[Original] Better Than the Fall - part 3
Title: Better than the Fall [Part 3]
Fandom: Original (superheroes)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Promise: code-names are important.
Notes: the teen team series. Also, I've changed Promise's first name. Because.
[Issue #21] (starts in Issue #18)
When Nathan was a child, his father put his hand on his shoulder and told him, “I know it’s hard for you to understand right now, but believe me: I am a good man.”
Nathan looked him in the eyes and knew he lied.
*
“I won’t do it again, Nana, I promise,” little Nate told his grand-mother.
She sighed and put her hand on his cheek. “I know you won’t, honey.”
Her brown, apple-wrinkled face twisted with worry, her eyes taking a faraway look, and Nate seized her hand, veiny with age, and squeezed.
“It’ll be alright,” he insisted, fervent.
*
“I’m never gonna make the team,” Greg panted. “They’re all taller and-hah- stronger and much, much dumber. Jules and his cronies are gonna break my face and I’ll never be able to show what I can do.”
“You wanna join up that bad, huh,” Nathan sympathized.
“It’s my one chance to prove Mom and Dad I’m worth something,” Greg called as he dribbled around. “Maybe I’m not Ivy-League material like Sarah, but at least I can do this.” He threw the ball at the hoop, where it oscillated, on equilibrium, on top on the metal ring. “Oh, man…”
Both of the boys were staring at the ball, breathlessly, as it wavered... hesitating as if the pull of gravity couldn’t make it pick a side… and, as Nathan watched, fell through the hoop.
Greg flopped with relief. “Hope I don’t do that tomorrow.”
“What, make the shot?” Nathan shook his head. “I dunno, man, you might get in if you do. All things being equal.”
Straightening up after picking the ball, Greg put a fist on his hip, holding the ball in the fold of his arm, and pointing a motherly finger at him. “You ain’t as funny as you think you are, Nathan Fields.”
*
The girl looked at him, breathing hard. Her eyes were huge behind her ski mask, what he could see of her skin sallow with fear or tiredness. Promise raised his hands in a calming gesture.
“Hey, I don’t want you any harm.”
“Yeah, I believe that.”
“I’m just as trapped as you are,” Promise remarked.
The girl took a breath, and braced herself against the wall. She was cradling her wrist against her belly, Promise noticed.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to answer - he saw the knitted fabric shift - but no sound came out.
Promise nodded sagely.
*
Promise spit, curled on the ground. It was dark and damp and Lord, he hated sewers.
“You’re okay, Nathan Fields. You’ll survive.”
His head jerked up - he was in full costume, how could - his heart was racing as he squinted into the shadows. Seeing nothing, the blackness was too deep.
There was a laugh, light and female. “Fear not. Your secret’s safe with me; I just needed to know who was stirring up trouble in my city. The Rushers are gone, by the way. They lost your trail.”
Pieces fell into place.
“…City Girl?”
His voice sounded surreal to him, lost between a hush and a chant.
She neglected to answer, though the strings of her giggles might be answer enough.
“Get out of here, Promise. And be more careful next time. I’m not your fucking baby-sitter.”
*
Stonecold punched him in the nose before storming out, and though Ecstasy yelled that ze didn’t have to, he got the impression that most of the others silently approved.
*
“And you-you can fix that,” Analogue said. Her voice was far less than torn; dead.
She was picking at the hem of her T-shirt, with short, smooth fingernails. Unvarnished, as ever. She didn’t wear make-up either, and Promise didn’t need to ask to know she sometimes resented the limitations to her power.
What she wanted was to know how far his powers could go. He could’ve waited until she was forced to ask. She would ask. It would hurt her pride, but she’d skewer her pride to save her freedom.
“I can make your parents forget they ever had you for a daughter,” he said.
Promised.
*
The shadow of Dr Nightmare stretched over him. Beyond him, Promise could see the bodies of his teammates. Unconscious, he told himself, and didn’t try to use his gift, and didn’t dare say it aloud. Unconscious.
“You will tell me how to find my daughter.”
Promise had blood on his teeth, but he still smiled, and cast all of his belief, the bones of his bones and the deep of his soul, in the words he spoke then.
“I won’t,” he vowed.
*
When Nathan woke up next, he looked into his reflection’s eyes and said aloud, “I am alive.”
