many thoughts much anxiety @gallimaufry-galaxy - Tumblr Blog

Jun 16

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A/N: I am still alive! And no, I will NOT apologize for my blatant overuse of italics and my lovely wife the em dash — :^)

Pairing: BBRae

Genre/Warnings/Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Protectiveness, Secret Past, Family Issues, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Abusive Parents, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Don't be fooled this is like 97 percent just an aged up TT03 AU

Summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21....and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like...a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he'll ever need.

Chapter 4: The Letter [Remastered!] (words 6,301)

Eyes unblinking, Beast Boy fixed his gaze on the road ahead.

Wheels screeched against the asphalt. Flat-faced buildings and blinking road signs flew past in a watery blur. He cut a sharp turn left, the engine humming a low, obnoxious growl.

One more wide bend, and the shimmering horizon appeared in the distance. Before it, a stretch of road filled to the brim with the glow of warm city lights, swerving vehicles, and ripples of pink cotton clouds overhead.

A shadow crept into his peripheral as he turned, slithering up beside him at a steady pace. He chewed his lip, eyes shifting, before whipping abruptly onto a hidden side street. The road disappeared beneath him, his vehicle plummeting into the darkness. Before him, a narrow pathway opened up, peppered with wide concrete columns, crackling subway lights, large glimmering arrows and—

“Dude, get your arm out of my face,” Beast Boy ground out, controller strangled in his grip. With a quick jab, he elbowed his opponent in the forearm, angling for a better view of the split television screen.

“Maybe you should get your face outta my arm,” Cyborg threw back, returning the favor with a complimentary shove.

With rhythmic precision, Beast Boy wove his way around the columns on the screen. He eyed the arrows that littered the path and sucked in a breath—he’d need to hit every one of them for the last minute detour to pay off. The tension building in his body pulled him forward, away from his perch on the edge of the couch. As he stood, he leaned heavily into an unexpected turn, a superstitious habit he’d picked up over the years.

“Man, move outta the way—I can’t see the damn screen,” Cyborg hissed, hovering over the coffee table as he dug a shoulder into Beast Boy’s leg.

It was almost enough to cost him the last arrow—almost. With the final boost, his vehicle launched through one last unlit stretch of the road. When he popped out the other end, all he’d have to do was angle the car to make sure he hit the hidden ramp at the edge of the oncoming bridge, snag one more boost through a drifting maneuver, and—

His eyes shifted focus on the darkened half of the screen. For a split second, the back end of the living room came into view through a reflective glint in the pool of black.

And he caught someone staring back.

Beast Boy’s finger slipped. He watched helplessly, car swerving, as he missed the ramp entirely. In a blur, the shadow reappeared, shooting past him on the left, as he slid unceremoniously into second place.

“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Cyborg belted, jumping to his feet with a punch to the air. “Let’s GO, baby!”

Beneath the boom of his voice, the creak of cabinet hinges whispered its way out of the kitchen.

Cyborg threw a quick half-glance over his shoulder. “Hey, Raven! You wanna get in on this or what?”

When she didn’t respond, Beast Boy risked a glance of his own—and immediately locked eyes with her. A bag of chips in hand, Raven’s expression remained devoid of any obvious emotion. But the chunky over-the-ear headphones she was wearing spoke volumes.

He quickly turned his attention back to the screen, where a celebratory montage of game footage played alongside a scrolling scoreboard. The short reel looped once, the game’s chipper melody briefly interrupted by the sound of retreating footsteps…then the click of a distant doorway sliding shut.

It was only then that he allowed himself to sink back against the sofa cushions, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. As he did, he kept his eyes trained on the screen, mindlessly navigating through the courses. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his friend’s face shift through several not-so-subtle expressions. Confusion in his eyes. Pursed lips. A disappointed frown.

After a moment of silence, Cyborg cleared his throat, a distinct, emphatic rumble.

Beast Boy didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. He already knew what his friend was going to say.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that, would you?” Cyborg said, nodding in the direction of the hallway behind them.

