"You absolute moron."

He hadn't seen her this riled up in a long while.

"Moron is such a... strong word Raven, don't you think?"

"I think I know at least twenty-one other ways to say moron, and none of them are strong enough to describe the boneheaded (that's one of them) stunt you pulled yesterday."

"First, there's no way there are that many different words, and no way you know them all. Second, how can you have found out—and I'm not saying anything actually happened— that something happened yesterday?" Beastboy countered.

"Well, my addle-brained friend, I was surprised to feel a strong wave of bitterness spring from the gym. Upon inspection, I saw Robin and Starfire in the throes of what I can only hope was some kind of battle exercise and could feel no ire between them—I'd rather not discuss what it was I could feel from them. I then deduced the surge must have come from more imbecilic origins."

Beastboy was not amused. She continued, "'Could it be the halfwit actually took my advice to work his frustrations out physically,' I thought to myself —dare say— with a twinge of pride. Pride turned to anguish upon the realization a chance encounter with Robin was too much for an idiot, lamebrain, dim witted, ignoramus to manage."

Beastboy did not know what to do in this situation, so he defaulted to diversion.

"...I only counted seven." Beastboy offered. Raven soundly ignored him.

"You fought him."

"It was a friendly spar."

"You fought Robin. He fought you. You both fought."

"He started it."

It was a classic rebuttal. Raven took a moment to soak it in.

"I now know a word strong enough. It's 'Beastboy.' Whenever some lout commits buffoonery of unimaginable proportion, it shall henceforth be called Beastboy. Both the man and the event with be called Beastboy, now and for all time."

"Look, I know—" He started.

"I don't care."

"W-what?" Beastboy stammered.

"I don't care. Fix it."

"Well, that's an oversimplification don't you think?"

When her eyes shone a bright, ethereal white, he at once regretted his words. A portal opened under her feet, and she slowly sank into it. Her luminous eyes never left his, and before she disappeared through the hole, she offered, "Fix. It." And she was gone.

Yes. Yes...he believed he would do just that.


That was three weeks ago. And the situation had taken an unusual turn.

The 'sparring matches' had not halted— they'd become more frequent. It seemed Robin was intrigued by Beastboy's display, determined to unearth whatever hidden talents buried within him. He said it would be good for the team, and that he realized he may have neglected Beastboy these years.

Beastboy didn't know what to think at first. Of course, he agreed anyway.

Raven was completely against it in the beginning. She berated him. She chastised him. She moved from insulting his intelligence to if his ears we functioning. She explored the possibility the English language left him.

She calmed down when she saw the situation begin to change for the better. Unity was returning to the team. Missions were being completed more successfully than ever. After a week she stopped grumbling and went back to what she did best—ignoring everyone. But she did so with one final warning:

"Be sure that this doesn't blow up in your face."

Beastboy wasn't worried. He couldn't explain it, but, for some reason, after each match, the ever-present unease within him would fade to the back of his mind and he could regain some normalcy. Things were looking up for the first time in a while! At first he would avoid Robin's invitations, but he soon began to relish them.

He also had to admit, when it came to fighting, Robin knew his stuff, and Beastboy thought it good for him. He found it allowed him to explore the new, overwhelming sensations without the threat of being injured by some criminal. He was learning to subconsciously process it all—he would just be too distracted if he purposely tried to sift through it. He would get lost in it— the smells, the sights, the sounds.

Imagine trying to block a punch or dodge a kick, all while pondering what brand of cereal Robin had for breakfast— two days before. Or dishing out a roundhouse and ignoring the rhythmic heartbeat of your opponent and of those who are watching.

Beastboy is naturally 'distractable,' so progress in the beginning was slow. It was slow because he had been trying too hard. He had to let go.

Be more beast than boy. It was in this he was beginning to find himself. He was discovering more and more the depths of his own abilities. The more he let go, the more he just was, the more impressive he would be.

Training with Robin opened new worlds, new dimensions for Beastboy. He was beginning to see different angles. He was beginning to think of new approaches, exploring new options. He was growing.

Robin would marvel at some of the lightning quick reactions at display. He would commend whatever unorthodox counter, or unusual approach. He was say things like, 'if we could make this more consistent,' or, 'we just need to refine this,' or, 'let's try that again.'

