Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans. They are the property of DC Comics and Cartoon Network.

Paths

Chapter Four: Fall

"What if I stumble? What if I fall? What if I lose my step and I make fools of us all?"

--DC Talk, "What If I Stumble"

It's a lazy day. Curled in a ball under the covers, all I want to do is fall asleep again. Sadly, once I wake up, that's it. There's no napping, no 'five more minutes, Mom'--as if I ever said such a thing--and certainly no need for the snooze button on the alarm clock Beast Boy gave me our first Christmas together. I almost smile at the memory before realizing just who I'm smiling about.

Agitated, I flip over and blink accusingly at the ceiling. It's a lazy day in a lazy week. Crime is at a low, which is great on the one hand--the team's reputation is finally beginning to deter criminals, it seems--but insufferably boring on the other.

I used to have no problems with these lulls. I grew up in the silence of an Azarathian monastery, after all, but I've acclimated to the constant noise and bustle of the bay. To have it suddenly stilled is just... unnerving.

Even the after-school program I've been volunteering at seems to be winding down, and without that distraction... Well, there are just too many things I do not want to think about--my teammates being one of them.

The Titans' regular schedule of fighting super-villians usually keeps us all tired enough for the domestic situation to be tolerable. Without it, I'm painfully aware that we are, after all, just a bunch of unsupervised teenagers. Beast Boy and Cyborg fight louder and longer than usual over what's for breakfast simply because they have nothing better to do. BB whines piteously over his defeats at Mega-Monkeys Four (and accuses vehemently that the game is rigged), while Cy crows his victories more annoyingly than ever. I frown when I realize I'm not really sure of Robin and Starfire's whereabouts yet know exactly where, when, and to whom Beast Boy is being bothersome. I'm not supposed to. I decided I wouldn't li-- care about him anymore.

No, I don't care about that sad, hopeful smile he keeps sending my way or his dimmed eyes when I brush him off yet again. I could care less that he lost all those matches to Cy because he was watching me instead of the TV screen. In fact, I care so little about him that I wasn't even offended at his latest poorly timed joke ("Rae, you're gonna love this. Two boys walking home after church. One turns to the other and asks, 'You think Preacher's right and there's really a devil?' 'Well,' says the other, 'you know how Santa turned out. It's probably just your dad!'"). Ugh. He is too far below my radar to even be noticed.

A knock at my door startles me out of my reverie, and Beast Boy's chipper tenor echoes against the metal door. I bury my head under a pillow. "Oh Ra-a-a-ven," he calls. God, just go away! "Time to rise and... well, not shine. But anyway, we made breakfast! Imitation eggs and bacon!

"Cy made waffles, too," he tries to tempt after a moment. "Dude, that's some incentive! You're not sick in there are you? 'Cause you're normally the first one up and it's getting kinda late. I mean, even I'm up! So, you should come on down and grab something, or just drink your tea, you know." His voice trails off, but I can tell Beast Boy's still standing there, awkward and expectant.

Don't acknowledge him. Just ignore him, I tell myself, but my voice has a mind of its own. "I'll be out in just a minute."

"'Kay!" His joy hits me like the heat of a summer sun.

Annoyed, I gesture rudely toward the closed entryway and extricate myself from bed. Methodically, I shower, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. My mind wants to keep thinking, to take these paths I don't want to follow about Beast Boy and the Bible hidden under my bed, about penitence and my pedigree. I shut it down.

I pull on my leotard, wristbands, and shoes and fasten my cape around my shoulders. The alarm sounds, and I actually smile. A battle's a welcome distraction, a set of practiced moves and countermoves that encourage no thought beyond 'dodge' and 'disarm.' I can do this.

I teleport down to the main room where my teammates have already assembled. I try not to register the changeling's presence and focus instead on Robin's voice. "Hive Five," he says and glances over his shoulder at me. "Titans, let's go."

I fly behind the speeding T-car, appreciating my new-found notion of where in the city we are. At least those library treks were good for something. I glance over at Starfire, who is soaring ahead and to the left of me, then down to Beast Boy, who is leaning out of the car's window like a dog. I wonder what they'd think about my extracurricular excursions. That I, queen of all things dark and depressing, now routinely read happily-ever-after's to rosy-cheeked moppets.

I tear my gaze away from the green teen with a sneer. Not that I care.

The car brakes. Robin leaps from it before the wheels have even stopped moving, and with his traditional cry, the battle begins.

We've fought this lot time and again; the routine is so familiar I could do it in my sleep. We pair off automatically: Mammoth and Robin, See-more and Starfire, Gizmo and Cyborg, Billy Numerous and Beast Boy, Jinx and me. The sounds of Robin's punches, Star's energy blasts, Cy's cannon, Beast Boy's roar, even my own mantra fade into the background, and, much to my dismay, my internal monologue picks up where I left it. If I really don't care what anyone thinks, then, why do I do it? If I've got nothing to prove--You know you do, whispers some defiant part of me--why bother with those library brats' runny noses and bathroom breaks and stupid questions? Like saving the city on a regular basis isn't enough.

It's not, whisper two voices in unison, one shy and soft, the other sonorous and smiling with too many teeth. As Jinx and I circle each other in a volley of hexes and dark magic, I look at her, really look at her. If it's not, why? Why fight and strive and strain against the dark? Why not, just this once, let my father's blood have free reign? Why not just give in?

