A/N: Woops. Prepare for some feels, guys. Thanks to everyone who supported this story! All your kind words keep me going, and remind me not to give up.

What You Leave Behind

The hospital is white.

Clean, pure, pristine.

It smells a lot like antiseptic and day-old food from the cafeteria. Not to mention, shit and urine, but no one ever admits to that.

The hospital is warm; a choking kind of heat that can make someone feel an overwhelming bout of nausea, and perhaps even a fainting spell if wearing too many layers.

Somewhere, there are newborns crying their first cry. Somewhere, there are people taking their last breath. Hope and death; imminent and forever intertwined.

Somewhere on what is supposed to be deemed the happiest unit in any hospital, there's a man shouting, and his scream is both bone chilling and blood curdling.

It's sadness and misery and hopelessness bundled into one octave of sound, loud and aching. It turns into a wail, so tragic and painful it brings tears to the eyes of those in the surrounding area. It turns into sobs. Dry and wretched, all-consuming.

Death doesn't frequently visit this floor; death is confined to the souls of the old and the sick and the dying. Those who are weary of living, and are tired. Too tired to fight.

However, that day, death took a soul it shouldn't have; ripped it from the body of a woman who would never be a mother.

An exchange.

A promise.

There can only ever be one.

Somewhere, there's a broken man pleading with the grim reaper himself.

Somewhere, there's a newborn who opens its mouth to scream for the very first time, only nothing comes out…

"I'm pregnant."

The words drop like microscopic bombs, every syllable decimating the ambiance of the room. They fall from her lips heavy and explosive, the damage ascertained within minutes.

Garfield's jaw is left hanging, the piece of broccoli held between his chopsticks falling to his plate as his grip weakens.

"Y-you're what?" he blurts out once he's remembered how to use speech again. Granted, it's not pretty, and he's still left fumbling, his ears ringing.

Raven stares him dead in the eyes, unblinking, not a flicker of emotion held in her delicate features. "I said, I'm pregnant. About a week and a half."

The chopsticks fall next. The take-out Chinese food doesn't matter anymore. He's pretty sure he's lost his appetite, anyways.

It's like the wind's been knocked out of him. It's like his heart won't stop racing and fluttering from the bouts of anxiety, apprehension, and…joy? Was that last one really joy? Meanwhile, Raven brought a steamed carrot to her lips, and crunched on the vegetable like nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

"H-how can you be so sure? A week…a week? No one can know something like that in a week, Rae. A-are you late or something…?" He was speaking, but his words were jumbled, and he could hardly hear himself over the rush of blood in his own ears.

She picked up some of the sticky rice from her take-out container with her chopsticks, and took a small nibble. "I'm not fully human, Gar. We've discussed this. My physiology is…unique. I'm also an empath; I can sense the stirrings of a new life within me. It's small, and I'm not quite certain yet, but it's there."

Another bite.

"I know it's there because it's emotions are not my own. I like to think that I can at least discern that much."

"B-but-" Why did he bother to interrupt? It wasn't like he had any clue as to what to say, or how to proceed, for that matter.

The truth was, Garfield Logan had rarely entertained the notion of being an actual, biological father at any point in his life. His unstable genetics had always dictated that, not only would it be highly unlikely, but also extremely dangerous.

Raven sighs. "You have questions, I know, but please. Can you save them for after dinner? You never did like cold veggies, and I'm not too keen on them myself. I promise, I'll answer everything."

"Now you're worried about dinner? You're the one who dropped the 'P' bomb!" he stammers, his fingers fidgeting nervously against the table.

Raven shrugs. "I felt its presence again briefly because I'm fairly sure it doesn't like carrots, and was reminded. I probably shouldn't have spoken aloud, but the sooner you know, the better."

Garfield groans, rocking back in his chair, and rubs the palms of his hands down his face. "Rae, what the hell?!"

A brow raises, icy violet eyes regarding him with mild interest.

Garfield shakes his head, biting his bottom lip. "I can't eat. My appetite is gone."

"Does pregnancy make you nauseous?"

