I don't really know why I put humor as one of the categories, cuz it's not funny…
I know I'm not a very talented writer, but I like writing anyway. So sorry if the story wasn't that good.
But thank you to those people who did review. I really appreciate it.
¡Muchas gracias!
Chapter 3: Lullaby
His voice breaks through the barrier of quiet, and almost startles me.
"Raven, I'm going to have to—"
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
"Raven, I'm going to have to…" His voice trails off.
My eyebrows have surely risen at his stalling. Robin never stalls. It's just not done. And I mean, it's not like he's got me glaring at him wishing he were dead and boring into his soul with four glowing red eyes. You'd think he was staring death in the eyes the way he was acting.
I can feel myself growing either impatient or worried, but I can't tell which.
Whichever it is, I suddenly find myself asking him what it is he wants to say but can't find the words to.
"Robin? You need to tell me something?" He almost doesn't hear me. I know he does, because his body gives a faint twitch, a feeling of remorse radiating off of him. He has to tell me something but he doesn't know how to. Why can't he just blurt it out like Beast Boy does?
And then I realize that whenever Beast Boy just blurts something out, my feelings usually get hurt. Robin's trying to prevent that.
I don't know if that should make me furious or grateful.
I once again try to coax the words out of him.
"Rob—"
"Raven, what's going on with you?"
I'm sure my eyes have almost popped out of their sockets. The guy sure knows how to beat around the bush. But then again, Beast Boy sometimes looks like a bush…
"Raven?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." His brow furrows just a bit, but enough for me to notice clearly. He's getting ticked.
"Raven, you know exactly what I mean."
I hate the way he enunciates "exactly" with a hint of annoyance. Do I annoy him? Before I realize it, the strangest thing comes out of my mouth. Something I haven't even thought about in a while.
"Do you miss your parents?" The question comes out sounding so innocent, the way a young child would ask. But there is also a strange maturity to its softness. Even I didn't sense it coming.
He feigns a brave expression, like nothing bothers him, but I know he's been hurt by that sentence. I can feel him shaking so violently with sorrow—only on the inside, but he's struggling, just managing to keep it in.
"Robin." I mean to say his name in more of a question, but it comes out like a statement. But somehow, it sounds better that way; more appropriate.
I don't mean him any harm, but it must be done. "Robin, do you miss your parents?"
He feels scorn towards me for a brief second, but it is soon replaced with innocence.
And I don't mean innocent until proven guilty. I mean the pure innocence of a child. The innocence a child has when you ask him if he misses his parents, and you know that he's trying not to burst out crying. I indulge in it. It's so warm in the purest way. He is sad, but the innocence adds the most heart-wrenching warmth to it. That warm coat—that's how Robin tames his sorrow. That's how he keeps it from controlling him.
And I do something even stranger than asking him that question.
I hug him.
In one graceful swoop, my body leaves my bed, walks silently over to him, and then my arms wrap around his neck. I pull him close to my body and I feel his surprise. But he's not pulling away. That's a good sign.
I feel his body stiffen even more, and then suddenly relax—the way a wounded soldier would die in battle.
There's still the faintest hint of a line, that is screening his tears away. It's barely there, but it's there nonetheless.
"Robin, it's okay to cry."
And with that said, he bursts out crying—like a young child.
His arms, which until now lay limp by his sides, pulled themselves up and wrapped themselves around me. I feel his hands around my back, but he's just so mentally tired that they fall to my waist. I don't really feel it; I just slightly register it in my mind and move on. His whole body quivers, only this time, on the inside and the outside.
I pull his head in closer to my shoulder, and I stand there, a strange maternal feeling washing over me. I ruffle his hair with my fingers, and I gently pat his back. he loosens completely, and I know that the barrier that just broke will need many repairs before it can function again.
That barrier—it's been washed away with the tears. I feel bad for destroying his work, but this team already has one emotionless member. We don't need another one.
I look down at him, and I see his tears flow less heavily. He hiccups once and then his breathing returns to normal. I feel his knees give out, and he slinks to the blue-gray carpeting. He tries to hold on to me to steady his wobbly legs, but he's too weak, and they slide underneath him. Right now I don't care for valiance; or anything for that matter. So I let him slide to the floor, I, myself in tow.
I plant my knees firmly in the cushiony carpet and I kneel before him; one hand still on his back. His knees have already given out, and he uses his elbows to keep himself from falling. Gut yet again, they collapse underneath him, and he falls completely to the floor. He curls up just a little and reaches for my hand.
Right now, Raven and Robin aren't there. No, right now, Robin is the child, and I, I am the gentle mother. Seeing Robin so broken apart, so shattered and reaching for me like an infant has brought no shame or disgrace to his name. No. To me, he is still the fearless leader, and to everyone else…they don't need to know.
I slide one arm underneath his neck and around his shoulders, and the other arm reaches over across his back. I fold my legs beneath me, and I pull his head into my lap. I move his body closer to mine, and stroke his neck.
Using my powers, I make sure the door is locked so no one can come and bother him. He's too fragile right now. So I let him hold my hand close to him as the other strokes his body.
I sing an Azarathian lullaby in the softest tone. I feel Robin loosen even more, succumbing to the foreign words. I can sense him falling into a dreamless, but peaceful sleep.
I feel his body go limp and his breathing even out and I know he's asleep. I count the moments; one, two, three, four; before his tired mind begins recuperating.
He's completely asleep, but I keep singing anyway. The song has a sad tune, so serenely beautiful in its mourning that it has an eerie peacefulness to it.
A flick of my Azarathian powers, and the songs turns into a spell. My hands glow milk-white; so pure and contradictory to my black telekinesis.
I bring my glowing hands together in an Azarathian hand sign and the power strengthens. I perform the final step by bringing my hands—still in formation—to my red chakra. It glows as creamy-white as my hands and the magic bonds completely—the telltale sign that my power is of the purest kid—and I lower my hands. I break them from the hand-position and I lower them still.
I only stop when they are just above the skin of the hero's forehead. Then, with my palms facing the boy, I let my energy flow into his mind.
The shattered barrier rebuilds slowly but surely. I fall into a meditative sort of state, and my body soon levitates above the floor.
My voice is still singing, singing that ghastly, bittersweet melody, singing each word with perfect accent. I am in a subconscious sort of state, so to me, the singing sounds hollow and faded. I feel myself slipping more and more into an unconscious state of mind, and all I see is the milk-white cream wrapping its opaque veils around me. The singing sounds so soft to me now—like the voice of a dying child. I slip more and more into my condition and the white turns gray, and from gray to a darker shade.
And soon the gray turns black.
When I was writing this chapter, I could hear the sad tune, and I just made it up, but it sounds so sad and sweet in a scary horror movie sort of way. I hope you liked this chapter, because it was a lot of fun to write.
Spunksterdawg