(FIC) Locker Room (Superman, Batman, JLA) PG
Today is el Dia de los Muertos, and I like writing a story for it every year! this year's was inspired by damos, who gave me the plot bunny, and by conversations with jij, who also did the kind beta. So, here it is. To the departed, with love.
Title: Locker Room
Rating: PG
Characters: Superman, Batman, JLA
Word Count: 1000+
Summary: There are places where you say goodbye, and places where you keep hope alive.
He walked into the locker room, leaving behind him the chatter and laughter of the crowded hallway with a smile on his lips. His uniform was dirty, the cape in tatters; the adrenaline high was starting to wear off for him, and he wanted to shower and go home, back to Metropolis, to his apartment and his routine and Lois, to the soothing embrace of the part of his life that didn't involve ripping robots apart, fighting giant alien echinoderms, traveling to other dimensions or timelines and, most fortunate, no magic.
Other than the magic of living in a world where all those other things were possible.
The locker room was quiet and cool, but not empty. He hadn't noticed when the other man had slipped away from the briefing -it probably had been right when the briefing had become congratulations and cheering and gossiping and laughter- but he wasn't surprised to find him here.
Sometimes you need a quiet place to talk with your friends.
He slipped his cape off and walked towards the bench where Batman was sitting, facing the locker's wall. The first time anyone saw the base of operations of the Justice League, it was hard to decide if they were more awed by the place -the possibility of its existence- or more scared by it. It was big, impersonal, more advanced and complicated than anything anyone had seen before, no matter what you had been in contact with. Each Justice League embassy was more complex than the one before, adding new features and rooms and alien tech. Each iteration of the team had been different, and each had built a home that fit their needs. So if you were new to it, you always felt completely isolated and out of place, until the process of assimilation was completed and the Justice League quarters became an extension of your home, of yourself. A chair with your name on it, your favorite food in the cafeteria, your training program in the gym, spare uniforms, a plant here, a picture there, games to pass the time during monitor duty, books you don't know who you borrowed from...
And then there was your locker in the locker room.
No matter how often they saved the world together, how dire the situation could get, it was always hard not to think about the team like your old gang from when you were a kid and the world was really exciting and full of adventures to be had. The hard edges of their responsibilities were always trying to smooth into the gentle curves of trust and family and friends, angled planes of duty forever curving with the certainty that no matter how bad it got, the team had your back. If you kept that in mind, it wasn't hard to understand why they left each other notes in the lockers. Juvenile jokes sometimes, but mostly encouraging bits or messages that weren't urgent enough to be relayed by commlink. Tokens of love and friendship, of sorrow, regret and forgiveness. Heartfelt confessions in sealed envelopes or bits of paper with doodles or a happy face. In-jokes, reminders, gifts.
Clark sat down next to Bruce, not touching. Bruce's look was pensive and far away, a private moment that needed no explanation for someone who had been part of the Justice League for as long as Superman had. Bruce's mouth twitched, the smallest of smiles, and he shook his head, his eyes never leaving the locker before him.
When Superman had returned from the dead, it had been a commotion. It wasn't every day that you could return to your loved ones after they thought they had lost you. The look on his mother's face, the tightness of his father's embrace. Lois's tears and laughter, his friends' cheers and words of joy and relief. Visiting his own grave had been surreal; he had faced his mortality, stared at his tombstone, read his name on it.
Superman could die. Who knew?
Not Clark, that was for sure. He had feared that he might have to face eternity fueled by the rays of the yellow sun that made life on his adoptive planet possible. And if not eternity, then something akin to it, waiting for his star to get too hot, too big. He could always escape the supernova and look for other yellow stars and then.. what? live forever? A wanderer of worlds, waiting for the end of all things? It sounded impossible; surely he could not live so long. But there was no way to know.
At least not until he had died.
It was selfish, to be glad that something that had caused his loved ones so much pain had given him such a moment of joy. To know that all could end, that it would not last forever.
When he had returned to the Watch Tower for the first time, he had been surprised to find his locker full of notes, letters, pictures and scraps. Like he had only left for a trip or an outer space mission. There were no goodbyes or regrets on his locker, those had been left at his grave. No, his locker was full of memories waiting for him to return, words of love and friendship, doodles and happy faces. A note from Hal that said 'We're getting tired of waiting. If you don't hurry I'm stealing your girlfriend.' Half a dozen cards with stick figure doodles from Ollie. Pictures of the team's Christmas party and Thanksgiving with the JSA with busy scribbles on the back. 'Sitting here watching the wheels go round' on the Thanksgiving one, a song he had had to sing after losing a bet to Alan.
'It's harder without you' on the back of the Christmas one, a security camera still with everyone busy talking and drinking and exchanging presents.
Next to him, Bruce shifted and hit the back of his gloved hand with a piece of glossy paper before reaching for one of the belt compartments.
He wrote 'Still in one piece' with the same thick black marker, the same busy scribbles on the back of his photos. He paused for a moment, turning the marker between two fingers, before adding another line. 'The chocos are piling up. Don't be long.'
He turned the picture, a still from a surveillance video that showed them as they arrived from battle two hours ago, eyes still wild from the adrenaline, their suits a mess, their smiles victorious. He stood up and slipped it inside the locker, nodding to Clark as he pulled the cowl back on and left the locker room.