Without thinking, Beast Boy selected a course at random. A dozen artificial engines revved to life on screen behind the bold red countdown clock. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cyborg shot him a look. “Like hell you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

The cars shot forward in a flash. Aiming for an early shortcut, Beast Boy took a sharp right, bouncing onto a rickety bridge. “Just because Raven’s pissed off about something doesn’t automatically mean it’s my fault.”

Cyborg hissed through his teeth, making a face as he took a particularly risky turn. “I don’t know, man. Everyone’s got a sport. And you two go at it like you’re in the running for an Olympic medal.”

Beast Boy exhaled a dry laugh. “You think I like when she’s mad at me for no reason?”

“I didn’t say that.” Cyborg leaned forward, his vehicle overtaking three other racers as he shot down the track. “But…”

Beast Boy glanced over at him, as a small, devious smile pulled at the corner of his friend’s mouth.

“I do think you like the attention.”

A shudder ran down Beast Boy’s spine. “You’re crazy.”

Cyborg only shrugged, the smile still lingering. “I’m just saying. That girl was watching you like a hawk just now.”

Beast Boy gripped the controller like a lifeline. He hadn’t noticed. Or hadn’t wanted to. “Yeah. Right before it swoops out of the sky and guts dinner.”

Cyborg laughed—a real, deep seated chuckle. “I mean, I can’t say I totally blame her. You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

Beast Boy’s car hurtled off a long ramp. He sped toward the remaining half of the crumbling slice of track and decided to make use of the extended airtime; in the span of a second, he reached out, grabbing a nearby pillow and delivered a solid smack across Cyborg’s face.

With lightning quick reflexes and a string of colorful curses, Cyborg reached across his own body and grabbed an even larger cushion, swinging back with double the force. Somehow, they both managed to hang on to their controllers as a few stray feathers burst through the seams, swirling around their heads. The race only grew more intense—more fun—amidst the pushing and teasing, each jab delivered with a bark of laughter and a shit-eating grin.

It was entirely different from whatever tenuous thing existed between him and Raven.

Sure, it sometimes felt like they were friends—so long as the word was bookended by quotation marks. But a single misstep, and an everyday conversation could quickly turn into a stroll through a minefield. He’d gotten pretty good at knowing where—and where not—to tread. But that single step was all it took for all hell to break loose.

Though he had to admit, there was a unique sort of intimacy to slowly cataloging every little thing that set a person off. Especially when your own existence seemed to rank somewhere in the top five.

“Oh, I love this show! Tell me, who is winning?”

Underneath the din of the television, the echo of two familiar pairs of footsteps filled the room—the first light, airy, and almost undetectable; the second steadfast as it trailed a few paces behind.

“Me, obviously,” Beast Boy replied, digging his shoulder into Cyborg’s side as he narrowly slid into first place.

“Just don’t ask him how he did in the last round,” his friend grumbled, tossing his controller onto the coffee table.

Starfire wove around the corner of the couch, a towering stack of poly-wrapped packages swaying in her arms. After a quick survey of the room, her bright smile slowly faded. “Where is Raven? Does she not wish to partake in our sorting of the mail?”

A few feet behind her, Robin heaved a large plastic sack onto the ground, letters and packages spilling over the crumpled edges.

Beast Boy and Cyborg exchanged a quick glance as the latter opened his mouth to speak. “She was here a minute ago, but—”

“She’s busy,” Beast Boy finished.

Starfire frowned, looking down at the bag overflowing with paper envelopes. “It must be something rather important for her to abstain from such a beloved weekly ritual.” The packages tumbled out of her arms and onto the carpet. Kneeling amongst them, she resembled a fiery dragon perched atop its postal treasure hoard. “No matter,” she hummed, her smile quickly returning. “I shall compile her belongings and alert her of their arrival when she is no longer occupied.”

