Work Text:
Age brings wisdom, time teaches patience, and experience strengthens the mind. But age weakens the body, time shows no mercy, and experience leaves scars. Not everyone can remain a hero indefinitely, even if they wish to. That life is much like of a professional athlete: usually brief, often with serious consequences.
And sometimes, being a hero is not everyone’s vocation. There are other ways to balance the darkness in the world; it is not always necessary to wear a revealing costume or speak in military code to make a difference.
Sometimes, it’s essential to choose a pedagogical and peaceful path. It’s much easier for her to remain in control of her emotions when she doesn’t have to face the fate of the universe. Now she’s wiser, and her decisions have led her to a life she never imagined in her youth.
Still, she is satisfied with her choices.
A retired heroine.
A teacher for others like her.
Not an instructor for future superheroes. Not the tutor of a group of young stars ready to carry the universe on their inexperienced shoulders. No. Raven had chosen to step away from capes and masks. She had settled in an ancient monastery in China for children and youths who needed to control their powers, or who had been forced to bear their burdens alone. Her pupils were incredibly diverse: ordinary humans, youths from other dimensions, fugitives, and students from good families. She had chosen the path of teaching to help others master their minds, their lives, and their destinies.
If Raven were honest with herself, she would never deny that her time with the Teen Titans had been a blessing. Good friends. A true family. They had made her feel part of something extraordinary. She wouldn’t change her past, because even the worst experiences had eventually softened into bittersweet memories. But in time, she had faced a harsher reality. On more than one occasion, her life as a superhero had clashed directly with her emotions, and that conflict had nearly unleashed something within her far worse than any villain’s plan.
She had valued her time with the Teen Titans, yes, but the most prudent decision for the well-being of the world had been not to fight. Not her pupils. With them, she had learned that her burden was not as singular as she once believed. In one way or another, others also struggled to control themselves. Other young people were searching—examining, fumbling—for a way to become strong, not physically, but mentally, to save themselves.
That was why she realized that her solution wasn’t to fight evil, but to accept who she was. Everything Raven had learned with the Teen Titans had become knowledge she could pass on. Others could draw strength from that wisdom and understand they weren’t alone.
So, awkwardly and through hundreds of mistakes, Raven left the team and began a new life. She sought out others like her, those burdened with unimaginable power or inherited magic that could easily become dangerous. She searched for young people who suffered because their abilities threatened themselves or others and who needed guidance to learn control.
Oh, but she wasn’t the only one who chose a different path to heroism…
Yet no matter which paths she and her friends chose, they remained close. More than that, like a family, they maintained small traditions.
Like their annual visit to her monastery. They came to see her, yes, but also to speak with her pupils.
It didn’t matter that she had hung up her cloak. She hadn’t abandoned the importance of saving the world. And if any of her students wished to join one of the many superhero teams—perhaps even the Teen Titans—Raven would support them and show them how to pursue their dreams.
Though most of the time, her friends’ visits were simply an excuse for the pupils to have fun, and for her former teammates to feel young again.
The first to arrive was Robin, or rather, Nightwing. Punctual as always, though characteristically discreet. He didn’t use the monastery doors; instead, he simply appeared in the central courtyard. Raven still suspected he enjoyed testing her security and magical wards. He had become an older brother, a father figure to many, yet he remained an exceptional leader. Standing there in his suit, he looked entirely in his element.
Her pupils, who had been impatient since morning, rushed toward him with a flood of questions. The youngest were the boldest, clinging to his arms; one child even climbed onto his back in an attempt to claim his attention.
She was happy to see him as a hero. That was where he belonged: saving people, fighting villains, inspiring others. Many of her pupils admired Nightwing: the original Robin, the former leader of the Teen Titans. And Raven admitted, if only to herself, that she had quietly nurtured that admiration. Nightwing represented the courage to forge one’s own path. When she learned that Robin no longer wished to live in Batman’s shadow, she had felt proud. He didn’t need to follow anyone else’s destiny. The Teen Titans had been that place for all of them, a refuge where they confronted their insecurities and learned to grow. A safe place to begin again.
“Raven!” He finally broke through the crowd of students and reached her. “I’m glad to see you again.”
She tilted her head slightly and guided him inside the monastery. A few children tried to follow, but a single glance from her was enough to send them back.
“You have them under control,” he observed with a smirk.
“It’s not about control. It’s about boundaries,” she replied. “Most of them have lived lost, too frightened to understand the difference between limits and rules. And the others never had anyone to teach them about their power.”
“Limits?” Nightwing tilted his head. “Don’t you mean rules?”
“No,” Raven paused before continuing in her usual neutral tone. “Limits keep you from falling or hurting yourself. Rules, depending on who creates them, can become oppressive chains.”
She had learned that the rules imposed upon her, and those she had imposed upon herself, had been suffocating. What she needed were limits: boundaries that protected her from danger while allowing her freedom to be herself.
“I’m always surprised by your wisdom,” he said softly. “How are you?”
“Fine. My mind is always busy, but in harmony,” she studied him in return. “And you?”
“I’d like to say I’m fine in a harmonious way,” he joked. “But I’m fine… chaotically and in a hurry, as always.”
“I think that’s the only way you know how to be fine.”
He stops, genuinely surprised. Nightwing crosses his arms, and a pleasantly smile forms on his lips.
“Was that a joke, Raven?”
She mirrors his posture, crossing her arms and tilting her head slightly.