And he knew he wasn’t Promise anymore.
Fandom: Original (superheroes)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Promise: code-names are important.
Notes: the teen team series. Also, I've changed Promise's first name. Because.
[Issue #21] (starts in Issue #18)
When Nathan was a child, his father put his hand on his shoulder and told him, “I know it’s hard for you to understand right now, but believe me: I am a good man.”
Nathan looked him in the eyes and knew he lied.
*
“I won’t do it again, Nana, I promise,” little Nate told his grand-mother.
She sighed and put her hand on his cheek. “I know you won’t, honey.”
Her brown, apple-wrinkled face twisted with worry, her eyes taking a faraway look, and Nate seized her hand, veiny with age, and squeezed.
“It’ll be alright,” he insisted, fervent.
*
“I’m never gonna make the team,” Greg panted. “They’re all taller and-hah- stronger and much, much dumber. Jules and his cronies are gonna break my face and I’ll never be able to show what I can do.”
“You wanna join up that bad, huh,” Nathan sympathized.
“It’s my one chance to prove Mom and Dad I’m worth something,” Greg called as he dribbled around. “Maybe I’m not Ivy-League material like Sarah, but at least I can do this.” He threw the ball at the hoop, where it oscillated, on equilibrium, on top on the metal ring. “Oh, man…”
Both of the boys were staring at the ball, breathlessly, as it wavered... hesitating as if the pull of gravity couldn’t make it pick a side… and, as Nathan watched, fell through the hoop.
Greg flopped with relief. “Hope I don’t do that tomorrow.”
“What, make the shot?” Nathan shook his head. “I dunno, man, you might get in if you do. All things being equal.”
Straightening up after picking the ball, Greg put a fist on his hip, holding the ball in the fold of his arm, and pointing a motherly finger at him. “You ain’t as funny as you think you are, Nathan Fields.”
*
The girl looked at him, breathing hard. Her eyes were huge behind her ski mask, what he could see of her skin sallow with fear or tiredness. Promise raised his hands in a calming gesture.
“Hey, I don’t want you any harm.”
“Yeah, I believe that.”
“I’m just as trapped as you are,” Promise remarked.
The girl took a breath, and braced herself against the wall. She was cradling her wrist against her belly, Promise noticed.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to answer - he saw the knitted fabric shift - but no sound came out.
Promise nodded sagely.
*
Promise spit, curled on the ground. It was dark and damp and Lord, he hated sewers.
“You’re okay, Nathan Fields. You’ll survive.”
His head jerked up - he was in full costume, how could - his heart was racing as he squinted into the shadows. Seeing nothing, the blackness was too deep.
There was a laugh, light and female. “Fear not. Your secret’s safe with me; I just needed to know who was stirring up trouble in my city. The Rushers are gone, by the way. They lost your trail.”
Pieces fell into place.
“…City Girl?”
His voice sounded surreal to him, lost between a hush and a chant.
She neglected to answer, though the strings of her giggles might be answer enough.
“Get out of here, Promise. And be more careful next time. I’m not your fucking baby-sitter.”
*
Stonecold punched him in the nose before storming out, and though Ecstasy yelled that ze didn’t have to, he got the impression that most of the others silently approved.
*
“And you-you can fix that,” Analogue said. Her voice was far less than torn; dead.
She was picking at the hem of her T-shirt, with short, smooth fingernails. Unvarnished, as ever. She didn’t wear make-up either, and Promise didn’t need to ask to know she sometimes resented the limitations to her power.
What she wanted was to know how far his powers could go. He could’ve waited until she was forced to ask. She would ask. It would hurt her pride, but she’d skewer her pride to save her freedom.
“I can make your parents forget they ever had you for a daughter,” he said.
Promised.
*
The shadow of Dr Nightmare stretched over him. Beyond him, Promise could see the bodies of his teammates. Unconscious, he told himself, and didn’t try to use his gift, and didn’t dare say it aloud. Unconscious.
“You will tell me how to find my daughter.”
Promise had blood on his teeth, but he still smiled, and cast all of his belief, the bones of his bones and the deep of his soul, in the words he spoke then.
“I won’t,” he vowed.
*
When Nathan woke up next, he looked into his reflection’s eyes and said aloud, “I am alive.”
And he knew he wasn’t Promise anymore.