Across from her, Cyborg and Robin had already begun to rifle through the large pile of letters, postcards, and bubble envelopes that spilled out of the bag between them. A rapidly growing pile quietly took shape in the center of their little circle—a heap of colorful cardstock where junk mail went to die.

Around the exterior, other piles began to form, and it wasn’t long before each of them had one they could call their own.

Leaning against the arm of the sofa, Robin shuffled through an assortment of plain white envelopes. Upcoming bills, checks from mysterious benefactors, legal notices from the city—anything and everything that demanded a slightly more responsible hand was quickly slipped his way. From below, Starfire surreptitiously slid a few more letters onto the cushion next to him. The colorful envelopes and handwritten addresses suggested something more personal, though still professional—a perfect reflection of their intended recipient.

It was a common theme throughout all of the fan mail they received.

“I think this one’s for you, Star,” Cyborg said, pinching the corner of a pink envelope that had been steeped in a healthy dose of rainbow glitter and unicorn stickers.

She grabbed it and ripped it open in the same motion, sending sparkles flying.

“Dear Starfire,” she read aloud, “You are the prettiest and smartest person ever. I like you more than hamburgers with yellow cheese and also my teacher Miss B. Love, Maggie.”

A puppy dog pout curled her lip as she held out the card for all to see. On matching pink construction paper, oversized chicken scratch letters careened across the page above a crude drawing of the alien princess and her new friend.

“Pretty high compliment, coming from a six year old,” Cyborg laughed, flipping through another stack of envelopes.

“The highest of compliments!” Starfire smiled, hugging the letter to her chest as glitter rained down around her.

Beast Boy watched as Cyborg continued to leaf through the letters, his gaze darting back and forth as he plowed through them. Suddenly, his quick shuffling ground to a screeching halt, his eyes going wide. With a quick flick of his wrist, a blade sprung from Cyborg’s fingertip, slicing one of the envelopes clean open. The letter within unfurled via two crisp folds, a short block of text sandwiched between a boldfaced corporate letterhead and dainty swooping signature.

“Ha! I knew it!” An equally brilliant smile spread across his face. “About damn time, too—I was starting to wonder if they’d bailed on me.”

“Is that the sponsorship deal you were telling us about?” Robin asked, looking up from his own handful of letters.

Cyborg nodded. “They want me to beta test some of their wearable sports tech. Maybe move on to an ad campaign if it seems like a good fit.”

Beast Boy continued rummaging through the remaining packages, reaching for a mid-sized brown box at the bottom of the bag. “Why do you need to rep someone else’s tech? You are tech.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a little side hustle,” Cyborg said with a shrug. “Maybe you should consider getting one yourself, Mr. Moneybags.”

“Yeah, right. Like anyone’s gonna hire me to model anything,” Beast Boy said, shaking his head. In the past, he’d picked up odd jobs here and there to earn a little extra cash—but it was hard to hold down anything substantial. Maintaining even a minimum wage job was impossible without an alias. And a one off appearance at the local wildlife center hardly counted as a celebrity endorsement.

“I dunno,” Cyborg replied, that same teasing smile flashing. “Maybe the zoo’s still looking for a new mascot.”

Beast Boy shot him a look, wrestling with the package in his lap. With a sharp rip, the sticky paper adhesive split open, a second box tumbling out of the first. “Fucking finally!” He flipped the lid of the shoe box open, revealing a pair of slick new sneakers. “These were supposed to ship like, two weeks ago!”

Cyborg laughed. “Question is, are they ever gonna see the light of day?”

Beast Boy lifted one in the air, turning it over as he examined every inch of the treasure.

“So that’s gonna be a no,” his friend concluded.

He shook off the comment, carefully re-wrapping the shoe in its tissue paper cocoon and closing the box.

Behind him, Robin paused his sorting. “Where’s Raven’s pile again?”

Cyborg extended a hand, reaching for the thin bubble mailer in Robin’s grip. “I got it over here.”

