#trying to get me to coordinate with others turns into a dumpster fire fast because i do things in janky ways based on feel

[catenary-chad]

It is funny being very much aligned with “heavy machinery enthusiasts” and not at all an actual theater kid in this fandom. I don’t have terribly strong opinions on stuff like singing and choreography beyond “this is more/less entertaining than x” and I’m weird about acting in that I take even “bad acting” at face value and will just treat that character as being insincere or unstable. I can even be weirdly enthralled by it and wildly extrapolate from it, it’s happened with other media.

Meanwhile I’ll get pissed at stuff like “electric train cheating vs steam going uphill” and “midcentury carbody engine that can actually go backwards” because it’s blatantly wrong in train terms.

[renaroo]

Day 7 AU: All These Things About Destiny

Disclaimer: Batman, Superman, and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Canon-typical violence & language Pairings: Helena WaynexGalatea/Karen Starr Rating: T Synopsis: [Mixed Earths AU] Helena Wayne’s time as Robin has been marked by trials, but probably none more than meeting a clone of Kara Zor-El, former Supergirl, who needs some guidance of her own. Helena WaynexGalatea. Sapphic September: Alternate Universe.

A/N: I basically made an AU by going “I really want Helena Wayne in the main universe, but I also want to keep my Power Girl/Huntress ship. So then I created this monster and I kinda love the concept now. This is the new future of Gotham. Hope everyone likes it, because that’s just what it is ;P

Robin was not supposed to answer the signal without Batman. But that was only the first oddity of the night.

The commissioner raised an eyebrow at her but Robin stood her ground, hands solidly on her hips and gaze set forward. Appearances were important. And she needed the appearance of confidence and certainty so that she was not turned away out of principle.

“Where’s Batman?” was the expectant question he started with. “Or Nightwing?”

“Batwoman couldn’t make it either,” Robin informed him without hesitation. “But don’t worry, Commissioner, I’ll handle whatever it is you needed.”

She could tell by the way he looked at her, by the way his eyes shifted away from her and around the rooftop, expecting something, anything more than just her, that he was going to make their night unreasonably difficult. But Helena held her ground and her breath.

She was Robin. She had this.If only the world trusted her enough to let her.

“You know, it wasn’t that long ago that Batgirl was… different, too,” the Commissioner pointed out.

“Things change,” Robin answered, cocking her brow. “Justice stays the same.”

Internally she cringed the moment the words came out of her mouth. It reeked of trying too hard and she fully deserved the odd glance over it earned her. Damn it damn it damn it!

“Apologies, Commissioner,” a deep and familiar voice spoke from the shadows, immediately causing Robin to bristle. Nightwing, wearing his black and yellow uniform, hood over his head, stepped forward. “Enthusiasm is a trait that is desirable and unbecoming at the same time.” Her half-brother then gave a knowing glare over the Commissioner’s shoulder directed right at Robin. “She probably gets it from her mother.”

While the officer’s back was turned, Helena took the opportunity to drop her facade as Robin and petulantly stick out her tongue at Damian, giving herself bat ears in their unspoken tease over how the would-be Bat still hadn’t achieved what he probably saw as his ultimate achievement of the mantle itself.

Despite his obvious refrain, keeping a collected expression as he listened to the Commissioner, Nightwing’s fists were shaking at his sides, which was all the indication Robin needed that she was successfully getting to him.

“There has been a string of suspicious activity reported around the East End, mostly in the area that was damaged during the last flood,” the Commissioner explained. “Mostly in the areas where damage was bad, but not enough to condemn or evict tenants. Which has made some people fairly unhappy.”

“Lexcorp,” Nightwing determined. “They seemed fairly intent on purchasing all of the damaged areas from the recent disaster. Wayne Enterprises has been in a bidding war.” Nightwing looked steadily to the Commissioner, attention completely off of Robin. “Let me guess. Small fires. Electrical outages. Anything to ruffle feathers of insurance companies.”

“We don’t have solid evidence,” the Commissioner warned. “And it would have to be damn good evidence to tie Lexcorp into it at all. Which is why I’d prefer to have this handled close to the belt between us—“

Robin didn’t waste time, she knew where she was heading. And with the men’s attention elsewhere, she easily fled from the rooftop down into the back alley of the police department where a few leaps from window to window got her quickly to her cycle. Just like she wanted.

It was her time to shine, and driving as quickly as she could toward Crime Alley was the only way, for certain, that brothers and fathers wouldn’t have time to get in her way.

She was born for this work. Born to do it solo — not with Nightwing, not with Batman, not with the Batt or Batwoman or Batgirl or even the new Commissioner Grayson. She was born to show everyone that being the youngest child did not make her the least child.

Helena Wayne was the daughter of the original Batman and Catwoman. She had walked tight ropes since she was two. She had gotten a black belt when she was seven. And age thirteen? She was going to take down the world’s self-proclaimed criminal mastermind, Lex Luthor.

It was her destiny to be great. And the opportunity had just presented itself to prove herself accurate.

The compound had been all she had really known. She was self aware, a part of her could acknowledge that to other that statement might have seen overtly sad, but it wasn’t for her. It was just a fact, and it was a fact she hadn’t minded.

She was provided everything in the compound, and the only love she had required to that point had been from the father she had always had since the first moments of her cloning process — Doctor Hamilton.

He provided her with everything, pointed in a direction for her to go in, and she obeyed. She gladly did anything for him.

Perhaps that was why, then, the man behind their program had taken such offense, such that he would take Hamilton away from her and hold him over her head so that he would do her bidding.

“Did anyone see you?” Luthor asked the moment she flew into his penthouse from the balcony.

Luther was only a human, only a man. Galatea could destroy him with a wrong glance of her heat vision, freeze his heart with a cold breath. But then he had proved to her that he was the only man in all the world who could return her father to her. And for that alone, she kept him alive and kept his agenda.

“No,” she said simply. “I used heat vision to warm the circuits until they sparked. Like the others, the building will have a fire and the inspection will show that it was the building not being up to code. Another easy buyout fro Lex Corp.”

“My dear, when you say things like that, it makes them sound downright simple,” Luthor said, some amusement in his voice. He turned, a wine glass in hand. “To another successful endeavor.”

“Doctor Hamilton’s release?” she cut to the chase.

“Such a one-tracked mind,” Luthor said, displeasure read on his face like a map. He put one glass of wine on the desk behind him. “You have such loyalty to him. He merely handled the test tubes, you know. It was my research, my company, my funding that led to your creation.” He stopped and looked over her before sighing and walking away. “I should have stepped in sooner. I thought coming clean about your origins a year into your existence would be better than it had worked with Superboy. Obviously I miscalculated and should have come in even sooner.”

Galatea rolled her eyes and put her hand on her hip as she looked off. “So you’re not going to let me know where he is again? I’m getting tired of this game.”

“We both are, dear,” Luthor said. “One last building. I have it sent to your GPS already. You can take care of it tonight if you’re feeling bold. I would go for something more fast acting than the old wire trick. Both to resolve my impatience and to get your job done all the sooner. Then we will have the good doctor’s whereabouts all but revealed to you.”

Distrusting but eager to fulfill her last mission, Galatea pulled the GPS from her belt and looked at the new coordinates. With a small leap, she was hovering above the floor and ready to fly off. She gave Luthor one last look. “I expect answers, Luthor. You call yourself my creator, but you’ve not been my father. Don’t forget that. And don’t forget what I can do to you if you’ve hurt him.”

“My dear, I would never dream of going against my word,” Luthor assured her.

Unimpressed, Galatea began flying out through the same balcony she had come through. GPS in hand, she was ready to the last building on her list.

Closer to the neighborhood which she almost always had been sent to, she could hear the sirens of firetrucks, no doubt responding to the new fire caused by her actions. A frown worked itself onto her face despite herself and she looked forward, ignoring it the best she could. She flew lower, so as to avoid drawing attention, keeping to the shadows of buildings and alleys.

That seemed like the best way to not be seen in Gotham, but then again, she should have known that compared to the residents, she was very unskilled at the task.

With a yell, someone small but wearing very heavy cleated boots came flying from the shadow above Galatea, landing a stomping kick down on Galatea’s back.

It obviously was not enough to hurt the cloned Kryptonian itself, but the surprise and power behind it sent her flying off course, crashing down to the alley floor as her attacker backflipped off and landed on the edge of a dumpster.

The attacker was masked in shadows, only white eyes really standing out as they glared at Galatea. “I was responding to a fire alert,” the gravelly, trying too hard voice of the girl in shadows said. “Wasn’t expecting to see a culprit fleeing from the scene.”

Galatea growled and got back into the air, contorting herself to get a clean shot of her heat vision at the girl in shadows. “I don’t have time for your justice-for-all nonsense!”

The girl flipped out of the way, coming out into the light enough to show off her red-yellow-green colors. “No nonsense, just justice!” she shouted as she threw out a series of Batarangs which Galatea shot out of the air with her heat vision.

