#Gordon is having nightmares about his arm and feeling phantom pain.

[we-cool-beans]

thank u @artflameball for the idea!! :D!

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Phantom Grin

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Bruce Wayne visits his son's grave on the night of his resurrection. Will it change Jason's fate, or is it all simply inevitable?

Chapters: 18/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd is Disabled, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Resurrected Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Get Along

Chapter Eighteen: Dick's Day Out

Dick visited Jason and sat with him while Bruce followed a lead. Jason watched TV with his head near Dick’s side of the couch. “Master Dick, Master Jason, are you hungry?” Alfred questioned. 

“Sure. Thank you,” Dick whispered, “Jason?” 

“Okay,” Jason mumbled. Dick playfully mimed elbow dropping on Jason’s face. 

“I’m killin’ you,” Dick joked as he threw in a few mimed punches. Jason laughed and swatted his hand away. It was the first time he’d smiled since the bathtub incident four days ago. Dick jumped at him. 

“Ooh, you wish,” Jason replied. 

“There he is,” Dick smiled, “What’s going on? Everyone’s acting weird.” Jason’s smile faded. 

“They didn’t tell you I blacked out twice? Did they tell you I hallucinated being covered in blood? The nightmares? ” Jason questioned. Dick shook his head. 

“Nope, they told me they found you the other day,” Dick answered, “They didn’t tell me anything. Jason, how are you doing?” 

“I’m scared to sleep. I can’t trust myself. All my senses are lying to me,” Jason replied, “I—.” Dick smiled. “Why are you smiling?”

“What if your senses aren’t lying?” Dick questioned. Jason furrowed his brows. “Okay, walk me through everything.”

Jason explained how he met Indigo at the church and lost time the last few times he met with her. He told Dick about his nightmares and the migraine. Alfred brought their lunch and Jason’s medication. “Thanks, Alfred,” Jason whispered.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick smiled. After Alfred left the room, Dick sighed. 

“Now, do you get it? I’m losing my mind,” Jason replied. 

“No… I don’t think you are. Jason, eat up. How do you feel about rolling with me today?” Dick asked. 

Jason scarfed down half a tuna sandwich and french fries before taking his meds. “Dick, what are you saying?” Jason asked. 

“I’m saying you should trust your senses. It sounds like you’ve got your first post-resurrection case, and we should work it together,” Dick smiled. 

Jason finished his sandwich, swallowing hard before replying. “Dad’s gonna lose it if I go missing again,” Jason mumbled. 

“I’m not gonna lose you,” Dick reassured.

“I’m gonna get in trouble,” Jason replied.

“Damn… I’ve never known you to be chicken,” Dick half-smiled. 

Jason scowled and finished drinking his milk. He stood up while Dick taunted him. “Shut up, I’m gonna get dressed,” Jason replied. 

Dick waited at the foot of the stairs. Jason threw on a thick hoodie, jeans, and combat boots. “Jesus, Jason… It’s eighty-seven degrees and sunny out there,” Dick half-joked.  

“I know,” Jason replied. 

“Hm… Okay,” Dick mumbled.

Jason frowned at him, pulling his hood up before heading down the stairs. “Don’t do that,” Jason grumbled.

“So, we can’t talk about it?” Dick questioned. 

Jason chewed his lip, turning around as Dick stood at the top of the stairs. “My skin hurts. It hasn’t stopped hurting since the bathtub. I thought it was a reaction to being in a dirty tub, but I don’t have a rash,” Jason replied. 

“Then why are you covering—?” 

“Before I show you, you have to promise to stay calm… And believe me when I say I don’t know how it happened,” Jason replied. Dick nodded, and Jason pulled his jacket up to reveal slash marks on his stomach, then he rolled up his sleeves to show the scratches and bruises on his arms. 

“And this was after the bathtub?” Dick questioned. Jason nodded, covering his arms. “Did you tell—?”

“Dad’s freaking out… Barbara and Tim want to run tests on me. Cass—. Actually, Cass is the same,” Jason whispered. Dick nodded, leading Jason to the car. “Can I drive?” 

“You’re experiencing blackouts—.”

“And you drive like you’re in a videogame,” Jason interrupted.

“Hm… No, we’re gonna stick with the driver who’s sure to remain conscious,” Dick answered as he patted Jason on the back. 

“Tracking device?” Jason questioned.

“Can’t be too careful,” Dick answered. 

*

Jason fell asleep in the car, and Dick parked and waited. Jason breathed heavily as he unbuckled his seatbelt. Dick unlocked the door, and Jason got out. He let Jason sleepwalk down the street before following him. “Please be sleepwalking for cool reasons,” Dick whispered. The leisurely pace Dick walked at concealed his worries. He refused to let Jason see him waver. They got to a crosswalk, and Jason started to cross the street while cars drove through, and Dick yanked him by the back of his shirt. “Easy there bucko.” He held on until the crosswalk light turned on. Jason crossed the street and continued toward the church. Jason headed through the front entrance of the church. 

