I do not own TEEN TITANS.
This will be RobinxRaven. It is AU with dashes of that superhero charm we all know and love. Thank you for the reviews thus far. Review this chapter if you have time please. Just a word or two is always nice. In any case, here it is, chapter one finally. Thank you sekai no yakusoku for helping me with my stories and remember that I adore yours.
Accidental
Chapter One: Her Mother's Daughter
"Look, there he goes!" an excited voice pointed out.
"Ah, you were right! He's a ten," another equally interested one agreed.
"Who is he?" a third voice joined in.
"Richard Grayson, didn't you know?" the second replied.
"I knew that. We all heard it at the assembly. I mean, where'd he come from? I've never seen him around before," the third said, a little offended at the insinuation of her sometimes incorrigible obliviousness.
"We should find out," the first girl decided after a shared silence made it clear that none of them knew the incoming class's representative beyond his name.
"Wait, where'd he go?" the second asked as they all looked around to find that the blue eyed wonder had somehow slipped out of the corridor without them noticing.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The man of their attentions had made a hasty disappearance, his hearing keen of their conversation as he passed. Absently, he ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. It was the end of the first official month of school and several things had become quite evident: he was as attractive here as anywhere else; he was one of the better athletes, if not the best; he was without question the smartest person there.
Except for one.
There was a R. Roth who kept usurping him from rank one and while this did not bother Richard—who really was more intrigued than put out by the competition—it did pique his curiosity.
Why hadn't R. Roth taken top honors and been elected class representative? As far as he knew, that placement was strictly based upon the entrance exams and from their record thus far, he had his suspicions that this mystery brain had probably surpassed him in those too. So, why?
He couldn't lay his finger on a single feasible reason.
Still, with so much to do and so many people to help—he had a knack for being exactly where people needed him most at exactly the right time—he hardly had the extra minutes to ponder the identity of his only considerable equal. There was the track events and student council affair to deal with, as well as classes themselves and when those weren't taking over his attempt at a pristine life, the attentions of his classmates were.
The boys wanted to be him or befriend him. The girls flocked to him, very much like birds that had their wings flapping incessantly, as if the flutter would draw his eye to one more than to another, which it didn't.
"You're so perfect."
He had heard as much before and learned long since to refrain from the empty laughter that had, in one careless moment, once escaped him at the very idea. Perfection was, if anything, an ideal beyond attainment. No, what he was, what Richard Grayson was, was a model: a model student, a model son, a model body of human outsides and unexplored insides.
He was just that, nothing more. His past demanded it of him and he was rarely one to object what was asked of him. A son born out of wedlock, his mother and father had left him for nothing better than dead as an infant, not even bothering to leave him in the safety of the hospital. Oh no. They had taken him with them—and here's where the story gets fuzzy—and left him in a box on the side of a street outside of the city. No one—least of all Richard—knew what became of them, if they had separated then or stayed together, if they even cared.
Well, no, that was a lie. It was pretty obvious whether or not they had cared.
By some sweep of fortune, some nameless soul found Richard Grayson though. They found him and brought him the only place they could conceive of bringing a child that wasn't theirs: right back to the hospital. There the personnel identified him as the same baby delivered not even hours before and ticketed him with a wristband with his name, just so he didn't get mixed up.
Didn't get forgotten.
He spent the beginning parts of his life in an orphanage with some nice people and some mean people and some people who really could not be classified as either. Those were the people he clung to as a toddler and looked up to as a pre-adolescent and when he left at the age of fifteen those were also the people he thanked. Now, normally a fifteen year-old would not be allowed to live on his own, much less be released from the custody of an official and quite legal organization like his orphanage.
But Richard had made it a point to stand apart from the day he was born, and if this was the exception, then so be it. He would not be denied. In his own steadfast and quiet way, blue eyes piercing the air around him, he commanded respect and a yielding mannerism in people around him, even from a young age.
So it was that he left. He left and by the scrape of his nails managed to get a job or five that paid well enough to not only get himself the smallest of small apartments, but pay enough to take the Academy's entrance exams.
The Academy.
Such a prestigious and pretentious name all in one, it had caught his attention immediately. This was his biggest footstool, his biggest leg-up he could find. If he did well there he could get into any university, do anything he wanted, be free of what dutiful natures he had chained himself to out of necessity and well hidden fears.
Free of what little past he could remember.
Perfect?