Only, the batarangs didn’t simply drop from their trajectory as Galatea hit them. They exploded, blasting her in the face with a thick, unusual dust that immediately began to clog up her nose, mouth, throat, and eyes. She coughed, choking on the substance and clinging to her throat just before the vigilante got a few more kicks in. Enough to knock Galatea back.

“Heat vision, flying, invulnerability it looks like — it’s like punching rocks. You’re definitely Kryptonian,” the girl spoke out loud before backing up, fists raised. “But no S. You’re not from the House of El… some prisoner freed from the Phantom Zone? A long lost fugitive? Time traveler?” She stopped and tilted her head. “Clone?”

Angrily, Galatea forced her eyes open despite the burning and shot another bolt of heat vision in the girl’s direction only to be dodged again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the annoyance said before landing behind Galatea and knocking her to the ground again. “Okay, clone, why are you in Gotham? What’s your connection to Luthor? Why are you destroying this neighborhood? Or are all of those answers to my own questions?” She said cockily. “Better answer. Or don’t. I’m a detective, I can find it all out even without your help. I’ll just get the Justice League to take you to prison while I work on it.”

Finally adapting to the particles, Galatea spat out what parts of it had been clogging her throat and mouth before she reached back and grabbed the girl by her kevlar covered neck, then she flipped her over onto her back with a hard THUD.

With the other girl down for the count, Galatea roughly rubbed at her eyes and nose, clearing them of the substance. She then, red eyed and sniffling, stood over the girl, looking at the R emblem on her chest. “You must be Robin, of Batman and—, interesting,” Galatea deduced while the vigilante caught her breath. “I could take my turn beating you up, but I think there’s a better solution here for both of us.”

“I prefer getting punched to being someone’s partner, but sure, we can try it your way,” Robin replied breathlessly.

“You’re a detective,” Galatea continued. “You can help me find where Luthor is hiding my father, and I’ll turn over all the evidence and testimony you need to tie Luthor to the string of arsons and building collapses the East End’s had in the past month.”

Robin tilted her head. “What, seriously?”

“Seriously,” Galatea answered, holding out her hand. “Galatea.”

For a moment, it seemed like Robin was going to stubbornly refuse the offered hand, but then she at last took it. “Robin. Of Batman and— but I’m solo tonight. Which is fine. Because I’m the only one you need.”

“Alright then,” Galatea agreed, a smile growing on her face. “Let’s find my dad.”

For the fifth time that night, Robin looked down to her wrist and say an urgent alert message. One for each sibling at that point. When she grew tired of seeing the flashing, she reached toward her gauntlet and began to block Red Hood’s signal the same as she had all the others. How they got Jason involved was beyond her, though.

Just before she could turn off the signal, the Kryptonian clone — Galatea — was flying alongside her R-cycle and giving her a confused look.

Looking back, Helena squinted at her. “What?”

“Are you ever going to answer those? They’ve been going off since the moment we decided to work together. It’s… distracting,” she relied simply.

“No,” Robin said, blocking Red Hood’s signal and concentrating on the road.

“Turn here,” Galatea ordered her. “The best way to get into Lex’s penthouse is to fly up there. Through the balcony.”

“Fine,” Robin replied, turning into the alley and beginning to reach into her utility belt for her grappling gun. “Which floor is it? I’ll adjust my trajectory and—“

It took everything within Helena to keep from yelping as the Kryptonian scooped her up, bridal position, and began flying her toward the balcony in question. She struggled, wriggling as much as possible to break free only for the Kryptonian to give her a curious look.

“You’re too tense,” she said.

“You’re too— I could’ve gotten to the penthouse on my own!” Robin snapped back, glaring at Galatea as she tried to kick herself free. Again, it was like hitting rocks.

“If I drop you, you’ll be a pancake,” Galatea informed her.

“Cats always land on their feet,” Helena responded without hesitation.

“Robins are birds,” Galatea snickered to herself as she slowed down and began to land on the balcony in question.

“Shh!” Robin whispered to the super powered teenager before finally breaking free of Galatea’s hold and flipping out of her grasp. She landed perfectly and began looking around the darkened room. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously

“Is this what detective work looks like?” Galatea asked. “You seem to have those shadows really on the run.”

“Hush, you,” Robin hissed, carefully walking further into the room. “This is about stealth. We don’t want Lex or any of his cronies to know that we’re in here and that you’re going rogue.” She reached into a different pocket of her utility belt and pulled out a penlight. Twisting it on, she then looked around the large space, searching intently for a desk or any sort of tech she could get into.

Unable to help herself, Helena’s lip curled at the glassy furniture and white frosted decor. “Ugh. He’s renting from Cobblepot. Of course he’d rent with Cobblepot until he had his own buildings in Gotham. What a…”

“None of this has to do with my father,” Galatea noted almost angrily.

“It’s called rapport,” she replied. “Robins are supposed to do that when they’re working together with someone. Put them at ease with some quips.”

“Right, well, you’re terrible at it,” Galatea said firmly. “I can tell that and I’ve lived my whole life in an underground bunker.”

“Hnn,” Helena said, glancing back toward Galatea. “Believe it or not, you and I may just have that much in common. Though mine was more… batty and… cave than bunker. Also there was a giant dinosaur and an even more giant penny.”

“That… sounds amazing,” Galatea partially gasped.

“Yeah, it wears off, though. Especially when your br… Nightwings overrun the place with animals and next thing you know the robot dinosaur is getting used as a chew toy for the bat-dragon and you’re still not allowed to get a horse,” Helena muttered, mostly to herself.

“Your life sounds more colorful than my bunker with my dad,” Galatea sighed fondly. “But he was so good to me. He… he’s my father. He’s my world. Even when everyone else saw me as a weapon or an experiment, he saw me as… he saw me as Galatea. And that’s the best thing anyone has ever seen me as.”

Turning around entirely, Robin faced the clone, looked deeply into her sad blue eyes, and smiled. “Hey. I can’t wait to meet him when we save him. But just for the record, he’s not the only one who knows you’re Galatea anymore,” she offered.

Galatea’s face lit up in response, but the moment did not last too long, as there was a glint of metal behind Galatea’s head that caught Robin’s eye as well. A laptop!

“Score!” Robin grinned, racing over to the bed and pausing to curl her lip again at the polar bear comforter that Lex Luthor was probably sleeping under. “Oh, gross. I’m personally going to skin Luthor if I get the chance.” She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the laptop.

“You’ll have to wait in line,” Galatea replied, punching one fist into the other hand.

“Right,” Robin replied, arching a brow before opening the laptop and sitting down on the floor with it. “I guess your father’s safety is more important than the preservation of endangered species, sure.”

Pulling a usb cord from her gauntlet, Robin then plugged into the computer and began allowing the ORACLE program to take affect. She was sure the actual Oracle was about to be incredibly pissed and discover that her system was being used without Robin so much as making a customary call-in, but such was life. Robin was solving her own case and getting her own pet Super on the side.

Tim Drake-Wayne, eat your heart out.

“How long will this take?” Galatea asked, hovering above Robin but likewise crossing her legs and sitting. “Every minute my dad is under Lex Luthor’s control is a minute he could be hurt or starved or tortured or—“

“It’ll take a few minutes, you have to give me time to figure out what I’m even looking for,” Robin responded. “Besides, it’s not like this is simple hacking. We’re talking about Lex Corp firewalls and technical protections. Not only am I trying to beat the clock, I’m trying to not disrupt more files than necessary so that they can’t see that we were here before we want them to.”

For a moment, it seemed that Galatea found the information disquieting. She then widened her eyes and hovered closer to Robin, being just over her shoulder. “Search for Project Nuvo-Gen,” she said with a sudden epiphany. “That’s the project for creating me. Anything related to me and Doctor Hamilton would be under that.”

“Alright, good,” Robin answered, immediately typing it in and being rewarded with a plethora of results from the Lex Corp server. “Gotta love Lex’s micromanaging, he’s got wide access across his entire company—“ She stopped, staring at the page in front of her. Her heart was pounding as she read over the name again and again. “This says Nuvo-Gen is being ran by Doctor Emil Hamilton,” she informed Galatea.

“Right, that’s my dad,” she insisted.

“But… that doesn’t make sense,” Robin muttered, head racing with all the files she had read through over the years of known Justice League adversaries. “He’s your dad? Emil Hamilton? Used to work for STAR Labs?” Before she could press further, though, a file change came up — something as recent as the last three days. Which was probably for the best since Galatea was getting visibly upset with the line of questioning. “Wait, it says here that you’re supposed to be field testing this month.”

“Yes, but my father didn’t want that for me,” Galatea explained. “He was going to get me out of the compound and we were going to try to live a normal life. We had all these plans—“

Robin’s eyes narrowed as she read the exact description on the file before her. “Live in a rural Kansas town on a farm, just the two of you?”

