Author's Note: Okay, I said that the world was batshit crazy a couple chapters ago, but now it's even more batshit crazy (particularly in the U.S.) so I hope everyone is protecting themselves & their energy. Thank you for sticking with me on this story, I'm so happy to say that I'm almost at 100k! Thank you for your kind reviews! I just wish this site was more interactive with comments (like AO3 lol) but we make do. Your presence here is very much appreciated, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Take care!


She finds that she cannot bring herself to look at him. At least not directly, not in the way that mattered, that she knows that he wants. The taste of betrayal still lingered on her tongue, on the roof of her mouth, bitter and everlasting.

Days passed, and she could not forgive or forget. Not anybody. Not even herself.

And especially not Beast Boy, who was attempting to throw out the cupcakes she prepared. She thought she would try her hand at making food they might enjoy…

"'s really good. Yummy," he heaves, still chewing on what he did not spit out.

She smiles sweetly, extending another cupcake towards him. "I included a special ingredient! Would you like some more?"

She has never found enjoyment at the discomfort of her friends. Until now. Perhaps she changed once she accepted that not everyone would accept what she offers.

"Umm… sure," he draws out, smiling shakily. "D-did you make f-f-frosting?"

She takes the opportunity to stick the cupcake to his teeth. "No!"

Everyone has been much nicer to her these last few days, and she is shamelessly taking advantage of it.

She bends down and opens the fridge, taking out a container. She opens it and dips her finger in.

"Star, thas frosting."

"Oh?" she says, licking her finger. "I thought this was the icing…"

She dips a second finger into the frosting and swipes it onto his nose, laughing louder than she means to. But it comes out as such and she does not stop it.

She opens her eyes and they slide over to the couch, his smile shy and sweet. She falters for a second, freezes her heart before it melts.

He keeps doing this — bringing her guard down as though he has the right to.

He turns away and she breathes again. She hands Beast Boy the frosting and begins to clean the kitchen, humming a song she heard from the television. She keeps her hands busy for more time than it should take to clean up after herself.

You are angry. You are angry. You are angry. Do not give in.

She mutters Tamaranean curses to herself then, rubbing at a single spot on the counter with a rag, only feeling a presence once it gets too close to her.

"Do you need help?"

His voice takes her out as if she was halfway to falling asleep.

"I've got a feeling that whatever you were saying wasn't so nice…" he says.

She forces a smile. "Perhaps they were not. What shall you do?"

"Learn a new language. Are you willing to teach me?"

And now it feels familiar. A test. She must fail it.

"Thank you for your interest…" she says, rubbing at the same spot once more and ignoring him.

He has much more to prove. Do not be weak like before! Do not give in!

As he stands there, watching, she bites her tongue. She could make it more obvious, but she could not do it in front of their friends! Or could she? Why is he still there? Why?

He places a gentle hand on top of the rag, careful not to touch her own.

"It's alright," he says, his smile so easy that it brings her back to another time.

She gapes at him, the closeness of him registering, the heat in her body spreading. What is this? Is she truly this much of a fool?

She shakes her head and nearly slaps herself in the face. Before she falls for it again, she turns her nose in the air and huffs.

He steps back, smiling shyly now. "Sorry, Star. Just don't want you to do all the work…" he trails off, shrugging. "You… wanna watch the movie, right?"

"Perhaps," she responds coldly, willing herself not to look at him. She turns on the faucet and inspects the dirty dishes inside, acting as if she knows where to start.

"I hope yo—" he begins before a ringtone cuts him off. She has heard it before, the sound of his cellphone. She jumps slightly but recovers, burning her gaze onto him for a second.

"Sorry. Gotta take this," he mumbles as he looks down at the screen, walking off towards his room.

She rinses the bowl she used for the batter, watching it fill up before spilling everything out. She focuses so intently on it, ignoring the knot in her stomach at his demeanor, except she is failing to do so. Did she make him even more upset than he would have been? Did he want to tell her what could possibly be going on?

She freezes. Why do I feel guilty for this?

It is a good question to ask, but not one she could answer.

It did not feel right to accept him. To forgive him. She is not looking to punish him, but to protect herself. Could she blame herself for her behavior? He understands, does he not?

X'hal. All the thoughts come at once, her heart beating faster as she remains unmoving, staring at the stream of water filling the bowl once more.