He strove to be what was expected and then be more than that. If that was perfect to others, then maybe so, but in his book, 'perfect' didn't exist and maybe that is why Richard Grayson came so close...though not so close as R. Roth, and this is where our story really began anyway: with a R. Grayson and a R. Roth. Strangers to each other in the most worldly of perceptions, alike in ways that by all account should have at least made them related or something, set apart from the rest of things like no one and nothing else. Our story began, if you will remember, with them.
A collision. Books falling. Searching eyes.
An accident.
It began like that. Even if R. Grayson didn't know it.
And it was to his great surprise that he found himself running again into her familiar form, head curtained in violet waves and eyes flashing in the afternoon sun as he tried to hurry to his bike, late for work due to an overly long club meeting. Books fell to the ground, a few papers too this time. They swirled dangerously in the frosted breeze that spoke of a first snowfall in the upcoming week. Richard grabbed for them agilely, snatching them out of midair and returning them to Raven who eyed him with a little bit of annoyance this time.
Even though it was just another accident, of course. Just an accident.
"This a hobby of yours, boy blunder?" she asked, voice as lacking in inflection as ever, save a bit of sarcasm that had the same effect on Richard as a cat digging its claws into his shoulder.
"No," he said, insulted ever so slightly.
"Watch yourself. No one likes surprises," she warned, returning her things to the familiarly ragged knapsack; Richard noted that it seemed to have a new tear near the right strap.
"I do," he replied automatically and regaining control of himself, arched an eyebrow as she scowled openly now.
Nothing hidden in that face with amethyst eyes now...that was definitely irritation he was seeing. He liked having the chance to see her again though, whatever her inclination or disinclination towards him.
That much he could not refute.
Her eyes flickered ten different shades of violet-blue, glinting with the sun, and he found himself thinking that her very, very pale skin was reminiscent of porcelain. It occurred to him briefly that this Raven, no matter how rude, certainly looked the part of perfect, well, she would have if he believed in such a thing, he reminded himself quickly.
"Right, well you would," she returned, breaking him from his thoughts, and began to walk away. Blue eyes picked up on something. A paper, strayed from the pack had stuck stubbornly under the toe of his black shoe. He sighed again.
"Wait!" he picked up the paper and waved it at her when she turned to spare him what was, if possible, an even more annoyed glare that lightened noticeably as she saw the paper clutched in his hand.
He caught up. She stuck out her hand. He began to hand it to her.
And he saw in the corner what was on the corner of every school assignment: the name, heading, date, class and hour. The last ones didn't concern him as much as the first.
"Thanks," she relented with the shortest version of gratitude she could conceive of and went to make a hasty exit.
"You're R. Roth?" he asked to her retreating back, incredulous.
"What's it to you?" she let her stand-offish self take over, still doing all but fleeing from the confused peer.
"Hey, wait. I just wanted to—" he stopped mid-sentence with his mouth still open as she cut him off, whirling on him.
"If you haven't gotten the message yet, Mr. Grayson then please take careful note of what I am about to say to you: don't talk to me. Don't think about talking to me and most importantly, don't come near me again. If I am clumsy, I will remedy that myself. If I am in trouble, that too I can account for. Understand?" Her words were fast, biting and cold, though not so cold as her eyes as she turned on her heel and quite nearly marched away from a flabbergasted Richard.
What in God's name had he done to her except help?
What, indeed.
"Wow, you got her more steamed than I ever have," an amused voice chuckled and Richard was greeted by a new face with forest green eyes that twinkled in a way he suspected would much annoy the most recently departed company.
"Guess so," Richard replied, still put out and then added, "Who are you?" The green-eyed man stuck out a hand and threw him a very wide smile.
"Gar is fine," he introduced himself and Richard returned the favor. They sized each other up, sort of a guy thing to do it seemed.
"So what do you know about her?" blue eyes were fraught with many pointed question marks. Gar spared him yet another laugh that Richard was beginning to think was the newcomer's way of not feeling pressure.
"Not much, but no one does. She gets the best grades, doesn't talk to anyone if she can help it and when she does, she usually...well, you saw." At this, Gar raised his hands as if surrendering to some hidden force. A grin twitched at the corner of Richard's mouth. The man was funny in a sort of melodramatic way.
"She seems to hate me pretty fairly," Richard observed airily. Gar snorted.
"You're not special buddy, believe me."
"You make it sound like you try to irritate her," the would-be top ranking student said probingly.
