#anyway randy ily here's our new years gift

[squiddybeifong]

Retrieval Ch. 8

@dyketectivecomics angsty emo music and editing go great together 

It’s on Ao3 here! and also below but it got kinda long but no one ever worries about that

--

Raven sighed, her eyes closing as the wind rushed past her face. It was the perfect temperature; not cold at all, warm but not too warm. Like Azarath at any given time of the year or Gotham during the summer. The empath welcomed the brief reprieve that her fall gave her, her grin softening to a weak smile as she felt her body morph back to normal.

She kept her eyes shut, not wanting to watch that blank expanse of her mind pass her by. But through that darkness light shined behind her closed lids and she opened her eyes, her face brightening at the plethora of memories around her, none larger than a small TV.

The windows passed her by, each highlighting a vision of her and her mother: Arella tucking her into bed after a frustrating day where meditation just wasn’t good enough; Zatanna all but tackling her into a spinning hug after finally tracking Pam and Harley down from their impromptu roadtrip; her head in the lap of one mother, thin fingers running through her short bob; Gotham in the background as the other, bobby pins in the corner of her mouth, pulled her long hair into a French braid.

Her hands outstretched, Raven sadly smiled as her fingertips brushed against the edges of the memories. They left little streaks but her mind wouldn’t allow her to linger. And each vision passed by all too quickly, static in time as the empath kept her steady descent. Constantine’s words rang in her head, about her unfinished business.

But she had chosen; so where was Zatanna?  

Her mind held no answers as she continued her endless fall, only allowing the briefest of glimpses to her past. Arella, Zatanna, Arella, Zatanna. Mom, Mom, Mom. Azar and Constantine, Azarath and Gotham, the doves that Arella sung to in the early morning and the pigeons that hopped near her feet as Zatanna unwrapped her pre-show donut.

Raven sighed, frustrated. She’d accepted to leave that anger, she wanted to see her mother; where was she?

The further Raven fell, the more the knot in her stomach twisted. Her sapphire eyes glanced around at the familiar darkness around her, the light from her memories causing spots in her vision. The empath rubbed at her eyes and then squinted, finally spotting something foreign travelling through her mind.

It was a blackbird, its inky feathers tinged with navy as it glided down. There was no purposefulness to its glide; the creature was content in its fall towards its inevitable death, not even attempting to flap its wings. And although she could have let it be, although she wanted to ignore the creature and figure out where she had to go next, something was off about the bird and Raven rushed forward to help it. Hands outstretched, first her magic and then her body curled around the bird, firmly tucking it against her stomach.

Her body occupied, her mind slowed their descent, cushioning their landing as the dark ground suddenly rushed up to them. A curse escaped her as they landed, finally feeling the full weight of the bird, but her magic kept both of them unharmed.

Raven blinked, incredulous as the creature gleamed white and morphed into a body. She let it drop and scrambled back, her brows furrowing as Zatanna hastily stood.  

The magician looked wary as she glanced around, confused when no memory awaited her landing. She sucked in a hopeful breath at the sight of Raven, her heart fluttering as she recognized her daughter’s aura, “Blackbird?”

The young woman nodded, her fingers twitching in her fists as Zee rushed forward. “Oh!” She wrapped her daughter in a hug, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and squeezing her tightly, “It’s really you this time.”

Raven kept her face cool, still hesitant with her last decision ringing the back of her mind. Her hands came up to squeeze her mother once, her stomach twisting at the knowledge that Arella would have to wait.

She broke the hug and took a step away from the magician, looking around her mind. She noted the tiny blips of light high above them and sighed, thinking of Arella again, “We must be getting close.”

Zatanna bit the inside of her cheek, speaking to the elephant in the room, “Blackbird…”

When Raven didn’t answer, her bright eyes focused on those blots of light, the mother softly revealed, “I saw some of your memories.”

“I know you did.”

A pause. The sound of Zatanna thickly swallowing at the undercurrent of animosity in her daughter’s voice. A deep breath as the magician took a step forward.

Raven’s stare on the windows faltered, her stoic face nearly crumbling as her mother touched her shoulder. Her concern was all but palpable when they touched and the empath shifted out of her grasp. Still, Zatanna wasn’t to be deterred, “What did you see?”

“That isn’t important right now,” Finally, she dared to get a good look at the magician’s face. One that was just as maternal as Arella’s, if not more so. Eyes that bore the same color as her own, the same long black hair, the same affliction for magic; a reason people walking on the street automatically assumed they were actually related. Would people think the same if they saw her and Arella? Raven didn’t know for sure if they would.

She also didn’t quite know how she felt about that just yet. But rather than let herself fall into another mess, she instead squared her shoulders, trying to be serious before the emotions consumed them, “We need to focus on finding the lost memories, not lingering on the ones that were always there.”

