Drabbles: [Young Justice] Unnatural + Not The Season
Title: Unnatural
Character: Conner
Word Count: 446
Summary: He doesn't feel human at all.
Notes: Um. DEEP.
Conner can never stop himself from becoming angry.
Everyone soothes him and tells him that it'll go away, to not mind Superman being a jerk, that things get better when the welt has had time to heal. They don't get it, though, no one gets at all that it's not all about Superman. It's like there's something fundamentally missing in him that they all seem to have. They know when things aren't a big deal, they know when something's a joke. They know when to stop being mad. And it's not like Conner's lacking on morality, because he's not about to go around killing people for the hell of it -- he doesn't want to do that -- but he doesn't feel human. He doesn't feel human at all.
Even the name feels like something tagged on as an aftermath. He feels like a half-boiled egg, cracked open too soon and incomplete.
Black Canary seems to understand more than anyone. He likes and respects her, but she's still human. She can't understand a creature like him, although she tries. But she's wrong about anger controlling him. It's just that it's the only emotion that's easy to express.
Conner tries to teach himself. He likes observing nature more than people - civilians are even more remote than his teammates. They move in zig-zags and do and say things he can't predict, they harm each other although they're complete in ways Conner isn't, and he doesn't get why. Shouldn't they be more grateful, more careful with what they have? Cadmus put images and knowledge of war into his head, but beyond all the various justifications it doesn't make sense. It's the icing on the cake, he thinks, that he can't even be a good weapon.
Nature, though, nature is easier to understand. Static on the TV screen - every single dot - everything has a place, a purpose. A place in a greater harmony and all the sensations, so much better than only images in his head.
The sharpness of the blades of grass in a field, the vivid hue of a sunset, the crunch of earth under his feet. It makes him feel like he understands, for a while, what it means to live and breathe and have a pumping heart.
He sneaks out of the mountain on rainy nights and heads up high. Conner loves the sharp scent of ozone, the drip-drip of water from his hair, the chill of water soaking his clothes. His senses are good enough that he can see each droplet on its own, falling in tandem with the others, perfectly formed, perfectly performing a duty, perfect in a way he's not.
Conner wonders what it would take.
--
Title: Not The Season
Character(s): Outside POV, Wally West
Word Count: 782
Summary: It's night when they bring the kid in, and unlikely that he'll ever walk back out.
Notes: Poor normal people dealing with superpowers and all that.
It's night when they bring the kid in. She's working an extra extra shift because why the hell not, right? It's not exactly the season for suicides or freak accidents, and the fact that the Flash has the city covered has lowered the rate of injuries related to crime.
So there's no explanation for that weird explosion, no explanation for the kid who's brought in skin seemingly sliced to pieces, so limp and tiny, blood mixing so well with the bright red of his hair. They stabilize him, narrowly, but she has to walk out and tell his parents that it's unlikely he'll ever walk again. He's 10 or 11, she's exhausted and not sure anymore, and there were some kind of chemicals involved in the blast or something. It's all she can say to them for sure.
She doesn't know if the child will ever open his eyes.
There's a red-haired young man sitting outside the boy's room when she comes to check on him. The man's face is drawn and grey, and he stares out blankly at the corridor.
"Family?" she asks gently.
His gaze jerks to her, lips trying to form something like a smile and failing miserably. "Yeah. I'm his uncle… or something like that." He sighs. "Barry Allen. It's nice to meet you. I wanted to thank you for all your help, but I didn't want to leave him…"
"It's all right. He'll be pleased to see you when he wakes up."
Allen turns to look through the glass, at the little form under the sheets surrounded by machines. "When he wakes up," he echoes.
She tucks her own sadness at this sorry situation under the comfortable blanket of professionalism.
"You know," Allen says, voice flat. When she turns to look at him he's put one hand on the glass, fingers splayed. "I feel like this is all my fault. I - I work at that lab, you know? And Wally's so smart. It's as though he-- nevermind."
The kid gets a lot of visitors. And for all that Barry Allen comes often, he's not there when she steps into the room to check vitals and green eyes blink at her inquisitively.
