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Language:
English
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Published:
2025-01-06
Completed:
2025-01-28
Words:
2,378
Chapters:
2/2
Comments:
22
Kudos:
66
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943

Seasonal

Summary:

Seasons change, and so do feelings between teammates...

Chapter 1: Snowfall

Notes:

Thank you to KatScythe (yes THE KatScythe) for looking over this for me. You are the best, Kitty!!!

Chapter Text

Raven is Winter.

Well, that is, in Garfield’s humble opinion.

Now, she’s not hot cocoa or carols ‘round a warm fire. No, not quite like that. To Garfield, Raven embodies the true frigidity of her season.

Like his first freezing January in Midway City, Raven is bitter Michigan weather. She’s cold, biting wind, snapping abruptly for his throat when he asks if she wants breakfast. Harsh and piercing, her tongue cuts his confidence, and her narrowed eyes pass merciless judgment.

She's glacial. Slow, rigid, and so fucking terrifying.

Terrifying at the best of times. He’s witnessed how her anger unleashes something—some ancient power from within her bones. On the battlefield, she’s a blizzard. Icy magic seeps from her fingers, pouring out to punish the unjust. She’s a powerful, swarming storm. Something the corrupt can only succumb to.

Raven is seldom raw, but when she is, she’s wind-whipped and shivering. Gar’s only seen her so desolate once or twice—times when she allowed herself to be thawed just to be left in a puddle. 

And suddenly the air is stinging his lungs.

He’s never cared much for the cold, of course. He misses melting under midday sunbeams peeking through a lush jungle canopy. Nowadays, there’s only gray sky hanging over dead oak trees. Raven’s the grumpy fog refusing to budge, no matter how hard he tries to shine.

Huffing to himself, Gar glares up at the stuffy cloud that’s ruining what would be a perfect day. Who does she think she is anyway? She’s frustrating, and prissy, and snobbish, and…

…Snowing?

Oh, and he’s never seen beauty like this. For once he’s lost for words, lost in navy waves of flowing fabric. Meditative crystal floats before him, suspended in midnight sky. Her closed eyelashes catch a dusting of ivory powder, and his must too because his vision is going all dreamy like the soft, blurry focus of an eighties movie. She’s a serenity so innately familiar that he almost forgets he’s never seen snowfall before.

She’s the chill up his spine and the cold that colors his cheeks.

Familiar and foreign. Intimate and intimidating.

She’s the winter woods lining Dayton Estate: trees to which he would escape when the conditions indoors were much too cold. Cautiously, he approaches the grove, bundled in thick layers. What was once his summer sanctuary from the harsh hand of his mentor has now transformed into a bewitched, eerie wood. Bare branches reach down like claws, set to seize his soul. Tapered hanging icicles cling to their bark just barely. One misstep is all that stands between the boy and a punctured heart.

Shrouded in darkness, the forest sighs a haunting stillness. Flurries of frost swirl whispered warnings in his ear. The wood is dangerous and sacred, and he knows this... yet the lure of the moon drags him in every time.

Navigating those woods is like shoveling snow. Like the heaping piles he’d be tasked to clear from the manor’s long driveway. For hours on end, he spades away, hoping to make some headway. The work is tedious. The snow does not like being stirred. 

And for some reason, nothing can deter him.

Inch by inch, he trudges along, slowly clearing the path, and as he digs, he searches the slush for any indication of success.

Some shovelfuls reveal small rewards: tiny smiles, little laughs, and lingering glances. Occasionally, he unearths something rare. Chance confessions catch him off guard. Heated blushes reveal the snow isn’t so cold...

For each buried treasure that Garfield uncovers, he digs up double trouble. Angry black ice sends him sliding across the asphalt on more than one occasion. He spends more time on his rear than his feet.

It’s on his rear that Gar often wonders when he’ll finally bow out. He could always take what’s left of his dignity and head back inside. Let someone else shovel that old driveway. Maybe he’s tempted to walk away, but then he hears a faint whisper of giggles drifting down the road…

And so, it seems Winter wants to play just as badly as he does.

That’s all it takes to get Garfield up on his feet trailing after the sound, playing along with this twisted game. 

He’s persistent. Because if this is a game, he intends to win big. He’s going to clear the path if it kills him (and if Winter turns up her nose and stomps her feet, well, that’s just part of the fun.) He’ll weather the cold and shovel this stubborn snow... and he’s almost giddy to know that she won’t make it easy for him.