"Stop saying that word! You're not even sure. This…this shouldn't even be possible. I thought this wasn't possible!"

Raven won't say anything more. Instead, there's something like guilt flickering briefly in her normally dormant features.

Her gaze drifts to the floor, and he slams his fists against the table, shaking the cups and plates. He stands up abruptly, and storms away. There's the jingling of keys, fabric in the wind as he grabs his coat.

"Where are you going?" When she speaks, her voice is meek and desperate, reaching out to him like she was the sky and he the sea.

Without turning to look at her, he says, "Buying you a pregnancy test. We're figuring this out tonight. If that doesn't work, I'm calling Vic."

"It's a girl, Mr. Logan!"

'It's a girl, Gar.'

She'd known it long before any doctor might have predicted.

"Oh…doctor Johnson, she – she isn't crying."

'There's something…something is wrong with her. Oh, Azar, Gar. Gar! Something is wrong with her! Something is wrong with our daughter!'

"She's breathing. Pulse is one-fifty, strong and bounding."

Her nails were sharp as knives, digging into the skin of his forearm like her life depended on it. Panic, unsettled and grim, was evident in her expression. She was sweating profusely, her lips parted, her breathing coming in short, little gasps. Always, always, her hand protectively resting over the swell of her belly, growing bigger with every passing day.

"We'll run some tests, Mr. Logan. For now…you should see to your wife…"

Her eyes searched the planes of his face as he tried desperately to read her, but it was as if she'd already left this world.

"I'm afraid…she doesn't have much time."

He held her upright. He held her steady in his arms, waiting. Worrying. A million things running through his mind. A genetic defect? A monster? What had they created?

Her fingers, always pale, seemed paler now.

They looked smaller in his hands.

Her hair, obsidian with violet undertones, clung to the clammy skin of her face and forehead. Her mouth, a pale, dry pink, nearly smudging against the pallor of her skin.

A whispered apology left her cracked lips, hoarse and barely audible.

'I'm sorry…'

His face was on fire. His chest was sore. His soul might have been ripped from his still living body. The very essence of life, slipping through his fingers like the fine grains of sand.

Immeasurable grief. The twisting of every single organ within him. The rage of the beasts laced within the very fibre of his being, coming alive with their combined sorrow and wretched agony.

The tears seared his skin wherever they fell, hot and fresh and persistent. His jaw clenched, the muscles around his mouth aching from the sobs that wracked his body.

Her hands.

He held them like he was holding his own heart. He clung to her, rocking back and forth, bringing the knuckles of her fist to his lips, where he feebly attempted to kiss them.

He begged.

He pleaded.

He screamed.

He cried and cried, reopening the wounds on the inside of him like fresh welts and lashes.

'You, you were always meant to be a father, Gar. I can see it. The way it eats at you. I can't be the one to rob you of that.'

"No…no, no, no! It's you – it's you…it's always been you that I can't…I can't…," he choked through the gushing tears and mucus slipping down his chin. "Please…please, don't go…"

'He'll always come looking for me. So long as I breathe, she'll never be safe. That's why…that's why I have to do this. For her – for you…'

The machine monitoring her heartbeat flatlined, but even that, he couldn't hear. It was as if the world had stopped spinning, and the room was a dull, aching blur compared to the unrelenting, bitter sadness in his very heart and soul. It penetrated his weary bones, pumped into his blood like a toxin, infecting every part of him it could reach.

A hand was on his shoulder, firm, tethering him to a reality he didn't want to accept; a world without her.

What did it even mean?

'She won't be perfect, but then again, neither were we…'

His thumb stroked her pale cheek, and her hand held his wrist as he brushed strands of her hair away from her face. Raven melted into his touch, her tear-ridden eyes closing in temporary bliss.

'When the time comes, please...don't hate me…'

'How could I ever hate you, Rae?'

"Of everything I've ever known, I loved you the most," he sobbed, her lifeless hand still clutched in his sweaty, desperate grasp.

He could barely see her through his tears, but it looked like she was merely sleeping. Except, there was no rise and fall of her chest. There was no glow about her body to indicate her healing factor.