Slipping through the hallways with general ease, Jason found the staircase to the basement, and he stood at the foot of the stairs, trembling. “Father?” Jason asked, pausing to wait for an answer. Falling to his knees, he stared at the rug in the corner of the room. Beads of sweat formed on Jason’s forehead, slowly dripping down the sides of his face. Jason started praying in a whisper tone that quickly built into a loud and fervent petition for protection. 

“Jason—.” 

Jason fell on his back as if pushed and swung at nothing. “No… No. No. No no no no—. Stop!” Jason screamed. “Stop!” 

“Jason,” Dick called him. Jason swatted something away and started running up the stairs and out of the church. Dick followed him. “Jason, wait up!” 

Jason cut through the courtyard and exited through the side gate. “Jason, snap out of it!” 

Jason made desperate crying noises as he cut his clothes on the briar bushes. Beyond the bushes, was a partially forested park across the street from a graveyard. Jason grabbed his arm, before falling on his back. “Please,” Jason begged. Dick stopped in his tracks, staring as something struggled with Jason. He sobbed and kicked before clutching his throat. He gurgled and choked as something dragged him toward a grave. Jason gasped and sat up. 

“Jason?” Dick questioned. 

Jason turned to Dick before throwing up in the grass. Dick pulled Jason off the ground. “What happened?” Jason questioned. 

“I think you reenacted a murder,” Dick replied. 

“No… I experienced it,” Jason rasped as he pulled the neck of his hoodie down to reveal a scar on his throat. Dick winced. 

“Running the risk of sounding like a jerk… Are you playing some kind of—?”  Jason glared at him. “Right.”

Jason walked toward a grave and pointed to the stone. “I think—. I—.” Jason shut his eyes and sighed. “There are two bodies in this grave.” 

Dick scratched his head. “Well, we’re not digging up a grave in broad daylight… What do you wanna do?” Dick questioned. 

“I wanna work the case. Come on,” Jason replied. 

“Where are we headed? Do you have any idea?” Dick asked. Jason paused, shutting his eyes. 

“Can you call your friend, Helena?” Jason asked. “I need to know where she picked me up… Also, this was a new grave when I dreamt it.” Jason looked at the year and swallowed hard, turning away to compose himself. 

“Jason? You o—?” Dick looked at the tombstone. “Hey, are you—?” 

Jason held his finger up while he fought the rising nausea in his throat. He choked it down. “This was a week before I died, Dick,” Jason mumbled.

[chaossmagic]

take me into your loving arms (1/2)

Over the years, throughout the many ups and downs, one thing has always remained true; they feel safest and most at home in each other’s arms. They wouldn’t have it any other way.

A study in snuggles, physical closeness, and the non-sexual side of intimacy that Robert and Aaron both crave from each other.

read on ao3

i.

Aaron thrashed in his sleep again, whimpering loud enough to wake Robert as suddenly and instantly as if someone had yelled in his ear; his heart started, lurched, eyes fixed in the semi-darkness on Aaron’s quaking figure under the covers, forehead shining with sweat and his face contorted into an expression that Robert swore caused his stomach to twist with the actual, physical pain of being punched.

Because that’s what it felt like, now, it had felt like for months. Aaron’s pain had become his own, and what he felt, Robert felt just as viscerally; or so it seemed to him, each time he felt a phantom stab of pain in his left forearm where the deep pink scar on Aaron’s was, or a ghostly voice that sounded like Gordon Livesy echoed inside his head when he knew it was ever-present in Aaron’s.

Aaron suddenly turned onto his side, his whole body snapping up into a ball as if he’d been burned; knees shoved under his chin, trying to make himself as small as possible even in sleep, protecting himself from an invisible foe that Robert couldn’t see.

Then he cried out, a horrible strangled half-scream that set every hair on Robert’s body on end, and he reacted without thinking; he sprang, shoving Aaron hard onto his back with one hand, the sudden force of movement waking him instantly with huge, gasping breaths and round, fearful eyes shining wet and glimmering with pain.

“Robert,” Aaron whimpered, arms flailing against the pillows as he came fully out of sleep - and then he started to sob, tears cascading down his cheeks and soaking the collar of his pyjama shirt, a ratty old grey thing with a large hole in one of the armpits that Robert remembered he’d snorted at when Aaron had put it on earlier that night. “Robert, Robert-”

“Sssh, sssh sssh,” Robert soothed, reaching up to bury his fingers in Aaron’s hair and stroke through the sleep-mussed curls, rough with frizz but silky soft against his skin at the same time. He kept his voice low as he spoke. “It’s okay. It’s alright, it was just a dream. Just a nightmare. S’okay.”

