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Dick Grayson had never been afraid of falling; he was flinging his body from trapeze to trapeze before he even understood what gravity was. Falling was just part of the rhythm, part of having trust in his family; someone was always there to catch him, or he caught himself. Even after he became Robin, that rhythm stayed with him.
The first time he realized the consequence of falling was when he watched his parents die. The stakes were higher after, the danger real, but the feeling remained the same; falling meant he had leapt, and that was always better than standing still. Even having a name like Robin implied his ability to defy gravity, to swoop in alongside his gifted teammates and carry himself out all the same. He didn’t envy the fliers on his team, he pitied them for not being able to appreciate the adrenaline of a million close calls. As far as Robin was concerned, they were invincible to the danger of a free fall.
And then Raven fell down the elevator chute, and the thrill of his calculated falls were replaced by the sheer, heart-stopping terror of watching her plummet like anybody else.
He’s falling too, of course. They all were, and that’s to be expected; it was already a stupid idea to pile into the elevator, let alone an elevator that wasn’t there. Starfire doesn’t retrieve her, as she’s never had to, so he doesn’t think twice of it when she catches Cyborg like it’s her job. He wants to blame Beast Boy, who turned a blind eye on Raven, but finds that he can’t, seeing as Raven had never needed rescuing before, so why was now any different? Cyborg and Robin are the only ones who should have fallen.
But she’s falling, and she shouldn’t be, so Robin’s world narrows to the sick reality that her body is slicing through dust and gravity like a bird with clipped wings.
His gloved hand finds her waist, both of them hurtling through the air, and his grappling hook fails to catch the wall the first time. Her hair tickles his nose, but the rest of her is still, frozen. She’s not his invincible teammate, not a sorceress, not a mystery.
She’s just a girl who fell.
His grappling hook works the second time, catching a support beam with a sharp, metallic ching, the change in velocity causing them to swing, and Robin slams into the shaft wall shoulder-first, certain he’s squeezing all air out of Raven’s lungs with the grip he’s got on her; he doesn’t care, letting her go was not an option.
They still, and Robin blinks. His jaw clenches, his breath caught in his throat. Raven is flush against him, stiff - there’s no glowing fingers, no moving shadows. Just sweat and trembling fingers that barely curl into his forearm. He feels her heartbeat against his chest and he finally exhales, slowly. His gloved thumb brushes her side, almost unconsciously, as if to say I’ve got you.
He pulls them both out of the dark. He wants to tell her that falling wasn’t failure, it wasn’t always a calculated risk: falling was inevitable.
But they don’t talk about it.
And all the while, while he slept and she faced her fears, Robin dreams of dead birds that crash into the reflective glass of the Tower, and he’s overwhelmed by the smell of lavender and sweat, the warmth of Raven’s back against his chest, and he wakes up reaching.
They find her in the common room. Things go back to normal.
And if anyone takes notice of him piling more sandbags into his weighted pull ups -
Well, she doesn’t say anything.
-
Raven was eight years old the first time she kicked off the ground and levitated. Just a few shaky inches, but it was the first moment she believed she could rely on her powers to carry herself.
The monks of Azarath guided her to balance her breath, quiet her thoughts, and let the energy flow through her like a calm river rather than a storm. Within a month, she could rise silently above the grounds, her cloak barely stirring, to retrieve a book from the highest shelf or slip away silently through open windows at night. If she tried, she could convince herself she was an angel.
The monks had also warned her about the dangers of emotional neglect, teaching her cautiously about walking the tightrope between control and ignorance. Emotions are good, they lied. You can take advantage of them, make them work for you.
So she tried. For years. And it backfired horrifically. The peaceful people of Azarath began to fear her, so she left, vowing to never let her emotions get out of control again.
She swore she wouldn’t get close to anybody, she couldn’t risk feeling as she did before. And then a red-headed girl fell from the sky and a too-serious boy put his unconditional trust in her; it was her second mistake, saying yes to his invitation. Still, she meditated religiously. Brick walls were easily torn down, so magic ones would have to hold.
And then Beast Boy brought home that damned movie.
“I don’t do fear,” Raven had stated so boldly.
How silly. A deep, demonic voice whispered behind her eyes as she slept. Those humans and their fragile threads of courage. Shall we show them true fear, my dear daughter?
It was punishment for letting herself feel, punishment for prioritizing sleep over meditation; a demon playing with dolls, he twisted her pain into a performative, grotesque illusion that picked off her teammates one by one.
It will be worse when you are the one doing it, Trigon mused.
And then she fell down the elevator shaft, and for one beautiful second, she made peace with the idea of her body slamming into the Tower basement and ending her prophetic existence. Instead, she had an arm-shaped bruise around her ribcage from the too-serious boy who cared too much to let her fall.
She centered her emotions the way Azar taught her. She reigned in her fear and silenced Trigon for the moment, and she understood she couldn’t rely on her powers for anything good; it was a lesson hard learned.
But that arm-shaped bruise around her ribs (which was gone the next morning) made her feel the love of a found family that she had been working so hard to minimize. Her efforts would have to double; extra meditation to keep the fear at bay, and extra meditation to remind herself she wasn’t allowed to love them, even if they loved her.
And of course she noticed the extra sandbags in his weighted pull ups. She was noticing a lot more about him these days. She wanted to hate how much that too-serious boy cared.
But the perpetual devotion that oozed off of him -
Well, it was breaking through even her most stubborn walls.