The odd thing was, though, that he would not perform the same way twice. Even if there was a similar situation, his body would not behave in the same manner. If at first he would spin, then next time he would flip. If at first he would punch, then he would kick. If at first he would grab, then he would parry.

Robin could not understand it when Beastboy would say things like, 'I don't know dude, it just happened,' or 'I just let it run its course,' or, 'I'm just clearing my mind and riding that wave.'

This dichotomy was ignored, instead the two favored the progress made and the dividends their sparring was paying in team performance. And things were going well.

Cyborg had approached Beastboy sometime ago. He had told him he was proud of the bean sprout, that he had stepped up and that the team was better than ever. He told him to keep it up.

Yeah, that had felt good to Beastboy.

The team was successful—wildly successful even! Beastboy had learned to be more subtle and misdirecting in his approach. Robin's tutoring had encouraged Beastboy to use his human form more, to surprise criminals with sudden transformations. With less rampaging creatures downtown or in suburbia, this cutdown substantially on collateral damage.

Naturally, the mayor was pleased with this development. He had raised their budget three percent in a show of appreciation. It turns out three percent of their budget is an impressive sum. Robin had called a team meeting to discuss the use of these new funds. A lively discussion ensued.

"I suggest we use the newly acquired funds to appropriate the personal food preparer," Starfire suggested.

"A chef? Why do we need a chef when you have me?" Cyborg countered.

"It would be nice for someone to cook something that wasn't ripped from its parents, raised in isolation, and slaughtered in its own waste," was Beastboy's response.

"So, we hire some tootsie-fruity hipster? In my kitchen?"

"I admit," Robin interjected, "having a regular supply of nutritional meals would be good for the team. But how would they get in and out? Would they have their own access codes? Then we'd have a security issue, or, what if a criminal uses them to..."

"Oh boy, here goes Robin's paranoia shutting down another awesome idea. Ok then, what do you have in mind—and don't say training equipment!" Beastboy exclaimed.

Robin had the decency to pause before responding.

"Well...new training equipment would be..." Robin couldn't get out the rest before the collective sigh of the group cut him off.

Then came the bickering. Ideas were thrown around with no regard to their feasibility. One would offer security devices. Another a pet dog.

New lighting fixtures.

A new couch and entertainment system.

A moped for every member.

A waterslide that goes from the roof straight into the ocean.

Matching biker jackets to go with the team mopeds.

The ideas and chatter seemed to have no end in sight, until a light cough from the only silent member quelled it. One word pierced the silence.

"Library."

Raven's idea gained instant popularity.

Constructing the library was surprisingly quick. It was Robin's vigorous vetting of the workers that'd taken time.

They took advantage of an unused spare room— of which there were many— in a mutually accessible location. Nine feet tall shelves were installed, along with comfortable sitting chairs, some modern tables and ample ambient lighting.

Robin gave each member a stipend to buy books to stock the shelves with, each person given their own section. Raven took her share and was gone in an instant. It came as a surprise to no one that her section was first to be completely filled.

The interests were what one would imagine them to be. Cyborg had his engineering books, along with science periodicals. There wasn't much fiction to be found in his selection.

Beastboy's selection also came as no surprise. He had volumes of comics and fictional novels. He had omnibus after omnibus of his favorites. He also had large encyclopedias of animals from all around the world. He was delighted to see Starfire take a shine to this feature of his collection. It was often he'd see her deeply engaged in one of his animal reference guides. It was very cool.

Robin instituted a rule that if you borrow a book from another's section, you have to leave a placeholder from your own.

So, Beastboy would often discover the oddest books from Starfire's collection on his shelf. She was obsessed with Earthen culture, and this reflected in her eclectic collection. She had cookbooks and historical reference works, memoirs and hobbyist manuals. She had some of the most classic poetry there was, and in several different languages (who she had to kiss to learn those languages, he wouldn't ask). She had books on religion, childbearing, how to hypnotize, self-help books, even the Kama Sutra (this one was particularly shocking). At any time, one of these books worked its way onto Beastboy's shelf.

It was great. It really helped to bond the two. He hadn't realized how similar the two were, and he found her surprisingly easy to talk to. She was always one to laugh at his jokes, but he enjoyed bonding on a whole other level. She was a reason he began to love the library.