What Gordon did to him is real, though, his mind supplied bitterly, and a flare of anger rose up within him, hot as a live flame. He hated the man. Perhaps there had never been anyone he’d hated more, except for maybe his own father.

“M’scared of him, Robert,” Aaron sobbed, crying into the pillow, which kept his voice muffled but still audible. “He’s gone but I’m still so scared.”

“I know you are,” he replied quietly, matter-of-factly, without judging or bias. “I think that’s understandable, no-one will judge you for that.” A beat of silence followed, Robert keeping up his carding of Aaron’s hair, the way one might comfort a crying child but - more. Always so much more.

He dropped his hand suddenly, opening up his arms wide. “Come here. Come here, right up next to me, as close as you can get.”

Aaron looked up through wet eyelashes, wary, then wriggled across the gap between their bodies, shifting so that they were toe-to-toe and he was so close he could feel the heat radiating off of Robert’s sleep-warmed body. 

“Closer,” Robert whispered, “like this.” He reached for Aaron’s arms and wrapped them around waist, pressing his palms flat against the expanse of his back, bringing their hips and chests together. He wound his own arms around Aaron and pulled him towards him, then threw one of his long legs over his hip, drawing him so close that Aaron lay against him from crown to toe and their hearts beat in synchronisation between them. 

Robert craned his neck and rested his chin on the top of Aaron’s head, dropping down momentarily to press a quick kiss there. 

“There,” he said, “is that better?”

“Yeah,” Aaron snuffled gratefully, his hands clenched into fists on Robert’s chest. “Yeah, loads. You’re so warm, it’s - it’s nice.”

“Good. That’s good, Aaron,” he wriggled closer, pressing his cheek to the top of Aaron’s head, and tightened his arms around him. He let out a contented sigh. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“I know,” Aaron said, “And you do.”

“He won’t hurt you ever again,” Robert said quietly. “I promise.”

But the promise was unheard, because Aaron had already fallen back to sleep.

ii.

Waking up in a sun-warmed room as the first light of morning started to creep through the curtains, the duvet tangled around his shoulders and the heavy, deep breaths of the man he loved filling his ears, Aaron thought he’d never had a better start to any kind of day. Not in a long, long time at least. 

One arm was slung around Robert’s waist, fingertips brushing the material of the pyjamas he’d borrowed from him the previous night, just under his ribs and he could feel the rise and fall of his breath, a soothing rhythm that reminded Aaron of where he was, who he was with, and how everything that had felt so lost and directionless for months and months had finally sharpened back into focus with one clear sight eclipsing everything; Robert.

Robert, his Robert, his husband, back home. With him, where he belonged. 

He moved closer and wound his arm tighter around Robert’s waist, burying his nose in the crook of his neck. Call him weird or sentimental or soppy, but he’d always loved the way Robert smelled; clean, fresh shampoo, heady cologne, the fabric softener he always insisted on putting in the washing machine even though Aaron moaned that it made his clothes smell like a flowerbed. Warm skin and freshly-brewed strong coffee, real Italian leather and the citrusy spray he always cleaned the inside of his car with, reminding Aaron of oranges and lemons ripening under a hot sun somewhere tropical and far away from Emmerdale, somewhere they might go eventually, just the two of them...

“Stop sniffin’ me, it’s a bit creepy,” Robert mumbled sleepily, as always sensing Aaron’s presence in that particular way that he did, and always had. “If the guy I pulled last night turns out to be a cannibal, I might have to go back to Mike the chef.”

“Ha ha,” Aaron said sarcastically. “Don’t even joke about that, as if I’m ever lettin’ you go again - which is never, in case last night wasn’t enough proof for ya.”

“I remember,” Robert sighed fondly, and Aaron knew there was a hint of a smile around his lips. “You shouted at me in the street.”

“Yeah, bit embarrassing that, wasn’t it?” Aaron joked, fake-cringing, and Robert’s chuckle vibrated through his chest and into Aaron’s own. God, he’d missed that sound, deep and rich and mellow like honey. 

“Not to me,” Robert said seriously, quietly. “I’ve - I’ve never felt more special than that moment when you opened your mouth and started saying all that- what you said about me. You make me feel - well, not an entire waste of space.”

“I love you, ya muppet,” Aaron said simply, kissing the back of Robert’s neck softly. “What d’ya think I went to all that trouble for yesterday if I didn’t?”

“You’re Aaron Dingle and you like a bit of drama?” Robert suggested. 

For that, Aaron kicked him lightly in the back of the shins. “Oi!” Then he kissed Robert’s neck again, harder, letting his beard scrape against the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, where the ends of dark blond hair curled in close like wisps of cotton. 

“Love you,” Robert murmured. 