Raven turned to walk and paused, one shoe in the air as the floor rippled. Her foot fell back down and the blackness they stood on morphed into an all-too-familiar image. The old but incredibly comfy couch that sat in the middle of Constantine’s apartment; the one Raven had slept in as a five-year old, unsure if she would be sent back to Hell or not; the very same couch that hosted many a movie night and hangover naps and heartbroken sob sessions; the couch that they knew Constantine currently leaned against, keeping watch as the two mystics searched throughout her mind.

The couch sported the very same throw blanket that she’d sat on her first hour on Earth, nibbling poptarts as her soon-to-be parents decided what to do with her. But it wasn’t daytime, nor was this young version of Raven awake. The little demoness was curled on her side, drooling onto one of the cushions as she slept, Constantine and Zee watching her from the bedroom door frame.  

An old lamp that had been broken long ago still sat on the counter and Raven sighed, bracing herself as the image of that nicotine-scented couch got a shade brighter. White light filled her vision and the mystic reached for her mother, her jaw setting as the memory cleared completely, as vivid as the night it occurred.

--

Raven laid on the couch, the corner of her blanket clenched in her tiny fists. A cold sweat made her forehead clammy but she didn’t notice, so consumed in twisting back and forth, a mix of horror and fear crumpling her face. Her fingertips crackled with uncontained magic, fighting out against the demons that plagued her dreamscape.

Not even ten feet beyond her, Constantine’s voice whispered out, “Are you sure about this, Zee?”

The crash! of yet another piece of furniture flipping on its side, toppled by the demoness’ magic. Already, the lamp and the coffeemaker lay in pieces on the floor, joined by the curtains after another jolt of black magic and the girl’s sob of “No!”  

The adults glanced at each other, both nervous and determined as a chair was flung against the wall. Twiddling the wand in her hand, Zatanna took a deep breath, “Go set the bed for her.” The magician aimed a confident half-smile the Brit’s way, “I’ll get her to the room and stop these terrors. Promise it’ll only calm her down, that’s all.”

The ground below their feet quivered, furious at the lie.

Zatanna whispered a quick protection spell around herself, dodging the flying furniture to the best of her ability. She paid no mind to the sound of Constantine cleaning his bed the best he could, instead focused on the distressed crease in between the girl's eyes.

Although she had yet to truly trust this half-demon, yet alone to the extent that Constantine had already, Zee sighed and leaned down in front of the couch. She put a hand to the child’s head, damp with a cold sweat, and set about smoothing her uneven bangs back. When Raven continued to fuss, the magician stretched, kissing the girl’s forehead.

She kept her breathing as calm as she could, paying no mind to the zaps of black magic that nipped at her. “Ehtaerb, Raven…” It took a few beats, but the girl did as she commanded, her chest heaving as her near-hyperventilation slowed. Zee, satisfied at how the demoness’ fists loosened in the blankets, rested her elbows on the couch.

Raven’s eyes fluttered open and she looked up as the couch dipped under her mother’s weight. Lit up only by the crescent moonlight, her pristine snow white robe completely out of place in Constantine’s apartment, Arella looked like a figure out of a daydream. The Gothamite slowly leaned down and ran her hand through the girl’s short hair, humming a melancholy lullaby, the sound throaty and scratchy in the darkness.

“Oh, my Little Bird,” Soft and sad, Arella sounded as her memories portrayed her, warm and maternal and loving. Her face was tired as tears began to fall from her sapphire eyes and Raven’s welled up in response, her blurry vision watching as the tiniest of flickers of white light began to nip at her edges, desperately trying to work their way into this memory.

The sight of those light splotches brought back her last broken recollections of Azarath; Raven thought of the leaping flames of fire, of her father’s form, of his howling laughter as the people of Azarath were turned to stone, their faces stuck in terror forever. Memories that she didn’t truly remember, memories that she had been forced to forget.

Through the girl’s tears, Raven watched as Arella’s face began to morph, sinking in some places and tightening in others. Her eyebrows got a tinge wider, her cheekbones a smidge less pronounced, her nose less angular and her lips fuller. The fingers in her hair grew a size larger, and her shoulders broadened under her cloak. The empath’s lower lip quivered as her mother, the one that everyone assumed was her real one (and really, would they be truly wrong?) stared down at her.

Zatanna tenderly ran a hand through Raven’s short hair, stopping just past her ears. Slow and steady, from the girl’s temple to the still-uneven ends of her bob as she shifted in her sleep, awake yet not, comfortably curled on her side as the tightest clutches of the nightmare ceased for just a second. This was wrong, this was right.