Beast Boy leaned forward, stealing a glance at the small collection of packages that had taken root at the foot of the couch. The largest one was about the size of his shoe box, blackened by dirt and encased in a thick web of plastic wrap. Dozens of stamps and stickers adorned the battered outside, framing a slip of paper tucked into a cloudy plastic pouch. He made out a string of script underneath, symbols of a language he didn’t recognize. The thing looked like it had been shipped to hell and back—for all he knew, it had been. Having paid a recent, if brief, visit to Raven’s den, his imagination ran rampant, conjuring visions of what might be inside.

Raven rarely opened her mail in front of them. She always waited, carting it off to her room once the festivities ended. As though each slip of paper and dented cardboard box contained something so incomprehensible, so utterly bewildering, it could never be safely revealed in the presence of mere mortals.

Of course, he had it on good authority that these items often included plushies and figurines from TV shows she adamantly denied watching.

“Oh, it is perfection! Just as it appeared on the screen!” A few feet away, Starfire produced a bundle of fabric from a torn plastic bag, shaking it loose to reveal an extra large t-shirt. Across the front, the words ‘Worlds BEST HuMan’ were printed in a garish cursive script. From the bottom of the bag, a second, much smaller shirt tumbled out, reading ‘WorLds bEst Dogg!’.

“Silkie!” she cried, getting to her feet. “Where is it that you have wandered off to, my sweet?”

The worm in question appeared suddenly from under a heap of envelopes, drawn into the room by the distinctive stink of dirty mail. Starfire gathered him up in a tender caress—a half chewed envelope still dangling from his lips.

“My most perfect little snorbag…” She gently yanked the piece of paper from the creature’s drool coated mouth. “You have already consumed your allotted nutrients for the day. Any more and you will become no more than a rotund legless lump!”

Silkie uttered a garbled cry in response, a sound that fell somewhere between the shrill plea of a newborn kitten and the rattling click of the world’s largest cricket. Having deprived him of his afternoon snack, he quickly squirmed his way from Starfire’s embrace and proceeded to wriggle across the carpet and out of sight. For a moment, it seemed as though she intended to chase him down and instigate an impromptu fashion show. Instead, her eyes fell to the letter in her hand and she slowed to a stop, Silkie quickly forgotten.

“What’s the matter, Star?” Robin asked from across the room.

She flipped the envelope between her fingers. At first glance it seemed like any other letter in the pile. But as she held it up to the light, the thick ivory envelope radiated a sort of rugged elegance that set it apart from the flimsy papers below. With a thick swirling script on the front and a wine red wax stamp on the back, it looked like a prop plucked straight out of a period drama.

“I am unfamiliar with the meaning of some of these words,” Starfire started, her head set at an inquisitive tilt as she examined the front of the envelope. “What is a ‘Gar’? And what purpose would its wide scale cultivation serve?”

Beast Boy froze. “…A…Gar?”

His words died in the air, overshadowed by Robin’s reaching across the table. Envelope in hand, their leader studied the address penned on the front, brow furrowed in confusion.

“We live in a giant T,” Cyborg said, shaking his head. “And we’re still out here gettin’ other people’s mail.”

“Whoever sent it probably just mixed up the box number,” Robin replied, a frown still firmly set on his face. “There’s no mention of Titans Tower anywhere.”

Misplaced mail was hardly unusual—and they certainly got their fair share of it. Their PO box had been established for less than a week before they’d quickly learned that their number neighbors consisted of a ‘Cheese of the Month’ club and the local public library.

But this…

Cyborg peered over Robin’s shoulder. “Doesn’t look like any of the usual suspects,” he shrugged. “No return address either.”

Starfire pursed her lips. “…Is it possible that the contents may reveal a method by which we could redirect the letter to its intended recipient?”

Beast Boy flinched, insides twisting in his stomach. “Wait—“

A stifled silence swept over the room as his friends all turned to look at him.

“I mean…it just…looks kind of important? I dunno. We probably shouldn’t mess with it.” The words tumbled out in a flurry, his eyes wandering to a wall on the far side of the room. He realized it a moment later and forced himself to look up into his friends’ faces, only to feel the heat of an invisible spotlight creeping across his skin.