“Yes!” Galatea said, delighted. She then paused, realizing something was devastatingly wrong. “Wait. How did you know that?”

“Galatea,” Robin began, looking up to the clone. She was at a loss for words, not sure how she could even explain what the files were telling her.

Not that she had the time as she could hear the click of the door’s lock.

Thinking fast, Robin grabbed Galatea by the ankle and yanked her down to the floor. “Hide!” she hissed, sliding herself under the bed.

“What?” Galatea began before seeing the door knob turning. She then slid under the bed with Helena, crowding her.

“I meant your own place!” Helena hissed, pressing against Galatea to no avail.

They both went silent as the door opened, however, and two pairs of nicely dressed shoes entered and closed the door behind them.

“She takes too much time, though I appreciate how all of the buildings meet the perfect excuse of accidental substandard conditions, I doubt that it’s my preferences leading to the decisions being made by her,” Luthor’s voice said, walking around the room. “She’s doing it to make sure there are no casualties.”

“That’s what we would want from her, though, isn’t it?” a second voice answered. “Unlike the aliens we want her to value human life as much or more than her own.”

Helena’s stomach churned, feeling a cold, sinking sensation. She glanced toward Galatea in time to watch as her world fell apart.

“Daddy?” she whispered breathlessly.

“My life, Doctor. We want my life and my vision to be what she values above all else. And anything short of that would be disastrous to my plans for the future. Can you understand that?”

Doctor Hamilton sighed, sitting in a chair. “Of course I can. That’s what she was made to do. That’s why I earned her trust.”

Robin watched as the shock and tears faded from Galatea’s face and began to grow into something snarling, angry. A red glow was coming from them. “No,” she whispered. “Tea! Don’t—“

Before anything more could be said, Galatea flew straight up, flipping the bed over and hardly giving Robin time to move herself and the all-important laptop out of the way.

Both Luthor and Hamilton were shocked, but the only emotion that could be felt in the room was all from Galatea. Rage rippled out from her as strongly as the heat from her eyes.

“How dare you!” Galatea snarled. “Earn my trust? You created me! You gave me life! You were my father! Trust? You had my devotion! You had my love! And it was all a lie!? It was just a joke!?” she roared.

“Galatea! You’ve returned early,” Luthor said, cool as a cucumber. “I wouldn’t expect this sort of foresight and planning from you at this stage. But then again,” he looked over Robin’s way, his own lip curling in disgust. “I see the local pests have made their entrance as well.”

“That line might’ve worked if I was a bat or rat or anything, but who thinks of songbirds as pests, Luthor?” Robin quipped back. “Sounds like you need new material.”

“What he needs is a new face!” Galatea roared, zipping forward and surprising them all by grabbing Luthor and grabbing Hamilton by the collars of their shirts and flying out the balcony door.

That had been among the last things that Robin had expected and she had to recover from the momentary shock before making her way over to the balcony herself. “Galatea! Wait!”

She stopped right against the balcony railing, still five or so feet from Galatea and there she was dangling Hamilton and Luthor over the street.

“You want me to value human life less?” Galatea growled. “Good! I think I’m starting to see the appeal of it!”

“Galatea! You wouldn’t!” the ‘good’ doctor begged.

The clone’s head snapped in his direction, eyes aflame. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me! You never did. Just like I never truly knew you. If you did, you’d know that I’m not exactly feeling like not dropping you at the moment.”

“Galatea!” Robin screamed as loud as she could, getting the super girl’s attention at last. “He doesn’t know you! There’s no way they can. And they don’t deserve to,” Robin said, thinking quickly. “But I’ve met you just for one night and I feel like I’m getting to know you already. You’re eager, and thoughtful. You’re loyal and you love — you’ve just had the wrong people in your life to love until now.”

“Now you know me!?” Galatea snarled.

“No,” Robin replied. “I just know that the girl I’ve met tonight would never forgive herself if she did what you’re about to do right now.” Hesitantly, she offered out her hand toward Galatea. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t be what they want you to be. Don’t be a weapon. Be…. Be Tea.”

Lips quivering, Galatea slowly turned around, both Luthor and Hamilton in tow, and slowly flew back toward the balcony, dropping her head as she lowered them both to the ground and all but slumping over into Robin’s waiting arms after she released the men.

Helena was stunned at first but she quickly overcame it, hugging Galatea tightly and brushing a hand through the girl’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“You’re the first person to ever call me Tea,” the blonde sniffed against Robin’s shoulder pad. “I really like it.”

“I’m glad,” Robin replied before glancing up and seeing Luthor trying to make a break for it. “Hold on just a second, Tea.” She quickly pulled out her bolas and with one hand swung them around before throwing, wrapping around Luthor’s legs and causing him to face plant. “See,” Robin offered, letting Galatea look up enough to see her handiwork. “You were right, he will need a new face even without falling fifty stories.”

Despite her tears and sobbing, Galatea smiled and snorted through her crying, wiping away tears that she could. “What-what do we do now?”

“Well, we did our part,” Robin assured her, looking down to her gauntlet and activating the blue Nightwing signal rather than the yellow. “I think it’s about time the cops did theirs.”

Galatea sat on the sidewalk with her head low, more aware than she had ever been that the resilient material that made her compound’s testing uniform was abnormal and something that caught the eyes of others when in public. It seemed like each time she looked up, she caught someone looking back at her.

But no eyes were worse than that of her so-called father’s as he was pushed into the police car by none other than the police commissioner himself.

Lex Luthor was ranting to the available presses about there being “NO COMMENT” as he was put in a car of his own.

Everything was terrible and Galatea’s world was gone — she had never missed the bunker of the compound more.

What she didn’t expect was for Robin to come up behind her and drape a shock blanket around her shoulders.

“I don’t really get cold,” Galatea informed her. “I was put through subarctic temperatures once and was unaffected.”

“It’s okay,” Robin said, dropping to sit on the sidewalk beside Galatea. “Sometimes the things we need most aren’t really what we literally need. You know?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Robin’s frown grew, but in a move that was truly exceptional, she reached around Galatea’s shoulders and pulled the clone closer to herself in a half hug. “Well, it’s a good time to start. And I’ll help you out any way I can.”

“Do you really mean that?” Galatea asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Robin answered.

“Thank you, Robin,” Galatea said leaning forward and kissing her on the lips. When she pulled back she found Robin to be ramrod straight, eyes wider than saucers and face noticeably growing red. “Oh, Robin. I’m sorry. I thought that was how movies end.”

“Uh. Yeah. They sure do. Uh. Wow. Okay,” Robin sputtered incoherently. “Um. Let’s start at the beginning of this movie, though. Start over. Get to know each other. Have a stupid misunderstanding we fix up. That sorta thing.”

Smiling softly, Galatea put a hand over Robin’s and felt warmth spread through her when the other girl did not pull back. “If it’s all the same to you, Robin, I’d like to stay on this ending a little while longer. Just that way I don’t have to worry about reality a little bit longer.”

Robin wavered before nodding. “Yeah, okay. We should do that. We can do that. Plus I got to close my very first solo case. Take that, Dad! I mean Batman.” She hesitated before rubbing a hand down her face. “Ugh. My rapport.”

“Is getting better,” Galatea assured her, leaning in to lay her head against Robin’s shoulder.

If it was how Galatea’s recent chapter ended, she was glad to have it also be where the new chapter of her life — one that was free and open to the whole world outside of the compound — could begin.

[strivingscribe]

Salt of the Earth ~ Ch 007

Salt of the Earth by MsMoon

Chapter 7 ~ Nature vs Nurture

Chapters: 7/?

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,

Fandom: Young Justice

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Angst, Feelings? Violence?

Relationships: Nope.

Summary: After responding to an incident, members of the team are saved by an unknown metahuman. But no protocols are in place to deal with the series of unfortunate events that assail Anitia Moore. What exactly should the team do when a someone with powers needs training but doesn’t want to be a member of the team?

Author’s Notes: This chapter goes to all the introverted girls that wanna go home and decompress. 

PS: Sorry for the chapter title :| would you look at that, my soc major is showing. 

Please do enjooooy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 Sharon Moore trudged upstairs to her office, robotically calling hello to her employees as she passed them. She needed to finalize next week’s schedule, double check the status of deliveries, and most importantly… not think about how all her contingency plans weren’t going to be much good against someone like Batman.

  She practically collapsed in her office chair, glaring blandly at the computer as she turned it on. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light, or the lack thereof. She looked at the curtains, reminding herself that vitamin D was important.

  She took a deep breath, rising and plodding over to the window. She drew back the curtains and froze.

  ….she did not have the tools for this.

  “Hello, Ma’am.” Superman said, floating not far from the window.

  She closed the curtains and held them there.

  ….of the times that Sharon imagined a scenario in which a man would be conversing with her from a second story window, encounters with superhumans had never been on the billing. Of course, all those daydreams had been when she was much younger and had fanciful notions of romance.