A flash of pink light sends the grate I'm standing on flying, and as I land on unforgiving asphalt I admit: I don't know. I'd like to say it's to spite Trigon, to prove I'm better than him. I'd like to say that it's from some innate nobility in my human side. But if humans were born great and kind and altruistic, there wouldn't be villains to fight right now.

I push myself off the ground, nimbly dodging another attack. I'd even buy into the idea that it's just some vestigial herd instinct. But herds let predators pick off the old and weak all the time. There has to be something else to it.

Or someone.

I grit my teeth. How do you conquer what you can't see? That's one of the things I like about the whole super hero gig. I encase a lamppost in black and sling it at the pink-haired girl. That you fight flesh and blood enemies. Ideas, they're much harder to pin down.

A fuchsia flash slices the post cleanly in two, and a second flare sends the pieces hurtling back toward me. I can't seem to get rid of the thought that, inexplicably, all the stars aligned for Beast Boy that night in the hallway, and maybe, just maybe he was right. Maybe I do owe God.

With a wave of my hand, a forcefield springs up to deflect the metal hunks. Bloody taskmaster! All he ever wants is more, more, more! I wish he would just let things go to hell every once in a while so I could have a day off. It sucks to be born evil; you're always trying to catch up.

A well-timed hex catches one of the halves and sends it speeding back at me just as my shield collapses into nothingness. And you never do.

I am hit not by a streetlight but a powerful green tail. I land hard on the pavement, elbows skinned, the wind knocked out of me. I look up to see Beast Boy, in the form of a T-rex, toss away the post with all the casualty of a dog with a chew toy that no longer interests him.

I suck in a breath. Sound returns. I tune into Robin's shouted directions, to Beast Boy's verbal cues, to Cyborg's victory cry, and to Starfire's mixed English and Tamaranian chastisement of the criminals. I relax when I hear police sirens, coming to take the temporarily bound teenagers away. I stiffen again when, as an officer leads Jinx to the armored transport van, she calls over her shoulder, "You're really loosing your touch, Ravie-poo, if you have to get lover-boy there to fight your battles for you!"

I flush in embarrassment, though whether at the insinuation of a relationship or of incompetence, I'm not quite sure.

"I wouldn't count on your toad prince too long, though," Gizmo chimes in slyly from his seat. "Word on the street says the scuzz-muncher turned bible-thumper! And we all know what you are!"

A frisson of fear runs down my spine. They can't know! Blood drains from my face.

The witch flashes me a coy smile. "His kind burn people like us at the stake, if we're lucky. Or..." She lowers her voice an octave. "Maybe 'the power of Christ compels you?'"

The door clangs shut on mocking laughter, and the arresting officer casts sympathetic look my way. Then the engine turns over. The sirens whine away into nothing. I stare silently after the vehicle, fists clenched and back ram-rod straight.

Civilians begin to repopulate the streets, and in my peripheral vision, I see Cyborg elbow Robin in the ribs--a not-so-subtle cue to talk to me. Aloud, he announces, "I'll go get the car."

Robin rubs the back of his neck, but before I can shut him up with some biting comment, he manages, "There was some truth in that taunt, Raven. What happened out there today?"

Starfire bites her lip and nods. "You did seem somewhat... intergalactic during the fight."

"Spaced out," Robin corrects.

"Come on, dudes," Beast Boy placates. "Everyone has an off-day."

Starfire places a hand to her mouth and asks in a stage whisper, "It is 'that time of the month,' Friend Raven?"

My cheeks heat up again, and I desperately hope the two reporters I recognize in the growing crowd didn't hear that. The scribbling of pens on notepads suggests otherwise, though. "I'm fine."

Robin sighs, unbelieving. "I thought we moved past all this secrecy. If something's going on, anything that affects your performance on this team, I need to know."

"Robin," Beast Boy tries to cut him off.

"You were completely unfocused out there," Boy Wonder continues, solemn and critical. His words burn in time to the scratching of pen nibs. "Your offense was everywhere but your opponent. Did you even realize a light pole nearly knocked Star out of the sky?"

I cast a surprised glance at the redhead behind my captain; she nods in affirmation. Shame lances down through my skin to the bone.

"Rob," Beast Boy begs.

"And your defense! Beast Boy had to completely step in and save you!"

I have to do something, have to stop him before my bones are charred to nothing. "And a bang-up job he did," I lash out, gesturing to my bloodied arms.

"Hey," the boy in question frowns, "I was just trying to help. Next time you wanna be lamppost kabob, just let me know."

"I will! I don't need your help! Didn't then and don't now! Not with Jinx. Or Robin. And certainly not your damn God!"

"Rae--" His eyes are wide and pained. "Raven." He reaches out for me, grazes my elbows. Nerves fire white hot pain from the ruined skin.

Enough. My fist connects with his face. There's blood on my knuckles.

Beast Boy staggers back.

I stare at him, frozen and horrified and burning, burning, burning with shame. The guilt is overpowering, cloying, suffocating as smoke. But no fire engine can put out the flame.

I want to wipe the moment out of existence, but I can only stop time, not rewind it. I can't take back this misstep, can't un-fall this spectacular tumble. So I do the only thing I ever seem to know how to: I run.