Clark smiled, turning his gaze towards J'onn's locker, and decided to stay there for a while, taking advantage of the silence.
Sometimes you need a quiet place to talk with your friends, after all.
Title: Locker Room
Rating: PG
Characters: Superman, Batman, JLA
Word Count: 1000+
Summary: There are places where you say goodbye, and places where you keep hope alive.
He walked into the locker room, leaving behind him the chatter and laughter of the crowded hallway with a smile on his lips. His uniform was dirty, the cape in tatters; the adrenaline high was starting to wear off for him, and he wanted to shower and go home, back to Metropolis, to his apartment and his routine and Lois, to the soothing embrace of the part of his life that didn't involve ripping robots apart, fighting giant alien echinoderms, traveling to other dimensions or timelines and, most fortunate, no magic.
Other than the magic of living in a world where all those other things were possible.
The locker room was quiet and cool, but not empty. He hadn't noticed when the other man had slipped away from the briefing -it probably had been right when the briefing had become congratulations and cheering and gossiping and laughter- but he wasn't surprised to find him here.
Sometimes you need a quiet place to talk with your friends.
He slipped his cape off and walked towards the bench where Batman was sitting, facing the locker's wall. The first time anyone saw the base of operations of the Justice League, it was hard to decide if they were more awed by the place -the possibility of its existence- or more scared by it. It was big, impersonal, more advanced and complicated than anything anyone had seen before, no matter what you had been in contact with. Each Justice League embassy was more complex than the one before, adding new features and rooms and alien tech. Each iteration of the team had been different, and each had built a home that fit their needs. So if you were new to it, you always felt completely isolated and out of place, until the process of assimilation was completed and the Justice League quarters became an extension of your home, of yourself. A chair with your name on it, your favorite food in the cafeteria, your training program in the gym, spare uniforms, a plant here, a picture there, games to pass the time during monitor duty, books you don't know who you borrowed from...
And then there was your locker in the locker room.
No matter how often they saved the world together, how dire the situation could get, it was always hard not to think about the team like your old gang from when you were a kid and the world was really exciting and full of adventures to be had. The hard edges of their responsibilities were always trying to smooth into the gentle curves of trust and family and friends, angled planes of duty forever curving with the certainty that no matter how bad it got, the team had your back. If you kept that in mind, it wasn't hard to understand why they left each other notes in the lockers. Juvenile jokes sometimes, but mostly encouraging bits or messages that weren't urgent enough to be relayed by commlink. Tokens of love and friendship, of sorrow, regret and forgiveness. Heartfelt confessions in sealed envelopes or bits of paper with doodles or a happy face. In-jokes, reminders, gifts.
Clark sat down next to Bruce, not touching. Bruce's look was pensive and far away, a private moment that needed no explanation for someone who had been part of the Justice League for as long as Superman had. Bruce's mouth twitched, the smallest of smiles, and he shook his head, his eyes never leaving the locker before him.
When Superman had returned from the dead, it had been a commotion. It wasn't every day that you could return to your loved ones after they thought they had lost you. The look on his mother's face, the tightness of his father's embrace. Lois's tears and laughter, his friends' cheers and words of joy and relief. Visiting his own grave had been surreal; he had faced his mortality, stared at his tombstone, read his name on it.
Superman could die. Who knew?
Not Clark, that was for sure. He had feared that he might have to face eternity fueled by the rays of the yellow sun that made life on his adoptive planet possible. And if not eternity, then something akin to it, waiting for his star to get too hot, too big. He could always escape the supernova and look for other yellow stars and then.. what? live forever? A wanderer of worlds, waiting for the end of all things? It sounded impossible; surely he could not live so long. But there was no way to know.
At least not until he had died.
It was selfish, to be glad that something that had caused his loved ones so much pain had given him such a moment of joy. To know that all could end, that it would not last forever.
When he had returned to the Watch Tower for the first time, he had been surprised to find his locker full of notes, letters, pictures and scraps. Like he had only left for a trip or an outer space mission. There were no goodbyes or regrets on his locker, those had been left at his grave. No, his locker was full of memories waiting for him to return, words of love and friendship, doodles and happy faces. A note from Hal that said 'We're getting tired of waiting. If you don't hurry I'm stealing your girlfriend.' Half a dozen cards with stick figure doodles from Ollie. Pictures of the team's Christmas party and Thanksgiving with the JSA with busy scribbles on the back. 'Sitting here watching the wheels go round' on the Thanksgiving one, a song he had had to sing after losing a bet to Alan.
'It's harder without you' on the back of the Christmas one, a security camera still with everyone busy talking and drinking and exchanging presents.
Next to him, Bruce shifted and hit the back of his gloved hand with a piece of glossy paper before reaching for one of the belt compartments.
He wrote 'Still in one piece' with the same thick black marker, the same busy scribbles on the back of his photos. He paused for a moment, turning the marker between two fingers, before adding another line. 'The chocos are piling up. Don't be long.'
He turned the picture, a still from a surveillance video that showed them as they arrived from battle two hours ago, eyes still wild from the adrenaline, their suits a mess, their smiles victorious. He stood up and slipped it inside the locker, nodding to Clark as he pulled the cowl back on and left the locker room.
Clark smiled, turning his gaze towards J'onn's locker, and decided to stay there for a while, taking advantage of the silence.
Sometimes you need a quiet place to talk with your friends, after all.