A moment passed as their eyes all fell back to the letter in Robin’s hand.

“What if we just—“ Cyborg started. But Robin quickly cut him off.

“No. Beast Boy’s right.”

It took Beast Boy a few seconds to register the meaning of the words. It wasn’t very often that he heard them spoken in that order. He watched as Robin silently scooped up a few more envelopes that lay discarded on the table—the other wandering misdeliveries from the day’s spoils.

“We shouldn’t mess with stuff that isn’t ours,” he said, shuffling through the small stack. “I’ll take these back to the post office next time I head over there.”

Beast Boy watched in silence as he made his way to the kitchen and opened one of the cabinet drawers, dropping the mail inside.

“Besides,” Robin said with a sardonic smile, “if we’re going to break a law, I’d rather save it for something a bit more heroic than opening someone else’s mail.”

***

With the sun beating down on his skin and feet dug firmly into the soft clay soil below, Beast Boy felt anything but heroic.

He’d never been a particularly good liar. Coming up with a decent fib was hard enough—but remembering the details, keeping tabs on them as time marched on, and making sure those details played nicely with all the other little lies that would inevitably follow…

Well, the whole thing was a recipe for a full-time, fiction fueled nightmare.

It was only through a little logistical loophole that he’d ever been able to pull off such a stunt. A tiny technicality that afforded even the world’s worst liar a shot at skirting the consequences of withholding the truth.

Lying was hard. But keeping your mouth shut? Playing dumb? Doing nothing? That was easy.

Or at least it was supposed to be.

For the first time in a very long time, the mantra made something catch in Beast Boy’s throat. Nothing caused his foot to tap a staccato beat in the dirt, his fingers to flex and curl into fists at his sides. Nothing lit a match under his skin and sent a spark through his body that hummed like a million tiny insects excavating his insides. It felt like lying flat on your back in a field, grabbing at tufts of grass as lightning rained down around you. Trying to keep still, even while your body screamed to run, run, RUN.

Doing nothing was supposed to be easy. But suddenly, Beast Boy found it to be very, very difficult.

“Hey, green machine—your head in the game or what?”

Beast Boy’s gaze shot forward, honing in on the edge of the training ring. Cyborg’s words hit him like a smack to the face, knocking him back into the here and now—just a few hours later, where each hour had felt like an eternity crawling by.

“Just thinking about all the different ways I’m gonna kick your ass,” he shot back, sporting an extra wide smile. He dug his heels in deeper, setting into a crouch. It’d only been a day since he’d been officially cleared to start training again—and he’d never been more grateful. He needed this. Needed the cold, dry air burning up his throat, the smell of sand and surf rolling off the rocky shoreline, the dirt tingling the undersides of his finger tips. A distraction. Anything to keep his thoughts from wandering back to ivory envelopes and red wax seals…

It was a drill they’d run a million times—a glorified game of one-on-one keep away. In an effort to push them against the grain, Robin had set Cyborg on the offensive and Beast Boy defending home base; a battered orange traffic cone planted a few feet behind him. In front, a menagerie of natural obstacles and training equipment set the stage for the battle.

In a blink, Cyborg began his charge through the course.

Beast Boy rushed forward, cutting him off at the halfway mark. A quick dodge and he cleared Cyborg’s first strike, morphing into a set of beating wings and razor sharp talons. He struck with a series of fast, snappy swipes—shots meant to distract and drain, not damage. He circled around and dove for the ground, rolling into the dirt mid-shift and springing back up as a kangaroo primed for a sparing match. Ducking, kicking, and punching, as he baited Cyborg’s attacks in one movement and sidestepped them in the next. Doing whatever it took to keep his friend from taking another step toward that cone, whatever it took to wear him out.

True, he could have borrowed the brawn of any animal he liked, but only for as long as his own stamina allowed. If the battle turned toward a test of brute strength, he already knew which one of them would strike out first.