"Only sometimes, when I get really bored," Gar defended.
"Or really stupid. She might claw your eyes out," Richard warned, only half joking about a girl he was completely mystified by.
And at the same time, completely captivated by.
"Tcha, probably not. She's frigid and bitchy even but she's smart and knows the lines here are thickly drawn. She's not the kind to cross those lines," Gar clarified.
"Too much attention?" Richard supposed. Gar nodded.
"Weird, kinda creepy too, right?" Gar pretended to shudder and Richard laughed.
"Well, I wouldn't call her creepy so much as...different," Richard finally decided on, which earned him an incredulous look from green eyes.
"Like her, do you?"
Such a simple question.
"I don't know."
Such a backwards answer.
"You seemed to be in a hurry anyway," Gar pointed out oddly and Richard swore, warranting an amused look from his new acquaintance. "Hot date?"
"Work," Richard said shortly and hopped his bike, kicking up the stand as he undid the lock and shooting off, down and out of the entry courtyard of the Academy leaving a perpetually amused Garfield Logan to his lonesome.
"Yo, Gar," a jovial voice accompanied the hand on his shoulder. Green eyes turned to meet the face of Victor Stone.
"How's the year treating you?" Gar asked.
"Fair, fair. So what's the deal with the new kid?" Victor asked, scrupulous to those around him and his friend of three years.
"Well, in short, he's already made a pretty square enemy of your little sister," Gar said affably and Vic gave him an Oh-is-that-so, look.
"That's not unusual. Not many people get Rae," he commented and Gar shrugged in agreement.
"True."
"And she's not my little sister," Cyborg corrected, a little irritated.
"Aw come off it Vic. You know you'd fight tooth and nail for the girl," Gar poked the bigger man in the side and his friend eyed him thoughtfully.
"So would you, but I don't go around linking your family tree to hers do I?" he said pointedly and Gar shrugged.
"Only because I thought of it first," was his cheeky reply.
There was a brief and comfortable pause between the friends before Vic spoke.
"Have you noticed Rae's been kind of...shifty lately?"
"More than usual?" Gar tried to joke but he knew it wasn't one.
"Get serious man. I think I saw a serious cut on her arm the other day but she said she fell or something...you think she's in any trouble?" Vic was concerned and even now he could tell where people founded their big brother tagline in him.
"I don't know dude. I mean, how could she be? She's always here or at home right? I don't think she's the kind of girl to go out carousing, you know?" Gar pondered aloud and Vic sighed.
"You're probably right."
I hope I am, Gar thought, more worried than he let on.
-----------------------------------------------------------
It was midnight and Richard Grayson was just getting off of work—he was a delivery boy for a local pizza joint. He didn't mind the mundane quality of the job and he knew how to get everywhere on time, so it suited him…except when he was late of course, like today. His boss had chewed him out royally and as he made his way to his one room apartment, he sighed. The city streets seemed very empty, but then again, they would be at midnight, wouldn't they? It was then that he heard the clink of metal behind him. He turned. There was a burly guy with a chain, heavy by the looks of it, and a catty looking female with the hottest shade of pink hair he'd ever seen. On a second glance he also noticed a rather shorter member of their party with beady eyes and an exponential amount of mechanics strapped to his body.
Okay, this is weird, he thought quizzically. The one with the chain whirled it. This is probably bad too, he added blandly and looked both ways with his peripheral vision...he could probably make a run for it...not that he doubted he could take them but he was tired and the metal links were looking increasingly unwelcoming. Training or no training, he hadn't had any professional instruction; he'd only taught himself how to defend and attack if need be and if need was not imminent this night, he would be very glad of that.
"Little boy on his way home to mommy?" The larger one prodded and Richard turned cold. No one had ever mentioned his mother to him, least of all some brute of a stranger with a Neanderthal's look about him. He did not answer and turned to stalk quickly away. He heard the chain coming a mile a way and spun on his heel, ducking and grabbed it, snatching it in midair with his hand. It lashed backwards and struck the outside of his hand anyway, but he did not release his grip and tugged on his end of the chain.
"No," Richard said with steel in his voice.
"Pretty boy's a fighter is he?" The girl circled him like a vulture...a pink vulture, his mind amended and it's a testament to his personality that he was able to conjure several entirely ridiculous images from that thought in the middle of his rather unfavorable situation.
"Pink doesn't suit you," he smirked and the girl scowled.