The bickering behind her grows louder. She forces herself to turn around and face the couch where Beast Boy and Cyborg argue.

Raven's eyes lock with hers. Her stomach drops.

Immediately, she begins to shake. What is going on? What is happening? She grabs the bowl, but it slips out of her hands and splashes all over the sink and counter.

Perhaps she is misunderstanding the situation. Robin — Richard — can handle whatever he must deal with. Who is she to intervene? She did not appreciate it much when he would. Who is she?

She must hold herself to higher standards than she ever realized. She is walking down the dark hallway in the next second and anxious to come closer.

Who am I?

"Son of a fucking bitch."

She freezes at the sound of his voice through the door. She has heard disdain come from him, but never with such… vigor. Or perhaps it has been so long since the last time…

She hears the shuffling of his feet as he begins to pace. Or perhaps he was already. How long has he been gone?

She should knock. Or she should walk away.

She does neither of these things.

"I swear I — okay." He exhales deeply. "Okay, okay. Sorry. I'm just —" he pauses before dropping down into his desk chair. "I'm just sorry, Babs."

Babs?

She inches closer to the door, her ear practically pressed against it. Who is this… Babs? She has never heard such a name before.

"I'm —"

She holds her breath as he pauses, hoping that somehow she can listen to the other end of the conversation. But she is only met with silence.

But the word that breaks it — the name.

His voice is so quiet. "J-Jason?"

Her head spins as she recoils, blackness spotting her vision. She feels the pulse of her blood in her teeth.

She pinches her nose shut and closes her mouth, knowing if she breathes, it will come out too loud.

No. It cannot be…

She wants to hit herself for reacting in such a way. How can she be so sure it is her Jason he is referring to? How could she possibly know?

She shakes her head and then her whole body, forcing herself to intake air steadily. Control yourself.

"I'm coming. No. I don't care, Barbara, I need to see you."

And comparable to a punch in the face, another wave of fear crashes over her, drowning her heart in overwhelm. He is leaving? Again?

Barbara?

He needs to see her?

"I'll be there soon. I don't wanna hear it. See you. I will. Don't worry. Love you too."

Before he finds her outside of his room, she flies fast down the hallway and resumes her position by the sink, the water still running. She shuts it off and opens the fridge, playing her part as he walks back into the common room, even stiffer than when he left it.

The anger and irritation rolling off of him is palpable. Her body tenses as she stares at him. His frown ages him terribly. It hurts to see.

She never takes her eyes off of him, but he did not meet hers at all. He seems to be staring off somewhere else, out at the night sky. She waits for him to collect himself, but not patiently. The discomfort tumbles through her.

She wishes he were smiling the way he was just minutes ago.

"Guys," he says after a long moment, his voice rough and low.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.

The sounds of the television only seem to add tension to the air. He has everyone's attention, and yet he is struggling to speak. She holds her breath again, trying not to disrupt him, no matter how quickly the anxiety and agitation are multiplying inside of her.

"Uh… you good, dude?" Beast Boy says.

"...I need to go back to Gotham. As soon as possible."

"Why?" Cyborg says.

"Family emergency."

"Need a ride?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I'm gonna pack now."

He stands awkwardly, seemingly unsure of what to say next. She does not know herself what to tell him.

"Sorry about movie night," he says quietly, catching her eye for a split second before turning around and walking away.

"I hope everything's okay…" Beast Boy says, but it sounds so far away.

Cyborg sighs. "Hopefully."

She is afraid to turn around and face them. As if their expressions would amplify the guilt that struck her so suddenly. What does she do with this? How can she help?

She hears them murmuring to each other, but still, she stands there, motionless. She couldn't bother to be a bit more kind? He looked so… he sounded so…

She tears herself out of her stupor, turning on her heel and making her way back to his room. She knocks before she can hesitate.

"Gotta make a call."

"A-apologies!"

She grips her chest in embarrassment. But just as she is about to flee again, the door opens.

"Hey," he sighs.

Her first instinct is to reach out to him. She does not. "Robin…" she whispers.

"Don't feel bad. It's fine."

"But—"

"I'm sorry, Star, I am. But I need to get going. And if you want to know anything, I'll tell you as soon as I can, okay? I promise." He does what she cannot; he reaches out and cups her elbow into his palm, squeezing gently. "Just take care."

