AN: Angsty/sad/tragedy oneshot with Character Death, in Raven's POV, because I like her best. And because she's the only one might think like this. It's a drabble, folks. Try not to critique too harshly.
Disclaimer: It was established that it would be safer for all involved if I never got my hands on the Titans. Perhaps this is why… Oh well, they're not mine. The song is credit to Ana Johnsson—"We Are". (Spiderman 2 Soundtrack)
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It wasn't supposed to have happened this way.
They were heroes.
Titans.
They were not supposed to fall.
But like the Titans of Greece, one of their number had been indeed tumbled from their lofty pantheon, brought down by one of the very humans they had sworn to protect and save.
She had known, oh, she had been well aware, that eventually one of them would stumble, be brought to their knees. She'd known none of them were as indestructible as they feigned, that they weren't as immortal as they pretended to the public.
After all, they were not gods.
They were Titans. And Titans, myth, legend, or superhero—Titans could fall.
But she had never, not once, considered that it would be him. That he would be the one to take the plunge. And she felt so very stupid for it, so naïve and ridiculous to believe that he would be the mightiest of them all, when his very humanity made him the most fragile member of the Team. He was so very strong, his personality, his will, his heart, his passions, his mind—so terribly, magnificently strong. But in the end, he was as weak as the ones they were supposed to protect.
She had forgotten that he might need to be protected too. That while Robin was indomitable, Dick was a Flying Grayson and had fallen before. And in the end—in the end…
He'd lain there on the ground, in the rain, the rainwater sluicing pink into the gutters as it washed under his head. His body was broken; no human could survive such an impact from a fall of that height. And he was so, so human.
It was like some horrific waking nightmare, staring at him there, still warm and bleeding, but beyond any help her meager restorative powers could possibly hope to offer. And the most horrific part of it was not his mangled arm or the blood pooling under his head and washing away—it was his face. His beautiful, handsome face, with its strong jawline, perfect lips, the nose that had been broken more than once—his eyes.
The eyes he'd always been so hesitant to show them, because it meant so much to him. To let them see those eyes reminded them he was Dick behind Robin's mask, that he was human before he was a Titan. To remind them that, because of his fragility, of his humanity, he wasn't quite as fit for the job as they were, with their superpowers and enhanced bodies. If anything, he was afraid that they would feel they needed to protect him from his humanity.
And now the mask had disappeared, perhaps washed away in the rain, or torn from his face by the winds as he plummeted earthbound without wings. He was vulnerable, naked on the ground, so very human and fragile and weak in his death.
Starfire had wailed, and cried. Beastboy had fallen into grief and denial, shielded his heartwounds with an attitude of anger and callousness he borrowed from his darker, more primal inner beast. Cyborg grieved quietly, softly, weeping openly for his dear friend, and taking up the fallen Titan's mantle best he could, trying to keep them all from falling after Robin-from falling apart.
But Raven… she'd never been so calm. No. Not calm.
She was numb.
The inside of her head, usually populated by a whirling parade of loud technicolor emotions was curiously cold and static white, so quiet inside her head, quieter and calmer than any mediation had ever achieved. She saw it all so clearly, and distantly, wherever her emotions had fled to, she felt coolly sad, disappointed, guilty.
See the devil on the doorstep now, my, oh my
Telling everybody, oh, just how to live their lives
Sliding down the information highway
Buying in just like a bunch of fools
Time is ticking and we can't go back, my, oh my
The Justice League finally decided that an event had occurred with the Teen Titans that might actually require their attention. Batman darkened their living room door the next evening, looking almost funny, the dark knight, the great detective, the Batman, standing in their Tower, in their mess of take-out and pizza boxes and video game controller cords. He told them to pack, and gathered them up like a flock of helpless children, taking them under his dark, imposing wings and ushering them away from the place that held so many once-happy memories that now caused tears.
Only Raven could feel the grief and pain rolling off the stoic Bat in waves. Being an empath was rarely as fun as it seemed.
What about the world today?
What about the place that we called home?
We've never been so many
And we've never been… so alone
They were lost at the Watchtower, stranded with no clue what to do with themselves and with no leader to direct them. Because he had fallen.
They were given a corridor, and Beastboy, Cyborg and Starfire spent most of their time in one room together, leaning upon each other's strength, sharing in their grief. But Raven couldn't join them. She felt she'd scream if she had to be in such close proximity to their depression and hopelessness and pain without being able to so much as touch her own.
The whole of the much-expanded Justice League gathered for a brief hour to mourn the loss of a fledgling comrade. Not one of their own, because the Titans had been viewed as too young to count, too green to claim under the full title of real superheroes.
Keep watching from your picket fence
You keep talking but you make no sense
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are
You wash your hands, you come off clean
We fail to recognize the enemies within
You say we're not responsible
But we are, we are, we are
Superman made a lovely speech. The eulogy was properly mournful, but with the touch of hope added just for the living. He said that it was a terrible loss of a great young man, but that it could not be helped. It would not help to dwell upon his death, but to remember him with warmth in his life. He told the Titans, those surviving Robin, that they should not blame themselves. That death comes to all, and is the ultimate justice.
Raven knew it all as lies. The Justice League might mourn the loss of Robin, but Raven would forever grieve the loss of Dick Grayson. His death had been anything but just, ripped from life when he strove so hard, risked so very much to preserve it.
