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Sometimes, on days when she was struggling to keep her abilities in check, her head would turn at every mother’s cry of ‘Rachel’; on every word that sounded like ‘Roth’ (though, it was usually ‘goth’, which she could easily get away with).
They all had days like that, though.
If Beast Boy turned towards ‘Garr’s and ‘Garfield’s (as uncommon as they were) with a sharp yet somber dis-ease, well, none of them said anything about it.
If Robin looked up, expectant, before flinching at the incomplete word ‘Gray’, and silently berated himself for looking up at ‘Richard’ (and, on occasion, a fond “Dick”) with sparks of hope, well, the Titans didn’t see anything.
If Cyborg caught a ball and just…froze for a bit, well, he must need more oil. One of them would gently pry the ball from Victor Stone’s steel-augmented-grip, masquerading their super-strength with small talk or shielding him from onlookers with their body.
If Star-fire shuddered as she turned with fiery-death and ice-cold fear at the call of ‘sister’, well. One of them would be around to remind her she was on Earth, not Mars, and her sister was a prisoner aboard one of the most secure facilities in the galaxy. (The ‘for now’ lay sticky and uncomfortable in their brain attics.)
Some days, their previous lives seemed a roce-paper sheet away from their current ones. A drop of water could dissolve it, rendering them completely and utterly useless. But until then, a barrier existed.
Raven meditated out of fear—fear of who she was, could become, what she could do. She meditated to control herself. So Starfire’s complete lack of control angered her, yes. But it also drew her in, like a moth to a flame, an addict to their poison.
Robin’s control that could flip with the right words reminded Raven to rein it in—though seeing how little collateral he generated (besides targeting the wrong person, on occasion) was...a gift.