And for a moment, she thinks he is ready to lean in. Lean in for something she did not think she could handle, but he settles on a smile that looks more tired than reassuring.

She returns it, anyway. "Okay. I will not bother you. Have a safe trip."

"Thank you."

He disappears from her sight again.

"Bye…" she whispers, her head spinning, her heart heavy.


Once they get into the car, there's this strange pull to stay home.

He needs to go back. He wants to, he needs to see Babs — there's no question about it. But there's that fear deep in the pit of his stomach that he has to face something he's not ready to. He's gonna see her pain again.

"How much can you tell me?" Cyborg says.

"A very good friend. She got shot."

It's so ugly to say that he wants to retch. His blood is burning in his veins, his anxiety muddied by the pure rage building inside of him.

"That fucking clown," he seethes, pressing his nails into the heels of his hands. "That motherfucking clown."

"That's horrible."

He holds his breath, willing himself to calm down. He can feel his mind slipping away quick. He can't have that right now. He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales a shaking breath.

"I'm sorry that happened, man. Is she okay?"

"Yes," he says harsher than he means to. He takes his time breathing again. "She's okay. She's fine. Just some pain."

"That's good. I'm glad."

Cyborg's calm helps to ground him. He presses his feet into the floor and spreads his hands out on his knees, counting down before he allows himself to inhale.

Behind his eyes is a flash of her, of the worry in hers, and then her smile. It holds him down.

He sighs heavily, tempted to grab at his heart, but he's afraid to start it up again. "She needs me."

"Of course. I get it."

"She needs me, too," he mutters under his breath.

"Who're you talking 'bout?"

"My friend." He pulls at the collar of his hoodie. "She needs me."

"I know, I know. No worries."

"She could've… she could've died." He nearly chokes on the word. He's met with silence. "Same fuckin' clown who… who killed him. Murdered. My brother."

She never called him at this time. She hadn't called much at all recently — he saw her name and his heart immediately to the ground. He knew something bad happened. And now… now.

He doesn't know. He's going to the airport. He's going back home.

"I'm sorry," Cyborg says, and he believes it. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's—" he cuts himself off. How is it fine? "Thanks."

"You'll call, right?"

He looks out the window. The world passes by but he's not sure that he's there.

"Yeah," he says, his throat dry. "Yeah."


The flight takes longer than he wants it to, but who would ever want it that way? He tells her that he's on his way and she sighs that motherly sigh of hers — the one that makes him wanna laugh and rolls his eyes and cry — and tells him to get her a strawberry milkshake and fries.

He does that and gets her some flowers, too. Purple roses and sunflowers that don't feel like enough to give to her. He's walking through a blur and throwing cash blindly, the knot in his stomach solid and weighing him down. His knees can barely take it. He knows the streets so well that he doesn't need to strain his spotting vision.

"My dad's gonna step out soon. Gonna start his shift," she says when she calls again, wondering what's taking him so long. The last thing he wants to do is worry her.

A drop of dirty water from some storefront runs down his face. "Does he know I'm coming?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "Of course!"

"That's a no?"

"Mhm."

"Gotcha. Few more blocks."

"Looking forward to seeing ya, Boy Wonder."

"You better. Or else the milkshake would be gone."

"You wouldn't dare."

He blows a raspberry into the receiver and hangs up. Some semblance of life is presently inside of him right now. He has to remind himself that this is a good thing. She's joking, laughing.

Across the street, the hospital. It feels like forever before the light changes for him to cross.

He can handle seeing her. He can handle it.

He enters, gets his visitor's pass, holds his breath even when he's going purple in the elevator. He stares at the bouquet in his hand, focusing, chest tight. He has to breathe now, even though it smells like hospital and he hates it.

He finds her room.

I got this, I got this, I got this, I got this, I got this, I got this, I got this, I go—

"Oh, you didn't."

His lips tremble as he stretches them into a smile. "I did." He gets himself together, at least however much he can manage to, and shakes the bouquet.

She covers her open mouth, eyes wide and so glassy that he can see it from the doorway. "That's so…" she mumbles before pouting, her nose and cheeks turning into puffy blotches of red.

"Shut up. You're ugly when you cry."

