Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.
Author's Note: I felt like being irreverent. It happens every now and then.
Oh, and a blanket advisory: if you're offended, I don't care. Really.
The least-bad scenario is a hard landing, global recession worse than the 1930s. The worst-case borrows from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: War, Famine, Pestilence and Death.
-Kenneth Deffeyes
But… Why is the Rum Gone?
Saint Peter stood outside the gates of Heaven. He was Not Happy.
'I've got two hundred thousand people each day applying for entrance each day, and these jokers want me to wait for them to take their sweet time-" The saint's grumbling was interrupted by the sound of the small door beside the Pearly Gates slowly squeaking open on rusty hinges. Three figures emerged from the aperture: one walking, one floating, and one riding bareback on a horse. Peter fixed a glare on them (which none seemed to take notice of), and caught the tail end of their conversation as they approached.
"- suppose that's what they mean by a 'sticky wicket,' then?" the floating figure said, giggling, to the one on foot. He let out a throaty chuckle at the comment and nudged the horse with his elbow, sending both beast and rider stumbling sideways. The mounted figure idly patted the side of the mount's neck and glared at her companions in irritation.
"Ahem." Saint Peter cleared his throat, getting the attention of the group assembled before him. "Now that you lot have seen fit to grace us with your presence-"
"We apologize for our tardiness," interrupted the floating woman, "but it seemed only proper that Victor and I inquire as to why we would not be accompanied by our spices-"
"Spouses," corrected the mounted woman.
"- spouses," the correction was acknowledged, "when we were suddenly informed that we will be taking an extended period of absence from our appointed residences. I myself have not yet been satisfied with the answers I have received as to why Richard and I must be separated." As she spoke, her expression melted from one of innocence and kindness to one of anger and fury, and Peter was immediately reminded of what role she was to play in the events to come. At the end of her frustrated statement, the man beside her—Victor, she had called him, although Peter knew him by another name—laid his hand on her in a calming gesture.
"Kori, we're supposed to be the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I'm actually kind of glad Jen isn't getting involved in this, to tell the truth. The end of the world isn't something anyone wants to be a part of… again." The floating woman—Kori, although, like Victor, Saint Peter knew her by another name—did not look much appeased by this explanation, but did not renew her objections either.
"Yes," confirmed Peter, "as you've been told, you are to be the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." He paused for a moment, looking at the mounted woman, "although the title is more symbolic than literal." She rolled her eyes and glared at the horse beneath her as though it had offended her, and it nickered in what Saint Peter imagined was amusement. "In any case, you're supposed to be riding a pale horse, not a green one." The ferocity of the glare he received for that last observation startled him—yes, she was definitely well-suited for her task—and he continued.
"War," he said, pointing towards Kori, "you will take peace from the earth." He turned towards Victor and pointed, "Famine, you will make that which is necessary scarce, and that which is luxurious abundant." There was a flash, and to Victor's horror he found himself again outfitted with prosthetics similar to those he had been cursed with in the days of his youth.
Peter was not finished, though. Turning to the mounted woman, he pointed once more. "You-"
"- Raven," she supplied irritably.
"Death," corrected Saint Peter. "You will be given power over a fourth of the earth, and Hell will follow in your wake." She did not look surprised, but her horse seemed ready to attack the saint for what he had said.
"And that brings us to…" he trailed off, looking around. "There are three of you, and four horsemen. Where is Pestilence?" The air of hostility evaporated into one of restrained mirth. Famine snickered, War giggled, and Death looked like the cat who had eaten the canary. Peter's eyes fell on the green horse Death was mounted on, and realization flashed across his features. As he dragged his hand across his face in irritation, Famine abandoned all restraint and fell down on the ground laughing.
The horse did not look amused.
Death leaned forward and patted him affectionately on the neck again. "See, Garfield," she said, "I told you that you were a pest." Garfield—Pestilence—whinnied and stomped one of his hooves. The look his wife gave him after that was less amused. "Now, don't be an ass- eep!" Death squeaked in surprise as her mount shrank into the form of a donkey, and she unexpectedly lost a foot of altitude. Once settled, she glared at him again for a moment before relaxing. "I suppose I did walk into that one," she said with a hint of a smile.
