This is my first attempt at TT-fic. (Con-crit? Yes, please!) I'm still new to the fandom; just having a bit of fun while deciding if I should/could write something more substantial.
"You're not doing it right!"
"Since when was there a right way and a wrong way to make pancakes?"
He risked a second glance into the bowl and smacked his forehead. It really was disgusting. For some reason, the possibility of Terra being bad at something was a difficult concept for him to wrap his brain around: the sky was blue, two plus two equaled four, hamburgers were nasty and Terra was perfect. "Since you tried to use lumpy batter! What did you do: pretend to stir it?"
"I guess I just got distracted by your amazing good looks." She shrugged and pointed a fork at him. "And you've got flour on your head, just so you know."
"Wha…aww, man!" He tried to wipe it off, realized that his hand was still covered in flour, and didn't want to think about how stupid he must look right at that moment.
She shrugged. "No worries, I'll help…" Grabbing a paper towel, she sauntered over to him, and before he knew what was happening, she was touching him: just with the paper towel, careful to keep her hands away, very aware of the line between them that they couldn't cross, the line that they were always very dangerously on the verge of destroying. Her nose was so close that he could have kissed it if he had wanted to: he was positively terrified that somehow she could read minds and would figure out that he was thinking about kissing and her in the same sentence.
Her clothes were smeared with inadequately-stirred, yellow goo and he thought there was even some of it sticking to her hair. She had halfway-lowered the paper towel when he reached his hand up to pick the batter away. It was really not natural for hair to be that soft.
"Guess I'm not the only one who's messy?" He should take his hand away. Should, but didn't. The invisible line glowed red-hot, wavering with warning.
"Yeah." An incipient pinkness was very obvious against her pale skin.
"You're…" The most beautiful girl in the world. "…really bad at making pancakes."
"That's okay," she said, backing away from him unenthusiastically like tack being pulled off a wall. "I mean, I can't be good at everything, can I?"
News to me, thought Beast Boy. He took Terra's bowl and began mixing it properly, eyes inspecting the offending lumps of batter in an attempt to look anywhere but at the little girl leaned against the counter, watching him. Her hair was pancake-batter blonde, he decided.
It was probably a bad idea to stop here. Who puts a graveyard smack in the middle of a city, anyway?
That's what happens when there's no crime to fight, no evil to vanquish, no wrongs to right: you get bored, and start going places that you shouldn't. Terra had always had a weird fascination with graveyards; she liked to read the tombstones and see the years between the dates, mental arithmetic working to figure out if any of the people there had been around her age when they died. Susan Fellons, 1967-1980. David Harper, 1972-1992. Sometimes she wished she could say something to them, telling them that everything would be alright, that she was sorry they died, or whatever. In any case, Beast Boy didn't seem to like it very much.
"Can we please go home now?" He whined, leaning against the dark, iron fence.
Terra poked him in the shoulder. "That seems more of a Raven thing to say. She must be rubbing off on you."
"No way: I'm sure she'd absolutely love all these creepy dead people in one place!" Beast Boy indicated the graves as if they had a contagious disease.
"They're not creepy: it's not like they're zombies or anything."
"Oh, but that's what they want you to think! It's all part of their plan. They act all innocent until you let your guard down, and the next thing you know, they're serving your organs up to all their dead buddies at Thanksgiving dinner!" His eyes had taken on that half-excited gleam that he always got when he was telling a joke. He wiggled his fingers above his head and attempted to make a really bad zombie noise.
A happy bubble of laughter filled her up, warming her all the way to her toes. By the time she realized that she probably shouldn't be laughing at a graveyard, she was standing much too close to Beast Boy. They spent a good portion of their time together standing much too close. Her breath caught itself in the back of her throat as she stared at him.
"Hey, Beast Boy…have you ever thought about what it would be like if you…y'know…" She pointed to the little stone bumps in the ground.
Youthful features snapped from mirthful to serious in a split second. "Why? You're not afraid of…" He let the question hang in the air, next to her half-conveyed emotion.
"Oh no, no." She pulled her hair behind her ears. It fell back into her eyes. "…no. I just…wondered."
"Terra…" A nervous hand found its way to the middle of her back. She leaned into him without thinking about the how's or why's or the what-the-hell-are-we-doing's. There was nothing between them except the stones.
"It'll be alright," he said to his shoes.
She nodded against the side of his chest, and then they both simultaneously decided that enough was enough, jumping away from each other as if they had been caught doing something wrong. "We should get back, like you said. Sorry for making you see the dead people and stuff," said Terra.
"No big deal. C'mon, I'm hungry," he pulled her away from the graveyard by the wrist.
Looking back over her shoulder, she thought she saw something behind the fence. Something hard and cold, a stone specter of a girl, hands spread out in supplication. She shuddered and linked arms with Beast Boy, trying to swab away the image with his warmth.
Drip, drip, drip. Cold water slapped against the little patch of skin between her eyebrows. She felt the earth all around her, pulsating just under her fingertips with a dormant power that she could awaken if she wanted to, bringing security: but even when you were a geomancer, rocks could never be comforting when what you really wanted was a pillow. Nice, soft, warm…she shuddered.
Somehow, knowing what it was like to have a home and then going back to living in a cave again made the living in a cave part so much worse. She wanted to go back, really wanted to, but she couldn't because they were stupid. Or maybe she was stupid. Or maybe everything had just gone deeply rotten in every direction, colliding into a brick wall of a future that was just wrong, wrong, wrong. And she could see it coming, right then in the cave as the water coated her forehead. Fire, fire all around her, burning her, hurting her, singeing her hair. Scared, so scared, powers flaring into a horrible monster that ate her from the inside out. Her life was spinning faster and faster, down, down into its ultimate, violent crescendo…and she saw the end.
And Terra screamed.
"Terra? Terra, will you open up? What's going on in there? Terra!" Knocking –no, hammering– on her door. Wait…door? She didn't have a door. She'd never have a door again.
"Hghhhn…" She tried out her voice. It wasn't working properly.
"I'm coming in there if you won't open this door!" And he did. And the flood of light in the doorway yanked her back out of the horrible, empty cave, back to safety. Pillow, sheets, walls, floor, ceiling. And she wasn't cold. She could have sobbed.
Vision blurry from the sudden change in lighting, she squinted up at Beast Boy and waved cheerfully. "H-hey there. Kinda late for a visit, wouldn't you say?"
"You were screaming," he said bluntly.
She laughed. It sounded like a cry. "Really? Yeah, right, you must have been dreaming. Why would I do a stupid thing like that?"
He didn't say anything, but the look he gave her suggested that he had a vague idea.
"Well, since we've established that I'm not in danger, and it must be super late and all, I guess I'll just be going back to sleep. Or some stuff." Terra squeezed her pillow, hoping he wouldn't notice.
Silence lay thick in the air between them for a few awkward seconds. And then, "You want to help me eat some cookies?"
She grinned. "I can so eat more than you!"
Already, the dream was getting fuzzy, and as long as she kept looking at his warm face, it stayed that way. She followed him all the way down the hall, staring at the back of his head like a moth hypnotized by light. For now, at least, she was in a place where home wasn't an ice cold rock with a leaking problem. Home was people who would bang on your door in the middle of the night because they heard you screaming and wondered if you were okay. Home was comfort, kindness and cookies with sprinkles on them.