  “I don’t mean to alarm you, Ma’am, but I can still see you.” He said from the other side of the notably flimsy barrier.

  No use in hiding.

  She tossed open the curtains and opened the window. “Exactly what are you doing here?” she demanded, through the screen.

  “I wanted to thank you…. You’ve raised a fine young lady.” His sincerity was palpable, and Sharon almost wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. She wanted to be angry at him… but…

  He was Superman…. Damn pseudo-fascist iconography and the heartstrings it tugged at.

  She hung her head. “Would you… like to come inside?”

  It was a surprisingly easy process, letting Superman into the upper floor of the Bakery unseen. They did, after all, have a fire escape up there. It was still peculiar to see him sitting on the dark teal sofa in her office…

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, not at all certain what exactly she should be doing.

  “No, thank you.” Again, Sharon was really conflicted. He was being… so polite. “You seem at a loss.” Oh. Great. He noticed. Of course.

  She let out a little laugh. “I…” she eased into her office chair. “I don’t know why you’re here.” she said at last.

  “I told you, I wanted to thank you. Your daughter saved my boy…” he smiled, looking a little chagrin. “Also… Batman can be a little ...intimidating. If perhaps, you were in need of anything, I could see why you might hesitate to contact him.”

  “We’re fine.” Sharon said, wincing at how defensive she sounded.

  Superman leaned forward slightly. “There’s no shame in admitting it.”

  “Admitting what?”

  “That you have a child with unique needs.”

  “All children have unique needs.” She argued.

  “Your child is not like most children.” Superman reminded, as if she needed to remember it. “I’m not trying to trap you or make you feel guilty.” he assured. “Anita’s circumstances have been brought before the league.” his words made her tense up. She could barely handle Batman, and here was Superman talking about the league. “We’re all very impressed with your home.”

  Sharon blinked at him, feeling dazed and disconnected.

  “Your daughter…. her reality is far from normal. But that’s never stopped you from trying to give her that. You’ve given her a safe environment where who she is doesn’t suffer from what she is.” He smiled sympathetically. “It cannot have been easy.”

  Breathy little laughs huffed out of her, and she felt her defenses crumble entirely. “I have never had the tools for any of this.” this admission is not an easy one, but it’s always accompanied with a resilient truth. “That’s no excuse. Not when she needs me.”

  “Sharon.” his voice was so clear and certain. “You do not have to do this alone.”

  Sharon steeled herself, because she could not, would not cry...in front of Superman.

  She took a deep breath. “What…” she clenched her teeth. “I suppose I know why the league would be interested in her. What I don’t understand is what you’re so worried about.” Sharon squinted at him, studying his expression. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s done the best she could with what she’s had. What do you foresee happening that has you so eager to offer help?”

  “I honestly don’t understand why we wouldn’t offer help.” Superman countered. “It’s fairly obvious that Anita’s abilities aren’t something that she understands entirely. If we can help her understand that, we can help her find a safe place in her own society instead of trying to hide from it the way that she does now.”

  Sharon frowned, her eyes downcast. She… she had taught Anita to be cautious, yes… what if that caution just led to her daughter into being afraid of the world? She thought of Anita’s habits and tendencies. Had she taught Anita that she couldn’t live her life?

  Her eyes rounded as cold dread seeped into her gut. All of Anita’s tendencies were bent towards restraint, stiflingly so… Had she taught her daughter to be afraid of herself?

  “We… we don’t have a lot of options… do we?” she realizes, woodenly staring at her own hands.

  “Your choices aren’t as limited as you think.” Superman assured. “Either way, you’ll have support.”

  Sharon considers this quietly before clearing her throat and determining, “Well… I have a feeling, I’ll be having a more in-depth conversation with Anita soon.” she sighed, sitting back against the chair back. “She’ll want to hide away in what’s familiar, but…” Sharon shook her head, propping an elbow on the desk and placing her hand against her temple for support. “..I just don’t know if that will continue to work for her.” Superman nodded. “I just… I don’t know…” she wavered, not certain how to voice her thoughts. “I don’t know what options she has.” she said at last.

  Superman smiles. “Perhaps… I will have that cup of coffee.” he says. “And we can talk about possibilities.”

  Sharon laughs a little when she realizes that even she hasn’t had a cup of coffee yet. The morning had been so robotic, she’d simply forgotten. Coffee sounded like salvation right about now.

  Of all mornings, this was the one in which Sharon Moore had left her phone ‘Do not Disturb’ feature on…. no alerts came when Anita sent her texts.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anita is fast and very coordinated. After darting into the alleyway, she finds and alcove and presses herself against the corner, flattening herself against the stonework of the building. At the moment, she’s out of line of sight from the street.

  She almost laughs at herself, because all she can think is the ‘It can’t see me if I don’t move’ line.

  She holds her breath when she hears heavy footfalls...boots. The sound draws closer, slowly edging near her little corner, until it stops.

  “Hey.” the statement, question, greeting, whatever? It’s Superboy, because of course it is. He’s just… leaning back against the opposite side of the corner that she’s pressed against.

Fuck.

  “Hey.” she says back.

  “You alright?” he asks.

  She nods, swallowing thickly before retorting, “I’m hiding in an alleyway from Superboy, so… you know. I have been happier.” He lets out a little snort of a laugh, which somehow eases her. “You?”

  “Not that great either, actually.”

  She blinks, focusing on him and letting the noise around them fade.. his breathing is labored. She swings away from the wall, peeking around the corner at him. He looks… worn out? Fatigued or something, maybe.

  Her eyes widen and she vaults herself across the alleyway, nearly colliding with the business corner of a dumpster. “Shit.” she hisses. “My eyes are still green.”

  He blinks at her, tracking her movements before squinting at her eyes. “Are they not supposed to be?”

  She shook her head. “I have light brown eyes.” she muttered, still stepping backwards to put distance between them. “Unless…”

  His eyes rounded, his eyebrows hiking up in realization. “Unless you absorb something like kryptonite?”

  “Shit.” she seethes at no one in particular. Really just the situation. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  “Wait.” he says, making to follow her.

  “Are you mental?” She growls at him. “I’m literally radioactive right now.”

  “Yeah, but…” he shrugs. “It’s not as bad as it was.” he admits. It’s true… he can stand and walk and talk and breathe. So it’s not bad. He still nauseous and he’s beginning to get a pounding headache… but he can cope with it. “Why is that?”

  She opens her mouth and then freezes, her teeth clicking together when she snaps her jaw shut. She crosses her arms tightly, and mutters. “Go away.” before turning and jogging in the opposite direction.

  “Yeah, fat chance.” he grumbles, jogging after her. His step falters after the first few, but he persists, unwilling to lose sight of her now.

  She hears him and turns, hopping backward a bit. “What are you even doing ?”

  “I’m staying with you.”

  “You don’t make any sense!” she squeaked. “I’m a pox, and you’re going to chase after me??”

  “We heard about Luthor.” He says, and she stops. She stares at him, completely inert.

  “You heard about Luthor.” she repeats, her tone dull.

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “I didn’t need superpowers to know that.” she says in that same dull tone. “But why were you…” her eyes narrowed. “Are you watching me?”

  His head lulled to the side a bit, his eyes sharpening as his lips thinned. It was a great, ‘really? that’s what worries you?’ expression.

  “Of course we’re watching you.” he says in such a dismissive fashion that she feels a little foolish. Or she would if she wasn’t utterly terrified. “What did he say to you?”

  Anita stared at him as she tried to process the question. She felt so numb, it was hard to understand works and make them.

  “I..” she swallowed. “Some… bullshit about scholarships and…” her eyes drifted, though she certainly didn’t see anything.

  “What?” Superboy asked, taking another step closer.

  Anita put her hand out and backed up till she felt the brings of the wall behind her. Superboy, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, and not wanting to be uncomfortable, backed up till he was standing against the opposite side of the alley. Distance did lessen the severity of the symptoms.

  “I think… I think he threatened me.” she said, processing the situation and the words he’d said. In retrospect, there was a thinly veiled threat in there. “He talked about my mother and brothers, and ...and said I’d want to keep them safe.”

  She suddenly felt like she couldn't get enough air, and the weight that had bothered her in her ankles felt too heavy.

  “Oh God…” she reached for her bracelet. Filtering the beads through her fingers, rolling them and then letting them fall before moving to the next set in line.

  “Breathe.” Superboy coached, and it was surprisingly comforting to have him here. “You’re safe.”

  “But they--”

  “They are safe too.” he interjects, in hopes that it quickly quells her panic. “We’re keeping tabs on your family.” He said this without really knowing if it was true. It was more a sense that Robin would probably have something like that in place. Her distraction allowed him to draw closer, her usual misgivings about their proximity a dull memory.

  “How..” Anita croaked before shaking her head. So many questions and she had no idea how to find answers...much less what she should do once she got those answers.