Raven twitched as the magician continued to scratch at her scalp, stubbornly fighting against the surge of emotion. This memory was the strongest, the realest of all the ones she had faced and, judging by the glassy sheen on Zatanna’s eyes, her mother would probably say the same.

Her previous memory rattled in her head once more. That vision of Dad had laughed at her, goaded her to finish what she’d started. Finding her mother, but which one?

She’d yet to feel anger, but Raven was all too aware that Zatanna had taken over Arella’s presence yet again. Zatanna had never donned the flowing white cloak, she never walked the grassy paths of Azarath, feeding her doves as she went. She never shielded Raven when Azar’s restrictions on her emotions got to be too much.

Zatanna let the smallest of smiles curl her lips as the furniture stopped moving. There were still crackles of magic at the girl’s fingertips, but nothing that she couldn’t handle. “Tel em pleh htiw ruoy seramthgin, Nevar.”

Raven shifted on the couch, languidly angling her resting face towards the magician. Behind her closed lids her nightmare raged on, but the external world couldn’t hurt her now. Not with her mother watching over her.

But, a treacherous voice reminded her, Arella had never stayed up all night stitching together a superhero costume, she had never sprinted through Arkham in search of her, fighting off specters and villains as she went. She never had to shield Raven when her nightmares about Hell got to be too much.

With the destructive bursts of magic all but gone, Zatanna softly scooped Raven up into her arms, blankets and all. She kept her steps light and even as she made her way to Constantine’s bed, pressing her lips to the crown of Raven’s head.

Constantine gave her a cocky smile as she passed by, one that screamed ‘See? She pulls at your heartstrings so damn fast, huh? You can’t deny that I’m the only one falling for her.’ Zatanna pointedly ignored him, instead carefully setting the girl down and tucking her in.

She ran her hand through the demoness’ short hair again, glad when Raven didn’t stir. Keeping her ministrations up, Zatanna hummed as she felt the push of the dark aura against her own. Silently hyping herself up for what she was about to do, Zee mentally went through the steps she had to take. The magician rolled her shoulders once and closed her eyes, intertangling her magic with Raven’s with a touch of her thumb against the crimson gem in the girl’s forehead.

Not used to delving into memories, yet alone minds, Zatanna admittedly fumbled her way through the girl’s most recent recollections: her confusion and hesitation of getting adjusted to earth, her curiosity and joy at learning more about the magic that she and Constantine used. Had she not been working for a more important mission, Zatanna might’ve lingered just to enjoy the child’s enthusiasm at her new living situation. But she kept her course, instead immediately jumping past recent days to the thick of things. The air in the room seemed to get hazier as the refuge of Constantine’s apartment faded away, but nothing was immediately clear to the mystic as she continued on. Bit by bit, Zee began her wade through the press of Raven’s memories of her time in Hell, not seeing or even experiencing them but feeling the horror that they carried.

Her method was rather simple, all things considered: feel that thrumming hum of magic between her thumb and Raven’s gem, allow those volatile emotions that clung to the memories to flow through, command that they “eb dehsinab yawa ni yreve mrof dna reven laever sevlesmeht ot siht lrig niaga,” and let them go. Zee kept a steady pace as she went.

Her arms nearly gave out, her concentration stumbling as she felt the strongest of emotions yet; the magician’s lips twisted down into a frown at the feeling of another presence through the demoness’ memories.

Raven hadn't spoke too much on her other parent, but Zatanna was sure that this was the demon responsible. His imprint of magic on the girl was all-encompassing, infinitely woven within her magic and her body. The part of the girl that allowed her to survive in Hell, the one that thrived among the devilish, brutish, spindly creatures that resided there, the part that was strong enough to propel her to John's magic when he made that oh-so-timely portal.

That hint of magic slithered through Zee as she bypassed that particular memory, her lips pressing into a thin line at the emotions whispering out a threatening hiss, a warning. A cold shiver tap-danced down the magician’s spine at the feeling, but she pushed on past the horror, getting to the dread of his arrival and the guilt that preceded his finding Azarath.

Trembling under Raven’s emotions as she got to the heart of the nightmare she had lived, Zatanna decided to overshoot her goal, locking away some of the less-than-traumatizing memories from just a few hours before the girl's home planet was destroyed.

Taking a breath and mentally groaning as she had to go through the plethora of emotions again, the magician retraced her steps, repeating her spell with the finishing “Won, rednu ym dnammoc, etanimile eseht seiromem morf s’nevaR dnim reverof.” Zatanna kept her thumb to the girl’s forehead, ensuring that all the memories she had bypassed were securely erased. It reminded her of deleting files off a computer, nice and straightforward, although having to endure Raven’s emotions was far from pleasant.