“I love you, too,” Aaron said back, resting his cheek on the jut of Robert’s shoulder, letting the beat of his heart in the line of his jaw lull him back to an easy doze as he thought of the silver rings stashed away beneath an old cushion in a drawer, and the question he was going to ask Robert when he woke up for real in just a few hours’ time.

iii.

The sounds of the woman they’d rented the cottage from receded slowly as she turned in for the night, the sound of the door closing between her house and the one in which they were currently staying letting a wash of relief flood over their tensed, highly-strung bodies. They lay side by side, cheeks pillowed on folded arms, just looking at one another, neither daring to be the first one to slip into a slumber lest they waste the precious minutes and hours they still had.

It was early evening still, warm orange light washing the room in a golden haze and the sound of twittering birds could be heard outside the window. The only other sound was the faint ticking of a clock, the burble of water pipes, and the sound of their breathing in unison as they drank each other in.

The bed was small, just large enough to fit them both if Robert drew his knees up like a cat curling up in the sun; their socked feet brushed together in a way that made Aaron giggle when the sensation made his toes tickle, and his nose wrinkled up with mirth whenever it did. It was a sight that drew an ever-wider smile from Robert, who stared and stared at his husband without so much as a blink or a flutter of an eyelash, wanting to commit every detail of his view to memory, just in case...

...In case it all went wrong.

The thought was painful, unbearable. Optimism and hope had to mask the fear that had settled in Robert’s stomach like a stone, threatening to bring him to his knees at any moment. He’d made Aaron stay in the living room under the pretence of getting him to relax while he made them brews, so he wouldn’t see his hands shaking as he poured out coffee and stirred spoons of sugar into the mugs. And he’d ran the taps in the sink at full blast and pretended he was washing his hands afterwards, when in reality he didn’t want Aaron to hear him being sick because of the anxiety that buzzed under every inch of his skin.

“What are you thinking about?” Aaron asked. 

“You,” Robert said sincerely. “Us. How much I don’t want to lose any of this...time, when we’re on a clock.”

“We won’t. We’ll be together forever soon, you and me, and it’s - I’m got gonna lie, Robert, it’s going to be absolutely terrifying, at least at the start.” His lips quirked up into a slight smile. “But we’ll have each other. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters now, yeah?”

“You’re the very best part of me, Aaron Dingle,” Robert said hoarsely, reaching to take Aaron’s hand. He reciprocated, twining their fingers together so tightly that nothing could get through them, not even the evening half-light from the sun that was slowly setting behind the window blinds. Their matching rings shone, glinting like cut diamonds, throwing sparkles of light into their eyes. 

They saw nothing but each other, the vast, unknown future ahead of them another day’s problem. For now, they both rested their gaze on their joined hands, keeping themselves connected and intertwined, until the very last minute when they’d have to break apart. 

But they’d never be apart again, not for the rest of their lives.

[fallenfurther]

Phantom - Part 4

The final part and I finally fix the Scott I’ve messed up. I hope you’ve enjoyed this whump as much as I enjoyed exploring the topic. It seems fitting that the last part being posted on a tough day, after this whole story coming about after one. Thank you to everyone who has read it.  Part 1 , 2. and 3. 

Many thanks to @photowizard17 for proofreading this for me.

*****

The next day was spent setting up Isla's lab. Most of the things she needed were either available on the island or easy to ship in. Scott placed an order for what they didn't have. It was a small room, but Dad hadn't allowed one of the larger ones to be used. Isla insisted it was fine, so Scott didn't make too much fuss. There was a rescue that day, and Scott watched as Alan flew Thunderbird One. Isla stood beside him as his Thunderbird flew out the pool. They had gone straight to his room afterwards; Scott needed the time to calm down. It hurt so much, not being able to fly. Even maintenance was out of bounds for him. He was so frustrated, but Isla stood by him and helped him calm down. 

The day after that was his first appointment with the psychiatrist. Isla stayed behind, using the time to focus on her project. Grandma flew him out and sat in the waiting room. He told the man about the nightmares. Scott felt better admitting them to the professional. That became the discussion of the hour. Grandma treated him to a coffee and a cake in the local coffee shop before she flew them home. It felt wrong sitting alone in the back, so he sat in the co-pilot's chair, though he had to promise not to touch anything. Just before he got up after landing, Grandma put her hand on his leg and squeezed. She smiled at him. 

"I'm proud of you, Scott."

The words sunk into his heart. He wanted to get better, he had to. He couldn't stay grounded. They walked through the hanger together, before he left her to head to Isla's lab. Scott didn't miss the change in his Grandma as he left her. 