“Fifteen seconds,” Robin’s voice rang out from the sidelines.

“Come on, man,” Cyborg said, breathing a little harder. “You gonna actually fight me, or what?” He advanced a few steps more, goading Beast Boy into a swing and subsequent miss that sent him tumbling to the ground.

“Ten.” Robin’s voice again.

His opponent sidestepped him in an instant, about to make a clear break for the cone when suddenly—

“Shit!” Cyborg yelped, the word swallowed up in a high pitched squeak. He shook his leg, spewing curses as his voice cracked wide open. Below him, a large green snake appeared out of nowhere, slithering up the back of his calf and coiling tightly around the lower half of his thigh. He scrambled, hopping around on one foot as the snake hissed and flashed its fangs, scaly lips curling into what could only be described as a shit-eating grin.

“You little—“ Cyborg reached out one last time in an attempt to pry the creature from his leg—and lost his balance in the process, landing face first in the dirt.

“And…” Robin stared down at his watch. “That’s time.”

Beast Boy released his grip, stretching his arms and legs as he transformed. He rolled over until he was flat on his back next to Cyborg, panting through the devious grin still firmly plastered on his face.

“Oh, you are gonna make a nice pair of snake skin boots when I’m done with you,” Cyborg said, flexing his fingers as he towered over Beast Boy. Next thing he knew, his friend had him in a headlock, wrestling him into the ground as he delivered the noogie of the century.

“Dude, stop! I’m gonna go bald!”

“Oh, yeah? You got something wrong with bald guys, short stuff?”

Just behind Robin, Starfire sat cross legged in the grass, Silkie munching on a cluster of dandelions in her lap. They were each sporting the pieces of their newest matching ensemble, posed as if for a department store photo shoot. “I believe that you both presented an excellent display of skill,” she beamed. “I was most thoroughly absorbed.” She peered up at Robin as Silkie took another crunchy green stalk from her hand. “Shall I attempt to retrieve Raven for the next simulated altercation?”

Beast Boy was in the middle of wiggling free from Cyborg’s grip when Starfire’s words stopped him short. The muscles in his throat and chest suddenly tightened, making it difficult to breathe in a way that had nothing to do with the friendly roughhousing. With a few simple words, everything he’d managed to push down in the last few hours came bubbling back up to the surface like a shaken can of soda.

Raven. The one complication he was pretty sure he couldn’t ‘nothing’ his way out of.

It wasn’t really weird that she hadn’t turned up for practice. Especially given how she’d been acting that morning. Every so often, she’d ditch in favor of a ‘solo’ training session. No one knew exactly what they entailed, and it had been long since silently established that asking was out of the question. Today, her little self-imposed work retreat had kept them out of each other’s way for the greater part of the afternoon—a small mercy that wasn’t lost on him. But there was only so long you could go without running into someone you lived with—even more so when your roommates were also your kind-of-sort-of coworkers.

Maybe the rest of his friends wouldn’t notice the way his pulse had started rising when it should have been falling. Or the fact that the permanent smile he kept plastered on his face had suddenly fallen slipped one degree south.

But Raven would notice.

Because Raven would pick you apart like a dead frog on a dissection table for the fun of it, mentally cataloging each piece as she went. She could uncover the meaning behind the tiniest twitch of a muscle, decode the smallest shift in someone’s tone without batting an eye. Not that she’d need to in his case. Beast Boy knew that the moment they crossed paths, all the emotions swirling within him would appear plain and simple on his face. Like an open book, just waiting to be read. It didn’t help that Raven was an avid reader, and she didn’t pull punches when it came to her reviews.

Robin looked down at his watch again. “I don’t think we’re gonna get a hold of Raven today.”

Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind rippled across the field, the gray clouds sweeping across the sky and devouring the last of the afternoon sun. A single fat water droplet melted into the clay-colored soil. In a matter of moments, the training ground quickly became a pockmarked plain of tiny dark splotches—harbingers of an impending downpour.