But she was not the reason he'd become addicted to the library.

Raven's books never found their way to his shelves.

"Every library needs a children's section." Those were her exact words. He didn't let it get to him, especially after taking a look at her section—books thick like toasters and font tiny like peppercorns. No sir, no way.

But he often took one of her books anyway. This was solely to substitute it with one of his own, and he did so for one reason:

He liked the idea that his books were on her shelf.

He'd even hoped there was a chance she would read one— at least a better chance than him reading one of hers.

Beastboy became addicted to the library because Raven was always there. It was her new haunt. Where once she would read locked away in her room, she liked she could get away from her rowdy teammates in a new location.

"Even I like the sunshine from time to time," she later explained.

"There aren't any windows in here Raven," was Beastboy's reply.

"The lights are brighter than in my room."

"…I see," was all he offered in return.

Honestly, he didn't care what the reason was. All he needed was an excuse to be near her. In the library he could be near her all he wanted. He could drink her smell in.

He could become drunk in it.

He didn't even try to fight the urge. He learned fighting them only made them stronger and harder to control. It was a safe outlet, and it kept those disturbing thoughts of domination far, far away.

All was well.

Then Robin changed the training program.

Once loose and fluid exchanges became rigorous and regimented courses. Grueling physical training, much worse than anything Robin made the rest of the team go through. Physical exertion beyond anything Beastboy had experienced.

However, the exercise was not the worst of it. It was the katas. Katas, he had learned, were choreographed, repetitious movements which cultivate muscle memory.

"Eventually the motions will burn themselves into your body. You'll be doing them in your sleep. Literally. Batman had me doing them until I could do so unconscious," Robin explained.

Katas were the bane of his existence. Rigid and mundane, Beastboy's body almost ached with the restrictiveness. He felt like a bridled horse and Robin his jockey.

Strike, parry, sweep.

Strike, parry, sweep.

"Again!" Robin would bark.

Strike, parry, sweep.

"These moves will become second nature—as natural as the breaths you take. Again!"

Strike, parry, sweep.

"Once engraved, your mind will be free to analyze and explore. Free to dissect your opponent, picking him from the marrow. Again!"

Day in, and day out, after missions and before sleep, in between meals, and sometimes as a pre-requisite to eat, Beastboy would endure Robin and his katas. He persevered with Raven's threats in the back of his mind— "Fix. it. Be sure this doesn't blow up in your face."

This went on for weeks, and in deep denial, Beastboy chose to ignore her ominous words. All the camaraderie, the progress, they were all gone. This, of course, left Robin frustrated. His response (as it typically is) was to double down their efforts, searching for a breakthrough.

Again, Beastboy felt like he was in a cage. It made his skin crawl, and an undesirable bubbling resurfaced in his gut. He tried explaining he wasn't benefitting from the kata method. He eagerly communicated his displeasure with the arrangement.

"You'll get used to them. One day it'll just…click—like it did for me. Now let's try it again," Robin said with a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Oh, what Beastboy had wanted to do to that hand. But he pushed on. He pushed through the monotony, through the frustration, through Robin's empty admonitions, through the building pressure in his gut that whispered for him to lash out—to break loose.

"Make sure this doesn't blow up in your face."

Beastboy was sure he could handle it.


There was war, and Raven was the only observer.

Her veins itched with frustration. She unconsciously tightened her grip on the teapot. The emotions she felt were not her own. She brought the ceramic cup to her nose and breathed in deeply, the steam doing what little it could to calm her. The hot liquid barely registered on her seasoned lips. Her tongue was numb to the temperature.

Now if only she could be numb to the stupidity around her.

Rather than take her usual place on the common room sofa, she stationed herself at the breakfast bar, pretending to read another novel. She was glad her friends didn't pay close enough attention to her, or else they'd notice she hadn't turned a page in hours. She used her position to spy on them, soaking in the mayhem.

The casual observer would see nothing wrong. Beastboy and Cyborg on the sofa playing games in their usual buffoonery. Robin and Starfire at the dinner table, prattling on about some random thing—Robin always indulged her curiosity.

But the casual observer is not an empath and would not be a victim of an invisible war of emotion.