*****

Scott settled into a routine. He'd have breakfast with Isla, before spending the morning in the office doing the Tracy Industries work Dad had given him, before having lunch with Isla. They'd then spend the rest of the day in her laboratory, Scott cleaned beakers and took notes to help her out. He knew so much about her project now; he could advertise it. He'd continued to donate towards her research, although now he donated his time too. It all went through the official routes and some was spent by the others in the Isla’s research group. They were all working towards the same goal, but from slightly different angles, in the hope one would get it to work. Scott just enjoyed Isla's company. They would then have dinner together before relaxing in the evening. 

Twice a week he saw the psychiatrist. Whoever was free would fly him out. Mostly this was Dad or Grandma, with Virgil occasionally volunteering. John was never down, and Scott couldn't remember the last time they had spoken, but it couldn't have been that long ago. Gordon and Alan tended to stay away, apart from the one-time Alan had to take him to his appointment. Alan had changed the topic whenever Isla came up, to the point of asking for silence. Scott had been shocked but could see the way Alan gripped the controls. Scott didn't want to hurt his little brother, so he held his tongue. Those were the tough days, the days his brothers seemed distant. Alan often looked at him like he was a stranger, which hurt. Especially when he and Isla joined in the movie night. Slowly they stopped joining in, preferring to watch films alone in the round house. Scott had to admit, he was spending more and more time up there, away from his family. He would fall asleep with Isla on the couch. He had stocked up the kitchen, so they didn't have to eat with the others. Isla seemed okay with the arrangements. She wasn't bothered that his family never warmed to her. She repeated the same phrases over and over when Scott brought it up. 

"It was always going to be this way, Scott."

"They were never going to welcome me."

"They're just worried, Scott. You're not well."

"You knew this would happen."

Yet Scott didn't understand. He knew his psychiatrist was trying to get him to comprehend something, but Scott just couldn’t see it. Isla wouldn't say it out loud and his family tiptoed around him. So Scott just continued with his routine. Occasionally he'd get angry at the situation, other days he'd watch Thunderbird One leave the island without him and just sit on his balcony until Isla came to fetch him. She looked after him, making sure he ate and slept. The nightmares still came. They were starting to take their toll. Months without sleep and his body and mind were tired. There were days when he just couldn't focus on his work. He knew his productivity had dropped, but he was powerless to help it. He told this to his psychiatrist. He liked talking about Isla, though Scott couldn't always take in what he was saying. There had been multiple mentions of residential treatment, but Scott refused. He wanted to stay on the island. 

*****

Isla wasn't in her laboratory when he looked in having just returned from his latest therapy session. For the first time in a while his heart didn't race at the thought of not knowing where she was. His mind was still focused on something his psychiatrist had said. Something had been awoken in Scott's head. Something he didn't want to think about, something he knew he had to acknowledge before he could get better. It was the cause of the nightmares. Scott headed up through the villa and took one of the paths up to the cliff. He knew Isla would be there, gazing out over the ocean. He'd shown her this spot. This little sanctuary he often retreated to when he needed to think away from distractions. She gave him a sad smile as he sat down beside her. The wind whipped their hair and their eyes met. His hands shook.  

"I can't stay, Scott."

"You don't have to go."

"Yes, I do. Your family needs you."

"But I need you."

"Do you still believe that?"

Scott stared into her sorrowful green eyes.

"Yes."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're lying to yourself, Scott. Admit it."

Scott's voice caught in his throat. His hands shook and he could feel the tears forming in his eyes. He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to face the truth. His eyes turned to the sea, rough and expansive below him. Scott had to admit to the truth. That's what Daniel, his psychiatrist, had said. He had to acknowledge the truth. 

"I'm dead, Scott."

Scott shook his head, eyes on the horizon. His heart breaking. 

"No, you're not."

"I am. You know I am."

"I need proof." 

Scott turned to her. Her black hair was flying wildly but her green eyes held steady. 

"Prove to me that you are dead."

"Tomorrow."

Isla got up and left Scott, who continued to stare out to sea. The cold of the wind was seeping through his shirt, but he relished it. It matched the pain he felt. His world was starting to crumble with the tears that slipped down his face. 

*****

Scott sat in Tracy One. Grandma and Virgil were in the cockpit flying him out to the meeting. It was a break in his routine. Isla was sitting in the chair next to him. Scott didn't know what to say. The conversation from last night was still fresh in his mind. The plane shuddered as it hit some turbulence. 

"Why are you here?"

"Because you want me here. If you don't want me here, I could go."

Isla stood up and a familiar panic filled Scott. 

"You don't want me to go."

Scott shook his head. He still wanted her. Isla was real. She was real to him. Was that not enough? Why could no one else see that she was real?

"You know I'm not, Scott."

*****

Daniel met them at the airport, but it was Isla Scott followed to a graveyard. She walked through it confidently, heading straight to one headstone. She stood before it expectantly. Scott came up behind her before kneeling to read the name etched into the black stone. 