"Oh, please," she laughs, but then it turns into a sob.

He sets down everything in his hands on the nearest table and walks to her, settling on the bed right next to her. She grabs his arm in a grip that's weaker than he's ever felt her and his heart falls.

He cups her cheek and places a gentle kiss on her forehead. She sniffs and breaths in this heavy, shaking breath. "What's up?"

She sighs and leans even further into him. "Could be better."

"I know, but still. Not too bad, Gordon." He rubs her back as she buries her face in his neck, her tears streaming down it.

"Sorry, I'm just… I'm just so…"

"Don't worry about it. Shh."

Her cry is broken and it cuts him open. Everything she can't handle anymore, he takes it and lets it leak out of his eyes as silently as he can. He holds her through it.

"Thank you," she croaks as she pulls away, wiping his neck.

He nods, afraid to speak, and squeezes her shoulder. "You didn't have to come," she says.

He swallows. "Of course I did."

"I didn't want to…" he starts, but he cuts her off with the shake of his head. He gets up and reaches for her milkshake and bag of fries and hands it to her.

"Yet you still took advantage of the fact that I came. You better finish that before it melts."

She rolls her eyes and smiles. "Thanks."

"Anything." He sits back down next to her. "You should know this by now."

She offers him her milkshake but he refuses. He doesn't think he'll be able to eat for at least a week. "Are you in any pain?"

"I was before, but they put me on some painkillers. I'm sore and… traumatized."

He grimaces. "Your dad's on the case?"

"Is that even a question?"

"A very obvious one. I'm sorry, Babs."

"I know."

"I really am."

"Me too. I was…"

"Hm?"

"...I could've been… I was one… one wrong move away from never being able to…" she gestures to her legs, and he watches as she wiggles her toes underneath the blanket.

He's cringing so hard that he's hunched over, so stiff that she feels the need to hold onto his arm again and force him to relax. "I know. I hate it. I hate it. I can't even say it."

She sets her drink down on the nightstand beside her and leans back, her grip sliding down to his forearm. "Why me?"

And the familiar rage bursts low in his stomach. The same question he's had. But the energy is stifled by sorrow. By the pain he feels in his side that he knows is entirely hers.

"I opened the door, I fucking thought it was the pizza I ordered. Dick, I've been so busy with school and I-I've been living purely off of caffeine and water. I was hungry. And the one time that I want something… he's right there. And my first thought. My first thought was, is this what Jason saw? Right before he died? Right before his life was robbed? Am I about to know what that's like?"

He doesn't know he's holding onto her arm so tightly until she smoothes her hand over his. "I know. It's okay."

"It's—"

"I know. It's not. But I'm here," she says, nearly whispering, convincing him, herself. "I'm here. Alive. I can move. I can move my toes…"

She draws her legs up and bumps her knees against his back. He turns slightly and hooks his arm over them. "You're something else, Babs. I think you've got nine lives."

She laughs. "I've got about five or so left. But I'm no cat."

"But you're strong."

She laughs again. "Kinda."

"Kinda? Only kinda?"

"I think my mind… or my heart is broken, or something."

"Anybody in your place would go insane at this point." He rubs her leg. "Me included."

She rolls her watery eyes and smiles. "You're just saying that…"

"Don't be stupid. You're supposed to be the smartass here."

"Yeah," she nods. "Okay. You're right."

"But however long you need me. I'm here."

She tilts her head. "Dick…"

"Yeah? Is that stupid or something?"

She shakes her head, the hint of a smile curling at her lips. "You're just… you know when I need you."

He chuckles. "It wasn't too hard to tell this time around."

"Yeah, but you knew how." She looks past him. "Those are so pretty. God, you had to do that? That's what made me cry."

"I wasn't trying to. God."

She slides his glasses off his face and pouts. "Oh, Grayson…"

He turns away, embarrassed, but she turns him back with a gentle hand on his cheek. "Thank you," she says, looking into his puffy eyes, and he uses everything to pay his respect to her and not look away.

He smiles slightly. "What else can I do?"

"Talk to me," she says without hesitation. "Tell me everything that's been going on."

"No."

"Yes. I swear it'll make me feel better. You haven't been telling me anything!"

"Really now?"

"I. Wanna. Know."

He rolls his eyes and sighs. "Here we go…"