“We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow,” Robin said with a frown, his eyes cast disapprovingly toward the sky. A deep, growling peal of thunder crackled through the air, everywhere and nowhere all at once. Something inescapable, inevitable, a force that begged to be acknowledged.

The storm wasn’t brewing.

It was already here.

***

It rained the entire afternoon.

Not the kind of rain filled with gentle dancing drops on windowpanes. Not the hum of a lullaby meant for soft pillows and warm blankets.

It was a nervous rain. An anxious rain. The kind full to bursting with thunder and lightning, a downpour of a million tiny hammers pounding on the glass. The kind where lights flickered and fixtures trembled, beaten back by a force far beyond the rising mist that swallowed the Tower whole.

Raven never did come out of her room. And, somehow, her absence had become even more of an unexpected agony.

Between Cyborg and Robin besting him in every video game they owned and watching Starfire flip through all five hundred TV channels, Beast Boy had developed a fun new fixation. Every few minutes, he caught himself stealing glances over his shoulder, half expecting to find someone lurking in the doorway—and never fully relieved to find it empty. His gaze would inadvertently slip back toward the kitchen. Back toward a very particular cabinet and a very particular drawer, always posing the same impossible question.

Was keeping a secret the same thing as lying?

No. Of course not. Everyone had secrets. Everyone was entitled to a few here and there. At least, that’s what he told himself each time he pulled his eyes away. The day had passed in a blur, his mind echoing the storm clouds outside, shrouded in a thick, rolling fog. Afternoon had silently become evening. Evening, night.

A dark, angry, oppressive night.

He rolled over in bed, hands searching the covers for his phone. With a click, the illuminated screen burned a rectangle of warm light into his eyes, long since adjusted to the dark. Curtains pulled tight, a flash of lightning broke through the veil, sending a horde of shadows skittering across his bedroom floor.

3:23 a.m.

He shoved the offending device back under his pillow, kicked off the covers, and got out of bed.

It was a long walk down the dead, dark hallway—a distance that felt even greater when covered on the tiny padded paws of a field mouse. But Beast Boy wasn’t taking any chances. Not in a house full of superhuman suitemates, all trained to spring into action at the smallest unexpected sound.

After an eternity of crawling and climbing down stairs and through corridors, the floor gave way to cool gray tile, his nails clicking on the ceramic. He came to a halt, air racing a mile a minute through his miniature mousy lungs. The counter loomed above him, distorted through the fisheye lens of his beady black eyes.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

Maybe it would be easier to just keep running. To slink under the door and out into the rain—off into the sandy fields past the shoreline. He could find a nice little hole to call home. Could learn to like bugs and seeds and whatever else mice ate. That would definitely be easier than doing what he was about to do. Right?

At least until he caught the eye of a hungry hawk.

He shook the image from his head, tension ripping through his muscles as he shifted. Maybe being eaten alive would be less painful than enduring the sinking feeling that had now permanently established itself in the pit of his stomach. He stared at the drawer unblinking, a small voice in the back of his mind screaming an incessant warning; a prophetic cry he knew in his gut to be true.

If he opened this drawer, there would be no going back.

Back to what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Not as his fingers reluctantly curled around the handle. Not as he pulled the drawer open, his body moving while his mind was far away. Not as he picked the letter up and ran his thumb over the wax emblem, slowly and purposefully, as if to test its reality. He took a deep breath, exhaling only as he slid his finger under the seal. In a single instant, the world became completely confined to the sensation of his skin skirting the paper, the subtle pop as the wax was stripped from its anchor—

A few feet into the darkness, a disturbingly articulate CRUNCH sliced through the silence.

Half-whispered, half-hissed curses spilled freely from his mouth as the sound sent a shock wave through Beast Boy’s senses. He flinched, watching helplessly as the letter slipped out of his hands and across the tile in a dramatic flourish. In an instant it disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness as though lapped up by some invisible beast. The pit in his stomach sunk to a new low as he came to a harrowing realization.