Raven lay perfectly still, and Garfield was overcome yet again with the most agonizing realization; he'd never again see her wake up next to him. He'd never again get to hear her elusive laughter, or feel the warmth of her chest beneath his head.

The memories of her laying next to him, waking up to the sun peeking just through their curtains, a sleepy, lazy smile on her face. Her short, dark hair askew against the white pillowcase. Her fingers, warm, tangled in his own. Others, wound in his hair.

All those long, uneventful mornings where they'd stay together in bed, content in one another's company. Too happy to care about the world just outside.

He'd never have those tranquil moments ever again.

Another sob left him heaving, his cries gone either silent or hoarse as he came to terms with everything he'd just lost.

His wife was dead.

Raven was gone, and it would be a while yet before Garfield truly thought on what she'd left behind…

Asha pulled a face when she'd opened her lunch box.

The face was one of repugnance, for there before her lay the most disgusting, vile vegetable on the planet.

Bright orange sticks, small enough to be finger food, but still somehow both unnatural in appearance and wet.

Carrots.

Immediately, she closed the container back up again, as if their mere presence had offended her.

Uncle Victor had claimed that her father used to be a junk food maniac, but ever since her mother had been pregnant with her, Garfield had cleaned up his diet. Now, Asha would be lucky if there were actual cookies in the designated cookie jar.

"Asha Logan, they'd like to see you in the principle's office, please," the secretary's voice crackled through on the intercom of the classroom.

Asha sighed; a brief reprieve from trying to figure out what to do with the carrots while also avoiding the easier option of tossing them out; she always felt guilty when she knew how much her father did for her for her benefit. Asha had briefly considered swapping with a fellow classmate, but the best she'd probably get were celery sticks, and she wasn't a fan of those, either.

Hopping out of her seat, she made to grab a hall pass and proceeded to head out of the door. The other students went about their lunch break like she didn't even exist, while their teacher perused a magazine from her desk.

The halls were mostly quiet and empty, so Asha allowed herself to relax. She skipped along, thinking about who had come to visit her today. It wasn't uncommon that she was frequently checked in on by many of Garfield's friends and former colleagues, once word had finally gotten out about her powers. One time, Wonder Woman had stopped by herself, and Asha had been left feeling utterly star-struck by the Amazonian.

If she could grow up looking like her, she'd be the happiest girl in the world.

Beautiful. Strong, Tall.

Amazing.

Like her father, she helped save people, and defeated all the bad guys in the process.

Asha stared down into the palms of her small hands, normal and human, and wondered if one day, she'd be able to continue that legacy – her mother's legacy, and her father's.

She frowned. Her powers weren't like the others. She couldn't simply call on them the way her father did so effortlessly. Instead, it was a lot easier to take on the appearance of those she touched. Like Mar'i.

"Asha, there's a gentleman here to see you, dear."

She'd reached the principle's office without even realizing it, her little feet carrying her subconsciously as she lost herself to her own dreary thoughts.

She stared up at the back of the man in front of her, and knew immediately that she didn't recognize him.

He was young – perhaps no older than her own father – but his hair was white as snow. He wore it short, and his brows were a stark black in comparison. Asha's expression pinched as she tried to place him among the many people her father had told her would be making an appearance in her life.

His eyes were a red so deep, it looked like actual blood swirled in his irises instead. There was also something…almost sinister about the way he smiled at her, his canines too sharp to be entirely human. She ought to have known; her father had fangs, too.

Immediately, he dropped to her height, and fixed her with an appraising look. Like a man who'd found a long-lost treasure he'd only ever heard of in a legend.

"My, aren't you just beautiful. The spitting image of your mother, Asha." His voice was rasped with something otherworldly, and Asha could relate it to those she'd heard in horror movies and thrillers.

Her eyes hardened.

A villain.

His smile fell briefly when he witnessed the points of her ears. "Well, mostly, anyways."

Asha gasped, her hands moving protectively to cover them. She'd forgotten about changing them back when she'd relaxed alone in the hallway. Her powers must have waned, and she'd let it slip that her ears were more like her father's than her mother's. Not wishing to morph them back in front of the stranger, she simply blocked them from his view with her hands.

