The Truth Of Life- BBRAE One-Shots

Parents

Parents. The one word that made the three of them flinch. My parents are gone, one little girl had cried. Flinch. That was the only reaction. The only one that fit.

She had lost her mother long ago. Though the wound was old and puckered with age, it still bled, with thick red blood that poured down her body. Her father had killed her mother, an act of violence a child should not witness. Yet she had, and, with frightened purple eyes, succumbed to her father's will, so she, too, would not be killed. At night she woke up screaming, mouth open wide.

He had lost his parents at the very young age of five. He had been bitten, saved, and turned a green color. His parents told him he was no freak. They believed in him. He believed them. Until the hunters came for him. He watched them slowly slid down the waterfall, too paralyzed to stop it, stop it now. They sacrificed themselves for him. Now he was afraid he was a freak, afraid what his parents had said were lies. He still woke up screaming, his green eyes guilty.

He had lost his parents because of an enemy. He wasn't sure what was going on, was only aware when the hooks on the trapeze began to slowly unhook, inch by inch. He watched them fall, their expressions vacant, yet terrified of the uncertain death that would occur. His uniform was the color of their blood. My little Robin, he imagined her saying. Someday you'll fly like us. He too screamed at night, and spent hours curled in a tiny ball, breathing heavily.

Rachel. Garfield. Richard. All wore their grief differently. The raven's was hidden beneath her vacant expression, locked away, growing worse and worse. The changeling's was hidden by his grin, his laughter, when all he wanted to do was cry. The robin's was hidden by his furious pace. To work, to fight, to improve. All he wanted to do was keep going. So that's what he did.

Starfire was Richard's cure. She talked to him, and although he never told her about his parents while they were dating, she was exactly what he needed and kept his spirits awake while the other two watched in agony. They wanted, no, needed a cure.

Their team did not notice. Their grief grew. One night, it was to much for the green one, and for the raven.

Raven sat up in the bed and screamed. Harder than she'd ever screamed. The scream slowly turned into a sob, going down octave by octave until she buried her face in her pillow.

The knocks came swiftly and surely, as she knew they would. Her scream had been far to loud, but it was just getting worse and worse. Today was the day. Her worst day of the year.

"Raven?" "Friend Raven?" "Rae?" "Rae-Rae?" They all called for her. She lifted her head, her face stained with tears, and began to sob. They all pounded on her door at her reaction.

"Let us in! Please!" Beast Boy's voice echoed through the door. Raven stopped. He was sad, she felt it, but she felt sadness for herself and sadness...for himself. He was sad about something personal, just like she was.

She whispered. "Only Garfield." The door shot open, turning black from her magic. She buried her face in a pillow before they could see her red and blotchy face. She heard his hesitant footsteps walk into her room, then shut and locked the door with her magic.

Beast Boy, on the other hand, was super confused. First, she had screamed. He had immediately leapt up and ran to her room, forgetting his face was stained red after he had had a good cry. But he didn't care, he was sure she was in trouble.

Second, she had called him by his real name. He'd thought everyone had forgotten it, but she hadn't, and that made it much more serious. She never called him that unless she was teasing him, and this clearly wasn't the case.

Third, her face was buried in a pillow, shoulders shaking, soft sobs and moans escaping the pillow as she cried. Raven never cried.

Finally, he decided to walk over to her. He sat on the edge of her bed, bouncing it a little to let her know he was there. When he got no response, he walked over to her and sat next to her. No response.