Dancing On Your Grave
Hey, everyone. This is me, with yet again another story idea. When I should be focusing on Different. And Going to the Dogs. And Pitch Blackness. And-
Well, you get the genral idea.
I don't own the Teen Titans...
Thoughts, or, if noted, a flashback. In the first instance it is used as a prologue.
Rachel ran thorough the house, breathing hard and fast. Her black hair fanned out behind her, as her hand, with purple painted nails, gripped the doorknob. She wrenched the door open, hearing the footfalls behind her.
She dragged a chair over and set it against the door, hoping, and praying, that it would hold. She sank to the floor, adrenaline still pumping through her. She shook, the footsteps closer now.
She could smell the alcohol n-
The door shuddered.
The whole room shook.
The door fell in, the chair spinning away and whacking her across her side. Dragged upwards by her hair, she kicked and screamed. Rachel screamed his name, cursing him and demanding to be let go.
He ordered her silent.
She screamed, only louder this time.
Please, someone, hear me!
He lashed out at her.
She gasped in pain, clutching a broken hand. Vodka now gagged her senses, heavy on his breath. She rasped for air, choking on the stench.
Now, still with the broken hand, she fought for control. She lost.
She felt pain exploding in her chest. A shattered rib.
She stumbled through the hallway, hearing him coming closer. And closer…and closer…
Help! Somebody! Anybody! …help…
She tripped and fell. He dragged her upwards, she almost losing her balance and tumbling down the stairway.
A falling sensation…
Falling, tumbling, down.
Cheek hits wood and it tastes like blood.
Three thousand miles away, Garfield Logan awoke with a start.
He glanced at the clock, and found it to be 2am.
5am on the east coast, he thought absently. He shuddered, chills passing through him. Something horrible must have happened, though he had no idea what it was.
Stop it. You're being childish.
More chills flooded him, that horrible feeling intensifying.
Gar! Stop it! It's all in your head. All in your fake, phony, foolish head!
His parents died when he was eight. He was there; he could have said something, anything, to warn them, but…
There's no use reflecting on the dead!
Now sixteen, and having been around the foster care system numerous times, he had been settled here, in California, for three years.
He knew that Jodi and Mitch, his newest addition to his so-called family, cared a lot, but he felt an absence, something was missing.
Even these days, his girlfriend, Tara Markov, seemed distant.
She pays more attention to Xander! She probably doesn't like you anymore. She doesn't CARE. She hates you.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut up the negative voice in his head. He did, but its ugly presence hung like a black cloud in his mind. He tried to sleep.
Eventually, he did.
Rachel regained consciousness a few moments later. But something was wrong.
Everything seemed brighter. Every feature jumped out at her, the corners sharper and the rounded edges softer. Things were also more colorful.
Well, I did hit my head pretty hard, she reasoned.
And on that note, she couldn't feel her head, or even anything, for that matter.
"C'mon girl, breathe!"
She turned her head.
Paramedics were standing over someone, and an EMT was giving CPR to some poor person.
"Breathe, dammit, I don't want to lose you. Breathe, please, breathe."
She leaned over their shoulders, expecting to be yelled at. But no one did; no one even noticed her.
As soon as she saw the person, she knew why she couldn't feel anything.
She was watching herself getting CPR.
Her short black hair was spilled across her shoulders and over part of her face. A trim figure lay halfway up the stairs and halfway on the landing. A thin hand looked oddly mangled. A tank top was twisted around, and the long pajama bottoms were torn and dirty.
Rachel noticed that she, actually, was very pretty.
The EMT sadly checked his watch.
"Time of death… 5:37am."
Time of death? I'm dead? Dead? Deaddeaddeaddead.
Anguish streaked through her mind.
I-I'm a statistic! A teenage death statistic!
Suddenly, denial took its hold.
No. I'm dreaming. I'm not dead. I. Am. Not. Dead. Not dead, not dead. No. Nononononono!
While she was lost in the horrifying hold of angst, a sudden change in pressure was evitable. Her ears rang, and a buzzing sound erupted. Rachel turned.
Long blonde hair. Green eyes. A white dress, with trumpet bell sleeves, a long flowing skirt. The edges were lined with black. It carried itself with an ancient elegance, tall and proud. It looked young, seeming to be around fourteen or fifteen. It spoke.
"Hi! You're Rachel, right?"
The voice didn't fit.
"I'm the Angel of Death, the Bringer of Death, Morrigan, a banshee; I can go by any name. But call me Serena, please."
Rachel nodded dumbly. Yet, one odd question kept repeating in her mind.
"So…why are you dressed like that?"
Serena grinned, and closed her eyes. Instantly, her hair was parted on the side, yellow-colored glasses went over her eyes. Power beads and peace sign necklaces were then hung around her neck. A tie-dyed halter top and jeans bell-bottoms replaced the dress. White Go-Go boots also appeared.
"I know, this is sooo much cooler, right?"
A '60's hippie Grim Reaper. I MUST be dreaming. Rachel thought wildly.
"Here's the story. You're dead, and I'm supposed to lead you to your next stage. Which now, is Saint Peter's station. Let's go."
Rachel glared hatefully at her father- her murderer. He was standing next to her, faking shock, and fabricating some lie to the police. Somehow, he'd make the murder charge fall on someone else. He'd walk away, free.