A hazy silhouette had materialized from within the shadows of the room.

“You dropped something,” Raven said flatly, chin tilted upward as her gaze fell to the floor—to the envelope—a few feet in front of her. She shifted her weight slightly, the outline of her figure suddenly stark against a flash of lightning that broke through the clouds.

In the cradle of her fingertips sat a bright red apple.

Beast Boy froze, a cold, suffocating silence filling the space between them.

After what felt like an eternity, her gaze shifted slightly, eyes locking with his own. She raised her hand, taking another long and unnecessarily pronounced bite, chewing it into oblivion.

When he didn’t move—because how could he, with her staring at him like that?—she took a step forward, eyes once again trained on the letter at her feet. Beckoned by her shadowy gaze, it slowly peeled itself off the floor, floating higher and higher, until it came to a halt just below eye level. She seemed ready to take another bite of her apple, when the invisible force flipped the envelope around, setting its perfect penmanship front and center.

Her eyes narrowed, flicking back to him. To the envelope. To him. The envelope. Back to him again…

A small crease cut into her brow as the letter hovered there, frozen in place for what had to be the longest ten seconds of Beast Boy’s life.

“What is this?” The slightest hint of genuine curiosity colored her voice—something Beast Boy was wholly unprepared for.

“Nothing,” he answered too quickly.

The tiny sliver of suspicion carved into her forehead deepened.

“It’s just…junk mail.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, continuing to study the paper with a strangely detached curiosity.

“Right. Junk mail,” she echoed, sounding each syllable with infuriating clarity. In the next instant, the letter floated over to the counter top, falling from Raven’s invisible grip. She took several steps forward, just barely brushing past him as she made for the hallway behind them.

“Where are you going?”

She shot him a look over her shoulder as the rain continued to pound against the windowpanes. In the weak halo of a flash of distant lightning, he caught a clear glimpse of her face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, weighed down by something more than pedestrian disinterest. She looked tired. Exhausted, even. He couldn’t help but silently wonder if it had something to do with the disappearing act she’d pulled earlier that afternoon.

“I’m going back to bed.” Her voice was low and grating. Like the words had been strained through a metal sieve. She considered the apple in her hand for a moment—devoured down to the core—before chucking it into the trash. “This was fun though. We should definitely do it again sometime.”

Feet rooted to the spot, Beast Boy watched as she rounded the corner and silently disappeared into the darkness.

For the second time that night, living out the rest of his days in a hole in the ground started to sound like a really, really good idea.

Junk mail? Seriously? Who the hell was pouring over their junk mail at three in the goddamn morning?

His hands flew to his face, fingers carving a sporadic pathway across his skin and through his hair, as his eyes wandered back to the counter top. Back to the small white envelope strewn slightly askew a few inches from the edge.

Who was he kidding? He had bigger problems than whatever was going through Raven’s head.

He snatched the envelope up, staring once more at the name printed on the outside. Written there like a curse he didn’t dare read to completion, for fear of what it might conjure. Like a memory—or the details of a vivid dream—suddenly striking you across the face.

‘Garfield Mark Logan’

After a moment of hesitation, he slid his thumb under the seal. Quick, ruthless, and unapologetic—like ripping a bandage from a patch of tender skin—it peeled away from the paper. Underneath the fold, a stiff piece of cardstock trimmed in sprawling gold filigree peeked over the edge. He pulled it free, scanning through the elegant type.

The North American Society for Genetic Medicine

cordially invites you to its 6th annual Helix Charity Ball

City Square Memorial Ballroom

Saturday, November 5th at 7:00 pm

Featuring keynote speaker, Dr. Nicholas Galtry,

Director of the Logan Family Foundation for Genetic Research

In the bottom right corner, someone had scrawled a message in a sweeping hand, curves and loops of thick, black ink.

Looking forward to meeting you soon.

-G

#galli writes #read my teen titans fanfiction if you dare