  “Anita.” He says her name, and she freezes. “That’s your name, right?” she nodded woodenly. He holds out a hand, as if for a handshake. “I’m Connor.” she winces back from him.

  “You shouldn’t…”

  “It’ll be ok. Trust me.”

  She eyes him and then his hand before timidly reaching forward to take it. She watches him, critically eyeing their point of contact before taking his reaction. Conner doesn’t feel that much worse, really. It’s just like standing next to her; a headache, upset stomach, there’s a faint sensation of cotton stuffed in his ears….sound seemed duller... but, it’s all manageable.

  “Nice to finally meet you.” he said, and she laughed nervously. He lets go, and though she doesn’t feel threatened, Anita still presses herself against the brick behind her. It’s less about him and more about the need to feel grounded. She had her breathing back under control, at least. “You were going home, right?”

  She swallows hard. “Yeah… It was that or the bakery, and...I really don’t want to be underfoot right now.”

  He nods. “Then here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to accompany you home, just to be safe. When you get there, you can call your mom, assuming someone from the team isn’t already doing that. I’ll keep watch outside your house.”

  “What??” she asked, trying to draw back, but he keeps his hold on her.

  “Just to be safe. Besides, if I’m outside and you’re inside, I probably won’t feel the effects of the kryptonite.”

  She takes a deep breath. “There’s really no point in trying to deny it, is there?” He doesn’t comment, aside from a wry smile. “You really don’t have to stay, though. I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “I’ll touch base with the team before I move on.” he concludes. She nods, and starts walking. He falls into step beside her.

  “Are you...wearing your shirt inside-out?”

  He shrugs. “Believe it or not, it’s usually enough for most people to not notice me at all.”

  “...huh.” is her only response.

  They walked in silence for a few blocks before Superboy said. “So...this thing you do with rocks…”

  She huffed out a heavy breath, but otherwise there was no response.

  “uh...How’s that work?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know how it happens, just that it does happen.” her tone is dull but unresisting. Her voice is hushed, as if she’s afraid to be overheard. Superboy eyes her, wondering how forthcoming she’ll be if he keeps asking.

  “You just...what? Suck up things from them?”

  “I…” she sighs heavily, shaking her head. ���I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’ll have to eventually, you know.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to right this second.” She grumbled. “Or that I have to tell you anything.”

  “You always this chipper?” Superboy asked.

  She smirked, and while there was plenty of derision in her posture...the expression wasn’t entirely a sarcastic. “Can’t be helped. I’m having such a good day.” she stops at a crosswalk, hunching her shoulders in a downward arc, her arms crossed over her belly as she damn near folded her torso in half.

  “Uh… you ok?” he said, wincing at the ineptitude of those words. Of course she wasn’t, and he feels like an ass for mentioning her struggle at all… but...how else can he figure out what’s going on, unless he asks?

  Her face settled in a pout before she grumbled. “Lead is a bitch.”

  He half snorted. “Tell me about it....but...I mean.. wait, what?”

  She groaned. “On the kryptonite necklace. There was lead.” she reminded. “Why lead, anyway? It’s not a decorative metal. It’s even poisonous to normal people.” she lurched forward when the walk sign lit up. “It kills my stomach.”

  “You feel the lead ...in your stomach?” he asked.

  She nodded. “It’s not even that it’s horribly painful...it’s just… jarring. It was worse yesterday, when the contact was fresh. Now, the crests are spaced pretty far apart.” she grumbles, then stops and turns to glare at him.

  He stares back, fighting the discomfort of those eyes. “What?”

  She huffed out a sigh. “You’re just…” her teeth clenched together. “...you’re surprisingly easy to talk to.” she muttered before she started walking again.

  “I...what?” his confusion at her statement was palpable.

  “I don’t talk about it. I never talk about it. Not with anyone except my mom.” she says, needlessly adjusting the right strap of her backpack. “I didn’t want to talk about it, and here I am talking about it.”

  “Well…” he wondered if he could reason her into opening up more. “I am one of the few people aware of the situation. It...could do you good.”

  “It doesn’t.” she bit out, looking away.

  “And maybe….maybe I feel a little guilty about it. I’m the biggest part of why you’re…” he jutted his chin in her direction.”Suffering?” he shrugged. “May as well tell me all about it.”

  She straightened her spine, rolling her shoulders back as she walked with her eyes forward. “Don’t be an idiot. Spreading the suffering around is no way to manage it. Besides, I’m responsible for my actions. No one else.” She shook her head. “Apart from that, talking about it is distracting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve keep asking myself one thing on loop… Why was I shaking Lex Luthor’s hand this morning?”

  He blinked, his eyes darting around them. Just the mention of Luthor made him feel twitchy. Like he was being watched down the barrel of a sniper’s scope.

  “Walking’s a good time to think.” Anita continued, her eyes sliding towards him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “The reason you feel guilty… it’s because I’m in pain after I helped you?”

  He blinked at her. “What are you getting at?”

  “There are three factors that connected to what happened yesterday. The asshole on the bridge with his death necklace, you and your group, and me in an imperfect disguise. I assume what’s left of the necklace is secure in your custody.”

  “It is.” he snapped, feeling strangely defensive.

  “Hm.” she grunted, looking forward again.

  “What are you fishing for?”

  “We can both assume that Luthor wasn’t angling to meet me for a scholarship, and it’s very suspicious that he’d approach me the day after that whole bridge thing.” she ground her molars, not sure how to continue. “Even if he doesn’t know about me, he knows something, and he wants something .”

  The question she wanted to be answered was… delicate. Or it could be. She assumed Superboy was here to help, but how far did this goodwill extend, exactly? Could he be provoked into changing his opinion entirely?

  “I guess what’s bothering me is… How Lex Luthor ties into all this? Assuming that he does… If it’s because of what happened yesterday, how is he connected to that? Could it be a coincidence?... That seems..” she shook her head again. “unlikely.”

  “Luthor owns most of Metropolis.”

  “Fantastic.” Anita spat. Again another wave of anxiety washed over her, her thoughts immediately centering on her mother and brothers.

  “It’s possible that he got something from traffic cameras, the way that Robin did….”

  Anita took a deep breath, gaining little comfort from the action. She still felt breathless, but she refused to submit to that panic. Now was not the time.

  “Batman did show up on my porch last night.”

  “That was a covert op, but… Luthor is resourceful.” he shrugged, feeling guilt creep up into his shoulder blades. “Guess he could’ve seen that.”

  “Do you think Luthor’s connected to the Mask-hole?”

  Superboy breathed out a tiny laugh. “Maybe. But… I don’t see how he’d know about you. We don’t even know much about you.”

  He watches from the corner of his eye as she chafes her own biceps as though she’s cold. “Yeah well.. me neither.”

  His eyes darted forward, away from her. To watch her right now...It felt… invasive. Like he was staring at her while she was having this vulnerable moment.

  “Now what?” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean.. I mean, how…” she shook her head. “I… I don’t know what to do.” she said, her tone distant, confused as she watched her steps as she was taking them.  “PVA26077.” she muttered.

  “What?”

  “It’s...an inside joke. Mom’s not overly worried about profanity now, but there was a time when it was on the list of things that’d get you in trouble.” she explained, sounding stronger than she had just a moment ago. It was nice to discuss something she had a decent grasp of. “Travis and I came up with a bunch of things to use instead of the standard cuss words.. that one’s one of the most colorful slurs.” She smirked. “Mom never got mad at those, because we used things like ‘Waterloo’ and ‘Witch Trials’... another way get Travis more interested in history.” she massaged her temples.

  “We don’t have contingencies for this.” she murmured. “Worst comes to worst, text plan zero to everyone, everyone comes home, we pack up and hit the road. No questions asked, let things run their course. Hire movers, sell the business, open shop in a new area…” she began to pant. “But… but Luthor’s reach is long. And even if he wasn’t a factor, the Justice League is involved now.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to run from us, alright?” Superboy reminded. “We actually want to help.”

  “To what end?” Anita cut in. “I don’t want to be a superhero. I just want to live my life in relative peace.”

  “Who says you can’t?” Superboy challenged, and she finally met his eyes. “We just want to make sure you’re safe.”

  SHe surveyed him for some time before she started walking again. “Something to consider.” she muttered, and it was really starting to irritate him.

  He knew there were a million thoughts cycling through her head, but she just wouldn’t say anything. She refused to say anything at all. Was it just how she processed things? Or was this a bigger issue.

  The two of them spoke very little during the time it took to reach the Moore house.

  “We’ll be around… you know…” Superboy shrugged.

  “If I should need you.” she said with a tiny smirk, and he had the distinct impression this was another inside joke.

  He nodded. “I’ll...check back with the team and… we’ll see you around.”

  She nodded, swallowing thickly before croaking. “Thank you.” She didn’t wait for a response before jogging inside.

  She didn’t see Superboy check his comm before jogging across the street. She didn’t see him leap away, because she didn’t look.