One step forward making two steps back, my, oh my
Riding piggy on the bad boy's back for life
Lining up for the grand illusion
No answers for no questions asked
Lining up for the execution
Without knowing why
And they were so far from blameless, so far. She felt the guilt slowly spreading like a stain on her soul, because they were responsible for this, his death was as much on their hands as on the hands of the villain who had pushed him.
Villains. They were all villains here, because they'd killed him as much as had that bumbling fool of a fanboy. They had ignored his humanity, his need to be protected, for his life to be preserved. They'd allowed themselves to forget that he might need saving too. And that arrogance, that ignorance, that misplaced belief had killed him.
Keep watching from your picket fence
You keep talking but you make no sense
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are
You wash your hands, you come off clean
We fail to recognize the enemies within
You say we're not responsible
But we are, we are
Starfire seemed as if that memorial had made things a bit better. She wasn't fixed, not yet, she was still very much broken, but something in the Man of Steel's little pep talk had touched her on a level she understood, begun the healing process. Beastboy's false anger had given way to quiet weeping, a sad, pitiable grief that seemed to mean he'd be alright, in time, when he was done mourning. From the service, from the speech, Cyborg drew strength. He would need it, if he intended to follow through with assuming the felled Robin's role and lead the remaining Titans.
But Raven still felt nothing but a touch of loss, a blanket of guilt, a bitter disgust with the so-called heroes of the world, and a slowly burning spark of hot, growing fury.
How dare they? How could Superman so callously write him off? How could Batman allow his former partner, protégé, son, to be so quickly dismissed? How dare the other Titans so easily move on?
They were putting Robin away, burying him, out of sight, out of mind, but no one had attended to Dick. She couldn't believe that even Batman had forgotten Dick. But maybe he needed to, needed to think of him as Robin so that Bruce Wayne could better fortify the resolve of Batman without his grief and loss getting in the way of being a hero.
She couldn't forget him, put him on a shelf or leave him under six feet of cold earth. She'd been more intimately acquainted with Richard Grayson, the real Boy Wonder, than she ever had been with anyone else. Robin had forgotten what she'd seen when she'd gone into his head to help him fight off Slade, but what she'd learned had haunted her, until she'd forced herself to put it in a little box in her head and hide the key.
But now the lid was flung wide open, and Dick haunted her with a vengeance, because she'd killed him, killed him by forgetting him, by letting him hide behind Robin. But Robin wasn't the one who'd died. Dick was. Richard. The circus boy who'd been born with a need to fly and had attended it behind a mask when his parents' death had taken away the trapeze.
But they would all ignore the death of Richard Grayson and instead have a quiet memorial for Robin, because then they could all ignore that most of them were human underneath the weapons and skills and powers, that they were all very, very mortal.
After all, the fall of a Titan could be romanticized, justified, idolized. The death of a regular human being, a young man of eighteen couldn't be ignored, would have to be taken responsibility of. They'd have to acknowledge that they'd failed.
But they would all lie to themselves and let Richard fade into memory and Robin into legend, to keep them all safe on their lofty heights, so that they could avoid the fall a little longer.
It's all about power
About taking control
Breaking the will
Engraving the soul
They suck us dry
Till there's nothing left
My oh my, my oh my
But she wouldn't forget, couldn't. Hated them because they could. Envied them because they could mourn him properly. Pitied them for the need for such illusions.
He fell.
He'd fallen, and the instant he couldn't fly and fell instead, he stopped being Robin, and was reduced to just being Dick Grayson in a silly costume and a mask. Because Robin didn't fall. Robin was a hero, a Titan. Titans didn't fall. Humans fell. The Graysons, for all their claims to flight, had fallen, and were human. But Dick hadn't fallen with them, and she'd discovered with that terribly intimate meeting of minds that he'd always felt like being Robin saved him from sharing their fate. That if he weren't Robin, were Dick, a Grayson, he'd fall, as he was meant to that night. So long as he was Robin he could fly. But eventually, fate would catch up with Dick and Dick would fall, so Dick had to be hidden away behind a mask.
But in the end… in the end, the mask had come away, and left Dick to his fate. And Robin died before Dick hit the ground. And so Dick was the one who fell.Never Robin.
So they would cling to the memory of Robin. Because Robin hadn't fallen, he'd died honorably, in combat, a true hero. A Titan.
But Raven knew the truth, the ugly, bitter truth that left a horrible taste in her mouth and stung at the back of her eyes.
Titans fell.
What about the world today?
What about the place that we called home?
We've never been so many
And we've never been…
So alone
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AN Pt2: Well, that's that. Poor Robin. Poor Richard, really. I mean, think about it. He must have a lot of latent issues, not to mention identity crisis. And if you saw small hints of Rae/Rob… not intentional, but I sail that ship anyways, so cool. As for poor quality, incoherence, and overall "HUH?" factor, I blame it on finals and the lack of sleep. Review, please. And if you're just going to review to complain how I haven't update on chapter fics… sighs Let me save you the trouble. I'm a terrible, horrible person for being without inspiration and for procrastinating. Bad author, no cookie.
Postscript: Formerly titled "How the Mighty Fall". Small changes were made, and it was published before under my first penname, Nyxie-Hell. That time, the only review received was brought to you by a particular unnamed idiot who wished to impart my stupidity for not making this a Starfire-Robin romance. Do you see any romance here, people? Unless you are in love with Death, there's but naught. Mayhap this time will be different.
Last edit: 01/01/05; 12:10 AM