down. He removed the holoring, resuming his natural appearance. He rang the bell.

The door opened and her face appeared, hidden under the hood deeper than usual, only one eye shining with that mystic, violet glow that he knew so well. The eye widened in astonished fear as she saw him, a gasp coming from her hidden mouth, the door suddenly slamming shut in his face.

He stood there dazed, swaying like a prizefighter that just received a knockout blow. He breathed heavily though his mouth, trying to avoid feeling her essence, clearing his mind slowly. The pain burning in him drove away the mist that clouded his reason. Determination filled him; his jaw set and his fists clenched.

Not again. I am not losing you again, Rae. Whatever it was, whatever your reasons, I will not let it happen. Not again.

Again he morphed into an ant and tried to crawl under the door. She was pushing a rug frantically into the crack, trying to plug it and keep him out, aware of his capabilities. But it would take more than that to stop a determined Garfield Logan. Much more. He easily found an opening and scuttled quickly through it in spite of her efforts. Inside, he resumed his normal form, his hand reaching haltingly for her, his voice a soft whine as he spoke the word he hadn't uttered in more than two years.

"Rae…"

She stumbled back, limping, her right hand clutching at her hood, closing it around her face. He took a small step towards her, following her as she retreated from him.

Still retreating, she staggered into the living room, turned and ran hobbling away. He ran after her, then stopped, trying to understand what he was seeing. There was a man sitting in a wheelchair in the living room and she stood in front of him almost protectively, blocking his view.

He pushed it away from his mind. It did not matter. Only she mattered. He stepped gently towards her, approaching her as he would a skittish, frightened animal. He could see and smell and hear the panic growing in her as she breathed all in quick gasps, the eye wide with terror, her entire body shaking with the desire to run away.

"Raven, please…"

She stood almost petrified, staring at him wide-eyed as he got closer, his love reaching for her, making her panic slowly diminish into fear. Her right hand still clutched the hood around her face, her left arm hanging uselessly beside her. Concern for her invaded him, overwhelming all other emotions. He stepped closer again, his hands reaching up and gently but irresistibly forcing the hood off her head.

His breath hissed in, making her look down and away, trying to ineffectually hide her face with her right hand. He grasped her wrist in his left hand and forced it slowly down, while his right hand cupped her chin and lifted her head back up.

Unbearable pain ran through him as he saw what was left of the face he loved so much. A horrible scar ran from the top of her head, leaving bald patches of corrugated skin, down over her forehead and over the ruins of what once was her left eye, the left cheek and side of the mouth ripped open, the teeth glistening behind it, the scar continuing down over her graceful neck to her shoulder under the hoodie. He now understood the useless left arm and the limp. The scar probably went all the way to her hip or even lower. Something had clawed at her, almost killing her. There was no animal that could have made such a wound. It was… unnatural.

"Raven… love, what happened to you?" he managed to whimper.

Her lips moved, the white teeth flashing unsettlingly through the holes in her left cheek. Her voice was choked, her throat constricted, her mouth moving soundlessly until she managed to croak out a stammered word.

"G… G… Gar… field…"

Again she twisted her head and brought it down, trying to conceal the sight of the hideous scar from him.

"N – No, Gar, p – please… please don't look…"

She broke away and turned her back to him, her hand clumsily trying to put the hood back on. His hands gripped her shoulders, turning her around, pulling her closer. She tried to push him away at first, then stopped fighting him and buried her head in his chest, sobbing, her right arm clutching at him. He embraced her hard and stroked her hair, whispering comfortingly.

"I'm here, Rae. I'm here. I'm with you. It's all that matters. I love you. I'm here. Don't worry. I love you."

He held her tight, trying to control the whirlwind of emotions that assaulted him. Love and joy to be with her again, fear and concern for what happened to her, pain because she was hurt, rage at himself for not being at her side when she needed him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed it all away. It was not important.

She was back.

He finally opened his eyes, noticing she had calmed down also, her sobs turning into shivers, her breathing less ragged. He looked at the man sitting in the wheelchair. Young and handsome, well-built, powerfully muscled. His gaze went over him, noticing the empty right sleeve and the unnatural way the blanket fell over the place where his left leg should be. He looked up again into the handsome face, noticing the blank, empty eyes and the small trickle of drool that was slowly dripping from the man's mouth. He was little more than a crippled vegetable. He noticed the dark, almost reddish skin and the long white mane of hair. It was frighteningly familiar.

He pushed her gently back and looked into her eye.

"Raven, is that…"

Her eyes avoided looking at him. Her voice came out in a choked whisper.

"Yes, Gar. That is… what's left of my father."