Glaringintesensly at him, she spat:
"One day, somehow, someway, Karma will get you."
Serena faced the rising sun. "We'll be leaving right…about…now."
Before she had a change to ask where, Rachel felt like she was set in a slingshot and sent upwards. It felt dizzying, and quite exhilarating.
"Welcome to heaven, Rachel!"
A horde of people were milling about. Some seemed normal, and others definitely didn't look earthly. Rachel looked, and she saw buildings of all kinds, and in the distance, huge golden gates beckoned.
Serena saw her looking, and smiled. "No, you're not going there yet. First, we have to go to Saint Peter, and you'll get a task."
"Yes, a task. I don't know what it is yet, but I have an idea…" Serena rapped her knuckles on a door to a smaller building.
"Hey, Pete, open up! Someone's here to see you!"
The door swished open mechanically, and a very frazzled looking man sat behind a desk piled high with papers, folders, and empty coffee cups.
He looked up. "Welcome, Rachel. I'm Saint Peter, but you can call me Peter for now. I'm tiered of people dropping to their knees and worshipping me. It gets tiring after a few thousand years."
Peter stuck out his hand to shake. Rachel eyed it, and said, "Aren't you supposed to open the gates of heaven and play bugles or something?"
He laughed. "No, that's superstition. You can open the gates of heaven yourself, but only after you've completed your task."
All this talk about my task, and I've still got no idea what it is. She thought, a little worriedly.
"And what would my task be?"
"We're not going to tell you yet." Peter said, as he entered her name in the computer.
There was a momen't pauseaseverything uploaded.
"No, that can't be right."
Rachel's heart jumped. Was she not supposed to be here, but in...
Peter looked up at her with a peculiar expression. "You weren't supposed to die."
Peter shook his head, wondering. "The fall wasn't supposed to kill you. Instead, a neighbor was going to call 9-1-1, the police would find you, and you'd be taken away. From there, you'd be sent to California with the foster care system."
"And," Serena continued, "You'd meet someone who'd become very, very important to you. And Pete, I think that this should be her task anyway. She was going to save him in life, so why can't she in death?"
Peter nodded his head.
"I'm confused." Rachel stated. "This is too much. What's going on?"
Serena smiled, and handed her a manila folder. Rachel opened it.
A small picture of a teenage boy was on top. "Garfield Logan, age 16" was written across the bottom in smaller letters.
"You're going to be a Guardian Angel." Peter said. "Your task is to keep Garfield alive. He is…one of the ones that we worry about up here."
Rachel wondered why, just for a moment. But then, it hit her.
"He's suicidal, isn't he?"
Serena nodded sadly. "Yeah, and now you're just the one to help him. Since you were supposed to help him in life, now you can as a Guardian Angel."
"And," Peter added, "If you succeed, you couldbe brought back to life."
As she read through some of the papers, Rachel wondered what she had gotten herself into.
Serena led her to the back part of Saint Peter's Station.
"Shhh, don't tell anyone, but this is where I get my clothes." Serena grinned, and steered her towards the clothing racks.
After a few minutes, Rachel emerged, wearing black satin-like pants, with numerous pockets. Her shirt was black, but with green stripes running diagonally down across it. She was still barefoot.
Serena added a gold chain belt, and black platform sneakers.
"Am I ready to go?" Rachel asked, admiring herself in the mirror.
"Not yet. Turn around and trust me."
Rachel did as she asked, a little puzzled. Serena placed her hands between her shoulder blades, and slid her hands down a little past there. For a moment, nothing happened.
There was pain. It spread all throughout her back, and next it swept through her body. And then it stopped, silence ringing in the air.
Then, something started up again.
The most accurate way to describe it is, something was growing out of Rachel's back. Serena's hands then left her back, and Rachel yelled.
She arched her back, feeling something ancient and exhilarating stretch. It unfurled into the air, power coming with it. A softness brushed her cheek. She opened her eyes and gasped.
Rachel had black wings. In addition, her hair was cut short at an odd angle, and it was now purple.
"Oh, one more thing. Your name is now to be Raven. Okay?"
Rachel, now renamed Raven, nodded.
Serena looked at her approvingly. "Let's go. We don't have much time."
Serena rushed her to an odd-looking door.
"C'mon, hurry!" Raven's arm was nearly yanked out of her socket as Serena pulled her towards it.
"Open the door when I tell you to."
Serena punched in a few numbers in the number pad, and the door whirred to life.
"You're going right to Gar's house. If you have any trouble, call Jinx. She'll help you through."
"Who's Jinx?" Raven yelled back, the noise growing louder.
Raven couldn't hear her answer, because the next thing she knew, the door flew open, and she was flying through it. She was flying facedown, facing the ground.
The next thing she saw was a house.
Then a roof.
Then a ceiling.
With a smashing entrance, which dumped her literally from the ceiling, Raven crashed-landed into Gar's bedroom.
A boyish form stirred in bed, and then quickly shot up. A face glared at her.
"Who the hell are you?"
For the first time, Raven stared face-to-face with Garfield Logan.
And he was not happy.
I know a lot of you are going to ask.I am Catholic.
Okay, I know this is weird… but review, please!