Isla Howardson

The date of death is exactly a year ago. The dread fills Scott. His lungs craved air which he pulled in with short sharp breaths. Tears filled his eyes. She's been dead a year! How? Scott fell to the grass. He knew how. 

He thought back to a year ago. The rescue that had gone so horribly wrong. She'd been trapped but was unharmed. Isla had been fine until he'd turned up. She had been lively, joking about the situation like Gordon often did. She hadn't been scared. He'd decided to take her the shortest way out. Flying Thunderbird One remotely, he'd tried to lower the safety grapple in the hopes to raise them up. Not the best, but he'd done it on other occasions before with great success. That time Thunderbird One had lost air, an unexpected wind swinging her to the side as they were on the end. The cable had swung against the wall and Isla's head slammed into the cold hard rock. Scott had grabbed her, kept her from falling, but the wound bled. Her body went limp in his arms. Scott had gotten them out and he had rushed her to the nearest hospital. It had been touch and go, but the staff had sent him away. They had told him to leave her in their hands. The guilt had stayed with him. They had operated on her to try to ease the swelling on her brain. At debrief, John had told him she hadn't made it. Scott had struggled with the guilt, the events replaying in his mind. He re-lived the various occasions when people had died in front of him, or because of him. He had blocked out the trauma. Hidden it away until his family started to see it months and months later. 

Scott looked up. Isla had been replaced with Daniel. More tears fell as the man bent down and placed his hand in Scott's shoulder. 

"Do you remember now? Do you understand what happened?"

Scott nodded. He couldn't speak it yet, but he knew they would discuss it eventually. 

"She was all in your head, Scott." 

Scott nodded and resumed gazing at the name on the stone. 

"I'll give you some time."

Scott just sat there. His head started to run over the past year, trying to see Isla as dead. Closing his eyes against the thoughts of what his family had seen. All those looks started to make sense. Footsteps came up behind him. He wasn't ready to go yet. 

"Did you know her?" A familiar voice asked. 

Scott wanted to ignore her. She wasn't real. He had spent a year relying on someone he had made up. But the question was weird, it didn't make sense. He glanced over his shoulder and there she was. Except instead of jeans and a crop top, she had on a flowery summer's dress. The only time he'd seen Isla in a dress was at the gala. The other strange thing was the glasses. Her green eyes were gazing down at him through thin black frames. There was a sadness in her expression and a warmth in her eyes. In her arms was a bunch of white and purple flowers. 

"Briefly." Scott replied.

"She was a wild one, wasn't she?" A small smile came to the woman's lips. 

"Yes."

Scott was confused. The woman placed the flowers down, before taking a cloth out of her bag. She started cleaning the grave. He glanced over towards the path where Daniel was standing. He nodded. 

"You look like Isla."

The woman stopped. She gave him a curious look. 

"You really did only meet her briefly, didn't you? She normally brags about how different we are. I'm her identical twin, Sophie."

Sophie held out her hand and he took it. She felt real. He suddenly realised he'd never touched Isla. So many times he had stopped himself just before contact was made. Suddenly he had so much to ask. He had a deep need to know Isla, the real Isla, to separate her from the person he'd made up. Sophie finished cleaning the grave and placed the flowers in front of it, before sitting beside him. He was gawking at her. 

"I miss her. Did you know she was rescued by International Rescue? She would have loved that. Bragged about it. She would have told me, and anyone who would listen, every single small detail. Would have gone on about it for years."

"You still think positively about International Rescue?"

Scott had to ask. Did she even know the circumstances? They sometimes received hate mail from grieving loved ones. Was she one of them? He wouldn't blame her. 

"Why would I? They were there when no one else could be. They gave her a chance. I'm glad she wasn't alone. I sent them a thank you letter a few months back, when I finally felt able to. I know it's not enough but it's all I could do."

Scott turned back to the grave. He had made up Isla as a way to cope with the trauma. One trauma too many. He had wanted Isla to live so much that he'd saved her the only way he could. He'd made her alive to him. Yet in doing so he'd forgotten himself and pushed away his family. 

"Thank you."

Sophie smiled at him. "If you ever want to talk about her, just message me."

Scott nodded. He said goodbye and headed to Daniel. He took one last look back. He finally knew he was on the road to recovery. 

*****

Three months of treatment and Scott had slept two weeks without a nightmare. He had consented to residential treatment after visiting the graveyard. Daniel had supported him through it, and it had helped him break the habits he'd developed over the last year. Slowly, Scott felt better. He saw a grief counsellor, who helped him come to terms not just with Isla's death, but the others he'd seen, and prepared him for the ones he was going to see. There had been so much to unravel but seeing the way his brothers reacted when they visited was worth it. He set up a weekly gaming session with Alan and was back to going to every family film night, no matter how awful Dad's film choices were. Daniel had advised against getting in contact with Sophie again, not wanting to trigger a relapse, but he had visited her research team. Scott continued to fund their work, as a way of keeping her legacy alive.