"Wally?" she says quietly.
"Hi," the boy answers. He really has startling green eyes, she thinks. " 'm in a hospital?"
She nods. "Yes. How are you feeling?"
"Like a champ. Except… I can't feel my legs. Oh." He pauses. "I can't feel my legs. The experiment-- did my Uncle Barry come?" he demands.
"You couldn't get the man away from this place. He's just not here right now, okay?" she soothes. "Can I check your heart, sweetie?"
It's only when she's back out in the hall that she smiles because hell, miracles do happen! And the kid sounds fine, he's alive and it doesn't seem like there's any ill-effects from the chemicals so far. Certainly, his deep calm about his legs is strange. But she's been at this job long enough that she's seen it all. Frantic children, children in silent shock, children showing maturity beyond adults when it comes down to it - Wally West is a perfect fit for the last category, with his red hair and freckles and solemn green eyes. She only hopes he'll be able to cope with his new life without legs.
But then it gets weird. Really weird.
Over two weeks gashes that should have scarred turn to light pink lines when they change his bandages, and then disappear completely. Whenever she checks his heart it always seems to be beating frantically and she orders tests on him, but there's no explanation and the kid doesn't look as though his heart is working overtime. Just weird.
He's cool as a cucumber for 10 years old, chatty and clever, words slurring into each other more and more. And the family's gone completely mum, ignoring anything her colleagues say. That uncle is always in there, speaking with the boy quietly.
One night she's checking his vitals again. It's the same weirdness as always with the boy's heart beating fast, his skin now completely healed. He'll probably be out of here soon, weirdness be damned, and although it creeps her out there's no question that that's a good thing.
She thinks he's asleep until his little boy voice breaks the silence.
"The explosion. That big boom in the lab. I did it on purpose," he says sleepily. "I did it to myself."
"What, Wally?" she says, alarmed.
"I don't regret it at all. And I'll run out of here, really really fast. Like Uncle Barry. You'll see." His eyes close.
She never does, though.
The next morning the kid's gone like he was never there at all. She never says anything to anyone, and never takes that extra extra shift again.
And/or comment! ♥
Character: Conner
Word Count: 446
Summary: He doesn't feel human at all.
Notes: Um. DEEP.
Conner can never stop himself from becoming angry.
Everyone soothes him and tells him that it'll go away, to not mind Superman being a jerk, that things get better when the welt has had time to heal. They don't get it, though, no one gets at all that it's not all about Superman. It's like there's something fundamentally missing in him that they all seem to have. They know when things aren't a big deal, they know when something's a joke. They know when to stop being mad. And it's not like Conner's lacking on morality, because he's not about to go around killing people for the hell of it -- he doesn't want to do that -- but he doesn't feel human. He doesn't feel human at all.
Even the name feels like something tagged on as an aftermath. He feels like a half-boiled egg, cracked open too soon and incomplete.
Black Canary seems to understand more than anyone. He likes and respects her, but she's still human. She can't understand a creature like him, although she tries. But she's wrong about anger controlling him. It's just that it's the only emotion that's easy to express.
Conner tries to teach himself. He likes observing nature more than people - civilians are even more remote than his teammates. They move in zig-zags and do and say things he can't predict, they harm each other although they're complete in ways Conner isn't, and he doesn't get why. Shouldn't they be more grateful, more careful with what they have? Cadmus put images and knowledge of war into his head, but beyond all the various justifications it doesn't make sense. It's the icing on the cake, he thinks, that he can't even be a good weapon.
Nature, though, nature is easier to understand. Static on the TV screen - every single dot - everything has a place, a purpose. A place in a greater harmony and all the sensations, so much better than only images in his head.
The sharpness of the blades of grass in a field, the vivid hue of a sunset, the crunch of earth under his feet. It makes him feel like he understands, for a while, what it means to live and breathe and have a pumping heart.
He sneaks out of the mountain on rainy nights and heads up high. Conner loves the sharp scent of ozone, the drip-drip of water from his hair, the chill of water soaking his clothes. His senses are good enough that he can see each droplet on its own, falling in tandem with the others, perfectly formed, perfectly performing a duty, perfect in a way he's not.