“Was that a childish question, Robin?”
The corridor fills with his laughter. In the past, they had been the serious ones in the group, but both had softened over time. Raven still carried herself with neutrality, and he had found a quieter kind of calm.
They arrive at the yard, where a group of pupils were waiting. After a brief farewell, Nightwing begins his session with the eager children. Raven lingers for a moment, listening to his words, steady, confident, persuasive. A natural leader.
Soon after, as she heads toward the monastery entrance, she’s suddenly lifted off the ground in a fierce embrace. Starfire raises her so high they nearly touch the ceiling of the corridor. With visible awkwardness, Raven attempts to return the affectionate gesture. When they separate, still hovering above the floor, Starfire cups Raven’s face with one hand, unintentionally squashing her cheeks.
“Star…”
“I am so happy to see you!”
Her cheeks are nearly pressed flat.
“Starfire… let me go,” she orders evenly.
“Oh! Friend Raven, I am deeply apologetic. I did not mean to exceed the appropriate display of affection.”
At last, Raven feels the blood return to her face.
“Starfire, you were here last week.”
“But still!”
The distant screams of excited pupils don’t surprise her. As a rule, they are calm and disciplined, but visitors are rare. Starfire, however, is famous among them for her stories. Many eagerly await her visits to hear tales of rescue missions, interdimensional travels, and dramatic reenactments.
She always brings something new.
The pupils adore her.
Raven offers a brief goodbye before Starfire is swept away by the children, promising they will talk later that night.
Raven takes a deep breath. That is all the time she has before her name echoes across the main courtyard.
“Cyborg…” she murmurs, levitating toward the sound.
A massive futuristic ship hovers silently above the peaceful monastery.
“I hope that thing has proper camouflage,” Raven calls as she rises to Cyborg’s level. He opens the hatch and lowers a wide ramp so the adventurous pupils can board. “This place is meant to remain secret.”
“Raven!” Cyborg winks, stepping aside as the first youngsters rush up the ramp. “You’ve got to trust my expertise.”
“I do. I just don’t trust your instinct to show off.”
He leans casually against the doorway, grinning. “Look at you… you’ve become a protective mom!”
“After calling me that, you still want to be within arm’s reach?” she replies coolly. “You’re fortunate there are… witnesses.”
“I don’t know, Raven. You haven’t used your powers in a while. Think you could still beat a professional superhero like me?”
Before she can stop herself, the corner of her mouth lifts slightly. Cyborg beams in triumph, and she seriously considers hurling him toward the nearest mountain.
“Just… don’t lose any of them.”
“That happened once!”
“Exactly.”
She descends as Cyborg continues defending himself. With a dismissive gesture, she watches the ship vanish at impossible speed.
Finally, Raven settles onto one of the stone benches in the courtyard. Her eyes track a small lizard emerging from between the rocks and climbing up her leg. The monastery stands high in the mountains, where the air is perpetually cold. The creature’s appearance is far from convincing camouflage.
“Beast Boy,” she greets as the lizard pauses on her knee.
The animal transforms, and she narrows her eyes. A fully grown, green-skinned man in civilian clothes now sits comfortably on her lap.
All her friends have grown. She has become the shortest of them, and though she considers herself strong, that doesn’t justify Beast Boy making himself at home on her knees.
“For Samhain this year, I’ve behaved exceptionally well,” he begins dramatically. “So, I’d like a flying broom, a new cauldron… and a choker with skulls.”
Raven shoves him off at once in response to the terrible joke.
He manages to steady himself midair, never quite touching the ground, where he belongs, and instead settles beside her.
“Grow up,” she orders.
“But that would break your heart, birdie.”
As always, Beast Boy remains the most lighthearted of them all, behaving as if they wew still teenagers. He tries to rest his head on her lap again, but she shifts away. He laughs, a broad grin spreading across his face.
“I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Raven.”
He has an unusual talent for reading her mood… and he was rarely wrong.
“How long have you been here?” she asks.
“Before Robin arrived.”
“Nightwing,” she corrects.
“He’ll always be our Robin,” he replies with a gentle smile. “Just like I’m still Beast Boy to you, even if I’m not a superhero anymore.”
Raven gives him a reproachful look. That is not entirely true. Perhaps he no longer fights villains, but Beast Boy has devoted himself to environmental research and wildlife conservation. He has also founded shelters for children. Strangely enough, they have both dedicated their lives to helping the young, something no one would have predicted.
But, well, like her, Beast Boy had been orphaned more than once. He understands what it means to be without a family, to feel abandoned. He has rescued children forced into labor, conscripted into wars, or left alone in the jungle, and given them another chance.
He wasn’t a father figure.
He is the fun older brother.
And sometimes, that is exactly what a child needs.
“Come with me,” Raven says at last.
Together, they walk toward the rear gate of the monastery, where a group of pupils waits eagerly to explore the forests, rivers, and waterfalls. These are the students who wish to learn about nature, not fight, not chase adventure, but simply enjoy being children.
Beast Boy is more than happy to guide them. Always.
Raven watches them depart before returning to the main courtyard, where the quieter pupils gather. There are always those who, like her, prefer peace and stillness. They sit together to meditate, taking their time until the others return.
She tries to focus, but whenever her friends visit, a warmth lingers in her chest, distracting her from perfect concentration.
They all chose different paths as they grew older. Different callings. Different lives.
Yet they remain a family.
And though Raven would never admit it aloud, that truth makes her happy.