"Oh, come now. No need to be ashamed of your lineage, child. I suppose Beast Boy is your father. A waste, if you ask me. Had your mother chosen me, had she but been my bride, you'd have been blessed beyond measure." He sneered at her, the shadows in his gaunt cheeks making Asha shiver helplessly.

She glanced desperately at the secretary, but the woman was preoccupied with the telephone and some paperwork, not paying any attention to what this stranger was saying to her.

She was on her own.

Asha backed away slowly, but he grabbed her by the arm in a sudden show of strength. His grip was as sure as iron and just as cold, his fingers digging into her through the fabric of her sweater. She tried to break free, but she may as well have been trying to burst through a wall.

Her voice was broken.

She had been born at a disadvantage.

The man chuckled when she tried to garner the secretary's attention, only to have him block her from view entirely.

"Now, now. Don't be a fussy child; no one likes a fussy child. I'm not here to hurt you. How could I, when you're all that I have left of Raven?" He used his free hand to stroke through her hair, a look of disturbing nostalgia overcoming him as he felt its silken strands between his fingers. Somehow, she didn't trust the lingering sadness in his eyes at the memory of her mom.

"Did your father ever tell you how you came to be, child? I'm not talking about the birds and the bees, no. Rather, the sacrifice your mother made so that you could live?"

Asha whimpered, but no sound left her mouth. She didn't want to cry. She couldn't cry.

Not while she knew that her father had faced worse evils before, and beaten them.

She had to be brave, like him.

If she ever wanted to be a hero like him or Wonder Woman, she had to be fierce.

Nonetheless, the tears welled up and made her eyes glassy, her vision blurry.

"She died for you, Asha. You killed your mother. You killed the only woman worth having on this godforsaken universe. And for what? Love?" He threw his head back and laughed icily, mocking her.

Asha wanted to tune him out; she wanted to stop listening to him. She tried to tug her arm free again, and still nothing happened. He held her fast.

"How's that working out for daddy dearest, anyways?"

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she grimaced, hate like a burning coal beneath her very skin.

His smile only seemed to grow, taking up half of his thin face, and Asha visualized clawing his eyes out for hurting her.

He had no right – no right to talk about her parents like that.

"Feisty like him, I see. Your mother was far more reserved. Tell me child, what does your blood taste like?" He licked his lips, his pink tongue slithering out from his mouth like a snake's.

He wiped at the tear from her cheek with his thumb, and brought it to his lips, lapping the salty liquid like he were a man starved.

Asha wanted to scream, and had never felt so betrayed by her own body than she did in that moment. Her heart was racing and fear pervaded her every thought. Her legs were visibly quivering.

"Don't be afraid. Like I said, I'm not here to hurt you. Consider this meeting to be…a mere observation. A warning. Trigon will have what he wants, regardless of the sacrifice your clever mother made when she breathed her last." His free hand clutched her small chin, forcing her to meet his disturbing, blood-red gaze. Asha squirmed, tears falling down her cheeks freely now, scalding hot.

He then leaned in and whispered against her face, "He knows. He's always known about you, Asha, and he will come for you." His voice was far more sinister when he spoke now, his breath reeking of death and rot. His words fell from his mouth like a curse weaved fresh, and it made her skin prickle with goosebumps.

"The message has been delivered," he told her with finality before letting her go. "Now, unless you wish to witness me tearing into your father's precious throat, you'll walk out of here like a good little girl, and pretend that all is well between us. Show us that golden smile, Asha."

The man stood up to his full height, and Asha found that her legs wouldn't work, either. He grinned again, but she knew that this time, it was forced – a display for the secretary who was now looking over at them.

Asha attempted a smile, even though it hurt her to do so. "Good," he nodded his approval, tucking his arms behind his back. "As pretty and as rare as Raven's. She always did have a lovely smile…,"

"Is everything all right?" the suddenly concerned secretary piped up from behind her desk, no doubt noting Asha's reddened, puffy eyes and tear-streaked face.