Zee shuddered, hunching over as the last wave of Raven’s turmoil washed over her. Her shoulders relaxed some as she felt the confusion when the demoness all but plopped out onto the hardwood floor in front of Constantine and stopped, satisfied that she'd done enough. Keeping her thumb pressed to the girl’s forehead, the magician didn’t stop the words from building in her throat, determined to finish this. She didn’t notice how the girl’s eyes glowed white under her lids, but the twist of black magic fluttering around the demoness’ body had her on high alert. Once the feather-light, inky coils started to fade away, Zee leaned down and kissed Raven’s forehead, “Dloh tuo tsuj a elttil elihw regnol. Uoy tsum eb mlac rof siht.”

The effect was near immediate. Raven’s body stilled, going so limp so quickly Zee worriedly pressed two fingers to her pulse, just in case. But the little mystic’s heartbeat was strong and calm under her fingers and Zatanna sighed, watching as all of Raven’s magic settled down with her, spent.

Satisfied when the girl seemed to have calmed down completely, Zee picked up her wand and glanced behind her, glad at not seeing any hint of John listening in. She kept her voice low as she let the tip of the wand touch the gem on the girl’s forehead, whispering her final command, “Won peek gnipeels litnu gninrom semoc… dna reven rebmemer esoht seiromem. Rof ruoy ekas dna enim.”

Raven cooed as she turned on her side, her cheek completely smushed against the pillow. Zatanna shifted, the white cloak heavy on her frame as she brushed aside the girl’s bangs. Her lips trembled as her fingers fidgeted with her wand, still buzzing with the incredibly invasive magic she had just used.

That flood of emotions, as clear as the night they witnessed, so complex and overwhelmingly complicated. The drowning realization that she was beginning to fall in love, the lingering suspicion that any distrust towards the girl was lessened by her empathic powers, the fluttering in her chest when she’d woken up earlier that morning to Raven curled in between her and John in bed, the troublesome air of evil that the demoness bore, the trusting aura of a girl who’d lost everything but was starting to make another home.

The satisfaction of repressing the worst of the girl’s memories and the nightmares that were born of them, the stomach-twisting guilt of establishing their growing relationship with so intrusive of a lie.

Zatanna felt all of this as she watched Raven’s memory play out. A hand came up to rest on her stomach, clutching the cloak as a wave of her daughter’s ire washed over her.

The magician rested a hand on the girl’s stomach, her lips in a thin line as Raven shifted again, her eyes just barely creaking open as she readjusted to the bed’s mattress, softer than the couch. Everything about the girl sang out her comfort, from how she sunk into the blankets to how the light danced off her face.

Zatanna smiled down at her daughter as she watched the result of her memories being solidly locked away. The magician’s face was less of a memory and more of a mixture of faces that she’d make in the future, imagined by the five year old as she slipped further into sleep.

“It’s fine, Raven,” Zee’s voice was quiet as her face softened again, a sigh slipping out as she conceded that the little mage was here to stay. And, admittedly, she wasn’t all too broken up about the fact. Maybe not as eager as Constantine, but still excited.

The mystic set her wand down on top of the blankets, and as the horribly familiar white light of Raven’s mind consumed the rod, the pale gold flicker of magic gave way to heat. Orange and red, as explosive as as lava eruption, yellow and white, as blinding as molten metal.  

The two women couldn’t look away as the memory melted under that heat, the comfortable scene of Constantine’s bedroom burning into the dark, into something hot and intense and dangerous.

Raven's face steeled at the uncomfortably familiar sight. Every ounce of self-preservation screamed at her to run away, to flee from the hypocritical clash of pure darkness and blindingly bright hellfire. She wanted nothing more than to turn back in the face of the coldest ice forming in her stomach, seeping through her very core and the stifling humidity of Hell around her, hot enough to singe the inside of her lungs if she dared to scream out. The empath felt her mother's horror, felt every flicker of mind-numbing fear that the magician projected, but she did not reach for her. Maybe it was the resentment born from over a decade of lies finally coming to light, maybe it was the memory of the last time she was here, and the acceptance that it ultimately brought.

Hell (no pun intended, honest), maybe it was the easy choice, that she just that wasn't ready to forgive her mother until she had all the information.

She thought of Arella, of Azar, of being adopted, of all the memories she had reclaimed so far. Without truly having to think about them, she thought about Azarath, about Jason, about her grandfather, about the memories that her mind told her that her mother had seen. Her hands stayed at her sides, tightening into fists as Zatanna took a deep breath, big enough for both of them.

And as the hellscape in front of them pried itself open, flame by flickering flame and tendril by inky tendril, as those last coveted memories revealed themselves to be within reach, the memory of Zatanna's voice wafted down over them, warm and maternal:

“Sleep tight, Blackbird.”