  Once inside she took a deep breath. The air in the house normally had a soothing quality to it. But something was off. Her head slowly rotated to the side, one ear cocked higher than the other.

  “...there are three heartbeats in this house.” she announced to the seemingly empty living room.

  The sound of footsteps from the kitchen made her eyes dart to that doorway. Her eyes widened as a well-dressed Lex Luthor stood there smiling at her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, I really have to get back to my African American history Pre-1868....even though it's lible to kill me :| 

[ouijasurfboard-blog]

a very first-drafty sample chapter from the middle of EACAG

Chapter 39: A Blanket Fort of Nonsense

(because of tumblr formatting, things previously in italics may no longer appear as such. gee, that sucks. hopes it still reads okay thanks for reading

)

Cody burst from the shadows and into the streetlight, clothes sodden and dripping, thinning hair pinned to his face. His left eye was squinted by a swelling purple bruise and his lip had been torn open. His hands were bloody, half of them clutching his ribs. Furthermore, and most importantly, he’d lost his glasses. “The hell happened to you?” He stumbled forward, gathered himself, and put a hand on the streetlight to keep steady. “Ellie—have you been following me?” There was stagger in his voice as well as his balance. “Dude, no, I—” “Stop following me! God! I’m never alone! Why is everyone obsessed with me? It’s like, ew, I can feel you staring. Sorry. We were having a good time, and then I threw up on you with words. I’m so sorry.” He hunched over and vomited off the curb. “Ew. Anyway. It’s cool that you were following me. I get it. Sorry for freaking out. You’re like… my cool, wacky mom who’s younger than me.” My idiot son wasn’t done vomiting. I moved closer. “Cody, buddy, baby, your glasses—” “Sooo, here’s what happened. Did I interrupt you? Sorry. Don’t care. I mean, I do care, but, like, oh right, so, my glasses. So here’s what happened to my glasses. I was out with the boys.” Cody definitely met all of these boys no more than eight hours ago. “And we were at this club, then the song comes on, you know the one, and then I sing along, and everyone’s like ‘woah Cody we didn’t know you were bleeblerhblerhwhatever’ because I don’t, anyway, so this girl is like, ‘blerhblerh hey youuuerrr good singer me and the ladies going to a karaoke bar’ and I was like, ‘hell YEAH’ so I get in this van, and they’ve got like beads and shit and erm-ermpheta-amphetamines and at first I’m like, ‘naaaw dude’ but then they’re like, ‘yaaaw, dude’ and so I’m gonna, but they, so like, my badge, my fake badge, ‘aaagh oh shit a cop’ so I get the SHIT kicked out of me by this old guy and these three girls and this HUGE guy, and I’m coughing up blood but THEN the BOYS show up, drag me back to the first club, and then I’m like, to uh, the bartender, ‘hey can I a doubleblerhblerhblerh’ and she’s like ‘duude yourr fuckin face go to a mirror’ so I go to the bathroom and my face is straight fucked to shit, Ellen, and, uh, like, my glasses, where are they, not on my face, that’s where, but it’s party time let’s go beast mode so I pound a few with the boys and then they’ve got this shit that’s on fire but the fire’s purple but so like what the fuck and I get something called a curb stomp and that might be where I went wrong but anyway so me and Ian are outside wrestling and I’m punching him and he’s punching me and I punch him in the face and I hear this crack and I’m like oh shit I just fucked up his face forever bye so I’m running and the boys are chasing me and I think I lost them a few blocks ago? Who knows anyway I missed you.” His whole body began titling forward, and I put a hand on him to keep the pavement from flying upwards into his already sufficiently fucked face. “So, how many boys are there, total?” He counted on his fingers, muttering names to himself, lost count, swore, started again, and answered, “uhh… six?” Whilst contemplating my ability to somehow arrange the inconspicuous deaths of six people, what I had previously disregarded as over-vigorous rainfall turned to be foot steps fast encroaching. A man came into view from behind Cody, looking only half as frazzled but thrice as bloodthirsty. “HEY YOU! DEPRESSING HAIR GUY!” Cody’s eyes went wide as insert tired simile. He grabbed me by the shoulders. “I AM GOING TO DIE.” I took his wrist and bolted. I made it about five steps dragging him as a sack of half-blind whining meat before realizing we wouldn’t get anywhere. That he had managed to evade anyone at all was a miracle. The man tore Cody away from me and forced him against a wall by his neck. It all happened at once: I went for his eyes with my fingernails, he booted me in the shin, I took his ear in my teeth, he dropped Cody and kicked me in the ribs, I fell away with a bloody ear in my mouth, air having departed my lungs entirely. I thought sadly to myself, whoops Cody was right on this one. I clutched my ribs and curled up on the pavement. This massive pug-looking guy raised his foot to stomp the life from me when Cody’s fist emerged from the shadows like a hairy angel and, at the very least, distracted him momentarily. He recoiled his fist in pain, probably having shattered something if his agh! was any indicator. “I’m sorry. I’m very drunk and nerdy and skinny,” he said, wincing with every breath. Cody got himself socked in the gut. “Why are you doing this? I thought you didn’t like Ian.” “Your face annoys me. It’s a real punchable face.” Cody sighed. “Okay. I get it. So—” He stopped mid-sentence to vomit. The man raised his fist. “Nononowait! Just… thirty seconds. Oh my god. So, yeah, sorry about your shoes, and sorry about my face. It just came this way. And… you can punch it until it isn’t annoying, but please don’t hurt my dumb friend Ellen.” “Dude! She bit my ear off!” “Yeah, she’s really, really dumb. She’s so dumb that I bet she learned her lesson just from those ribs you broke. You don’t even need to break her legs or kill her. Also, she, like, only has one hand and stuff, and she’s like, super super short, so it wouldn’t really be a fair fight.” “You think I care?” Cody glanced down at me. “Ellen. Bernie. You gotta—” He was interrupted by another blow, but I took his meaning well enough. There was a scared little kid in danger out there, and this jowly cunt wasn’t going to stop me from finding him and then subsequently hugging him and never letting go again. I forced myself off the ground, drawing attention away from Cody long enough for him to just kick this dude right in the balls. He recoiled only just very briefly, which was nearly enough time to evade him, but not quite. He kneed Cody in the groin. I was on my feet and this point, and with a stroke of luck, managed to once again kick this dude in the balls before he plunged his fist into my gut. Everyone involved, at this point, was very angry and in pain. Unfortunately, drunk Cody lacked the manic superhuman strength of heroin Cody and even the admittedly subpar coordination of sober Cody, so our combined force didn’t amount to much. Fortunately, pug-boy’s testicles seemed to be in a pretty hefty state of distress, and I saw his determination begin to falter. Unfortunately, the pain only made him angrier, and the anger only made him punchier. “I’LL KILL YOU!” he screamed. I tugged Cody away. “You gotta run, dude,” I told him, as though it would persuade his balance to be more compliant. He tried his best. He really did. The large and shouting man was ever on our heels. I dug my fingers into Cody’s ridiculous flannel shirt and held on for (his) dear life. He stumbled on every slight abnormality in the sidewalk. Every bump, every crack, every shred of litter was a hurdle. In the seven years that we’d known each other, Cody had lost his glasses twice. Once after passing out at an otherwise underwhelming party to find them two days later sunk in a half-eaten nutrient slab, and the second time after accidentally leaving them at his then-girlfriend’s cell to retrieve them the following week when she finally found them behind her desk (one of many small unfortunate happenings that ultimately culminated in their breakup). Both times, their absence had put his life on halt. I swerved around a corner, dragging Cody, who’d become a tearful limping disaster. This wasn’t really the place to admit that I’d forgotten where I was. The hotel was definitely on the same plane of time and space as us, and if we were lucky, within the same ten mile radius, too. Finding it again was a matter of endurance and favour with our respective personal deities. Cody and I scrambled wildly from street to street, looping around familiar sign posts sometimes deliberately but sometimes definitely not deliberately and ultimately just getting ourselves more lost in an effort to lose slobbery hulking pug-boy. Cody was panting and heaving like he was in labour. I expected him to collapse at any moment, and I wasn’t entirely confident in my ability to lug around one hundred and twenty-four pounds of bored astigmatic stoner over my shoulders whilst also running for my life. As was to be expected at this point, a dumb idea occurred to me. I swerved into an alley, optimistically refusing to check over my shoulder, and flipped up the unfortunately crusty lid of a dumpster. “Hop over,” I said to a barely lucid Cody. His immediate reaction was to take advantage of the sudden interlude in our running to throw up. He had the good sense to wipe his mouth afterwards, at least. “What?” I slapped my hand against the dumpster in frustration. “The dumpster! Get it the dumpster!” He nodded slowly. “Dumpster… yeah… good thinking, Helen.” His