The girl immediately wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, fighting off a sniffle.

"Oh, she's become emotional because I haven't seen her since she was but a wee thing. Poor girl believed me to be dead; she wasn't expecting a visit from her beloved uncle Sebastian after all this time," he explained casually, feigning human emotion.

Asha lingered by the doorway, tempted to bolt, and never look back, but recalled the man's threat and wavered.

"Oh," the secretary mouthed, fixing Asha with an unsure look. The little girl nodded her head once in assent.

She didn't know this man, but if he could so brazenly say that he'd hurt her father, it was likely that he wouldn't hesitate to murder innocent people at the school, too.

She couldn't let that happen; she couldn't put that on Garfield's shoulders, too.

So, she bit down on her trembling lip, and waited for the hellish moment to pass, ignoring the way his words still lingered in her mind.

"Thank you for allowing me this visit, Madame. I assure you, you haven't seen the last of me, little Asha. I'll be back with more gifts in the future. For now, do enjoy the sweets." He motioned towards a small paper bag sitting on one of the chairs in the office.

Then, he adjusted the black trench coat he was donning, and stepped out of the office, brushing past her. A cold chill shot through her senses like ice down her back, and she swallowed the persistent lump of fear lodged in her throat.

The secretary frowned. "Strange…I don't think I recognize him. Maybe he's an up-and-coming recruit. Either way, he's left you a bag of treats, Asha." She smiled at her, but Asha was hard-pressed to return the gesture.

Still, it was expected of her to pick up the gift, and so she did, despite her legs feeling like jelly. She'd completely forgotten about her ears, but the bone-chilling fear that she couldn't shake off prevented her from calling up on her powers whatsoever. It was hard enough maintaining the human edges when she wasn't distressed.

Now?

Now, it was impossible.

Asha wouldn't open the bag until near the end of the recess break after lunch. Instead, she'd stay seated at her desk, trying to gather her bearings, and staring at it like she could will it to spontaneously combust.

Sebastian Blood.

Trigon.

She knew those names. Heard the whispers about Brother Blood.

He had a somewhat complex history with her mother and, as a result, with the Titans, too.

'Raven was the one who brought us all together, Asha. We all thought she was off her rocker, of course, but it all ended up being true...The others don't think it's wise I tell you all this now. That you're still too young to understand. But, I think you ought to know about that side of your family, little mouse. You should know about Trigon…Raven's father. Your grandfather…'

Even now, her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

You killed your mother…

She shook her head, trying to get his voice out of her ears to no avail.

It was like a spiral in her own mind, consuming her from within.

Everything he'd said.

All of it.

It was true, and she knew it. She knew it like she knew her own heart.

It all made sense. Her father's deepening depression, the fear surrounding her abilities – of what she was destined to become.

Asha could be boiled down to just her blood. Strands of DNA and her unfortunate genetics. Somewhere along the way, the girl would cease to exist. Everyone thought of her as a replacement for Raven, and not a good one at that. Even her ears – he'd noted them – were part of her imperfections.

And that beget the ultimate question; why was she born?

Why had Raven thrown away her own life in exchange for hers?

What had been the point if all she was meant to be was a blight on the world – a symbol of persistent darkness and unhappiness for her father? Would she ever escape the ever-growing shadow of her mother?

Would she dare to be something different – something more?

Or was she also just meant to be a pawn in her grandfather's long-winded plans? Her father's undoing. A dark smudge on the heroic lineage she was meant to be a part of.

No matter what, it always came back to her; back to the original empathic Titan. She'd given Asha the gift of her life, but at what cost?

At what cost?

For the first time ever, Asha found that she hated Raven.

She hated her mother.

A/N: Updates have been slow, but I was covering a few prompts on tumbles, and have been struggling with inspiration. I have Hellfire written mostly, but it's not done and I'm stumped with it for some reason. So, have some more of this. It got longer than I anticipated, so one more chapter before we conclude here, folks. Thanks again to everyone who support me! You guys are amazing and I can never thank you enough for putting up with me.