Raven’s playing too, after all.

She’ll let him exhaust himself digging. Let him prod and pry. Then, just as Gar thinks he’s finally finished the mile-long drive, he’ll feel ice pouring down his neck. Within minutes, the blacktop will once again be covered in a blanket of fresh snow.

And despite everything, that wanting chill will flutter up his spine once more.

Gar’s tried to deny his fondness for Winter, telling himself that his shivers are not exclusive. Everyone’s body reacts to the cold. Everyone thinks the snow is beautiful.

He can’t be alone, and yet, for some reason, he feels utterly exposed with his shallow breath on display. 

Surely he’s in the majority because Gar’s positive that most people must also be intrigued by the mischievous glint of ice in the moonlight. Most people must also have that unfiltered desire to rip off their gloves and watch the snow melt in their grasp…

…

He’ll try to forget. Try to focus on the warmer months. He can’t want her so badly if he’s too busy sweating.

By July, her frost will fade to memory, and those mortifying desires will melt away too. They’ll go back to Beast Boy and Raven. Back to bad jokes and rolling eyes. He’ll convince himself that he’s finally grown numb to her. 

And they’ll be fine. And they’ll be friends.

But one night, when the temperature drops, they might find themselves alone. He can picture the scene with her discovering him by the rocks or him rescuing her from a party. Between hushed phrases, the atmosphere will shift just so, and the first leaf of autumn will cascade to the ground. 

It’s no big deal. It’s only one leaf. It doesn’t mean anything.

But as one leaf becomes two, and then three. Seven. Twelve. The panic will set in. 

He’ll dispose of the evidence—sweep the leaves under the rug—because he promised himself that he wouldn’t fall with them. 

Deep in his soul, Garfield knows his cause is lost. It’s only a matter of time before he’s freezing and hopeless and wholly wrapped up in Winter again.

Chapter 2: Sunburn

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Garfield is Summer.

Well, that is, if Raven were forced to assign him a season.

He’s Summer. August green, like the trees in their prime. Stupid, like the last day of school before a three-month break when no one acts like they’ve got any sense left at all. He's a kid out of class, running rampant in an arcade and pushing all of her buttons. 

Yes, Garfield Logan lives every day as if he’s on summer vacation. 

While he may stroll through life leisurely, he’s not exactly relaxed. Like the pier all aglow on the Fourth of July, Gar sparks the sky with blinding outbursts. Earsplitting explosions ring into the atmosphere in a vibrant display for anyone willing to watch. As glimmering sparkles flitter to the ground, Raven can only roll her eyes.

He’s pulling out all his tricks now, flaunting a finale unlike any other. Cocky rockets soar through the air, screaming out in a desperate plea for attention. There’s a smugness to that sparkle, a pompous popping grin.

Painfully, Raven realizes that Gar fully believes this endeavor looks effortless. In reality, the sore state of his swagger lies under the light show. Like the bustling boardwalk teeming with people, his focus scatters in a million directions. Clumsy and awkward, he stumbles on air. Ineloquent, he trips over his own words. He’s chaos embodied—a sweating swarm of energy.

Raven’s less than impressed with his knack for disorder. If she is Azarath, structured and sound, then he must be the ever-shifting California coast. Change is coded into his DNA, after all.

At the ocean’s edge, his messy waves crash against her solid shore. Restless water surges forward, determined to knock her off balance. She’s not stupid. She knows the tide only wants a rise. But the sand is unstable, and so is her temper. Try as she might resist the current, Raven falls for his taunting every time. When she struggles to stand, the smirking sea ebbs, leaving her splashing and sputtering with rage.

Raven is certain she has never encountered anyone so audacious in her entire life. Always the antagonist, setting out to humiliate her at every opportunity. He ignites her anger in a way no one ever has, and despite that red fury, he’s somehow unphased.

The thing is, unlike any normal person, Garfield isn’t afraid of her. Well, if he is, it seems his curiosity burns hotter than his fear. 

Raven catches how he eyes her when he thinks no one’s watching—stare burning like he’s searching for something beneath her surface. Gar’s the scrutinizing sun bearing down on her, eager to expose every hiding spot. 

She pulls her cloak tighter under that too-bright gaze. Hates how revealing it feels. He couldn’t possibly understand what lurks in her shadows. Couldn’t begin to learn how deep those waters dive. 

Couldn’t. Shouldn’t… 

And yet, would try.

For what purpose? Raven’s unsure.