eyes fluttered closed. I shook him by the shoulder. “I’m gonna boost you up, okay?” He nodded vigorously. “Boost me up, Scotty,” he said, drooling and struggling to keep awake. I clumsily took his foot with the one hand and propelled him upwards with all the strength of five determined meerkats. He tumbled into the dumpster like a sad domino made out of jelly. I followed after him and let the lid clatter shut over our heads, pinching my fingertips as it closed. “It’s dark and smelly in here,” whispered Cody. It was reassuring to hear that he hadn’t passed out. “It sure is, buddy.” “We have to find Bernie.” I took this matter very seriously. “Or die trying.” He patted his hand around until it landed on my shoulder. “Don’t die for a goat, Ella.” I shrugged. “Gotta die somehow.” He withdrew his hand. Time crawled by at a drugging pace. There wasn’t a comfortable way to sit in a dumpster. I waited, distracting myself with memories and hypotheticals, occasionally nudging Cody to make sure he wasn’t dead. After my awkwardly-positioned legs and the odd metal shape jutting into them became completely unbearable, I decided it was as good a time as any to leave. “Time to sneak out, huh?” It was hard to draw a coherent image of what his non-verbal cues might’ve been in the dark, but I assumed he was shrugging. “I guess,” he said. I slowly raised the dumpster lid. Cody’s arms flailed over the side and he dragged himself out, limbs moving in a fashion more akin to an octopus than a think-piece writer. “Oof,” he muttered, tailbone hitting the pavement. I followed after him, stopping to help him to his feet. “We’re good, right? Yeah. We’re good.” I glanced around, scanning every detail of our surroundings that wasn’t obscured by darkness. Maybe we weren’t good. There wasn’t really an effective metric by which to tell. “We’re so good,” I reassured him, making the mistake of patting him on the back. He shrunk away. “Agh! My ribs,” he whelped. “I’m so sorry. Oh my god. Are you okay?” He seemed stunned that I cared. “Uh… I guess I’m good.” He evidently was not good. “Like I said! We’re good! Totally good!” Cody pouted, lip trembling. He folded his arms and stared down at his feet. “I wanna go to bed,” he said, voice straining as is its wont before one breaks down into sobs. “I really just wanna go to bed. Where are we?” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “Everything hurts.” He kicked his toes into the side of the dumpster, biting back a sharp gasp of pain as the joints in his foot staggered and crunched. The dumpster didn’t seem to mind, much, at least. “I got beat up by so many different people. Is my face really that punchable?” Cody fixed his eyes on mine, waiting for an answer. His features were crusted with blood and tightened in just, like, the saddest frown. His already prominent eyebrows were spiked in odd directions by the fray and beaded with raindrops and sweat and blood. His busted lip had stopped bleeding but promised a scar that wouldn’t be, I don’t know, pleasant. The rainfall and the brawling had done nothing for an already unfortunate hair situation. The spots above his temples and on the back of his head where his hair had begun to abandon him entirely weren’t quite as obscured by the eccentric volume of the rest of his hair, having been flattened and soaked. The real essence of his punchability, I decided, came from his facial hair, which crawled all the way up his cheeks and down his neck and always looked vaguely unkempt in a flippant I don’t even care, I’m just so cool and aloof and stuff kind of way that really miffed some people. He just looked smug. And as long as we’re bashing Cody’s appearance, his ears were a little on the big side. On top of it all, he was naked without his glasses. Truly, the man who always resembled a sad, hipstery less-hairy ewok had become the saddest, hipsteriest less-hairy ewok ever to ewok sadly. He didn’t really need to hear all that. “Not at all.” Not to me, at least. “You’ve got a super normal face.” You’ve got weird eyebrows. I mean, I like ‘em, but, buddy… And your eyes are kinda sunken. “Don’t worry. You’re cute.” “I’m cute?” “Yes. Absolutely.” He sniffled. “But, like, just nerdy cute, right?” “Yeah. It’s the glasses.” “But I lost my glasses…” “That’s okay. You’re still stoner cute.” “Stoner cute isn’t a thing.” “Uh, yeah it is.” “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Just, like, take a finger and fix your eyebrows.” He nodded and tried to smooth them into place. “Cool. Better.” I mean, his face was still bloody and swollen in places, but, eh. “Cool.” “Cool.” He sighed. “But, I’m not, like, hot, right?” “Eh.” He straightened his shirt. “Cool.” He swallowed another heavy breath to stop his quivering. “Cool cool.” Still unsure about his balance, I walked carefully and close so I needn’t reach far should he just, fuckin, like, fall right the fuck over. The buildings weren’t so unfamiliar now that they were more than just a blur in my periphery. We had made it more than a few blocks away from the hotel, but we hadn’t gotten ourselves as hopelessly lost as I had feared. We were just normal lost. “How bad’s your vision?” I asked. He looked down at me, face pale and still a little shell-shocked. “Like, bad.” “’Kay, but, like, bad bad or just straight fuckin blind.” “Uhh… I can’t read, can’t do details or things that are far away or things with small parts or operate machinery or coordinate well or grab things or write… uh… Actually, I probably could read if the letters were really big, but, uh, yeah. That’s it.” He would periodically reach to adjust glasses that weren’t there, dropping his hand sadly upon being reminded. Finding them became more immediately imperative than whatever other bullshit we were up to. Something to do with an organ harvester? Who knows. Bottom line was that Cody was, while not useless and still better company than no company (sixty percent of the time, at least), in very desperate need of his dumb thick-rimmed trendy-ten-years-ago glasses. “Can you still contact your optometrist guy?” “Optometrist? Dude, no, okay, shut up, it’s a good story, though, listen. So, I was walking… this was like, twelve years ago? Oh shit, I’m old… so, uh, I was walking… I already had glasses at this point, by the way. The school counsellor got me these shitty ones… anyway… So, I’m fourteen, walking on the docks, and there’s this bucket, and I’m like, oh a bucket, but then I got closer, and I was like, oh shit, this bucket is full of glasses. Mostly broken ones, right? So I’m trying them on, ‘cause, why not, and this guy starts yelling, ‘hey kid uuhhh so, like, that’s my bucket’ and he’s a scavenger, right? Because there’s like, also a bucket of shoes lying around and a bucket of tea strainers and whatever… So, I’m just grabbin a handful of not-broken glasses and running away because, like, I’ve just been coasting by at this point by cheating in school and I hold papers really close to my face… anyway… So, one of the pairs, like, work, I know, what the fuck, ayy, Mazel Tov, Cody can see. And, uh, yeah. I kept ‘em. Duh. The end. How have you not heard this story?” “I don’t ask you about—” “You don’t ask me about myself as much as you should,” he finished for me. He scoffed. “I dunno why, I’m preettyy interesting.” This wasn’t entirely true. The uh, me not asking him about himself part, not the him being interesting part. Actually, never mind, neither were entirely true. I felt like I knew more about Cody than anyone should know or care to know about Cody. There was a filing cabinet inside of my brain labeled ‘bullshit nonsense about Cody’s life’ take took up a vacancy once occupied by, who knows, how to negotiate a pay raise or how to budget properly instead of just hoarding money like a sad(der) Smaug. “You sure are, Cody.” “I bet that’s why I got beat up.” “Because you’re interesting?” “Because I’m interesting.” I nodded in agreement. That put a dumb short-lived smile on his face. He must’ve had some faith that I knew where I was going, since he didn’t seem to question it much. I was confident, perhaps (probably) over-confident in my sense of direction. It’s a finite space, I reasoned, and we can’t possible be getting further away. We could. In large, square-ish letters, the sign read INTERIM GARDEN HYPOTHESIS WAREHOUSE HOLE, flashing pink and accented with gold baubles. The door below was an archway woven with flowering vines and patterned ribbons, among them a smattering of just the most pretentious butterflies. The building itself was robed in an elaborate mural depicting a panel of dapperly-clothed animals seated at some sort of senate, all gathered below a three-eyed goat. The goat was crowned and sat upon a throne at the head of the senate floor. I felt viscerally unnerved. Cody squinted at the sign. