The neighborhood lights flickered on one by one, while distant car horns blared from the highway, oblivious to the hell portal yawning open in Mrs. Whatever-Her-Name's front yard.

Your hands trembled from the raw surge of power coursing through your veins, magic coiling like live wires under your skin. It burned, a white-hot itch that demanded release, and you'd been unleashing it in controlled bursts: barriers of shimmering ether to contain the rift, blasts of arcane force to shove back the tendrils of shadow snaking toward the team. Rachel was beside you, red eyes glowing, chanting in a language that scraped against your eardrums. She was strong, yeah, but this was her dad and you could feel the hesitation in her, the way her power flickered like a bad signal. You couldn't let her carry it alone. Not when every inch Trigon clawed his way up meant more destruction.

You'd been enemies with Gar since day one, back when Dick Grayson had slapped you both onto the Titans roster like mismatched puzzle pieces he was determined to force together. "Teamwork makes the dream work," he'd said with that half-smirk, but all it did was ignite the spark of mutual loathing. Gar with his green skin, endless sarcasm, his vegan rants during training sessions that made you want to hurl a protein bar at his head. He called you "Control Freak" the first time you corrected his sloppy form during sparring, and you fired back with "Zoo Boy," watching his eyes narrow in that way that made your stomach twist. You'd trained together, sweat-soaked and snarling, bodies colliding in ways that left bruises and unspoken tension hanging in the air. Hell, Dick had even made you share quarters once, thinking proximity would sand down the edges. It didn't. It just amplified everything. You hated him. Or at least, that's what you told yourself every time you caught yourself staring at the curve of his shoulders, the easy grace in how he moved, wondering what it would feel like to trace those lines without the barrier of enmity.

But now? Now, as Trigon roared none of that bullshit mattered. The demon's form loomed, all crimson horns and swirling void, his claws raking furrows into the earth deep enough to swallow a car. Rachel faltered, her chant breaking on a sob, and you poured more into the seal, your magic flaring bright against the encroaching dark. "Hold it together, Rach," you muttered through gritted teeth. The ground shuddered, and you felt the pull, the seductive whisper of Trigon's power trying to worm into your mind, promising chaos, release, everything you'd ever buried deep.

You'd seen Gar shift out of the corner of your eye—his body contorting with that familiar green glow, bones cracking and reforming into something massive. A gorilla, because of course he'd go for the baddest thing in his arsenal, charging forward with a bellow that shook the leaves from the trees. "Gar, no—stay back!" you'd shouted, but he didn't listen. Never did. He leaped, slamming into Trigon's side, fists pounding against ethereal armor that shouldn't have given but did, just a little, buying you and Rachel precious seconds.

The retaliation was brutal. Trigon's arm swung, claws glinting under the streetlights, and Gar went flying; airborne for a heartbeat before crashing into the lawn with a wet thud that echoed in your chest. He reverted mid-fall, green fur rippling back to skin, and there it was: a gash across his torso, deep and ragged, blood blooming dark against his shirt like spilled ink. He gasped, trying to push up on one elbow, face twisted in pain.

Your legs moved before your brain caught up, pounding across the torn-up grass, the mud squelching under your boots. You dropped to your knees beside him, the impact jarring your bones.

"Gar—fuck, you dumbass," you whispered, voice cracking. Your hands hovered over the wound, palms already glowing with that soft, ethereal light of your magic.

He groaned, head lolling back against the grass, blades of it sticking to his sweat-damp hair. "Hey... Control Freak," he managed, voice rough.