He was now back on the island and setting up a new routine. It would go out the window the minute he was cleared for duty again, but it kept him busy. He had finally taken Virgil up on the offer of a trip in their small plane. Virgil refused to relinquish the controls when Scott complained about it being a big tease. His hands itched for the control, stirred by the sensation of flying, and the adrenaline it released into his system. Virgil just grinned at him and Scott knew he was beaten. Dad had even let Scott sit in when Alan tested Thunderbird One's newly repaired engine. Scott needed to feel his ship again, and was impressed at how Alan's handling had improved. Three more weeks of waiting. In three weeks they were going to reassess him for missions. Scott was counting the days. He was on the road to recovery. Soon he'd be well enough to be a pilot again.

[laityashes]

The Adventures of Batgirl and Supergirl

Chapter 3

Leaning on the crystal rail of the balcony, Kara is transfixed upward into the darkness of the night sky. The stars glisten in a bright luxuriance. The inhospitable arctic of the Fortress of Solitude preserves a sky undesecrated by the lights of human civilization.

The kryptonian's gaze is enraptured by LHS 2520, a star in the Corvus Constellation. A red dwarf star so meaningless to scientists it's simply denoted by letters and numbers. Not worthy of being given an earthly name, only nominal enough to categorized and cataloged in some obscure astronomical journal. LHS 2520 located 27.1 light years away from Earth. A star that once held her whole world, but is now no more than small star that unaided human eye can not even see. Even with the vision granted to her by the yellow radiance of Sol, her own vision only sees a small glistening speck in the black abyss.

"Rao, Mighty and Eternal, I pray you earnestly cast your light upon the steps of Aunt Astra. Let your light illuminate the path of the righteous." Kara spoke aloud, her native tongue sounding foreign to her ears.

With a dejected sigh, the faux-millennial turns her gaze to the rough waters of the arctic sea. Before she goes back inside, she breathes in of the unique scent of the air outside the Fortress of Solitude. Once back inside the fortress, she goes through her bedtime routine, before finally taking the sleeping pills she and Kalex had concocted to assist her with falling asleep.

With her blonde tresses splaying across her pillow, Kara aches in her sleep. Her legs vigorously kicking the blanket from her body. She tosses and turns in the midst of a nightmare.

Upon her arrival to planet earth, feeling lost alone, and so afraid, she clung to her memories of Krypton. She clung to memories of their traditions. However, as the years passed, little details about her culture, and her parents, would slowly disappear. She couldn’t remember if her dad had an upturned nose, or if he would get dimples when he smiled. Little things would be devoured by this new planet she was forced to live on. New faces obstructing her recollection from memorizing her parent’s features.

With the loss always at the forefront of her mind, an image of her parents decorates the crystal wall above her bed. The image is reassuring. It captures her parents features where her memory starts to fail. Her room is similar to the one she had on krypton. It was round in shape, and even had similar steps that descended down towards the floor.

Kara, staying true to who was, manufactured a way to access images of her relatives. These images could be accessed through a hologram projector she and Kalex had built. She could even access Jor-El's Memory Hologram from Kal-EL's pod. Currently, while she slumbered, the hologram projector displayed an image of Rao. The projector had the capabilities to even mimic the red star’s rays if Kara desire it.

The little robot servant, Kalex, contained in his programming scores of recorded Kryptonian music. And, he would joyfully play different songs for her. He even celebrates Kryptonian holidays with her, and guides her through prayers she may have forgotten. The fortress was Kara’s only solace from the confusion that surrounded her on planet earth. The sanctuary for where she could be who she was, or at least what she use to be.

Following in Clark's footsteps, Kara pursued Journalism in college. She graduated college with a degree in Marketing and Journalism. And with her connection to Clark Kent, Kara landed a job CatCo. Clark had simply flashed his sheepish grin at Cat Grant, and, viola, Kara had been given a chance by Cat Grant. A one week chance, to be precise, and if she did not perform, Cat Grant vowed to fire her. By he end of the week, Cat Grant was smitten with her docile, and people-pleaser, of an assistant.

Unfortunately, Cat Grant, and her keen sense, was the reason for why Kara required an apartment in National City. She was why Kara kept up the appearance of living in National City. The Queen of Media would no doubt be suspicious if Kara had a P.O. box address on her drivers license or as her home address in her employment paperwork.The loft in National city was spacious, had abundant natural lightning, but it never felt like home. Never felt even remotely like to krypton compared to the Fortress.