Conner wonders what it would take.
--
Title: Not The Season
Character(s): Outside POV, Wally West
Word Count: 782
Summary: It's night when they bring the kid in, and unlikely that he'll ever walk back out.
Notes: Poor normal people dealing with superpowers and all that.
It's night when they bring the kid in. She's working an extra extra shift because why the hell not, right? It's not exactly the season for suicides or freak accidents, and the fact that the Flash has the city covered has lowered the rate of injuries related to crime.
So there's no explanation for that weird explosion, no explanation for the kid who's brought in skin seemingly sliced to pieces, so limp and tiny, blood mixing so well with the bright red of his hair. They stabilize him, narrowly, but she has to walk out and tell his parents that it's unlikely he'll ever walk again. He's 10 or 11, she's exhausted and not sure anymore, and there were some kind of chemicals involved in the blast or something. It's all she can say to them for sure.
She doesn't know if the child will ever open his eyes.
There's a red-haired young man sitting outside the boy's room when she comes to check on him. The man's face is drawn and grey, and he stares out blankly at the corridor.
"Family?" she asks gently.
His gaze jerks to her, lips trying to form something like a smile and failing miserably. "Yeah. I'm his uncle… or something like that." He sighs. "Barry Allen. It's nice to meet you. I wanted to thank you for all your help, but I didn't want to leave him…"
"It's all right. He'll be pleased to see you when he wakes up."
Allen turns to look through the glass, at the little form under the sheets surrounded by machines. "When he wakes up," he echoes.
She tucks her own sadness at this sorry situation under the comfortable blanket of professionalism.
"You know," Allen says, voice flat. When she turns to look at him he's put one hand on the glass, fingers splayed. "I feel like this is all my fault. I - I work at that lab, you know? And Wally's so smart. It's as though he-- nevermind."
The kid gets a lot of visitors. And for all that Barry Allen comes often, he's not there when she steps into the room to check vitals and green eyes blink at her inquisitively.
"Wally?" she says quietly.
"Hi," the boy answers. He really has startling green eyes, she thinks. " 'm in a hospital?"
She nods. "Yes. How are you feeling?"
"Like a champ. Except… I can't feel my legs. Oh." He pauses. "I can't feel my legs. The experiment-- did my Uncle Barry come?" he demands.
"You couldn't get the man away from this place. He's just not here right now, okay?" she soothes. "Can I check your heart, sweetie?"
It's only when she's back out in the hall that she smiles because hell, miracles do happen! And the kid sounds fine, he's alive and it doesn't seem like there's any ill-effects from the chemicals so far. Certainly, his deep calm about his legs is strange. But she's been at this job long enough that she's seen it all. Frantic children, children in silent shock, children showing maturity beyond adults when it comes down to it - Wally West is a perfect fit for the last category, with his red hair and freckles and solemn green eyes. She only hopes he'll be able to cope with his new life without legs.
But then it gets weird. Really weird.
Over two weeks gashes that should have scarred turn to light pink lines when they change his bandages, and then disappear completely. Whenever she checks his heart it always seems to be beating frantically and she orders tests on him, but there's no explanation and the kid doesn't look as though his heart is working overtime. Just weird.
He's cool as a cucumber for 10 years old, chatty and clever, words slurring into each other more and more. And the family's gone completely mum, ignoring anything her colleagues say. That uncle is always in there, speaking with the boy quietly.
One night she's checking his vitals again. It's the same weirdness as always with the boy's heart beating fast, his skin now completely healed. He'll probably be out of here soon, weirdness be damned, and although it creeps her out there's no question that that's a good thing.
She thinks he's asleep until his little boy voice breaks the silence.
"The explosion. That big boom in the lab. I did it on purpose," he says sleepily. "I did it to myself."
"What, Wally?" she says, alarmed.
"I don't regret it at all. And I'll run out of here, really really fast. Like Uncle Barry. You'll see." His eyes close.
She never does, though.
The next morning the kid's gone like he was never there at all. She never says anything to anyone, and never takes that extra extra shift again.
And/or comment! ♥