Robin's emotions were easy to understand. He was frustrated at Beastboy. But really, he was mad at himself. Why wasn't his method working? Why was Beastboy no longer making progress? These thoughts danced at the back of his mind and, despite his genuinely happy and content feelings of being with Starfire, a layer of gray dissatisfaction bubbled forth.

These gray feelings formed in Raven as well. At no fault of her own, she too felt disappointed and dissatisfied. Such is empathy.

Empathy is an invasion. An assault of emotion. It wracked at her stability constantly. She can control it with strangers and with acquaintances, but with her friends she struggles.

It was her fault for caring. It went against her best judgement, but she did. And what concerned her most was Beastboy.

Normally Beastboy's emotions were like a warm cup of tea. His gentle optimism would ease into her, fondly speckled with childishness. Now, though, he too was frustrated, but something mysterious was there as well. Moments of self-loathing would flicker in. Other moments where there was a powerful desire to flee. There was also the fact there was no mirth from gaming with Cyborg.

Most alarming was what she called "the void." Raven was unsure of how to describe it. If 'joy' was 'yellow,' and 'jealousy' was 'green,' then there was an emotion coming from Beastboy that was not 'black' but was simply 'nothing.' This confused Raven, because every time this 'nothing' bubbled up, Beastboy would freeze, very quickly shake his head, and take a series of small breaths. He would then pretend as if nothing were wrong.

She noticed this void happened from time to time when they were together in the library, or randomly when out and about. It is not an easy topic to breach, so Raven hadn't yet brought it up to the green boy.

She may now have no choice though. Looking at Beastboy, she was afraid there could soon be a tipping point between him and Robin.

Beastboy and Robin briefly meet eyes.

Raven's toes would curl.

Beastboy would yell a little too loudly and Robin's eyebrow would furrow.

Raven's hand would clench.

The volume from the television would spike and Robin would have to ask Starfire to repeat herself.

Raven's lips would twitch.

Starfire would laugh gayly at one of Robin's quips. Beastboy would grunt disapprovingly. Robin would place his hand onto Starfire's in a gentle display. Beastboy's fang would jut out ever so slightly.

Raven's nose would flare. Her eyes would squint. She would cough to clear her throat. Again, and again and again.

They went back and forth with these brief clusters of emotional conflicts. Missiles and bombs and mortars and battalions of sentiment tearing a swath-like divide through the Common Room:

Beastboy and Cyborg, oblivious to one side playing video games.

Robin and Starfire to another side, caught up in their own daydream.

And Raven—alone in the aftermath.

What should she do? She wondered if she should wait for one of them to raise the white flag. Or should she be an ambassador and sue for peace? Should she sit them down and walk them through negotiations?

In the past, Raven has always allowed her friends to work out their own issues—except under dire circumstances. To her, this was hardly the same. Beastboy was not recovering from a rampage as the Beast. Robin was not hallucinating about Slade and hurting himself.

But there was "the void." It was new. It was unknown. It was "nothing" and it was something at the same time. It was definitely something.

But she wanted to trust Beastboy.

She had wanted Beastboy to repair his relationship with Robin. She had issued (what she considered) a gentle warning to him to do it. It was for the team, but really it was for his own good. He was getting hurt more than usual—an extra cut, an extra contusion, a concussion, a broken nose. But even more concerning were his emotions. It had been weeks since his emotions felt like a warm cup of tea.

She missed them.

And that is why she decided to wait—to not intervene. She realized she was not impartial. Another of her core principles connected to her powers of empathy was never to use them for personal gain. Her bereavement of Beastboy's calming energy was simply insufficient cause.

The anomaly of "the void" was concerning, but still insufficient cause.

The invisible war had not yet escalated to a point she needed to get involved.

And she wanted to trust Beastboy.

So, she would watch— albeit extremely closely—from her little perch at the breakfast bar with her decoy novel in hand.

She heard Robin laugh loudly at something Starfire had said. Starfire squealed in delight. Beastboy's hand clenched tightly around his game controller.

Raven's knee started to bounce uncontrollably. It was at that exact moment Raven's mind created two hopes:

Firstly, that she was not making a mistake.

And secondly, that Beastboy was sure he could handle it.


Time until explosion: 1 year, 8 months, 7 days