Recently, the herone has learned when her pod had crash to Earth so had Fort Rozz. She had somehow led them out of the phantom zone with her and onto this planet. To add to her abd hand, all those prisoners were sentenced there by her mother. It was part of why Kal-El had set her up in a nearby orphanage when he found out, instead of keeping her with him. He wanted to keep her safe from the prisoners at Fort Rozz. Unfortunately, one of the prisoners on Fort Rozz was none other than her aunt. Secrets spilled from her aunts lips that pierced Supergirl`s already tattered heart. Now, Kara couldn't even bring herself to look at her mother's memory crystal. Her family was not the noble house she was led to believe it was. on top of that, her Aunt was set on taking over plant earth in some misguided ecological righteousness.

~~

Aliens.

Bruce was right, they`re a wild card.

Maniacs are one thing. Flying aliens bent on mind control, definitely not the way Alex thought the week was going to go. Drug lords, crazy murderers, Eco-terrorist, and all the other filth in Gothem, that was a given. Rarely have they ever encountered an alien predicament in Gothem. It just wasn't a thing.

After Narrowly dodging a pair of heat vision beams, Alex is once again that day thankful for Bruce's insistence upon the rigorous training. Training to be prepared for scenarios like this. As Batman predicted, She couldn't always rely on her stealth to be her winning hand, not when her enemy could see through walls or even smell her from miles away. Let alone, fly faster than a speeding bullet...

After ducking again, and strands of her hair being singed, the red-head rolled behind a pillar. A red and blue blur in her puerperal vision caught Batgirl's attention.

"Astra, please, stop this," Came a familiar voice. Superman's Protegee coming to the rescue. Alex would've been lying if she said she wasn`t relieved to see the super.

"Little one, stand aside. I don't want to hurt you," the Kryptonian general replied. Her eyes glowing red hot at Supergirl.

Ignoring the plea, Kara edged forward to her aunt. "Aunt Astra, please. This is wrong."

With the solar enegry fading from her eyes, Astra meets her niece halfway. Gently caresses Supergirl's cheek and tucks a blonde lock behind her ear. All the while, her eyes are cold with resolve, only softening minutely at Kara, her only surviving relative of her bloodline.

"Can't you see these humans are going to destroy their planet, much like how our people destroyed ours. I let one planet die, I will not do so again," Astra declared. "Why do you side with Kal-El? With the Humans? You deserve better." Turrning her hand over, Astra trails the back of her fingers down Kara's cheek. Her eyes searching the blonde's for some understanding. "He has no meaning of the value of blood. If he did then---"

--brightly colored balls rolled across their feet, interrupting their conversation. Rolling to a stop, the bright orbs commence in deluging the vicinity in gas.

Green gas.

Supergirl grasps at her throat. She can hardly breathe. Her form curls over in pain, the sclera of her eyes burns, and her vision blurs. As she processes what has transpired, the blonde stumbles forward latching an arm around Astra's similar arched frame. Kara strains her eyes peering for a way out. The gaseous substance is like a ghostly fog blanketing the interior of the warehouse.

"It's...thinner...this way," Kara gasps between strained breaths and points in the direction of where Alex is located.

Astra is the first to step forward, seemingly hauling Supergirl with her despite the earlier intention of the younger alien coming to the aid of the elder. Shivers similar to weak convulsions rack the blonde's frame as they stumbled toward a portion of the Wayne Enterprises facility less saturated with the aerosol.Like dry leaves falling off a tree, they inevitability fall. Kara slips from Astra's hold first, collapsing to warehouse floor with a thud. Unable to stay upright without the other, Astra falls to her knees beside her niece's prone form. Before giving into oxygen deprivation, Astra wraps her form protectively around the Girl of Steel. She slips into unconsciousness with more ease knowing she has Kara in her arms.

A bone chilling laugh echoes. Bouncing from wall to wall. A manic laugh. One which would make any in the bat-family stiffen. Images of Barbara Gordon and Jason Todd flash through Batgirl's mind. A severed spine and a beaten corpse. The hairs on her neck stand on end and unbidden chill runs down her spine.

The Joker.

This whole thing was a trap.

Suddenly, Alex's head wretched backward, and a pair of blue eyes meets her.

"Puddin', look who I found!" Harley Queen exclaims. The blonde clown wears a sickening smile of glee.

"Look at that, I got a three for two special," comes a deeper voice from behind her. Emerging from the green mist behind her in bold and brazen attire is none other than the Joker. "Batman doesn't like it when I kill his pets. Tch, tch tch, seems he hasn't learned his lesson."

Breaking out of her stupor, Alex flips Harley over her shoulder, slamming the blonde into the floor. She turns to face the psychotic man, her eyes gleam with anger. She rushes forward, a remote taser patch in hand, eager to plant it on monster before her. Only, in her dash, the Joker waves at her with a beaming smile, next thing she knows she's staring up at the ceiling, lights are spinning, and the tail end of a body hitting the floor hits her ears. Her head feels moist with something, before everything goes black.