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s some Noam Chomsky magic realism boho nonsense,” I assured him. We’d arrived in some sort of strange hellish Halsey-esque plaza where the stores were either barren and abandoned à la zombie apocalypse or teeming with aesthetically-bohemian taken-back-by-the-earth-and-also-Portland life. Roses crept down from windows and thistles jutted upwards from cracks in the pavilion. Entrances were attended by delphiniums and hibiscus sprouting beneath fern umbrellas. Ventilation shafts sighed baby’s breath into the corridors and blew nettles amongst the ghosts and husks of furniture. Christmas bells hung from streetlights and lilacs pooled amidst a collapsed fountain. Geraniums and lavender and ominous oleander waved us towards the Warehouse Hole. It was all very eco-chic. Cody ventured further into the flowery nonsense strip mall. “The colourful stuff is flowers, right,” he said, unimpressed. Pink light glittered against the blood and rain that painted him. “This is dumb. Like…” He gestured wildly at everything. “This is dumb. Are we lost?” Yes. “Pfft. No.” “We’re gonna find my glasses, right?” he said, talking to a mannequin. “It’s our number one priority.” He stumbled trying to follow my voice. “Okay. Cool. Good.” “Are you gonna be okay?” “Who knows? Maybe.” I brushed my hand along a white bouquet of Star-of-Bethlehem. “You know what? Not a fan.” The flowers looked to be watching me leave, which was the opposite of an appropriate flower activity. “It’s bright, it’s spooky… not a fan. Uh, not on board with this one.” Cody lost his balance on a root curving up from the pavement, catching himself on a wayward clothing rack. “Haha. Walking: hard mode.” He puked into a corner of unsuspecting irises and daisies. Regaining his footing was a matter of crunching a broken window beneath his sneakers and nearly becoming impaled upon an unfortunately-positioned upturned signpost. “Ellen, uh, seriously, where are we?” Interim Garden Hypothesis Warehouse Hole. “A blanket fort of nonsense.” He staggered away from the broken glass. “Oh. I hate blanket forts.” Drawn by the flashing lights, he veered towards the entrance to the Hole. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve been here. We’re lost, aren’t we? Uugggghhh, Elleeennn…” “We’re not lost! You can only get lost in the desert and in the ocean because everything looks the same. Everywhere else you can just backtrack.” “WE DON’T KNOW WHERE WE ARE!” “YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE!” “I’M LEGALLY BLIND!” I filled my lungs with pollen-dusted air, raising my hands in a calming arc, and sighed, ultimately doing nothing to lessen the tension. “Let’s just… go back the way we came, and figure it out from there.” “We’re going to the hotel, right?” “Hotel. Yes. Sleep. Then glasses.” I turned by back to the flowers, not without a pinch of regret that I wouldn’t sate my curiosity as to what the hell, I mean, just, like, what the hell, right? What’s going on here? The mural? What? Cody and I fumbled our way free of the Warehouse Hole pavilion. There seemed to be more flowers surrounding the exit than there’d been when it was our entrance. Watchful irises eyed our escape. The feeling of being spied upon lingered on the back of my neck. “Spooky, right?” “I don’t know, Ellen, my vision is shit right now, call back at a less shitty date, thanks.” The sign read ‘Zlotys St.’ but there was nothing zloty about it. A strange mingling of sprawling weeds and rain-freckled trash bags and masonry stained by a dazzling selection of mystery fluids coagulated, as it were, to form the district before us. Confused seagulls squawked overhead from the buzzing heads of streetlights. The first establishment past the plaza was a barber shop called Snippy’s which was attached to a laundromat called Swishy’s that itself was followed by a family-owned deli shop called Slicey’s. What humour! While the quirky fixtures of the city were as delightful as they were smelly, they remained unfamiliar and were of no help when it came to finding our way back. “You know, I should’ve bought a map,” I said, padding along, ducking beneath the odd awning to evade the rain. “You’re an idiot,” said Cody, who had had enough of life. “Nothing idiotic about being reflective of one’s past failings, amigo.” “You just never turn it off, do you?” “It’s called a coping mechanism, Cody. Look into one some time.” He sighed and picked up his pace, hand clutching his ribs as to, I assume, keep them from falling out of some open wound whose existence I wasn’t yet privy to. I caught up to him. “Are you good?” I asked. He remained visibly in pain. “I don’t know. No? Probably not. I just, ugh, I want to sleep it off, okay?” I frowned in pity at him. Whenever something adverse befell him on our dumb stupid completely necessary endeavour, I couldn’t escape my share of the blame. I was most worried in this moment that he’d finally gotten himself into a truly lethal pickle with those fisticuffs. Obviously, whatever happened, it was the boys’ fault, but obviously, it was really Cody’s own fault, but obviously, it was more than a little bit my fault for dragging him out here in the first place. “I know you’re gonna die no matter what and whatever, but I’d be pretty bummed if you died… soon…” “Thanks, I guess.” “So, please don’t die as a result of your injuries. The guilt would eat me alive, and it’s hard to effectively find a small, defenceless goat after you’ve been eaten alive.” “If you say don’t die or I’ll kill you, I will actually punch you.” Through the darkness and the downpour, it was hard to discern anything glaringly off about his appearance from the bored and tired norm. It was similarly hard to discern buildings we’d passed from ones we hadn’t. You could see the source of my predicament. I toyed with the prospect of returning to the Interim Garden Hypothesis Warehouse Hole for little reason beyond that it remained nearby and intriguing. “So, those flowers, huh?” I brought up out of nowhere. Cody scowled. “Hippies.” “But it was kinda neat, right? It was stupid—” “It was dumb as hell.” “…but kinda neat, though, right?” “I WANT TO GO TO BED.” I sighed and tugged my lips in a sympathetic smile. “Bed it is, Codes. Maybe tomorrow—” “Uugggghhhh, tomorrow suuucks.” “… after we find your glasses, we’ll, uh, we’ll pop by the warehouse.” The three-eyed-goat from the mural lingered on the back of my eyelids. Anything goat-related, at this point, seemed worth investigating. We turned a corner and Zlotys Street became a vaguely familiar cobbled road marked by a signpost that read Hellspring Rampart. To the right of us were brick-and-mortal buildings that stood as one long, undivided stretch of masonry, separated by interior walls rather than alleys. To the left was nothing but ocean. The sidewalk metamorphosed into the halfhearted suggestion of a pier underfoot. The black sky had waned into a dim grey and dawn loomed far off upon the waters. I knew Hellspring as the rickety cousin to the main docks where we’d arrived. I was confident that we were closer, now. “So, Codes…” “Ugh.” “What was the name of the club where you, uh… where you went?” “Uugghh… Uh… Okay. It’s called Boys Only Club, but it’s liiike, just the name. It’s not actually boys-only, right.” The whole situation was ruthlessly atypical of Cody. It was beyond strange for him to go out partying with strangers, let alone strangers of overbearing and loud masculinity. That was, until now, strictly my dominion. Of course, it was more than probable that the night’s unfortunate happenings had extinguished whatever curious appetite he might’ve had for the sort of debauchery he’d found. “How’d you end up there?” He scratched his head. “I probably walked.” “Yuh-huh. How’d you find, uh, the boys?” He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh, in a past life. “I have no idea!” His foot took a wrong turn and he nearly swerved into the ocean. I pulled him by his sleeve to my other side so I might act as a buffer between his shit balance and the sharks. “And what about, uh, those karaoke girls? What bar did you go to with them?” He gave me a long, condescending stare. “You think I know?” His glasses were lost as fuck. The brick buildings parted into the first alley we’d encountered for an irresponsibly long distance. It appeared as a long blue gash in the red walls. Banners and triangle flags and paper lanterns dangled on sagging strings overhead. A sign bolted in the bricks read LONG ALLEY. If you squinted, smaller letter inscribed below read *Beware rats; they’re not more afraid of you than you are of them. Quite the opposite, actually*. I shrugged at the warning. The end of the alley was bright and bustling, and the pier reached a dead end not far from where we stood. I decided on chancing the rats. Long Alley carried a thick, sickly, cinnamonny flavour in its breeze. Pipes coursed as veins along the walls, rusted and dripping. Cody trailed a hand on the bricks as he walked to keep from tripping again. The bricks soon gave way to doors and beaded archways into shops and things categorically near enough to shops to make no difference. Freckles of orange began to tinge the grey sky. “Hey Ellie,” said Cody with awkward, slow syllables. “What?” “You know what’s dumb?” “Probably.” “Well… I’ll tell you anyway…” He stopped, took hold of a low-hanging pipe, and threw it an accusing finger. “I can’t see or stand so good, but that is definitely a rat, and it is definitely following me.” The good and bad news was that he hadn’t been hallucinating from blood loss and exhaustion. The rat, a grotesque snow-white red-eyed creature of unusual size, glowered hungrily at Cody. It stood hunched on the rusted pipe, undaunted entirely by our presence per the foretelling of the sign. “Ohh, that’s a creepy baby right there,” I said, twiddling what few fingers I had in its direction. The rat stood still and stoic as a Buckingham Palace guard. “I don’t like you, pal. Don’t like those eyes,” Cody told the rat. “Go eat a cheese, ugly.” The rat wasn’t moved by his insults. “This is a nasty boy, Ellen. Let’s leave.” Cody shot the rat a venomous, knowing squint before shuffling along. The rat scurried across the pipes, following like a magnet. As we drew nearer to the end of the alley, more rats began to spring from the pipes and cracks in the mortar. Cody kept to the middlemost point between the walls, arms crossed crossly. Soon flowers began to wind down from the cracks as well, one for every new rat that bounded into view. My skin crawled. The alley spat us out into an overgrown pavilion bathed in the flashing pink light of INTERIM GARDEN HYPOTHESIS WAREHOUSE HOLE.