Chapter Text
28th April, 2009
It’s terrible. No, worse. It’s devastating.
Gar had sworn to her he was dead.
Dead-dead.
Fallen-into-a-pit-of-lava, never-coming-back, the-end kind of dead.
That was the only reason she’d even considered staying with the Titans again.
With Slade gone for good, she thought maybe—just maybe—she had a shot at a second chance.
At something real. At peace. At a life that wasn’t just fake names and flickering neon motel signs and checking the exits before she could sleep.
But now?
Now it turns out Slade isn’t gone.
Or maybe he was, but he’s back now. Or never left at all. Came back from the grave like… kinda like her, in a way.
Anyway—what matters is the Titans knew.
Gar knew.
And they didn’t tell her shit.
Not a warning. Not a whisper. Not even a heads-up, like, hey, your worst nightmare might still be hanging around.
Tara’s never been one for calm, reasoned talks about trust and communication. That’s never been her language.
She speaks in fault lines and aftershocks, in fight-or-flight and fists when the pressure gets too high.
So, when the half-black-half-orange mask disappeared from the communication screen in the Ops Room that evening, her first reaction wasn’t heartbreak.
It was rage.
White-hot. Bone-deep. The kind that scorches your lungs just trying to breathe through it.
Before she even thought, her fist was flying.
She punched Gar.
Hard.
Square across the face.
His head snapped sideways from the force. There was a sharp crack, followed by the unmistakable sight of blood—thick, red, and real.
She didn’t know if it was his lip or his nose that split open.
She didn’t care.
Vic had to grab her from behind, locking arms at her sides like a damn bouncer. Her body twisted in his grip, muscles coiled like springs, ready to break free.
She would’ve, too—if Raven hadn’t thrown up a shield between them, her hands glowing faintly, eyes darker than usual.
Then Gar started talking.
Mumbling. Pleading.
“If you had known Slade was still alive, you would’ve left. And I—I never would've seen you again!”
As if that made it okay.
As if her presence was something he was entitled to.
Like lying to her was somehow an act of love.
She didn’t want to hear it.
Not his excuses. Not his voice. Not anything.
All she could feel was betrayal, like a knife turning slowly in her gut.
And underneath that—worse than anger, worse than pain—was fear.
The old kind.
The kind that used to curl in her chest like smoke at night, waiting.
The kind that listened for footsteps in the hallway.
The kind that checked for bruises on her thighs in the morning.
Eventually, the others left.
Off to track down Slade. Chase the phantom. Play heroes.
She didn’t want to go with them.
Didn’t want to stay alone in the Tower, either.
A voice in the back of her head—quiet but insistent—whispered.
Run.
Drop off the radar. Disappear. Now.
She almost listened.
But she knew something the others didn’t.
A place where Slade might be.
It had been her home too, for a while. Years ago.
So that’s where they’re going now.