She would call him inconsiderate... if that were true...

But Garfield is not a cruel summer. Indeed, far from it. In stolen moments, he’s sweet. Like fresh honeydew on her tongue. Like sunshine eyes and lopsided smiles.

And sometimes he’s gentle. Breezing by mid-battle to extend a soft hand. It’s strange—being lifted by that whisper of wind as if she were nothing more than a feather. 

On some dawns, his eyes bear that intimate ache. A misting of dew. Of mourning grass and summertime sadness.

It comes as a quiet realization that he’s both the boisterous lightning and the sighing summer rain.

Illuminating and infuriating. Kindling yet kind.

Confusion isn’t the word to describe this feeling... 

It’s gone in a flash. In a shuffling of eyes and misplaced trust. All at once, the sky goes dim, and his glow is eclipsed by a new, golden moon.

Suddenly sunlight is snatched up, hidden away behind solid stone. Now, Garfield shines for someone else. Overshadowed, Raven sinks into the darkling silence she thought she wanted. 

Now sunburn sounds better than this hollow reflection of moonlight.

There’s no time to dwell upon darkness. The moon is already moving along. Warm light is creeping back again to color her world.

But then, without warning, he’s… intense.

His transformation comes quickly. A metamorphosis of body and soul. Fireworks explode, and Garfield is no longer a sky-bound sparkler but some blazing, burning thing. He’s become a force of nature—a beastly power, roaring with all the talons and teeth of a wildfire. 

Snarling flames spread, clawing viciously across their ravaged city. Carnage is carved out in ember and ash and fuck. She’s surrounded.

Cinders circle in. Feral fire billows out to scorch the earth around her. Soot-soaked and coughing, Raven prepares to be burned alive.

As his inferno collapses, the blaze stops short. Like a flaming shield, he twists around, hedging her behind a protective wall of fire. 

Somehow, in the middle of this hellish haven, Raven knows she is undeniably safe.

Her gaze droops. Heartbeats stutter to a slow, sleepy pace. As she falls unconscious, one thought lingers—an idea so stupid she would never dare to conjure it if she were fully awake. It’s fleeting, almost fading, but it’s there nonetheless: something about the flames makes her think that maybe he could withstand hellfire and brimstone.

Amid the smoldering aftermath, Raven douses more of these disturbing revelations.

It’s becoming a rising problem, her wandering mind. Garfield has sprouted up recently, not quite the sapling he was in those early days. He’s grown like a tree, sturdy and strong. Still lean in stature but firm where it counts. Their work has weathered him down to his roots, deepening even his voice. When he speaks, the sound is rough—coarse like calloused bark.

And she really doesn’t mean to notice.

It’s not helping that he’s become unfairly pretty. Raven wouldn’t liken him to hanging gardens or fields of flora. No, Garfield’s charm is the uncurated kind. He’s pretty like verdant eyes and undergrowth. Like tousled hair and tangled vines. Crawling kudzu trails along the forest floor, slowly swallowing all of her thoughts. 

So he’s attractive. Big deal.

For some reason, it comforts Raven to note that even in his blossoming, Garfield is still as annoying as ever. Now, his peskiness just takes on a different form.

These days, he’s as irritating as the heat—a stifling, smothering heat wave. 

And as heat does, he just burns. her. up.

Like that excruciating June when it had taken Cyborg an entire week to fix the faulty AC unit, Garfield is a summer-scorched night.

Feverish, Raven tosses and turns, seared to her very core. She’s suffocating, pinned beneath a burning blanket. When throwing off the covers brings no respite, she wrestles her cloak to the floor too. 

No relief.

Staring at the ceiling, she wills sleep to take her, but it won’t come. This heat is all-consuming. She’s flushed. Sweating. Breathless. Unable to think of anything else because he’s just so damn hot...

...

...and of course, she prefers the cooler months. 

She’s more comfortable in the cold. The cold makes everything easier. 

Sleeping. Layering. Distance…

The cold is easier until it isn’t.

Until she’s trapped in an Arctic circle, huddled and shivering within a wind-torn tent. Alone in her icy prison, Raven realizes what she can no longer deny:

She’s fucking freezing.

Maybe she doesn’t like the cold as much as she suspected. Maybe she looks forward to brief glimpses of sunshine filtered through a tiny communicator screen.

And maybe, just maybe.

She misses... California.

Maybe just a little bit...

Notes:

writing raven's pov had me so weak. she's so soft sdlkfjdklfjsd