"Yes, well…" Peter tried to regain control of the situation. "You have your assignments: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death. Are there any questions you have of me before you get started and I get back to my work?" His tone implied that there had better not be any questions.
"Yeah, I've got one," replied Famine, "Why do you want us to do this? I mean, we're heroes! We don't do mass murder, you know? I don't think any of us really want any part in this." He looked around at his companions, and they nodded in agreement.
Even the horse.
Peter sighed. Obviously, the thirteen thousand souls who had gathered to await entrance—or lack thereof—since he had left his post would have to wait. "Strictly speaking, it doesn't have to be you specifically." He paused, then looked at Raven. "Except you. There's no replacement in Heaven for your role, I'm afraid, and if we don't provide someone, Hell certainly will… and believe me, nobody wants that." He looked away from Death and moved on to Garfield. "You are similarly irreplaceable… as Pestilence. We could choose any number of military leaders to serve alongside War in the role of Conquest—nobody any of you know personally, I'm afraid, but if you wish to remain behind, it can be arranged." Pestilence blurred, and the donkey was replaced by a growling monstrosity that dwarfed even Famine. Unlike with the previous transformation, Death was not caught off guard, and she gracefully slid off of her husband's back and walked around to his front. Taking the creature's muzzle in her hands, she quietly and gently calmed him down until he resumed his human form. Death moved her hands to his shoulders for a moment before turning around to face Saint Peter again, and Pestilence wrapped his arms around his wife protectively.
When everyone was ready again, the saint resumed his explanations, beginning with Kori. "Heaven is filled with warriors much like yourself; you've seen many of them standing guard, as it were, on the streets of Heaven. Among all, however, you are preeminent. There are others who could be War in your stead, but none as well as you. And as for Famine…" He turned to Victor, and suddenly a bevy of television screens materialized out of nowhere. Each screen featured the Titan, as he was in life, ingesting obscene quantities of food. One by one, each screen faded away, until only one was left, hidden behind Saint Peter.
"Your prosthetics allowed you to efficiently convert much of the chemical energy in ingested food into electrical energy for your mechanical systems, yet even without them you managed to win: this." He stepped aside to reveal a grinning—and stuffed—Victor holding an enormous trophy aloft, reading "HEAVEN'S BIGGEST EATER" in elaborate script across the plaque at the base.
"You mean I'm one of the Horsemen because I can eat a hundred and twenty hotdogs in fifteen minutes?" Famine looked around at his friends and shook his head in resignation. "Jen's going to be saying 'I told you so' for the rest of eternity."
Saint Peter shrugged helplessly.
"The biggest factor in your selection," Peter began again, addressing the four of them once more, "is that none of you want it. You are heroes, all, and you are being chosen for something terrible. This comes with a unique opportunity, however: the four of you will play a major role in shaping the Apocalypse."
"Again," muttered Pestilence. Death reached behind her and lightly swatted the side of his leg.
"When do we have to begin?" asked War. Saint Peter reached into his robe and pulled a small slip of paper from a pocket.
"Well, the Big Guy Upstairs doesn't really deal very much in specifics anymore, but thought we had an honest politician last week—turned out to be a false alarm, but it could conceivably happen, so we're still watching." He looked up to see the four would-be Horsemen grinning back at him.
"You mean you went and got us all upset for nothing?" laughed Victor. "Man, I was worried there for a second!"
"Indeed, friend," Kori laughed with him, nodding vigorously in agreement. "That was most anticlimactic!"
"I'm going back to bed, Rae; you coming?" There was a flash of black, and Peter was left standing by himself, blinking in surprise. He stood there for a minute before he remembered his other duties, and returned to the head of the line awaiting permission to enter Heaven.
Author's Note: I'm not much a fan of the ending, but I'm also not really much interested in starting a new Big Project (and this could very easily have become just that) and writing out the entire Apocalypse.
For those too lazy to look it up on Wikipedia, the interpretation of the Four Horsemen as Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death is very much based on interpretation, as Death is the only one specifically named in Revelations. Pestilence is really more of a pop-culture sort of interpretation than one based on the scripture: in Revelations 6:2 it says "I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest." That doesn't really scream "Pestilence" to me, but Beast Boy fit better as Pestilence, and so it was written. Besides, one of the interpretations of the White Horseman is that of him being the Antichrist, and that's not really very Titanish.