"A fashionista too," she mocked and Richard was startled when she tripped him; for some reason he hadn't been expecting an attack from her, not because she was a girl, but...well, he just wasn't and he let go of the chain as a result. He rubbed his head ruefully and his eyes widened as he saw the metal links coming on a quick crash course for his head. Rolling out of the way, he heard where some of the cobblestone shattered under the force and sprung to his feet in a defensive posture to give the illusion of making a stand.
But he knew better.
And then he ran. He was a fast runner but he could feel the strange crew catching up to him. And then he felt more than anticipated the chain strike him hard across the back. He fell, spine and back screaming with yet-to-be-seen bruises and coughed as he struggled to get back up. A foot crushed him back to the ground.
"Now, let's see what the class rep has up his sleeve, or better yet, in his pockets," the technologically obsessed boy was talking now and approached the pinned Richard. He was sure he was going to be robbed when the foot's weight on his back left him and he heard a grunt and the sound of a rather large body falling. Quickly he got to his feet, back still throbbing immensely. What he saw when he turned to face the gang was strange. A shadowed figure proceeded to beat the living daylights out of each member and then tie them up together to a lamppost. The figure wore a hooded cloak and from a few flicks of its edges when it spun away from her as she had floored all the miscreants, he could tell it was a female.
Well, hopefully. One never really knew in this city.
Once they were all secured to the post, she approached Richard as silently as she had come.
"Are you able to make it home?" she asked, no expression, no care, no worry, no disdain or anything, nothing.
"Uh, yes, thanks," it was a feeble gratitude but he was still confused. The strange hero turned to leave but Richard held out a hand. "Wait!" The shadow paused. "Who are you?" From somewhere, his savior pulled what looked like some kind of firing device and shot a metal cord out of it or some such and began to launch herself up onto the roof of the nearest skyscraper. Richard almost thought she would not answer him when he heard her monotone voice carry down like an echo of something that never was.
"I have no real name but if you need one, the only one I can even consider giving you is Arella."
And she disappeared over the top of the building.
-----------------------------------------------------------
She didn't know why she gave him her mother's name. It seemed the only proper thing to do. In a way it was tribute to the dead woman, murdered long ago by someone Raven had yet to meet. As she removed the hood and the eye mask, she took one of her braver moments by the handles and eyed her reflection in the mirror. Her alias had been in the papers anything from Nightwing to Shadow to other variations on it. A sigh escaped her. She had not ever expected to have to rescue the ever popular and affable Richard Grayson and wished, not for the first time since they had met, that she had not met him at all. She could tell when people were of a curious nature, even worse, of a sleuth's tendency. He was.
And she couldn't have him finding her out, could she?
Because Raven Roth was not just the second ranking student in the class. She was Arella, or Nightwing, or Shadow or other names in the daily news or midnight bulletin: she was the lone vigilante of the city she hid in and protector of people who could not defend themselves, people like her mother. She bit her lower lip and the sting drove away whatever possible tears might have come. Breaking away from the mirror, she shed the cloak entirely, leaving it on the floor of the main area of her own tiny apartment. She was tired; regardless of Grayson's words, she had followed him home quietly and unnoticed to make sure he would truly be alright, having ascertained that she then went home, but it was now 3 in the morning.
And she still had homework.
Rather than hitting her head on something cold and solid, she opted to take a shower and wash the grime of the dark alleys and misbegotten streets off of her pale skin, and nurse a couple new bruises and soon to be scars.
They were minor, however many there were and she only wished every night was so easy as this one, and thought to herself, not for the first time: it is hard to be alone.
And as quickly as it had come, she pushed it away. She was alone, it was to be this way. She could not risk thinking otherwise.
It would only end worse than it began.
With that, she turned the knob on the shower and breathed into the hot steam, not even flinching as it washed over some of her new cuts, the bits of red running in and out of the otherwise crystal clear water. Her foot slipped, however and her arm collided with the tile of the shower wall and she winced. There was a rather large bruise there...
Maybe she'd do her homework during class tomorrow.
Hope that was interesting enough, review if you have time please.
I thank those who did review the prologue, I know it's not a terribly popular theme, my tendency to play around with AU, but eh, I like AU very much and I don't trust myself to try and write about them as the real teen titans. I'll leave that to my pal Rei, sekai no yakusoku who does a splendid job.
-castle
p.s. there's a reason for her having 'Nightwing' as one of the things she's been referred to. I'm not just messing up here, I promise.